Free The Prince of Shadow by Curt Benjamin Page A

elaborate band of tattooing on his arm, as if she was reminding him of a secret. “Test him,” she said, and withdrew her hand into her voluminous sleeve. Jaks uttered no word that might identify the woman, but bowed deeply and stepped forward. He smiled to allay Llesho’s nervousness.
    â€œDon’t worry, boy. Nobody is going to hurt you. In weapons combat it helps to start with a natural inclination, if you have one. We are here to find out what that might be for you.”
    â€œYes, sir,” Llesho said, as firmly as he could to show that he did understand and that he wasn’t afraid, though neither was true. The concept made sense, of course, but the woman’s presence suggested that more was going on than a simple aptitude test.
    Jaks gave a single curt nod to accept the answer, though the glint in his eyes told Llesho he saw more of those doubts than he let on. “We will start with long weapons,” Jaks said, and gestured at the walls around them. “Take your time. Pick up whatever attracts you. Give it a chance, but if it doesn’t feel comfortable in your hand, put it back.”
    Den interrupted then, with as much explanation as he was going to get. “Don’t watch us to find your answer, boy. The right answer for Jaks or me is bound to be the wrong answer for you.”
    Llesho nodded and began to mark the perimeter of the room. At first he kept his hands clasped behind his back, but he quickly forgot his reticence as he handled the weapons. The pikes annoyed him. He tried several lengths of shaft, but the heads felt overbalanced and clumsy. Staves he handled well enough, but he quickly lost interest in them. The trident went to his hand with the easy fit of long practice. After a few awkward passes he centered himself, thought of water, and made a few smooth thrusts and feints, twirled the weapon in a wide circle around one hand and flung it to bury its teeth deep in the dirt at Jaks’ feet.
    Jaks wrenched the trident out of the dirt with a wry smile. “No surprise there, I guess. Anything else?”
    Llesho shrugged, and continued his circuit of the room. He approached the spears with curiosity, but one with a shorter shaft than the others drew him with a fascination so strong he glanced about him to be certain no one in the room had cast a spell on him. That was foolish. No one in Lord Chin-shi’s realm would dare to practice magic in the open like this. But the intent expressions on his three testers made him wonder how open this occasion really was. He reached out to it, and the room itself seemed to hold its breath. The weapon felt old, and Llesho could almost hear the high, thin wind of Thebin whistling in his ears when he touched it.
    It felt . . . right. Not familiar, like the trident, which reminded him of the rake he used to play at battles with in the bay. When his fingers closed around the shaft of the spear, he felt the “click” of a soul finding its completion, hand meeting matching hand. Mine. He knew he had never held such a weapon before, just as he knew he would not willingly give it up now that he had found it. Not even if he died. Memories far older than the body he wore stirred in the back of his mind, roiling in the muck of time and terror. That part of him that was here and now, a slave with fifteen summers, could not shake the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach; the spear was poisoned, old memory whispered. He threw it away from him, shuddering in disgust even as a longing he did not understand urged him to snatch it up again.
    Compelled by that terrifying desire, Llesho crouched to retrieve the spear. Poised, but certain now that the test was, indeed, a trap, and it had just closed on his neck, he tightened his hand into a fist, grasping only air. Master Den watched him out of deep sorrowful eyes, but Jaks picked up the spear where Llesho had let it fall and pointed to the table with it. “Tri dent, but we’ll