“Go on, then.” He pushed it more firmly into her grasp. “It’s not going to whip around and kill you on its own accord. Just think of it as an enlarged kitchen knife.”
Talea took the weapon fully, smirking at him, and trying not to let on that the thing was astonishingly heavy. “An enlarged kitchen knife, huh? You know I’m going to call it that from now on. ‘Hey Yhkon, can I borrow your enlarged kitchen knife?’ ‘Hey Yhkon, can I use your enlarged kitchen knife to chop these onions?’”
“Hilarious.” He started adjusting her hold on the pommel, prying her fingers off and moving them about. “You know, in Canadi, they name their swords. It’s quite a serious matter. A sword is practically an entity to them.”
“What do they name them? Is there some sword named Lady Talea the Arm-Cleaver?”
He rolled his eyes, grinning. It was rare to see him grin. “You’re impossible. Now spread your feet, a little past shoulder-width. There. Toes pointing out a bit. Weight on the balls of your feet, not your heels. Bend your knees. Not that much. Better.” He stepped back, examining the stance he’d instructed her into. “Good. This sword is rather big for you,” he pulled her wrists up, so that she held it higher, “but it’ll work for practice. In Calcaria, you’ll get a real, custom sword, like this one.”
Always dreamed of having my own custom sword. Not. But hey, sounds kinda cool. “Right, but why do I need a sword if the whole point of all this is me having magical abilities?”
Yhkon shook his head. “You may not always be able to use your ability. You may be in a fight where you don’t want your opponent to know you can throw lightning, see? If a bunch of Kaydorian knights were to swarm the campsite this minute, I’d rather you not inform Kaydor of our greatest asset.”
“Fine then.” She delicately poked his arm with the tip of the blade, light enough that he probably barely felt it. “Teach this asset how to not be helpless without her ability that makes her so valuable to you, and while you’re at it, remind me why I had to be the one to go talk to Terindi?”
Those ice-blue eyes squinted at her. “Are you being irritable and demanding, salqui?”
“Are you calling me names in some language I don’t even know, Silquije?” She raised an eyebrow at him coyly.
“Salqui. It means ward in Calnec-Arayn, which I intend to have you fluent in within a couple of years. Now.” He grew more serious. “My reason is…you’re the leader of the Eight.”
The what? Leader? You’re kidding. Talea blinked. “Uh…what?”
Yhkon put his hands in his pockets with his thumbs out, reminding her of Wylan’s trademark pose. “I suppose I should have told you earlier. Didn’t you ever wonder why you were assigned to the lead Warden? It’s because you’re the lead ward.”
This is just dandy. “Nuh-uh. Come on. Why? I mean, shouldn’t the leader be chosen or elected? How do you know it’s me? Why is it me?”
Yhkon removed his hands from his pockets, and slid one through his dark blond hair. “That would be a question better suited to Grrake.” When she only looked at him expectantly, he frowned and averted his gaze. “Narone chose you. There. That’s why.”
Despite the more pressing issue of her being the leader of the Eight, Talea looked at him until he made eye contact again. “Why does that bother you?”
He was scowling again. “What, and you’re perfectly amicable towards the subject of Narone?”
“No, but you know why I’m not. I don’t get why you aren’t, considering your position and all.”
The scowl turned into a glare, that made her want to retreat a step. “And that became your concern, when?”
Talea flinched, lowering the sword.
He took the sword from her hands. “Let’s work on a few basic maneuvers,” he said, quietly, though not so angrily. “I’ll show you, then you can try.”
He did an exceptional job of acting like nothing had happened, simply demonstrating the movements before guiding her through them. She didn’t do quite as good a job. Every time he leaned in or grabbed her arm to move it into the correct position, she wanted to shrink away. The only responses she could make to anything he said was a nod or mumbled answer.
They practiced until Ahjul returned with a strange creature she’d never seen before slung over his shoulder. To her relief, Yhkon returned his sword to the scabbard, told her to help Ahjul clean and cook the game, and walked away.
Talea folded her hands behind her back as Ahjul approached, managing to return his smile. “What’s that?”
“This,” he knelt, depositing the animal on the ground, “is a merkil. Good for eating, not so good for carrying around, because I’m sure I’ll smell like it for days.” She’d been about to wrinkle her nose at the stench, but forced her expression to remain neutral instead. He looked at her with a twinkle in his eyes. “I can see you trying not to make a face.”
A smile, as well as a wrinkled nose, came more easily that time. “Good grief, it does smell.”
“They always do.” He pulled a knife from his belt. “They’re known for it. They usually live on riverbanks in burrows they dig in the mud, so you would think the water would have a bathing effect and take away the smell…no such luck.” He poked the tip of the blade into the merkil’s throat and moved it down, cutting a slit all the way to its belly.
Once he was convinced that she wasn’t upset by it—which was only partially true—Ahjul showed her how to properly skin the creature and get the usable meat. After her nose became accustomed to the powerful stench, it wasn’t so bad an occupation. With the mess cleaned up and several slabs of raw, slimy meat, they worked together to start a fire and cook the fresh game. By the time the pieces were sizzling, Larak and Resh had returned, with three barbsits between them. Gustor also came back from his perimeter check, with nothing to report.
It might as well have been a feast. There was enough meat for everyone to have a satisfactory amount, and Ahjul was right—merkil was good for eating, if not for smelling. Talea noticed after a while that she was the only one sitting anywhere near Ahjul, and realized it must have been because his clothes reeked with the odor, but she had gotten used to it.
Sure enough, Haeric shook his head with a chuckle. “You’d better change your clothes before you go back to the Vegns, or we’ll never get the chance to convince them of anything.”
“Amen to that!” Tarol scooted even farther away from the youngest Warden. “You smell worse than a carcass baking under an Irlaish sun.”
Ahjul smiled sheepishly. “I know, I’m going to change.”
“Still.” Larak gave him a nod. “Good kill, lad. A merkil isn’t an easy catch.”
“Hmph,” Resh smirked, “I’m the one who taught him to hunt. Of course he’s catching merkils.”
Ahjul’s brow puckered. “Um, Grrake taught me to hunt.”
Resh rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, I took you out once. Close enough. And we all know I’m a far better hunter than Grrake.”
No one argued that. Even Grrake just shrugged. Tarol, however, laughed. “Yeah, just like we all know Jewels is a better hunter than you, Resh.”