Liam paused for a moment to think about his master's reasoning, and
genuinely concluded that he himself had been in the wrong. Having got this
firmly fixed out in his mind, Liam was quite happy to do this penance. It
would give him a chance to get all of the changes that had happened lately
in his life straight in his mind, so that he wouldn't be likely to make the
same mistake again.
He silently removed his boots, noting that he badly needed to wash since the smell of his feet alone was enough to knock out an entire tribe of Bazhir horsemen, not known themselves for cleanliness. Changing into a thin shirt and breeches, he went down to the chapel and meditated as he'd been taught when he'd been a small boy.
He thought about his ambitions, for despite the Shang laws he wasn't without pride or aims. He thought about his reasons for wanting to become a Shang, and how they'd changed over the years. He vowed to himself to think before fighting so that nothing like this would ever happen again if he could help it. At last, after long hours of thought, he felt truly at peace with himself once more.
Liam got up to leave.
"I will be a true Shang," he whispered, saluting the altar in respect. "I must learn when to fight and to control my temper. I swear I'll try my best to master it."
"But will you keep to this resolution, my son?" a booming voice thundered from behind him. Liam spun automatically into a defensive crouch at the sound of a strange voice. He looked up and saw an armoured man, glowing brightly with a golden light. Eyes wide as saucers, he thudded heavily to his knees, dropping his eyes before the Immortal.
He took a deep breath, knowing that this oath, unlike his other one, he knew was being witnessed by a far higher authority than his Shang masters, a priest or himself.
"I will, Master, as long as there is breath in my body."
"And will you protect the weak, the wronged and all those who need your help under any circumstances."
"Yes Master," Liam replied with conviction, recognising the words from the Book of Mithros, from which all of the Shang Laws had been taken. "If it cost me my life, I will."
"Then know that I will always be with you in your heart, watching over your endeavours. Now, go and learn, little one, and become a warrior I can be proud of."
"Yes Master, thank you."
Liam bowed his head again - his eyes had somehow been drawn upwards in the same way that a mouse would freeze when faced with an owl. It might not be sensible, but it was nature. As a rapidly brightening light flared and radiated from the god, he squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Then there was dark once more in the shadowy chapel and Liam cautiously opened his eyes, blinking away the purple afterimages. Solemnly, he took the knife lying, as always, on the altar for use in rituals, and carefully cut his hand, letting blood drip onto the altar.
"I will honour my oath, Master," he swore. "By this blood, I swear my hand, my body and my heart in service to the Law, be it in my interests or not to follow it. I am your slave as long as you have need of me, until my dying day if you allow me."
Ritual completed, he turned and stopped, blinking in confusion. A black kitten was lying curled up on the floor, apparently asleep although Liam had his doubts. He scooped him up with ease, tucking him in the crook of his arm.
"Come on then, little one, 'tis much warmer in our rooms. I'll call you Faithful, I think, to remind me to be faithful to my vows." The cat yawned and opened eyes of the same startling violet-purple as his own.
"Holy Mithros! Still, maybe the god sent you and it's a sign. You're staying with me anyway, holy or not. I just hope Hassam likes cats."
Liam pushed open the chapel door with his foot, and early morning sunlight streamed in. He found his way back to their chambers with relative ease. Hassam was there and Prince Jerlan sitting next to him. They looked over from where they were talking as he came in with Faithful in his arms.
Hassam smiled.
"Done Liam?" he asked.
"Yes sir."
"Where did the cat come from?"
"He was in the chapel sir. I thought I'd keep him and call him Faithful, to remind me of my promises. Maybe it'll help me to stick to the Law better."
Hassam stared at him, eyes wide in disbelief. Liam looked at him curiously; so did the prince. Neither of them had a clue what had caused this reaction.
"What's the matter?" the prince demanded. "It's only a mangy cat."
"Liam," Hassam asked urgently, sounding as though he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer. "Is there anything odd about this cat, other than him being in the chapel?"
"Well, not really odd sir. His eyes are a bit strange - they're purple like mine, and that's okay for cats, I think. There's nothing else though."
"What have I let myself in for?" Hassam groaned, putting his head in his hands with a show of dramatics that would have horrified the Yamanis they were staying with. "I have it on good authority that the cat you are holding died over twenty years ago! He's the only purple-eyed cat I've ever seen."
Faithful looked up from where he was industriously licking his paw and fixed his gaze on the man until the Shang looked away from him uncomfortably.
"What cat?" Jerlan asked.
"Let's see. I was about three when Liam's mother came to our tribe for the first time, it caused quite a stir. I can just about remember it, and what I can't remember, I've been told. She came with a soldier, Coram Smythesson, and a black, purple eyed cat called Faithful. She said that the Great Mother Goddess had given him to her. He was killed at the same time as your namesake, Liam, the last Liam Ironarm, at King Jonathan's coronation. You've been chosen by the gods, son, and I'm committed to teaching you for another three years at the very least, and quite likely more!"
"Chosen by the gods? Me?"
"Yes, I'm afraid so. Poor me."
"This is all very well, Hassam," Jerlan interrupted. "But now, will you teach me?"
"Very well Highness. Er, do you have anything slightly more practical that you could wear. I fear that those clothes wouldn't last long in a proper practice session such as I'd be giving you and Liam if you wish."
"No, why should I have peasant clothes in my possession?"
"Borrow some of my clothes then. Actually, apart from the colour, they're very similar to those worn by the Tortallan knights to train in. Liam, change yourself and guide his Highness down to the practice courts when he's ready. I know that you are familiar with the way."
"Yes Hassam," Liam agreed, flushing slightly.
"You may go," Prince Jerlan told him imperiously.
Liam changed quickly with the ease of long practice into training clothes and, after helping the prince, took Jerlan down to the practice court. Hassam was there, talking to one of the Yamani soldiers whom Liam vaguely recognised.
"Hassam, come here," the prince ordered. The Shang warrior rolled his eyes at the Yamani soldier, who smiled faintly, and came over.
"Teach me."
"I can't just teach you, Highness. First we have to warm up properly, else its likely that we'll pull muscles and that can stop training for a while - not advisable if you want to become a successful warrior."
"Warming up is for small children like him. I am far too old for that kind of nonsense - it's the sort of thing a baby tutor tells you to do when you first start. I am an experienced warrior myself, after all, I've been training for four years now."
"And Liam, the 'small child,' has been training hard for the past seven years and I believe he did some work for an additional three years before that."
"So? The fact remains that he is a very small child and cannot hope to compete with me in strength or experience."
Liam groaned, but began to grin as he heard a whisper in his mind,
"Go on, my son." That was all it took; he let loose his formidable temper, already irritated with the youth.
"Who are you calling a child?"
"Why, you of course, boy."
"Just because you're what, three years older? You're as much a child as me, more so because you're a spoilt, petty, sheltered brat of a princeling who's never done an honest day's work in his life, let alone the past year."
Hassam smiled openly at that. Prince Jerlan of Tyra flushed bright red, unaccustomed to anyone ever daring to speak back to him in such an impertinent way.
"You silly, uneducated, common brat!"
"Useless popinjay! Anyway, I'm probably better educated than you and I'm certainly nobler! My family's in the Book of Gold, yours is only in the Book of Silver!"
"Come on then, I'll thrash you in a grown up duel to teach you to mind your manners when speaking to your betters!"
"Fine," Liam replied sweetly. "But of course, we can only do that once we've warmed up. I'm a small child, remember, and I need to be set a good example, at least until I'm old enough to do without, which is unlikely to be ever." "Hmph! Okay," Jerlan sighed, realising that he'd been outmanoeuvred with great skill. Then he snapped at Hassam. "What are you smiling at?"
"Oh, nothing Highness, shall we begin?"
After grudgingly warming up, Liam fenced with the prince. Soon he bowed ironically and helped Jerlan to his feet.
"Teach me Hassam," the prince said pleadingly. Then he added grudgingly, "please." Hassam smiled - the arrogant prince was at last learning manners.
He silently removed his boots, noting that he badly needed to wash since the smell of his feet alone was enough to knock out an entire tribe of Bazhir horsemen, not known themselves for cleanliness. Changing into a thin shirt and breeches, he went down to the chapel and meditated as he'd been taught when he'd been a small boy.
He thought about his ambitions, for despite the Shang laws he wasn't without pride or aims. He thought about his reasons for wanting to become a Shang, and how they'd changed over the years. He vowed to himself to think before fighting so that nothing like this would ever happen again if he could help it. At last, after long hours of thought, he felt truly at peace with himself once more.
Liam got up to leave.
"I will be a true Shang," he whispered, saluting the altar in respect. "I must learn when to fight and to control my temper. I swear I'll try my best to master it."
"But will you keep to this resolution, my son?" a booming voice thundered from behind him. Liam spun automatically into a defensive crouch at the sound of a strange voice. He looked up and saw an armoured man, glowing brightly with a golden light. Eyes wide as saucers, he thudded heavily to his knees, dropping his eyes before the Immortal.
He took a deep breath, knowing that this oath, unlike his other one, he knew was being witnessed by a far higher authority than his Shang masters, a priest or himself.
"I will, Master, as long as there is breath in my body."
"And will you protect the weak, the wronged and all those who need your help under any circumstances."
"Yes Master," Liam replied with conviction, recognising the words from the Book of Mithros, from which all of the Shang Laws had been taken. "If it cost me my life, I will."
"Then know that I will always be with you in your heart, watching over your endeavours. Now, go and learn, little one, and become a warrior I can be proud of."
"Yes Master, thank you."
Liam bowed his head again - his eyes had somehow been drawn upwards in the same way that a mouse would freeze when faced with an owl. It might not be sensible, but it was nature. As a rapidly brightening light flared and radiated from the god, he squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Then there was dark once more in the shadowy chapel and Liam cautiously opened his eyes, blinking away the purple afterimages. Solemnly, he took the knife lying, as always, on the altar for use in rituals, and carefully cut his hand, letting blood drip onto the altar.
"I will honour my oath, Master," he swore. "By this blood, I swear my hand, my body and my heart in service to the Law, be it in my interests or not to follow it. I am your slave as long as you have need of me, until my dying day if you allow me."
Ritual completed, he turned and stopped, blinking in confusion. A black kitten was lying curled up on the floor, apparently asleep although Liam had his doubts. He scooped him up with ease, tucking him in the crook of his arm.
"Come on then, little one, 'tis much warmer in our rooms. I'll call you Faithful, I think, to remind me to be faithful to my vows." The cat yawned and opened eyes of the same startling violet-purple as his own.
"Holy Mithros! Still, maybe the god sent you and it's a sign. You're staying with me anyway, holy or not. I just hope Hassam likes cats."
Liam pushed open the chapel door with his foot, and early morning sunlight streamed in. He found his way back to their chambers with relative ease. Hassam was there and Prince Jerlan sitting next to him. They looked over from where they were talking as he came in with Faithful in his arms.
Hassam smiled.
"Done Liam?" he asked.
"Yes sir."
"Where did the cat come from?"
"He was in the chapel sir. I thought I'd keep him and call him Faithful, to remind me of my promises. Maybe it'll help me to stick to the Law better."
Hassam stared at him, eyes wide in disbelief. Liam looked at him curiously; so did the prince. Neither of them had a clue what had caused this reaction.
"What's the matter?" the prince demanded. "It's only a mangy cat."
"Liam," Hassam asked urgently, sounding as though he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer. "Is there anything odd about this cat, other than him being in the chapel?"
"Well, not really odd sir. His eyes are a bit strange - they're purple like mine, and that's okay for cats, I think. There's nothing else though."
"What have I let myself in for?" Hassam groaned, putting his head in his hands with a show of dramatics that would have horrified the Yamanis they were staying with. "I have it on good authority that the cat you are holding died over twenty years ago! He's the only purple-eyed cat I've ever seen."
Faithful looked up from where he was industriously licking his paw and fixed his gaze on the man until the Shang looked away from him uncomfortably.
"What cat?" Jerlan asked.
"Let's see. I was about three when Liam's mother came to our tribe for the first time, it caused quite a stir. I can just about remember it, and what I can't remember, I've been told. She came with a soldier, Coram Smythesson, and a black, purple eyed cat called Faithful. She said that the Great Mother Goddess had given him to her. He was killed at the same time as your namesake, Liam, the last Liam Ironarm, at King Jonathan's coronation. You've been chosen by the gods, son, and I'm committed to teaching you for another three years at the very least, and quite likely more!"
"Chosen by the gods? Me?"
"Yes, I'm afraid so. Poor me."
"This is all very well, Hassam," Jerlan interrupted. "But now, will you teach me?"
"Very well Highness. Er, do you have anything slightly more practical that you could wear. I fear that those clothes wouldn't last long in a proper practice session such as I'd be giving you and Liam if you wish."
"No, why should I have peasant clothes in my possession?"
"Borrow some of my clothes then. Actually, apart from the colour, they're very similar to those worn by the Tortallan knights to train in. Liam, change yourself and guide his Highness down to the practice courts when he's ready. I know that you are familiar with the way."
"Yes Hassam," Liam agreed, flushing slightly.
"You may go," Prince Jerlan told him imperiously.
Liam changed quickly with the ease of long practice into training clothes and, after helping the prince, took Jerlan down to the practice court. Hassam was there, talking to one of the Yamani soldiers whom Liam vaguely recognised.
"Hassam, come here," the prince ordered. The Shang warrior rolled his eyes at the Yamani soldier, who smiled faintly, and came over.
"Teach me."
"I can't just teach you, Highness. First we have to warm up properly, else its likely that we'll pull muscles and that can stop training for a while - not advisable if you want to become a successful warrior."
"Warming up is for small children like him. I am far too old for that kind of nonsense - it's the sort of thing a baby tutor tells you to do when you first start. I am an experienced warrior myself, after all, I've been training for four years now."
"And Liam, the 'small child,' has been training hard for the past seven years and I believe he did some work for an additional three years before that."
"So? The fact remains that he is a very small child and cannot hope to compete with me in strength or experience."
Liam groaned, but began to grin as he heard a whisper in his mind,
"Go on, my son." That was all it took; he let loose his formidable temper, already irritated with the youth.
"Who are you calling a child?"
"Why, you of course, boy."
"Just because you're what, three years older? You're as much a child as me, more so because you're a spoilt, petty, sheltered brat of a princeling who's never done an honest day's work in his life, let alone the past year."
Hassam smiled openly at that. Prince Jerlan of Tyra flushed bright red, unaccustomed to anyone ever daring to speak back to him in such an impertinent way.
"You silly, uneducated, common brat!"
"Useless popinjay! Anyway, I'm probably better educated than you and I'm certainly nobler! My family's in the Book of Gold, yours is only in the Book of Silver!"
"Come on then, I'll thrash you in a grown up duel to teach you to mind your manners when speaking to your betters!"
"Fine," Liam replied sweetly. "But of course, we can only do that once we've warmed up. I'm a small child, remember, and I need to be set a good example, at least until I'm old enough to do without, which is unlikely to be ever." "Hmph! Okay," Jerlan sighed, realising that he'd been outmanoeuvred with great skill. Then he snapped at Hassam. "What are you smiling at?"
"Oh, nothing Highness, shall we begin?"
After grudgingly warming up, Liam fenced with the prince. Soon he bowed ironically and helped Jerlan to his feet.
"Teach me Hassam," the prince said pleadingly. Then he added grudgingly, "please." Hassam smiled - the arrogant prince was at last learning manners.
