Full-Blood Half-Breed Read Free

Del Darkdragón?”
    Paladin whipped around to face Sensei Quicksteel, a monk for whom he held the greatest respect, and Zwergfuchs Von Hammerhead—Fox the Runt to his peers—a boy for whom he held the least. Gears clicked and whirred behind him, but before he could react, the spinning arms of the idol smashed into his shoulder, kidneys, and the back of his head, knocking him to the floor.
    Fox the Runt howled with laughter.
    Paladin shook off the hurts and climbed to his feet, dipping his head to Sensei Quicksteel. The sensei’s normally kind smile and patient manner were twisted and ugly. His tilted burnt-brown eyes were wide with shock and anger. His straight pepper-and-salt hair hung below his ears, uncombed. Paladin had never before seen the monk with even a single hair out of place. The Seisakushans believed that the exterior shell reflected inner existence. Sensei Quicksteel had always been devout in his adherence to this philosophy.
    Paladin could form no words.
    “Do you see now, Sensei Quicksteel?” Fox the Runt said. His wide sneer made him look more canine than ever. “He profanes the goddess in Her own House with the same treacherous forms he used to defeat me in kumite!”
    “Be silent, Disciple Von Hammerhead,” the monk said. “You, Disciple Del Darkdragón, have indeed desecrated the house of Seisakusha and—perverted Her sacred gift, Ashi-Kobushi.”
    The monk paused, skewering Paladin with tight-faced scrutiny. After a moment, his features softened. “If I did not know the goodness in your heart, I would banish you from the temple and forbid you ever to enter these sacred grounds again. But your mother was among the finest disciples ever to study here, and I would not like to see you bring shame and heartbreak upon her. Further, I would not waste such talent as yours. You—”
    “Sensei!” Fox the Runt yelled. “Surely there can be no—”
    Sensei Quicksteel leveled a scalding glare at the Runt. “Be silent.”
    Fox the Runt backed away, patting the air with his hands. He resumed his smug sneering when he thought he was out of Sensei Quicksteel’s striking range.
    “I will give you but one chance, Disciple Del Darkdragón,” Sensei Quicksteel said. “Renounce the lesser fighting forms, and pledge your devotion to Seisakusha; do these things and you will be allowed to stay. You will be punished, and severely, but your studies will go uninterrupted.”
    Paladin could say nothing. The sensei leaned closer, the jade medallion he wore beneath his tunic slipping free and dangling, hypnotically, before Paladin’s eyes. It was Seisakusha’s water symbol, the Nureta Sakuru, a circle cut in half by a vertical line. Paladin stared at it as the sensei whispered at him. “You are the most gifted pupil I have ever instructed. With training, you could become a master bushi or a Black Spear, greater even than your father. But to reach such heights, you must continue your studies and atone for your blasphemy.”
    “Sensei,” Paladin pleaded, “how is it blasphemy to praise Seisakusha’s brothers and sister? I have read the
Nyusu
from cover to cover, and nowhere does it say the goddess ranks Herself above Her sibling gods. Perhaps—”
    CRACK!
Paladin heard the sharp clap of flesh on flesh. A moment later he felt a sting on his right cheek, then realized he was sprawled on the floor. He never even saw the sensei move.
    Sensei Quicksteel grabbed him by his curly hair. “Renounce the lesser disciplines or leave the temple at once, Disciple. This is your only chance.”
    Tears spilled down Paladin’s cheeks. Banishment from the temple would mean an end to his dream of serving as a knight in
la Orden Majestuosa de la Lámina Incendiaria
—the Majestic Order of the Blazing Blade. He wanted to do what the monk asked, but knew he could not. No matter how easy it would be to speak the words of such an oath, it would be impossible to honor it.
    Paladin was one of the Blended Folk, people of intermingled