The Way of the Soul Read Free Page A

and to become a skilled warrior. Because some day, Lord Harskill had promised, he would return and would require her to help save the world.
    Fifteen years had passed, and though he did return once, it was not time for her to serve then — not as a warrior. She buried that wonderful memory of his second visit — it was not something she wanted to think about while her mother prattled on across the table.
    “Well,” her mother said, “promise me, at the least, that you won’t be late to the dinner you’ve been invited to.”
    “What dinner?”
    “Young Brandon Corhickle requested your attendance to a private dinner. I, of course, accepted on your behalf.”
    “Are you seriously setting me up on a blind date?”
    “It’s not a blind date. You’ve known Brandon for years.”
    “When we were kids. Besides, I've no interest in him.”
    “You have no interest in any man. I’m starting to think you might not like men at all.”
    Reon placed her hands under the table and rolled her fingers up into tight fists. “I don’t have any interest in the kind of men you want me to date.”
    “Why? Because Brandon doesn’t swing a sword around and punch pads all day like a simple-minded beast?”
    “There’s nothing simple about martial arts. And it’s part of my ...” Reon wanted to say that it was part of her calling, that the one true Lord Harskill required her to be in peak physical condition, well-trained and ready to fight. But she had learned after that endurance prayer session at seven never to mention Lord Harskill again.
    Luckily, Reon’s mother never listened much. “Brandon may not be muscular or have the physical prowess you seek, but he’s a good man and he goes to our church.”
    There it was. Of all the moneyed, weak-minded fools she could choose, she picked one associated with the church. It wasn’t the first time Reon’s mother had attempted to fix her up with a man that would somehow magically bring her back into the folds of the Dulmulim and it probably wouldn’t be the last time. But it was a wasted effort.
    She had no need for Brandon Corhickle. She had met the Lord Harskill. It had not been a vision or a hallucination or any false experience caused by a fault in the brain. He had stood before her. In the flesh. And she had faith that all of her efforts — her education, her martial arts training, the fact that she prayed to him every night — would not go unheard.
    “Pay attention to me.” Her mother pointed a long-nailed finger. Reon had not noticed when it happened, but her mother’s face had tightened — a bitter, serious look. “You are twenty-two years old and have done nothing. By the time I was your age, I had been married and thrown my first big gala. Successfully. I had joined the church and already had begun to climb the social ladder to the exalted position I now hold, heading the entire women’s group for our faith. You cannot throw your life away like this. You cannot waste the family name and the family money. You are in Gull University now. That’s a name that you have to live up to. You should be finding a husband. You should be gaining a position of notoriety instead of kicking bags and dancing around with swords.”
    Reon had heard this all before. Each time, however, felt like a drop of burning tar on her skin. She had endured the pain enumerable times. She saw herself as a tar-collecting vat which could hold no more.
    Before she could stop herself, she banged the table. “Maybe I don’t want all of that. Maybe I’m not interested in all of your money or your popularity, and I’m certainly not interested in Dulmul.”
    Her mother checked around the room, assessing the possible embarrassment should one of her friends or enemies witness this scene. “What are you going to do? Join the golgol cult, I suppose? That’s what all the rich brats do now. It’s the latest fad, and I know how you like to follow the fads.”
    “No, Mom. I’m not a cultist and I