Page 43 of Daughter of the Serpent

Since her shut in, she had tried numerous times to conjure a flame, a spark, anything at her will - with nothing.

“I worry Iamcursed - why else would magic still evade me?” Her head hung low. “Besides, I don’t have the training. I know nothing of blade and shield - and the winter thaws a little more and more each day. I have no time…”

“But you are not alone,” He breathed. “The god’s have provided you with someone who can teach you, to help you master your magic and blade. Do not underestimate their designs for your life, your fate.” He turned, his eyes thoughtful. "Besides, it's high time you learned what others here have already mastered.”

“I wish you could teach me, show me the way…” She said quietly, her eyes on the stone floor beneath her feet.

He flashed a reassuring smile. “And I would have done so, had I the means. Alas, I was always a better scribe than warrior.”

"It’s just…" Sylvie muttered, her voice tight with uncertainty. "I don’t know anything about him - this stranger. I have no idea if I can trust him."

"You’re worried." Godvick’s tone was light, but his eyes studied her.

"Why would he offer to train me? What’s in it for him?” Sylvie’s gaze softened as her thoughts turned inward. "What do you know of him, Godvick?"

Godvick paused, his expression turning thoughtful. "There’s little to know. His people, his clan, have long been lost to history. Like most, I believed they perished from the Karnikim all those years ago... yet it seems I was wrong."

"What is known about them? The Hazier?" she pressed.

"They were known wanderers, deeply connected to nature. Never stayed in one place for long. They were distrustful, secretive. Kept their bloodlines pure, never mixing with outsiders." He paused, his gaze distant. "They were also feared - known for their brutal skill in battle and the magic they wielded, magic we thought was lost."

"Magic?" Sylvie's voice sharpened, curiosity piqued. "What kind of magic?"

"The same we channel today, but theirs was... wilder, more powerful - less constrained. Some say they could shift, merge with nature itself, even to the point of channeling it to extend their life spans. Others claim they entered battle trances, performing feats no mortal could. They kept much hidden, but one truth remains - if a Hazier warrior offers to train you, you’d be a fool to turn him away."

Sylvie's eyes glimmered with wonder, the weight of Godvick’s words sinking in.

“Take advantage of his training, and learn what you must.” His eyes turned serious. “You need not trust him to gain skill. There will be those who try to obstruct your path to succession during the trials. Some would prefer to see you dead than take on the title of a Drengr. You must learn at least how to defend yourself - and quickly. The delegates that you will face will be mighty and great, the very best of all the clans.”

Sylvie nodded, processing his words.

“In any case, you also have not seen the opportunity the trialsgive you now.” He said finally. “This is the way to answer the question of your heritage, your worthiness - once and for all.”

His words sliced through her, her lungs expanding with a long indrawn breath.

“You may uncover your life long question, and show the people and the gods who you really are.”

Despite her fear, he was right. This could be her big chance to prove herself, to release all the years of prejudice, of hate.

She glanced to the desolate altar of Lafar, her eyes grazing over its ruin.

Perhaps she could rise from his shadows after all.

The abrupt sound of a young woman's voice interrupted them, causing Godvick to turn his head towards the direction of its source. “Are you sure?” A young girl, a few years junior to Sylvie, gasped, her gleaming red hair reminiscent of Tara's. "It cannot be!"

“His body was discovered in the forest at the edge of the wall." responded a boy, his golden complexion mirroring the fresh hues of summer wheat. "Torn to shreds."

The girl’s hands instinctively covered her mouth as shock etched across her features. "Might it have been a wild creature?"

“There is no telling,” He responded, a hand coming to scratch his forehead. “Though you’ve heard the rumours.”

Sylvie kept her head down, focused on her offerings.

“Who could have been so foolish to broach the wall?” The girl queried, echoing Sylvie’s unspoken thoughts. “Do we know who met such a fate?”

“I heard whispers that it was Kir.” The boy divulged in a hushed tone.

A shiver ran down Sylvie’s spine, as the man’s face flashed through her mind - his laughter, his perverse delight as he forcibly exposed her to the high priest's brutal punishments.

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