The former General walked across the parade ground, seeing the shadows of the past. He remembered how he’d crashed into the rack of swords. He’d understood their call and answered it, so they’d fallen like feathers, unable to hurt him. His mother had picked him up, clearly worried. He’d become the first disciple of the Master.
South Wind and the Master used to sit right here. They would play chess and teach Hadjar the wisdom he needed in life. Only now did Hadjar realize that they had loved him. Not as a son, but as a disciple, as the inheritor of their knowledge and skills.
Hadjar went over to the wall upon which he’d left the first marks he ever made with a blade. The blackened gouges still responded to his touch.
“It is forbidden to step on this sand without my permission.”
Hadjar t
