Unbound (Songs of Chaos, #2)

by Michael R. Miller

‘Do not help those who can help themselves.’ There was dignity in overcoming struggle. A student should struggle until they mastered an ability, a sword form, or a meditation technique. If someone else always picked her back up, she would learn only to fall.

“The assignment is complete.” “There is one final task you must perform.” Sovereign’s gaze shifted toward the blacksmith. “You know the process now?” “I do,” Osric said. He drew in a single, deep breath. Chill wind air cooled his lungs. Then he turned, and in the turn closed the gap between him and the old smith. With his right hand he brought Spite across in a single clean stroke, removing the blacksmith’s head from his shoulders. It happened so fast the human would not have registered it. “I am sorry, Emrik Smith.” He wished he had never learned the man’s name. Blood smoked from the old man’s corpse and steamed upon the blade of his axe. Spite spoke to him. It wanted more.

“It is life, young one. Our true strength lies not in staving off suffering but in how we deal with it when it comes.

“Master Cook, by the time Farsa returns, you’ll either be a Champion or you’ll be dead. It’s one or the other.”

Talia searched those bright eyes. Just a boy, she thought. Had he even faced the scourge before or only heard the tales sung in the Silver Hall? She held his gaze, though she spoke to Oddvar.

Holt moved fast and blocked the blow. Rake snarled. “Are you going to fight me, Holt?” “No, but I will stop you.”

“Not every experiment will yield the results you desire,” Aberanth said. “You must learn to accept failure as well as triumph.”