Ironfoot

by Dave Duncan

  “Have the cook provide us with two days’ fare,” Rolf said.

  I saluted again. “Begging most humbly, masters . . . I do think it would be wiser to take all four horses. Both for baggage, and because the going will be hard on them.” I knew who would have to walk if one of the horses went lame. I might be told to carry the bags, too.

  Odo chuckled. “Well, we certainly shan’t need them for plowing for a good whiles yet, will we, Rolf?”

  “No, Dean. You will check their shoes and legs carefully before we go, boy?”

  “Aye, sir.” What sort of an idiot did he think I was?

  Rolf coughed meaningfully. “The promotion, Dean?”

  A snarl of pique escaped from Odo’s cocoon of fur. “I hadn’t forgotten! I was getting to that. We were most impressed by your reaction to the sage’s bad turn today, varlet. It seems you kept your head, took command, and did exactly what was required. Your tutor has recommended that we promote you to adept, and members of the faculty have unanimously agreed.”

  I had not expected that. It was a staggering surprise, and for a moment I just blinked. I did not believe my rapid first aid in the afternoon had provoked it. This was the price Guy had extracted for releasing his protégé to escort Rolf to Barton.

  Emerging from cover, the dean rose stiffly, maneuvered carefully around a heap of scrolls, books, and discarded clothes, and then shuffled across the room to me.

  “You are required to kneel,” he said mildly, old eyes twinkling. Rolf also came, holding a white cloth that looked like a towel, but I recognized it as an adept’s cape.

  Clutching my staff with both hands, I sank to my knees, an awkward and uncomfortable position for me. They stood beside me and laid the cloth over my head.

  “Durwin of . . .?”

  “Pipewell, sir.”

  Odo sang the versicles and Rolf the responses, an arrangement I regretted, because Rolf was by far the better singer. Nonetheless, the ordination enchantment is a beautiful one, which I had always enjoyed witnessing. Every promotion since I had come to Helmdon had been performed before an assembly of the entire academy, and I could not help wondering whether the reason for mine being hidden away in this private little huddle was truly because of the urgency of Rolf ’s journey, or because they were ashamed of licensing a Saxon adept. My doubts soon faded as I felt an unexpected rush of acceptance, a sensation normally confined to the chanters. Even the simple words seemed to take on arcane, transcendental glory.

  Too soon the ritual was completed. They uncovered my head and laid the cape on my shoulders, pinning it on the left. The old men shuffled back to the fire; Adept Durwin of Pipewell rose shakily to his feet.

  “Your certificate will be ready when you return,” Rolf said.

  “Your Wisdoms, I hardly know what to say. This is a great honor for one of my humble birth.” Even in those days there were Saxon lords, Saxon knights, Saxon bishops, Saxon cantors, and even Saxon sages, but in most cases they had benefited by family connections. I was a hostler’s son.

  “Yes, it is,” said Sage Rolf. “Just remember, Adept Durwin, that on our journey tomorrow you will outrank Squire William. I strongly recommend that you guard your tongue around him. I don’t want to waste time on the road performing healing incantations for either of you.”

  “William? Master, I cannot believe William will be capable of sitting a horse for several—”

  “Sage Guy is performing a healing on him even now. He may not be as comfortable in the saddle as you and I shall be, but he will manage.”

  “He is the eldest of the squires,” the dean mumbled, “and had several years of weapons training before deciding to switch to the academic life.”

  I had guessed about the training long ago, and could not believe that William’s change of career had been voluntary. On the other hand, Barton was halfway to Rockingham, so perhaps the sages, like a skulk of old foxes, were hoping that Sir William’s black sheep would bolt for home when he had the chance.

  The dean waved a dismissal. “Go and pay your respects to your tutor. A suitable token of appreciation . . .” He took a drink to drown the end of the sentence. I had nothing to offer Guy.

  “Take good care of your cape,” Sage Rolf said. “Keep it dry. I shall wear mine under my cloak.”

  “As you wish, master,” I said, although it seemed strange that a sage would travel incognito. King Henry had restored order after the Anarchy, so that travel in his domain was usually quite safe now. On the sort of forest trails we must take from Helmdon to Barton, though, almost anyone might seize an opportunity to change roles from groveling peasant to murderous footpad. The threat of magic would be a better defense than an escort of men-at-arms.

  “I am in a hurry, and do not wish to be detained on my journey by peasants wanting favors,” the old fraud explained.

  “Aye, master.” That a Norman sage would bother to offer excuses to a Saxon adept was even stranger.

  chapter 9

  an adept’s cape is merely a piece of bleached linen draped over the shoulders, pinned at the throat, and hanging to the wearer’s elbows. Yet this rag would make a huge change in my life, marking me as a man of learning. As I hobbled along the boardwalk, I was still trying to come to terms with my new status. I was currently wearing every stitch of clothing I owned, none of it fit for an adept; I would have to find a woman in the village to sew some better garb for me. I could earn a decent living now, if I wished, doctoring the sick in some town or village. I would much prefer to remain at Helmdon until I could graduate as a sage, but that would require money I did not have. My days as a servitor had ended, and I could not imagine the academy allowing one of its qualified adepts to double as stable hand.

  Expecting Guy to be alone, I tapped on the door for politeness, but spoke the password—Vivat Henricus Secundus Rex— and raised the latch. I found myself looking into the murderous glare of Squire William, who was stretched out on his belly on the examination couch with his chin on his forearms and his torn and bruised rump directed at Heaven. So much for dignity.

  “Enter, Adept, enter!” Guy boomed. Seemingly unaware of the swirling cloud of smoke around his head, he was standing beside the patient, dabbing at his injuries with a rag. “Congratulations on your promotion. Long overdue and well deserved, right, Squire?”

  “We all get our just desserts in time, master.” William continued to eye me, unblinking as a cat.

  My efforts to thank my tutor for my promotion collapsed in a violent coughing fit.

  “Should have happened years ago,” the sage said. “You’ve got more brains than all the rest of them put together. We shall drink to your new rank and your future employment as sage to some noble lord. First, though, we must cure the squire’s scratches. I have applied that excellent unguent you blended last week, so now all it needs is the Asclepius, Vejovis, Eir incantation. You know the versicles, I’ll take the responses . . .”

  “I don’t want help from that Saxon scum,” William said loudly.

  “Well you’re going to get it. This is the strongest healing chant we have, and it will work much better with Durwin leading, because he caused the damage. One, two . . .”

  I inhaled another breath of smoke and was again convulsed by coughing. Either my greater height explained why I was more afflicted than Guy, or his lungs were inured to it, cured like kippers.

  “Oh, pull up a stool,” he said crossly. “The spirits won’t be offended if you chant it sitting down.”

  The Asclepius was one of Guy’s favorites, so I knew it well, although I usually sang the responses. Guy had a fine tenor voice, his gestures were sharp, yet graceful, and the squire’s wounds visibly closed as our chanting progressed. At the end, they had healed from gaping cuts to two intersecting lines of pink new skin, and the bruising had faded.

  “There! You may be a little tender tomorrow, but I don’t suppose you’ll be doing any galloping or jumping. Make yourself respectable and be on your way.”

  Lookin
g uncharacteristically subdued—perhaps he had never experienced a healing enchantment before—William thanked him and dressed.

  “My sword, Your Wisdom? I’ll need it tomorrow. You took it.”

  “Mm, so I did.” Guy retrieved the blade from under the couch and returned it to its owner.

  William belted it on, sending me threatening promises with his eyes. Then he wrapped his fancy hooded cloak around himself, and disappeared out into the night. The smoke billowed again.

  Guy returned to his chair, handed me a drinking horn, and proceeded to load both it and his own with wine from a pitcher. He raised his drink in a toast. “To our new adept! One man’s lost penny is another’s good fortune, as they say.”

  I had never tasted wine before. I wasn’t sure I liked it.

  “I am very grateful for all your efforts, master, and especially today. I hope they won’t cost you any future ill will.”

  Guy shook his head. “None at all. When I told Rolf of your offer, he jumped at it right away, and suggested that the time had come to promote you to adept. He’s been refusing his consent for years, suddenly he’s all for it. Explain that?”

  “He expects to have me to assist him with enchantments?” We contemplated that implication thoughtfully until I put it into words: “But surely any earl, such as his brother, must employ both a house sage and a cantor to assist him? Even if the sage is dying, Sage Rolf shouldn’t need to bring his own cantor?”

  Guy smiled. “One would assume he won’t, but he may be playing safe. I did not mention your predictions, of course, but if the message Rolf received confirmed what we suspect, then His Lordship must be deeply concerned. In other words, Rolf may need you to chant the responses in the Ubi malum.”

  “That sounds like powerful lore. ‘Where is the evil?’”

  “Very effective, and not to be trifled with, as you may guess. I have only seen it used once, and the cantor chanting the responses went into a trance all right. But then he walked out into the town and tried to break into the home of a complete stranger, which was later searched and found to contain a cellar full of stolen property. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the evil the enchanter was looking for.”

  I had been put into trances often enough and had no liking for the experience. To be sent on the track of a murderer in such a state could be injurious to health.

  Guy chuckled. “So Rolf will take Squire William’s strong sword arm along for protection from mundane dangers on the journey, and your skills to help with the occult when he gets there. A prudent lad, our sage.”

  I was certain that he just wanted me for my skill with horses. Guy took another swig of wine. “How many horses are you taking?”

  “Four, master: three saddled and a sumpter for the baggage.”

  “I want you to ride Ruffian.”

  “Master!” The academy’s four horses were nags at best, docile and experienced, but long past their best. They pulled carts or plows, and they could be ridden. But Ruffian was Guy’s own horse, which he used for hunting, a splendid chestnut, and a holy terror, like all stallions.

  “He’ll pine if he’s left by himself, and he needs the exercise. But I do mean you. I daresay Rolf may be able to sit a privy stool in comfort, but never a wild lad like Ruffian. Perhaps a demonstration of temper when you arrive, so that the learned sage isn’t tempted to pull rank on you?”

  I suppressed a grin. “Could be arranged, master.” Ruffian always enjoyed a chance to show off. And I now outranked Squire William, which was a heady thought—provided William saw it that way, of course.

  “Mind, if Ruffian comes to harm, I’ll turn you into a toad.”

  “Aye, master.” Toads had it good. Fat flies were plentiful enough.

  My mentor shrugged. “Now to more pleasant business! You’ll need a grimoire to get you started on your higher studies. Take that one and guard it with your life.” He pointed to a thick tome lying on the table. “It is a very old copy, very valuable. I want it back, mind.”

  All books written on parchment had wooden covers, fastened tightly to keep the parchment from buckling in damp weather, of which we presently had no shortage. Instead of ropes to hold it together, this one had brass clasps. Flattered as I was to be trusted with such a treasure, I would have preferred not to be burdened with baggage of such value, let alone such weight.

  “Master, perhaps this could wait until—”

  “No, take it. You may have long days to fill while you wait for the roads to dry. Read, memorize if you wish, but speak nothing aloud without expert guidance. You must not dabble in any of this by yourself! So far you have studied only field magic: herb lore and prayers to nature spirits and a few of the old gods, long banished from power. This will lead you into more powerful arts, ancient and—in some cases—darker. Sage Rolf has promised to start instructing you in some of the deeper wisdom. Nothing black, you understand, but some routines are suspect in the eyes of the Church.”

  First a champion hunter and now a priceless book? It almost seemed that Guy was bribing me to abscond with such riches and never come back, but that made no sense; he prized Ruffian and his book collection far too much. Much more likely he was relying on my honesty to make sure that I did come back.

  “Can an adept be a hostler, master?”

  Guy drained the drinking horn and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “No. We’ll have to find a stable boy for the academy and a sponsor for you. I’ll inquire of some of my acquaintances. I’m sure we can find someone who will finance your higher studies in return for a few years’ service later.”

  Someone like Count Richard of Barton or one of his friends? “That’s very kind of you, master.”

  “So who do I get to look after the stables?”

  “Rodor the miller’s son can do the work, but you’ll have to tell him every single thing you need done, and not more than ten words at a time.” I thought of Eadig, but neither he nor any of the other varlets was any use with horses. “One of the squires, maybe?” They were manor born, and knew horses, although they would not care much for caring for them. On the other hand, they could always use some pocket money to bribe dairymaids. “If you want a new varlet . . . the farrier has a likely son, a bright lad.”

  “I’ll look him over tomorrow.”

  “I can train someone for you, when I return.” When.

  Taking that as a promise, Guy nodded. “Come back as soon as the weather improves. The count can see to his brother’s return.”

  “Aye, master.” Consent while in Guy’s sanctum was easy enough, but I would be under Rolf ’s orders while I was gone. Besides, I would need help. A lone man traveling with a string of horses would almost certainly end in a ditch with his throat cut. Looking forward to a very hard day on the morrow, I was anxious to be on my way, but Guy clearly wanted my companionship for a while yet.

  “If the roads are really bad, you may have to stay over at Northampton. If you do overnight at the academy, pray give my regards to Dean Gilbert. I know he includes Saxon adepts in his faculty, so you can wear your new colors proudly there. Rolf trained there.”

  I sipped my wine. There was more to that remark than met the ear. Why would Sage Rolf choose not to overnight at the academy? Caring for wayfarers is both a universal duty and a pleasure, especially among the gentry. Aristocrats on the road seek out their peers, offering company and news in return for board and shelter. Commoners apply at monasteries or abbeys, but students of the arcane are less welcome there. Surely Sage Rolf should seek shelter from his old school when he was in the neighborhood? Guy, in other words, was dropping hints that their parting had not been amicable. That might tie in with Rolf ’s remark that he was not going to show his sage’s cloak on the journey. I did not mention that.

  Guy raised his horn as if to drink, pondered for a moment, and then lowered it. “I’ve heard rumors that Count Richard has troubles. He’s been fortifying, and that’s expensive. He’s reputed to be an unpopular lord, greedy and hard on his tenants. He tries
to claim more service days and raises his milling fees.”

  His brother wasn’t very likeable, either, but if Guy was hinting at some sort of peasant uprising, then I had a lot more to worry about than rain and mud. Ever since the Conqueror himself, the Norman kings had reacted with extreme violence to any hint of revolt. To be caught up in anything like that would mean quick death for a Saxon.

  chapter 10

  to feed, water, and saddle the horses, and then bring them to the academy by first light was impossible, but I was nimble and efficient, and I had my caravan on the road very soon after dawn; not that anyone could tell quite when the sun rose that morning, for the rain continued, if not quite as viciously as before. I paused only once on my way through the village, just long enough for Edith to bring out the packed food I had ordered on my way home the night before.

  Only Ruffian gave me any trouble, but Ruffian gave everyone trouble, just on principle, and approved of me as much as he approved of any human. He also welcomed a chance to get out of doors, wet or dry, although he definitely disapproved of having to lead a string of his subjects. In his mind, a herd should be led by the senior mare and the stallion should canter along at the rear, nipping laggards’ hindquarters at will.

  He was still seriously piqued by this when we reached the academy. I tethered the others to a post but remained mounted on Ruffian until Sage Rolf and Squire William emerged from the former’s house. They were both wearing chain mail shirts and helmets with nose guards; both bore swords. Rolf ’s I was certain was only for show.

  Having a six-foot quarterstaff slung on my back and a metal platform under my right foot, I was well equipped to annoy any horse, let alone a fireball like Ruffian. The human watchers did not notice the jabs, but he did. Outraged, he launched into a virtuoso demonstration of bucking and kicking all around the yard, generously splattering the witnesses with mud—including the half-dressed varlets and squires who had scrambled out to see what was going on. Ruffian wasn’t the only one showing off; I stayed in the saddle and let the stallion continue until everyone was perfectly clear on who was going to be riding whom on the journey.