by Danny Macks
Then Wolfey had died and neither Chad nor Deen, who was a year younger than Chad, had seen those hills on the eastern border of Thesscore again. With an effort, Chad pulled his attention back to the present.
Although farther south than Thesscore, the bardic college was in the same low mountain range, which ran roughly north-south between Kibus and the neighboring nation of Cormeum, but there the similarities ended. Where Thesscore had a certain rugged wildness, everything in the bardic college was quiet and controlled. The courtyard he sat in contained four black stone benches around an artificial stone-lined pool with a waist-high tree on a dinner-plate sized island in the center. Otherwise, the courtyard was empty of everything save carefully smoothed sand. He had expected more noise in a music school.
“You are supposed to be meditating on tree,” a thickly accented voice said immediately behind him.
Chad started and made a reflexive grab for his dagger, but the Peace Master had spoken just outside of reach. Despite his relative safety, he took another step away from Chad.
Chad smiled thinly and sheathed his dagger. “You weren't in any danger.”
“Peace has no effect on Rage.”
“Are you ever going to not speak in riddles? Sitting on a cold stone bench in an empty courtyard, staring at a tree, hasn't taught me anything other than someone spent a lot of time over-pruning.”
“Tree is supposed to introduce you to peace. It is only path that does not lead to death. Fools take risks, ragers kill and are then killed, glooms reincarnate without assistance. Only peace endures.”
“Since you are the only Master of Peace in the college, forgive me if I think you might be a bit biased. I may be a 'gloom', but I've been telling you for months that I’m not a suicide risk.”
“Bards study for decades to master their emotions before they are taught one Song. You and Lauren have had less than a year. Your life has taught you Song of Mourning and parts of Song of Rage. You both keep busy: training, riding, studying. All the time. That is not Peace.”
“Keeping busy works for me. I am expected back in Erroll City for the king's birthday in less than a week and the capital is several days ride. He's ordered a showing of the squires this year." Chad shrugged. "Gloom or not -- rager or not -- I'm still my father's eldest living son. May I go?”
“You were always free to leave at any time.”
“I'll go immediately then.” Chad rose from the bench, then paused. “I know you mean well, and I appreciate what you're trying to do. I’m sorry I’m a poor student.”
“Excellence is never found inside school. See me in two years. We will discuss if learning happened then.”
*****
If Nimbus had been human, Jeb would have thought he was insane. Peasants like him didn't seek out royals. And certainly not for something basic like reading. Despite the incident with the colt, it had taken weeks for Jeb to give in to the ethereal's idea and only on a day when the gates were wide open, the day before King Oberon's birthday celebration.
Communication with Nimbus was limited by vocabulary. When Jeb was very little, the sign for Harker had been “ale man”. Now that Jeb was older, Nimbus used a longer, six gesture sign for Harker; but still called him ale man when the ethereal was in a hurry. Over the years, Jeb had learned two sets of signs for almost anything, even words that didn't have a verbal match yet.
So, although Jeb knew there was someone at the castle Nimbus wanted him to meet, he didn't know the person's name beyond another six-gesture sign. All he had was a map that Nimbus had helped him to create and that the person he was looking for enjoyed books. His destination was supposed to be full of them.
None of this information calmed his nerves when he actually faced the gigantic main gate of the royal castle. He almost balked before he remembered the lesson of the black colt.
Most of the buildings in the city were stone on the first floor with wider second and possibly third floors of dark timber and white plaster. The gatehouse was easily five floors tall and stone from top to bottom. A crenelated parapet hid any guards walking across the top of massive wall and machicolations, small "murder holes" in the floor of the walkway, would keep them protected while they mowed down the crowd below with arrows, boiling oil or even offal. Staring at the building’s defenses from far below, he shivered, imagining those defenses easily dealing out death and destruction all around him.
The drawbridge appeared tiny next to the immensity of the castle, barely wide enough for a single wagon. As Jeb approached, a line of drays and drivers awaited entrance by the small wooden guardhouse at the end of the drawbridge.
When it was Jeb’s turn in line, he mutely held out his map to the guard.
“Where in the main keep you trying to get to, lad? This map has no labels.”
“It is supposed to be full of books, sir.”
The guard nodded. “The library is in the main keep on the sixth floor. Straight through the gatehouse and around the keep to the entrance on the far side. Keep to the cobblestone paths; the squires are practicing in full kit today on the grass.”
Jeb followed the indicated path past the drawbridge and the gatehouse. The green, manicured lawn of the inner bailey was larger than many farmer's fields.
“Straighten up that line!” Lord Equus, the new Master of Horse, yelled as he strode up and down the line in full armor, clapping his gauntleted hands together with a loud clash of steel on steel. A few of the riders had to fight to settle their mounts as he strode past, but it was obvious to Jeb’s eye that none were new to the saddle.
In the middle of the field, man-shaped figures had been painted on straw bales. At the master’s command, the entire line charged forward. In steel barding, with armored rider, each of the thirty horses weighed over a ton and the ground shook under Jeb’s feet as they passed where he walked on the path. Sixteen-foot long lances lowered to horizontal, hit the straw bales and, in most cases, exited the back of the bales in an explosion of straw before iron hooves ground them into the soil. A few riders fell off their mounts at the impact, but even the bales that survived were quickly trampled.
Jeb's mind automatically translated the practice into real battle. Against an armored onslaught like that, and the reach the lances provided, even the King's Sword would be useless.
“That was horrible! Again!” Lord Equus yelled. “Stanwolf! Chad! Your little brothers are all still in their saddles. Find your mounts! You’re riding the finest chargers in the kingdom; act like it!”
The new master of horse was still yelling when Jeb skirted past a group of older lords enjoying the show and slipped into the cool shade of the inner keep.
As impressive as the cavalry charge had been, Jeb was even more impressed when he reached the library. Narrow, twenty-foot tall vertical windows shone upon a two-story tall room with several long tables and more chairs than an ale house arranged around them. Beyond the tables, on sturdy shelves so thick that they had to weigh half a ton a set, were the books.
He had expected a score or two of books. The large shelves in this room looked to hold a score on each shelf. He did some quick calculations: a score of books per shelf, a score and ten shelves per row, a half dozen rows with another half dozen on the balcony … the largest number he knew was twelfty -- six score -- and this library had three score times twelfty. Jeb had never seen that many of anything.
Tearing his eyes from the books, Jeb noticed people walking around the multi-story room, each absorbed in their own task. Amidst the silent bustling activity, one man sat alone at a table reading a thick tome. No one more than glanced Jeb’s way.
The man was dressed in a knee-length brown houppelande made from a thick velvet, but with no fur lining visible where the sleeve ended at the elbow and no jewels at the square neck opening. Under the belted, robe-like houppelande, his white undertunic was plain as well, with a simple drawstring at wrist and throat, but with a solid silver broach in the form of an open book -- the emblem of the Libros guild -- atop the dr
awstring at his throat. His black trews and brown, slippered shoes were plain, but fitted and high quality. His braids and neatly trimmed beard were black but with a speckling of grey at odds with the relative youthfulness of his face.
Jeb sat at the table across from the minor lord, but not directly across from him. No one responded. Despite the bustle, the library was so quiet Jeb could hear a clock ticking somewhere out of sight. The gentleman finished his page then pushed the book away and looked at Jeb.
“I am sorry to disturb you, Guild Lord.”
“Townspeople usually stand when they talk to me. Why did you sit?”
Jeb hurriedly stood. “Hovering over you while you read made my petty problem seem urgent. It's not. I'm supposed to find someone, but I don’t know their name or what they look like, and didn't want to disturb anyone’s labors to find them.”
The corners of the lord’s eyes smiled. “A mystery.” His eyes flicked toward the sound of metal footsteps on hard floor, approaching from the hall. Jeb turned and stepped back so he could watch both the guild lord and the entrance.
The young man who stepped into the library was about the same age as Jeb but over a full head taller. His sallet helmet was tucked under his arm but he was otherwise fully armored from sabatons on his feet to the gorget obscuring his chin and part of his lower lip. He hadn’t even taken off his gauntlets. The armor was highest quality but without color or engraving. A lord’s son instead of a lord.
The armored youth started when he saw Jeb, but shook his head dismissively and turned his attention to the guild lord.
“Chad, we have a mystery,” the guild lord said. “This lad is looking for someone, but doesn't have a name or a description. Can we help him out?”
Chad nodded and turned his attention back to Jeb. “If we don’t have a name, what do we have?”
“This person is supposed to be a tutor.” Jeb made the signs Nimbus had taught him.
“I know a few scout and military signs, but not those.” Chad said to the guild lord. The lord sat back and folded his hands on his chest. Jeb was certain the lord knew the signs: this was some kind of impromptu test.
Jeb’s scowl at the silly games of the elderly was matched by Chad's identical expression. “What are you wanting to study?”
“I want to learn to read.”
The guildmaster rose from his chair and walked toward a bookshelf. “Continue your conversation. Don’t mind me.”
“With the guild lord’s permission, I’m certain I can find you a competent tutor in town that would be much more affordable that anyone here at the library.”
Jeb shook his head. “It has to be this person. A … friend of mine insisted.”
The guildmaster set an open book between Jeb and Chad. The open page contained over a score of illustrated hands with a little scribble under each one.
Chad studied the page as if the scribbles under the illustrations meant something to him. “Show me those signs again? Slowly.” He glanced back at the book as Jeb made each sign. “L - A - U - R - E - N.”
Jeb shrugged in incomprehension.
“Lauren,” Chad said with a sweep of his arm toward the guild lord. “Your friend, who couldn't bother to write a letter of introduction, suggested you get reading lessons from Guild Lord Lauren Libros? The guild lord teaches who and what he decides to teach and each of his students reward him for the honor with a stipend of four pounds of silver a week.” Chad's smile was condescending and smug. The smugness of a born bully.
Instead of turning "properly respectful" eyes to the floor, Jeb locked eyes with the armored thug. If the lordling decided to put Jeb "in his place", could he tackle the bigger boy? Like the mental assault on the gatehouse, the theoretical fight played out automatically in his mind. This close, he could probably get both thumbs bloody in those mocking eyes before the brute could draw that big sword at his belt. Especially if he got his knees wrapped around the nipped waist of that breastplate.
Chad must have seen something in Jeb’s eyes, because he shifted his stance like a horse getting ready to buck a rider. The mental image of this armored boy with a bit in his mouth and Jeb on his back, yanking him around the room, made Jeb smile.
At the smile, Chad took a worried step back and his hand fell to his sword.
“Chad,” Lauren said in a sharp tone that made both boys turn to the guild lord. “How much do you pay, out of your own income, for my lessons?”
“His father pays,” Jeb quipped before Chad could reply. “Lordlings don’t have to earn their keep.”
“And you do?” Chad shot back.
“Since I was six.”
Lauren nodded, smiling. “And how many books are in this room?”
“Around three thousand?” Chad guessed quickly as Jeb opened his mouth.
Lauren looked to Jeb.
Jeb shrugged. “I don’t know what a thousand is.” He glanced at the smug smile on Chad’s face and added. “What is three score bundles of twelfty?”
Lauren smiled. “Seven thousand two hundred … and correct, by the way, give or take a couple hundred. Have you any other skills, boy?”
Jeb jerked a thumb at Chad. “With armor off, I can outride him.”
Jeb didn't see Chad’s punch coming. It was quick, efficient and, with a metal gauntlet on his hand, instantly drove Jeb to the floor.
The world tilted crazily as Jeb fought to regain his feet.
“Stay down,” Chad warned. Lauren, outside of Jeb’s view, said nothing.
“Not even if you kill me.” Jeb grabbed a chair and pulled himself up until he could grab a table. He couldn't see straight, the room was still moving and he wanted to vomit.
Chad reached for his sword.
“Hold!” Lauren yelled.
“Don’t leave a living enemy,” Chad said, sounding to Jeb like he was quoting somebody.
“I’m not your father, and I am not here to debate military ethics, boy,” Lauren said. “I have been your teacher for almost a year and, more importantly, I am a lord and you are not. You will not kill my man.”
The crazy tilting in the room worsened and Jeb grabbed the table with both hands to keep from falling off the floor. The table moved, or he did, and he again slid onto the tiles.
This could have gone better, was Jeb’s last thought as darkness claimed him.
*****
When the peasant fell unconscious, Chad’s hand didn't leave his sword. Faint echoes of the Rage Song fluttered at the edges of his mind.
“Stand down, Chad.”
Chad was armored and bearing three and a half feet of sharp steel. Lauren had cloth and a dagger. It wouldn't be a fair fight.
“Don’t add another regret to the list.”
Chad glared at his teacher, but the Rage Song stilled. He released his sword, closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. He knew his teacher expected an apology, but he wasn’t going to. Not over a half-starved peasant.
Lauren took a deep breath too, then gestured to Chad’s armor. “Aren't you supposed to be on the list field?”
“Baron Thesscore wanted to speak to you, if you were free.”
“Well, let’s not keep your father waiting.”
*****
Lord Equus left the chargers to the groomsmen and strode frowning to the gathering of peasants clustered around a shaggy, coal black colt. He snorted. “You expect me to believe this little garron is a charger?”
“No, m’lord,” the peasant with the red hat replied. "Both his dam and sire were stout garrons, good sturdy horses the both of them. He’s a garron, but he’s black and the shades picked him. He’s Midnight. Inside.”
“The prince says if this is Midnight, not you, and certainly not a bunch of animated shadows. Bring him back in six months, and if their majesties haven’t picked a proper charger we'll put him to the test.”
Prince Pious was playing on the lawn, but the little black colt ignored both the prince and the loud objections of the men around him, staring toward the
inner keep. Lord Equus whistled loud enough to startle the peasants into silence, but the colt’s attention shifted to the Master of Horse only languidly.
Equus barked a command and surprised several groomsmen when the chargers behind him responded. The colt only flapped an ear and bent to nuzzle the grass.
“My decision stands. Six months - eight score and eight days -- and not a day sooner.”
Lord Equus’ back was turned when Lauren and Chad stepped out on the bailey and the little black colt’s ears immediately perked up, watching the pair intently. But the peasants didn't notice, arguing amongst themselves as they pulled the colt toward the gatehouse.
Chapter Four – The Heart of Chess
Wulf Thesscore was the kind of easily likeable guy that other men flocked to, but Chad followed Lauren straight toward the chirurgeon instead.
“Hesser!” Lauren called out when he was in earshot. The chirurgeon grabbed his medical bag and trotted over. “There’s a man on the floor of the library who needs your best care. If he needs a bed, put him in my chambers.”
Only then did Lauren turn toward the small crowd of Baron Thesscore’s friends. With one exception, all of the gathered lords were dressed in brightly colored houppelandes trimmed in expensive fur with jewels sewn into the necklines. Although technically their equal, Lord Lauren looked like a country squire by contrast.
“Lauren!” Thesscore boomed grandly. “How’s my boy’s ‘education’ coming? From his performance today, you should’ve had him practicing his riding instead of learning to stare at his navel at the Bardic College.” He smiled at the other lords and they grinned back at him.
“Your son has amazing potential, but he's hot headed. He cuffed one of my men for speaking out of turn.”
