First Test

by Tamora Pierce

  "You have to do that earlier, as you hit," said Hakuin gently, helping Quinden up. "Now." He beckoned to Kel and offered a hand.

  She took it, meaning to let him throw her as he had Quinden, but the moment she felt his tug, six years of Yamani training took over. She turned, letting her back slide into the curve of his pulling arm as she gripped him with both hands and drew him over her right hip. He faltered, then steadied, and swept Kel’s feet from under her. She released his arm, then tucked and rolled forward as she hit the ground. She surged back up again and turned to face him, setting herself for the next attack.

  He stood where she had left him, smiling wryly. Horrified, Kel laid her hands flat on her thighs and bowed. She expected a swat on the head or a bellow in her ear—Nariko, the emperor’s training master, had had no patience with people who didn’t complete a throw or counter a sweeping foot.

  When no one swatted or bellowed, she looked up through her bangs. Everyone was staring at her.

  Kel looked down again, wishing she could disappear.

  "See what happens when you get too comfortable, Hakuin?" drawled the Wildcat. "Someone hands you a surprise. If you’d been a hair slower, she’d’ve tossed you."

  "Isn’t it bad enough I am humbled, without you adding your copper to the sum, Eda?" the Horse inquired. "Look at me, youngster," he ordered. When Kel obeyed, she saw Hakuin’s black eyes were dancing. "Someone has studied in the Yamani Islands."

  "Yes, sir," she whispered.

  "Your teacher was old Nariko, the emperor’s training master, am I right? She always did like that throw. She drilled me in it so many times I wanted to toss her into a tree and leave her there."

  Kel nodded, hiding a smile.

  Hakuin looked at the older pages. "I believe you were practicing the first drill for the Wildcat?" he asked mildly. Instantly there was a flurry of activity, patterns of kicks, throws, and punches. Hakuin turned back to Kel. "Come show the other new ones how to fall. While they practice, we can see what else you know."

  "Just what they taught the court ladies," Kel said. "Mostly counters to being grabbed or struck."

  "You were with the embassy?" he asked.

  Kel nodded.

  "That explains everything." To the other new pages he said, "Watch how Keladry falls."

  They all stared at her with a combination of confusion and dislike. It occurred to her that she had done the very thing her brother had warned her against. The other pages thought she was showing off. She couldn’t help that now. The damage was done. She would just have to make sure that she didn’t repeat her mistake.

  With a sigh, she toppled forward, as she had so often in the islands, and smacked the ground.

  When the next bell of the morning rang, they moved to another practice yard. A short black man in the maroon and beige uniform of the palace guard waited for them beside a barrel filled with long wooden staffs. Each of the pages selected one as he passed by.

  "I am Sergeant Obafem Ezeko," announced the uniformed black man in unaccented Common. "Formerly weapons instructor to the Imperial Guard of Carthak, now serving the crown of Tortall. Lord Wyldon and I will instruct you in the use of various weapons. Pair up. You new ones at this end of the line. Cleon of Kennan and Vinson of Genlith, come up here to demonstrate."

  Cleon was the big, redheaded boy who was Esmond of Nicoline’s sponsor. He went to stand beside the sergeant, spinning his staff idly in his hands. Vinson faced off with him. He was a bony, tall youth. Kel had seen him eating with the handsome Joren at supper and breakfast.

  "Show them a high block," instructed the sergeant. "Vinson defending, Cleon striking."

  Cleon pulled his staff back and swung it first up, then down. The blow he’d aimed would have struck Vinson on the head or collarbone if it had landed. Instead Vinson gripped his staff, his hands spread wide apart, and raised the weapon a few inches over his head. Cleon’s staff met his with a loud clack.

  "Observe the strike," the sergeant told them. "Again, Cleon." The big youth repeated the strike, moving slowly. Kel nodded, watching the way his hands shifted on the smooth wood as he lowered it to tap Vinson’s skull. From the way Vinson scowled at the bigger youth, Cleon’s tap was a little harder than necessary.

  "Your turn," barked Ezeko. He watched as the assembled pages did the strike. The newest boys were clumsy, although they should have had staff practice from their family men-at-arms. Kel was comfortable with the move. The only difference between this and the strike of a Yamani glaive, the weapon she knew best, was that she had no razor-sharp eighteen inches of steel at the end of her staff.

  "Repeat the high block, Vinson," ordered the sergeant. Everyone watched as Vinson moved his hands apart on the staff and thrust it hard into the air, stopping just three inches over his head. He angled the staff down on the right to shield his face as well as his head. The sergeant made everyone do the same movement. He then had Cleon and Vinson demonstrate the middle strike and block, which centered on the chest and belly, and the low combination, to attack and defend the legs. Each time he made the pages try the moves.

  Once they had practiced each movement, Ezeko had them stand in two lines. The newest pages were paired together. Neal, who was still new despite having been there during the spring and early summer, was partnered with Seaver of Tasride, the dark-haired, dark-eyed boy who looked as if he had a Bazhir ancestor. Kel was paired with redheaded Merric of Hollyrose. He was short, compact, and intent on their exercise. Kel licked her lips and settled the weapon in her hands.

  "Left line strikes; right line blocks," the sergeant told them. He walked along the double line of pages, checking everyone’s hold on the staffs. After he’d changed some boys’ grips and nodded approval for others, he stepped back. "To my count," he bellowed. "High! Middle! Low!" Staffs clacked as the exercise began and wood met wood. "High! Middle! Low!"

  Kel struck carefully. Proving herself tough on a smaller opponent wasn’t right, and Merric looked nervous. The lightness of the staff bothered her. A Yamani glaive was far heavier. She knew that if she forgot she held a lighter pole, she would hit too hard.

  "Faster! Swing ’em!" cried the sergeant. "I want to hear wood clack! You don’t master the staff, you’ll never master the sword. High! Middle! Low!" Over and over he chanted, increasing the speed. Kel bit her lip, locking her attention on the weapon.

  "Ow!" someone cried as wood struck flesh. A few moments later there was another yelp.

  "Keep going!" yelled Ezeko. "If your fingers hadn’t been in the way, they wouldn’t have gotten hit. Move ’em apart! The rest of you don’t need me to count, do you? High, middle, low! I want to hear those staffs beat as one, understand me?"

  They had been at it long enough to begin to sweat when Lord Wyldon came into the yard. He and Ezeko walked up and down the two lines of pages. Wyldon changed Prince Roald’s footing. Ezeko corrected Esmond of Nicoline’s grip. Wyldon thrust Neal’s high block higher. They reviewed and changed each boy’s work until they got to Kel and Merric. Rather than speak to them or change the way they exchanged blocks and strikes, both men turned and went back up the line, inspecting and correcting the other boys a second time. Kel watched them go; Merric banged her fingers as a result. When she looked at him, he glared at her.

  It wasn’t my fault they ignored us, she wanted to protest. She didn’t. Warriors didn’t make excuses.

  "Switch places!" cried Ezeko when he reached the far end of the line of pages. They all stopped and repositioned themselves. Ezeko began the chant again. "High! Middle! Low!"

  Merric seemed glad to be the one to hit. His blows fell harder and faster than the count, forcing Kel to respond in kind. Their rhythm fell out of time with their classmates’. Kel knew the men saw it, but they continued to focus their attention on the other pages. She kept up with Merric, blocking his strikes easily. She’d already attracted enough attention for one morning.

  "Enough," said Lord Wyldon at last.

  "Next," the sergeant informed them
, "you will use strikes and blocks in combination. This time, strike your partner, then block his return strike."

  "Change partners," added Wyldon. "Older pages, pair with the new ones, and see if you can better their speed. Come on, switch pairs!"

  The boys looked around, trying to get to the partners they wanted before someone else did. Unsure of what to do, Kel remained where she was. When everyone formed into two lines once again, she was facing the beautiful Joren. Seeing that Kel stared at him, Joren smiled.

  Kel hid her confusion. The day before, Neal had told her that Joren thought girls did not belong there. Now Joren smiled at her as if she were his friend. Does he want to make amends? she wondered.

  "Get to it," Ezeko ordered. "Right line starts with a high strike. Left line does a high block, then a high strike. Right line, high block, then high strike. Older lads, go slow with the new ones. Strike! Block! Strike! Block! Nealan, stop flinching—if you get hit, you get hit. Strike! Block! Strike! Block!" He kept them at that for a few moments. Joren politely tapped his staff on Kel’s as she blocked him; Kel then returned the hit and was blocked by Joren. They continued the rhythm easily.

  "Switch to middle strike, middle block on my mark," Wyldon ordered. "Ready... middle strike! Middle block! Strike—King’s Reach, stand still! You don’t get dancing lessons till later."

  Ezeko picked up the count. After a while they switched to putting low strikes against low blocks.

  Kel relaxed. Joren was a good partner, meeting her with just the right amount of force. They traded blows and blocks easily, which gave Kel time to study him. Joren had to be the prettiest boy she’d ever seen. For all that he was older, a third-year page, he was only an inch taller, his gorgeous blue eyes nearly level with hers. He’d combed back his long, white-blond hair and secured it in a horsetail for the morning’s work. If he were a player, Kel thought, they’d have him doing the young god Balcus Starsworn all the time.

  Suddenly Joren’s staff shifted under hers, sliding out of position for a block. He drove the lower end of his weapon under her guard, aiming for her ribs. Kel foiled him by stepping out of line.

  "Back in place, probationer," barked Wyldon.

  The exercise changed again, this time to a high strike against a high block, then a middle strike and middle block, followed by a low strike and low block. The speed picked up as well. More and more pages, not all first-years, began to make mistakes.

  Ezeko stood by her and Joren, yelling out the count. Kel took up the rhythm of the exercise, but now all of her senses were alert. When the pair next to them lost track of which block followed which strike, the sergeant moved to them. In the next moment Kel struck low and felt Joren’s staff glide out from under hers. He swung his staff around and up, slamming it down at her collarbone. She whipped the foot of her staff up and around her arm to deflect him.

  "This isn’t a game, probationer!" snapped Wyldon. "Stick to the drill!"

  Kel saw a mocking gleam in Joren’s eyes. So Neal was right, she thought. He isn’t nice at all.

  Joren held to the drill, but now each block had more force behind it, making it a block and a blow. Each time he struck he was a little closer to her. Will they yell at him if he drives me back? Kel wondered. Or will they only yell if I move out of line?

  "Come on, Queenscove!" cried Zahir, the tall young Bazhir page. "Stop flinching!"

  Kel glanced over: Zahir was driving Neal out of the line of boys, his staff a blur in the air. Neal was blocking Zahir’s strikes, but just barely.

  Wyldon and Ezeko went to Neal and Zahir just as the tip of Joren’s staff banged into Kel’s cheekbone. He forced her backward, striking hard. She kept her fingers away from his weapon, thinking fast. If Wyldon or the sergeant wasn’t going to put a stop to this, she had to.

  She turned to the side, forcing Joren to move out of line to keep up. In turning, she discovered that the other boys had gathered around Zahir and Neal. They formed a kind of wall in front of Joren and Kel. Neither of the teachers would be able to see what Joren was doing until they forced the pages to form lines again.

  Joren hit Kel hard and fast, raining blows on her. "Do you like this?" he demanded breathlessly as he pressed her. "Do you think you can keep up? Why don’t you go home?"

  "I belong here," Kel said grimly. She gave way before him, pushing his strikes to either side, thrusting their power away from her. "Just like the Lioness."

  "Your precious Lioness is a mage and a cheat," sneered Joren, hate making him ugly. He tried thrusting his staff past her blocks. When she intercepted him, he’d swing to the side hoping to smash her ribs. Kel saw they had almost reached the barn that served as one wall of the yard. She would have to do something when they got there.

  The butt of Joren’s staff caught the big muscle in her left thigh. Kel winced, thinking that she’d had just about enough. Joren was all right with a staff, but he wasn’t one of the emperor’s ladies. Her brother had warned her against showing off her Yamani skills, but surely he didn’t mean for her to lie down for a bully.

  "Why don’t you just get out while you can still walk?" Joren whispered as Kel ran into the barn. He faked a strike at her knee. When she blocked it, he turned his staff over, driving it at her ribs. This time Kel swung her weapon across her chest, pushing Joren’s staff into the clear air at her side. Joren recovered, slightly off balance, and swung the butt of his weapon toward her ribs again.

  Kel pivoted to the side, letting Joren’s momentum carry him toward the barn. Holding her staff near the top, she thrust its low end between Joren’s calves. He crashed face-first into the building. He spun—he was quick, she admitted—and struck at her wildly.

  I’m done being polite, she thought grimly.

  This time she thrust her staff under Joren’s and up, between his hands. A quick twisting jerk yanked the wood from his grip and sent it flying. Kel then drove her staff toward the flesh at the base of his neck. There she let it rest. As Joren slid away from her along the barn, she followed, keeping the light pressure on his windpipe. If she’d had a glaive rather than a staff, she might have given him a scratch to make sure that he remembered the lesson.

  "What on earth are you doing?" she heard Wyldon snap. "That was not staff work as it is practiced here!" Joren looked at him over Kel’s shoulder. Kel kept her eyes on Joren, not trusting him.

  "She trained in the palace of the Yamani emperor." The dry voice belonged to Eda Bell, the Shang Wildcat. "They’re taught the use of a long-bladed pike—a glaive—there. How old were you when you started, Keladry?"

  "Six," Kel replied. She finally lowered her staff and faced Wyldon.

  The training master was red with anger. "This is Tortall, not the Yamani Islands—you are a noble, not a savage with a pigsticker. You will follow the assigned drills, understand? No Yamani cartwheels, no sleight of hand."

  "It might be wise to teach Yamani methods," said Hakuin, the Shang Horse. Both he and the Wildcat leaned against the fence. Wyldon’s claim that Yamanis were savages hadn’t changed Hakuin’s cheery look. He added, "You are friends with the Islands now, but that hasn’t always been so. Even with a royal marriage arranged, there are always misunderstandings."

  "I will take your words under advisement," Wyldon said tersely. "If we may now resume practice? With no more displays?"

  But a pole arm makes it possible for a smaller warrior to take a big one, thought Kel, surprised by his attitude. That’s why the imperial ladies are taught it, to save their honor and that of their charges.

  "You practice with the probationer, Nealan," ordered Ezeko. "All of you, back in position!"

  After more time spent on staff work, in pairs and alone, Wyldon and the pages ran down the long slope behind the palace to the archery range. Kel stayed away from him. After her bout with Joren, it had seemed that every time she turned around, Wyldon was ordering her to adjust her grip on her staff, change her stance, get her blocks higher, strike lower. It wasn’t right—he wasn’t correcting the boys ne
arly as much as he did her— but she vowed she wouldn’t let him know she thought so. She would prove that she could take whatever he threw at her.

  At the archery range, she promised herself that she would not let any of the things she had learned in the Islands affect her work here. She might have carried it off if she had been able to go at her own pace. She knew she was in trouble when the archery master told them that since they were expected to already know how to use a long-bow, he wanted them to pick up their speed. He was everywhere, urging the pages to be quick, quick!

  Soon everyone knew that when Kel got flustered, she gripped her bow in the wrong spot, two-thirds of the way down. Rushed, she drew the string with her thumb, not her index and middle fingers. She forgot that she used a short bow, and pulled the string back so far that the arrow dropped away. She bit her tongue and said nothing of the differences between Yamani archery and Tortallan. It’s not like I was any good with a Yamani bow, she told herself. After Wyldon’s comments about foreigners, Kel let him think she made silly errors as she concentrated on correcting her draw and her handling of the arrow.

  Stone, she told herself as she picked up a dropped arrow, hearing giggles. For a moment she was five again, listening to the Yamani children laugh and tease the clumsy foreign barbarian. They accepted me in the end, she told herself. These boys will, too.

  "Riding!" called Wyldon when the bell sounded the end of the class. "New boys, pick a mount from the spares. That horse will be yours to look after and ride for now. Saddle your mount and ride him out. Don’t take forever!"

  The pages set off for the stable at a trot. Halfway there, Kel noticed that the other four new pages were running full out to reach the stable first. She picked up her pace, knowing they wanted to beat her to the best choices of the spares. The group of older pages running ahead of her spread out and slowed down, blocking her without appearing to know she wanted to pass. When she got to the pages’ stable, the new boys had made their selections. Their sponsors lounged in front of the stalls as if they dared Kel to even look at the others’ selections.