by P D Ceanneir
However, I know that I must.
2
The Academy of Rawn Arts. 2961 YOA
Vanduke stepped back from Telmar’s backswing, the wooden training sword missing the chest area of his padded vest by inches. Telmar advanced with sharp blows, pushing Vanduke back to the edge of the training lane, and then he narrowly avoided a carefully placed lunge from his opponent by shifting away to Telmar’s unguarded left whereby he brought his own sword upwards to glance off the young baron’s ribcage. Telmar hissed through gritted teeth, but used his left hand to grip my father’s right wrist, and then he pressed the tip of his sword against Vanduke’s throat.
The crowd of students clapped at the energetic fifteen-minute fight. Lord Ness stepped into the practice lane and nodded to the two sweating boys who turned to him and bowed before walking back to the lane’s edge with the other students.
‘That was a fine example of using the small space of your personal defensive arcs,’ said Lord Ness to the assembled class. ‘Telmar left himself open on no less than seven occasions but Vanduke saw the feint and defended accordingly. Telmar’s reaction was to let himself be open to a cut to his side which left Vanduke vulnerable. Both boys took a chance, though Vanduke took first blood, Telmar was the victor in the end.’
My father thrust up a hand and the Ri nodded towards him. ‘I would have won that bout, master, if I had my skinning dagger in my other hand to castrate him.’ There was general laughter from the students and Ness Ri sighed. Both boys were very popular in class. Their skills at swordsmanship made them top of their intake and they showed great advances in Rawn Theory with Master Fowyn. However, both of them seemed to view the last two years in the Academy as a holiday. This irked Lord Ness who saw the Rawn Arts as a serious endeavour, and a gift that demanded respect.
‘Vanduke, you are here to train with the weapons you are given and to take that training to its full potential,’ the Ri’s voice was not hard but the students instantly went quiet at its tone. Telmar, like me, had a huge amount of respect for this powerful Ri who, he discovered, was one of the few men alive today to have fought in the Dragor-rix War, which made him over two thousand years old.
‘If you are unable to use just a Rawn Sword, my prince,’ continued Master Ness, ‘then I suggest you go back down to level one and start again.’
All eyes flicked towards the prince. Vanduke lowered his head and said in a meek voice, ‘that will not be necessary, master.’
Ness Ri nodded. ‘I’m glad to hear it. Now pick partners and take a Third Level Stance, I want you all to practice a Marlin Manoeuvre.’
Telmar stepped forward when the students began to gasp and mumble. ‘That is a very advanced move, Master; it’s for Tenth Level Advocates.’
‘That is true, Telmar. However, if you are unfit to perform it, maybe you and Vanduke should not have been teaching it to the others during break time in the yard.’
Telmar’s mouth hung open.
Ness Ri smiled, ‘I see everything.’ It was not a boast but a statement of fact.
3
Telmar allowed the lukewarm water of the communal shower to sluice away the sweat and grime of the day. Other students washed quickly and then pushed by him, most disliked the water temperature, whereas he found it refreshing, cooling. He rubbed a hand over the angry bruise that Vanduke’s sword had made on his ribs. He could heal if he wished, but for some reason he liked the pain. It gave him a warm feeling in his stomach that was strangely tranquil.
‘I think we should go to the Wreck,’ said Vanduke beside him. He had just finished soaping his long hair and now rubbed his chest with the white soap block. At fifteen his chest was bare, but in a few short years downy yellow hair would cover it.
Telmar shook his head. ‘Sorry, can’t, I’ve got my thesis on Remnant Runes to finish for Master Paelam.’
‘Take it with you, finish it at the table, I will promise not to speak to you while you do it. I’ll just quietly sup my mead while ogling at Darla.’
This got a reaction from Telmar, who frowned at his friend.
‘You know fine well she only goes for dark headed boys who are handsome. You, my royal friend, don’t fit into those categories.’
Vanduke laughed and grabbed cascading water from the showerhead and formed a large bubble that hovered over his upward palm. This was part of the training for the Water Element, creating a Hydrosphere and holding the shape or enlarging it without the mass collapsing. My father was very good at this, one of the best in his year in fact. He even took it to extremes by sneaking one into the girl’s dorm and exploding it over their heads as they walked into the corridor. It would make him paralytic with laughter.
‘Look,’ said Vanduke walking out of the shower as he followed Telmar to the changing rooms, ‘I think Tamerlane will be there with her sister, you know, the one who sings?’ He watched his friend’s reaction as Telmar nodded while towelling himself dry.
‘So I need some support,’ he finished.
Telmar looked at him with amusement as he pulled on his britches. ‘Since when did you ever need my support?’ He could not help noticing that the Hydrosphere had followed its maker out of the shower and now hung in the air expectantly. Some of the other students in the room had also noticed it and were hurrying to get out.
Vanduke looked a bit embarrassed at Telmar’s question, and then he smiled. ‘Because you are my rock, my guiding light...’
‘You should be saying those things to Tamberlane,’ laughed Telmar.
‘Will you come with me, or not?’
‘Alright, I’ll quickly finish the thesis and get changed. You just make sure you stay dry enough to go out tonight!’
‘Dry? I’m already dry,’ said Vanduke as he finished with the towel and was putting on his undershirt.
Telmar looked above his friends head and then snapped his fingers. The Hydrosphere burst, showering the prince in cold water.
4
Telmar and Vanduke knew that every hour in the academy was a test. The Headmaster in his formal speech had explained this to them on their very first day, and it had been subtly underlined in their teaching over the past two years. Now they were advocates of the first two elements, which were the easiest to learn because the human body already holds the elements of Earth and Water. Now they were on the cusp of learning about the natural phenomenon of Wind, something altogether more difficult to control and always proved to be the most taxing for most students of the Arts.
Both boys had already graduated to the third element but would not wear the silver tabard or hair netting until after the summer holidays, so they still wore the blue for Water until the term ended. It was the usual rule of the academy that the tabards and netting remained on at all times, especially outside the palace walls, although Telmar and Vanduke declined to wear them because they were going to a forbidden area of the city and would stand out like a sore thumb.
At the end of their second year, an apprentice is usually deemed to have enough experience in the Arts to be able to conduct themselves with honour should trouble arise, and this meant they could go into the citadel at weekends. Nevertheless, certain restrictions were enforced. A list of “Safe Taverns” displayed on the banqueting hall’s notice board detailed the restrictions of the only establishments an apprentice could frequent. There was another list of forbidden areas (and I would have to say at this point the forbidden list was substantially longer that the safe ones) one should be prohibited from entering.
Both my father and Telmar had fathomed out, quite early in their first year, that the list of restrictions was also another test. Vanduke put students into two categories, those that went to the safe bars he called “Sheep” mainly because they were following orders and being obedient to a fault. This, he argued, was not a trait of a Rawn Master. The role of a practitioner of the Arts was to think for themselves and face any unknown danger with courage and conviction; those people fell into his second category of “Wolves”. However, this was h
is usual excuse to get very inebriated at forbidden establishments like the Hoydart Wreck.
The Hoydart Wreck was once called the Jolly Sailor for many years until the current owner thought it was too pretentious and common for a seaman’s pub in the seedier part of Old Port. He later named it after one of the Iron Prows that had sunk during the Keveni-Marinet Debacle and the irony of it was not lost on Telmar. In fact, when he saw the name of the tavern on the forbidden list, he urged my father to try it out first, and both boys never looked back.
The current owner was a man called Tilcut, a one-time merchant seaman that had dabbled in illegal pirating when times got tough. Now in his old age he took over the Jolly Sailor after winning it in a hand of Karsh. He was a small, stocky man with a broad chest and bald head. He had three fingers on his left hand and he told the boys he lost two while fighting off six Hadrian cutthroats twenty years ago. The boys were to learn later, from a friend of Tilcut’s, that he lost them to rats while in a drunken stupor when he was thrown into Dulan drink tank for one night, nine years ago.
Tilcut had the look of a tough sailor, but he also had a friendly warm nature that made him the ideal proprietor, thus making the Hoydart Wreck a popular place to drink. Telmar and Vanduke always took the table by the west wall because the staircase to the bedrooms shrouded it in shadow. Although both boys were accomplished in the Hiding Art, they still had a long way to go to perfecting it. Therefore, they stayed out of sight while they drank and chatted.
The bar was large, square and split up by oak pillars that held up the ceiling, and my father commented many times that it looked like a ship’s hold where one could imagine hammocks lining the route to the bar which was tall and curved around a brass beer kiln.
‘Have you ever wondered why this tavern was on the forbidden list when there are a vast number of other cultural drinking establishments for enlightened gentlemen, such as the colourful characters who drape their alcohol intoxicated bodies over this bar?’ Telmar asked Vanduke, they had drunk two pints of mead each, and were sipping another. Mead always tended to make them philosophical.
My father chuckled. ‘The thought had crossed my mind,’ he said, ‘though I must point out one of my earlier observations I had with you on this very subject two months ago.’
‘Oh, and what was that?’
‘This bar is being watched.’
Telmar nodded. ‘I agree. Those two gentlemen at the entrance fighting over the whore are probably city Watchmen, undercover.’
‘So is the whore!’ informed Vanduke.
‘You will be relieved then, that we gave them the slip by coming through the back door.’
‘That indeed was, my friend, a very good idea, by the way.’
‘Thank you.’
‘The next trick will be getting out,’ said father.
Vanduke watched as the baron used the Earth Element to etch Skrol into the table top with his fingertip. My father was never very good at the ancient subconscious language of the Old Gods and was always amazed at how easily it came to Telmar.
‘What are you writing?’ he asked.
‘I’m trying to put together an escape hypothesis by triangulating mathematical equations via room volume and the number of persons in the way of the rear exit.’
‘So we go out of the toilet window then.’
Telmar sat up straight and stared down at the table. ‘Damn! You got the answer before I did.’
Vanduke shrugged and downed his pint. He used the back of his hand to wipe away the froth on his upper lip, ‘that was actually Plan B.’
‘And dare I ask what Plan A was?’
‘We surprise them by getting them drunk, then running away quickly while they take down their britches to piss.’
Telmar looked up and squinted while he thought about this, ‘I think Plan B has more panache.’
‘Me too,’ agreed Vanduke.
‘You may have your chance to try it out,’ said Telmar looking towards the main entrance as it opened, allowing in the smell of the tannery next door to waft in. The two men they presumed to be undercover Watchmen sauntered in, took a table, ordered ale and innocently took in their surroundings. The bar was full of local merchants’ labourers and some sailors. Both of the men were powerfully built and wearing the same style of clothing as the labourers. The noise of chatter hung over the assembly like a black rain cloud.
‘My senses are irritating me,’ said Vanduke with a frown. A Rawn’s intuition was a valuable gift.
‘Mine too. They can’t see us in the shadows but they know we are here, somewhere,’ said Telmar.
‘Do you think it’s another test?’
‘Undoubtedly it is.’ Telmar kept an eye on the two men as they spoke occasionally while surveying the room. They were trying to be inconspicuous which made then all the more noticeable to the two boys and Vanduke realised that the training he and Telmar had had over the past two years made him notice even the slightest detail in people.
The main entrance opened again to admit four people. Vanduke was surprised to see Tamberline walk up to the bar hand in hand with an older boy. Both he and Telmar recognised him as Cormack, Master of Keveni the Duke of Keveni’s son. He was a year above them in the academy and they had met him on several occasions. He was a handsome teenager with a strong square face and short black hair; he was tall and bore himself with an air of arrogance that Telmar hated. Cormack was one of those sons of high-ranking nobles that demanded allegiance from low-born lords, and the baron disliked the way he looked down his nose at people. He was always cordial with Vanduke, but gave Telmar the cold shoulder. Father, who I have already said relied on first impressions, hated him instantly. Yet he remained reserved in his judgement of the older boy, which Telmar found strange.
Behind him walked Tamberline’s sister, and my future mother, Curla. Beside her was another boy of the same age as Cormack, but neither of the two boys recognised him. It was at times such as these that Vanduke wished Yovin and Hinton were here to identify other nobles. Curla was a shorter version of her sister and a year below her in the academy. She had long yellow, almost white, hair which she always swept back from a high forehead and left loose to frame her face. She had a bright smile and a mischievous nature, which attracted my father to her in the first place. She sung in the bar most weekends and her voice was a joy to hear.
‘Now there is someone you don’t see in places like this,’ said Vanduke indicating Cormack. ‘Duke Stoneface. And I pegged him as Sheep.’
‘What do you expect from a family that only uses two names for their sons, Beltane and Cormack,’ said Telmar.
My father put on a hurt look, ‘actually, I was going to call my firstborn son, Vanduke.’
Telmar clapped him on the shoulder. ‘It’s a good, proud name,’ he said sarcastically.
While the two couples ordered drinks, Telmar broke the shadowy veil of the Hiding Art to summon the maid, a buxom brunette called Darla who was a couple of years older than he was. She squealed when she saw him. This got the attention of the two Watchmen who tried to make out the boys hidden deep in the shadows.
Darla rushed over, sat on Telmar’s lap, and gave him a long lingering kiss. Vanduke noticed Tamberline and Cormack turn around to regard them. He concentrated in keeping the shadows deep around the table. Tilcut laid tankards onto the bar with an audible thud and they turned back to pick them up.
‘Oh, Telmar! How long have you been here?’ Darla asked as she kissed him repeatedly on the lips and ruffled his hair.
‘For the sake of the gods, Darla, let him breath!’ interjected Vanduke.
‘Not long,’ said Telmar, in-between oxygen free kisses, ‘get us a couple of drinks will you sweetheart.’
‘Anything for you, my love,’ she said as she finally got up, ‘are you coming up to my room later?’
‘Not tonight dear, I don’t think I can take the strain of your beauty. You are far too intoxicating, my goddess.’
She giggled coyly, ‘you are
so sweet.’ She turned back to the bar while Vanduke stuck two fingers in his mouth and faked retching noises. Telmar laughed and nudged him to stop.
‘Nice girl, bloody stupid, though! I think she likes you,’ said Vanduke.
‘You think? Gods! I have only bedded her a half dozen times and she still hints at marriage.’
‘Must be the effect you have on women.’
‘What about the effect you have on Curla, she keeps looking this way.’
Vanduke looked over and his heart leapt when the lovely little girl gave him a cheerful little wave. His wave back was a little distracted and forlorn. Telmar rolled his eyes and shook his head.
‘She likes you, go and talk to her,’ he said.
My father shrugged, ‘Nah, my heart is set on your Namwi.’
Telmar thumped him playfully in the arm. ‘Not in a million years will you come within a hundred miles of my cousin. She is a sweet innocent thing, and would not entertain a rogue like you.’
Vanduke pouted. ‘Rogue?’
Over a year previously, at my grandfather’s annual birthday ball, Telmar had introduced Namwi to my father during the dance and both of them became good friends, which worried Telmar, though he did see it for what it was, distant cousins with common interests. My father knew of Telmar’s fondness for Namwi and was amazed at her innocent ability to bringing out the protective side in men, especially in Telmar.
Vanduke noticed that Curla was walking through the clutter of tables towards them.
‘Oh, bugger!’ he said.
Telmar chuckled, but stopped when he spotted the two Watchmen follow the girl as she approached. He suddenly had a bad feeling.
‘I thought it was you two,’ said Curla with a pleasant smile towards Vanduke. ‘What are you up to?’
‘Oh, just chilling and stuff,’ said my father.
Telmar sighed and mumbled under his breath, ‘such a romantic way with words.’ He got a sharp kick under the table from Vanduke, which made him jump and yell. Curla frowned at him, but Telmar expertly turned the yell into an observation.
