“Are you determined to do this?” Murenny asked Kindan and Vaxoram in turn. Each nodded, although Kindan noticed that Vaxoram was swallowing nervously, his eyes wide with fear. Kindan locked onto Vaxoram’s eyes until the other glanced away. Kindan kept his eyes on Vaxoram’s face, meeting his eyes every time the older boy glanced nervously in his direction. Kindan was certain that Vaxoram had seen the tomato demonstration, just as he was equally certain that Vaxoram thought that Kindan had missed the first two tomatoes.
“Very well,” Detallor said. “If that’s the case, I shall check your blades.” Both Kindan and Vaxoram reversed their blades, proferring the hilts to the Defense Master. This was a mere formality, as both blades belonged to the Harper Hall. Still, in all solemnity, Detallor took Vaxoram’s first and examined it carefully before flexing it and handing it back. He repeated the same inspection with Kindan’s blade and returned it in the same manner.
Kindan was glad to get his blade back in his left hand, and managed not to smile when he saw Detallor’s look of surprise—at least the Defense Master had paid attention. Kindan had counted on Vaxoram not to care which hand Kindan fought with.
Detallor stepped back, his own sword at his side.
“Salute each other,” Detallor said.
Vaxoram and Kindan raised their blades in the salute, then lowered them again.
“You may begin,” Murenny called loudly.
As expected, Vaxoram charged instantly. Kindan, who had been watching him carefully, waited until the last moment and sidestepped, pivoting around to whack Vaxoram hard with the side of his thin blade. He knew that the blow would at best leave a welt but would probably anger Vaxoram more. He was counting on that.
Vaxoram stopped and turned, eyeing Kindan, who waited for him impassively. Vaxoram started forward slowly, advancing in proper fencing style. When he was near enough to lunge at Kindan, he stopped. Kindan eyed him, waiting. Vaxoram’s lunge was telegraphed by the flaring of his nostrils. Kindan beat it aside and jabbed in return into Vaxoram’s right shoulder. He heard Vaxoram’s hiss of pain, but withdrew quickly and stepped back. Vaxoram retreated as well, his expression a mixture of surprise, fear, and anger.
“Do you yield?” Kindan called.
Vaxoram answered him with an angry growl and charged. Kindan parried and thrust again, but his blade slid off Vaxoram’s shoulder. Kindan retreated.
“Running away?” Vaxoram sneered.
Kindan said nothing, locking his eyes once more on Vaxoram’s. He was ready again for Vaxoram’s lunge, parried once more, but this time in his riposte he raised his blade higher and threatened Vaxoram’s face. The older apprentice jerked his head aside.
Kindan stepped back, to his right. Vaxoram stood en garde, eyeing Kindan carefully. The older boy’s sides were heaving, but Kindan thought it was from fear rather than breathlessness.
“Did you see what I did to those tomatoes?” Kindan asked. He saw a flicker of curiosity in Vaxoram’s eyes. “I can split your eyes just like that.” He saw a look of horror creep over Vaxoram’s face. The large apprentice charged blindly with a loud yell, but Kindan was ready and sidestepped, turning around to keep his blade pointed at Vaxoram.
Vaxoram stopped uncertainly. It was a moment before he turned to face Kindan. In that moment, Kindan knew that the fight was over, that Vaxoram was looking for a way out, an honorable surrender. And Kindan would give it to him.
He rushed toward the larger apprentice. Vaxoram took a step back, then held his ground, his sword in guard position. When Kindan struck, he beat Vaxoram’s blade to the side and curved back across Vaxoram’s exposed face—just below the right eyeball, leaving a thin, red welt.
Vaxoram bellowed in pain and horror. He charged, but Kindan was ready; he sidestepped once more, but this time held out a foot, tripping Vaxoram. He whirled around and stood over the fallen lad, his point coming to Vaxoram’s throat.
“Yield,” Kindan called loudly. He flicked his point up toward Vaxoram’s other eye, then back down to Vaxoram’s throat. “Do you yield?”
Vaxoram licked his lips, his eyes huge, his heart racing, his Adam’s apple wobbling, but he voiced no words.
“I won’t kill you,” Kindan declared, his eyes locked on the other apprentice’s. Vaxoram’s eyes narrowed in surprise. “If you don’t yield, though, I will blind you.” Kindan flicked his point up to Vaxoram’s left eye. “Think about that,” he said very carefully. “Think about it and yield.” He gestured to Vaxoram’s sword, still held in the apprentice’s hand. “Throw your blade away,” he ordered.
With a slight heave, Vaxoram threw his blade away. It landed not far from him.
“Now yield.”
Vaxoram didn’t move, his whole being clearly conveying defeat.
Kindan backed away and gestured with his blade. “Get on your knees in front of me and yield yourself to me,” he said, using the formal words he’d been taught by Detallor, words he’d never thought to hear spoken for real, let alone utter himself.
Slowly, Vaxoram rolled over onto his knees. As he did, one hand lunged toward his blade, but Kindan saw the motion and, with a flick of his own blade, sent the other flying through the air. He flicked his blade back toward Vaxoram once more, this time with the point resting hard on the top of the other’s back just over the left lung.
“Say you yield now,” he said, his voice rasping in anger. “Say it loud so everyone can hear, or I’ll pop your lung.”
“I yield,” Vaxoram said softly, flopping face down onto the ground.
“Get up,” Kindan ordered, nudging him with the point of his blade. “On your knees.”
Vaxoram pushed himself to his knees.
“Yield.”
“I yield,” Vaxoram said more loudly.
“Say it all,” Kindan commanded.
“I yield to Kindan, apprentice of the Harper Hall,” Vaxoram said, his voice rising loud enough to carry. “I yield his judgment on my body and I acknowledge forfeit to him.”
“What forfeit?” Master Murenny’s voice called from the crowd.
“He’s to serve me,” Kindan called back.
“For how long?”
“Until I release him,” Kindan replied.
“Vaxoram, do you forfeit?” Murenny called formally.
“I do,” Vaxoram replied, tears streaming from his eyes. He looked up at Kindan. “I forfeit. I will serve you until you release me.”
Kindan kept his eyes on the older boy who had just agreed to become his personal drudge. And he was surprised to see a sense of relief in Vaxoram’s eyes. The bully had found his place in the Harper Hall—at Kindan’s side.
“He’s not going to sleep with us, is he?” Nonala spoke quietly into Kindan’s ear as she and Kelsa congratulated him on his victory.
Kindan glanced over at Vaxoram who was staring steadily ahead, his eyes dull, his bleak expression marred only by the tracks of tears that had cleared paths through the grime that encrusted his face.
“Yes,” Kindan declared at once. “There’s a spare bunk nearby.”
“But—” Nonala cut herself off as she caught Kindan’s set look. “Okay.”
“Kindan!” Master Murenny’s voice cut through the noise of the massed harpers.
“Master?” Kindan called back, glancing toward the sound of the harper’s voice.
“Meet me in my quarters.”
“Immediately,” Kindan replied. He glanced toward Vaxoram. On impulse, he handed his blade to him. “Clean up the blades, then clean yourself up.”
Vaxoram took the blade and hefted it consideringly. Kindan could tell that the older lad was wondering what he could do to Kindan armed with two swords against his none. Kindan shook his head just fractionally and Vaxoram nodded in acquiescence—sword or no, Kindan would win, and Kindan knew that Vaxoram could see it in his eyes.
“Yes, sir,” Vaxoram said.
“No, call me harper,” Kindan ordered. Vaxoram nodded and started off on his chores, ignoring the sympath
etic calls from his former cronies.
“Come!” Masterharper Murenny called immediately upon Kindan’s knock. Kindan entered the room and was not surprised to see that Master Detallor and Weyrleader M’tal were already present.
“You could have killed him,” M’tal said with no preamble.
“That would have not been a good idea,” Kindan replied.
“Explain,” Murenny said, waving his hand to turn the terse word into an invitation.
“If I had killed him, the rest of the apprentices would have decided that perhaps Vaxoram was right, that there should be no girl apprentices because they caused trouble,” Kindan said. Murenny nodded in agreement. “And they might also decide someday that I deserved retribution.”
“What will you do with him now?” M’tal asked.
“Can he still take classes?” Kindan said, turning to the Masterharper.
“Certainly.”
“Then, in his free time he’ll serve me,” Kindan replied. “I’ll have him do any chores Selora needs, help guard the bath, and make sure that the other apprentices behave themselves.”
“Do you trust him with the girls?” M’tal asked Murenny.
“Do you?” Murenny asked, turning the question over to Kindan.
Kindan frowned in thought before nodding. “Yes,” he said. “I think that he will be trustworthy. In time he’ll realize that if he wants a mate, he’ll need to seem appealing to women, and that his good behavior is his only chance to do that.”
Murenny nodded.
“I think he has seen the error of his ways,” Detallor agreed, his face set in a wry smile.
“We shall keep an eye on him, all the same,” Murenny said. Kindan noticed the way the Masterharper regarded him and felt that there was something that remained unspoken.
“I had three older brothers,” Kindan said. “I won’t treat him badly.”
“Good,” Murenny said. “Let me know if you need any help.”
“I won’t need it,” Kindan told him. The Masterharper raised an eyebrow in curiosity.
Kindan explained, “Vaxoram lost, fair and square. He won’t cause trouble now.”
“You seem quite certain,” M’tal observed.
“He’s acknowledged his loss in front of the whole hall,” Kindan said.
“But he tried to attack you again!” M’tal protested.
“I’d be worried if he hadn’t,” Kindan replied. “Now, he knows for certain that I’ll beat him, so he won’t try.”
“You’re saying that now that he knows his place, he won’t cause any more trouble?” Murenny suggested.
“Yes,” Kindan replied.
Murenny pursed his lips, his eyes half-closed in thought. Finally he looked up at Kindan and nodded. “I think you have a good understanding of his character,” he said. He wagged a finger warningly at Kindan as he added, “Make sure you don’t forget.”
“I won’t, Master,” Kindan said. Taking the Masterharper’s nod for a dismissal, he turned to M’tal. “Thank you for helping me.”
M’tal snorted. “Do you think you were the only one I was helping?”
Kindan shook his head. “Thank you for helping my friends, and Vaxoram.”
M’tal nodded. “You’re welcome.”
With a final nod, Kindan left the room. Just after he closed the door, he heard Murenny’s voice carrying clearly: “Zist will want to know.”
Master Zist had been the harper at Kindan’s mining home, and the one who had recommended him to the Harper Hall. Since he had been at the Harper Hall, Kindan had learned that Master Zist was respected by all the Masters, this information usually being relayed in the form of a groaning question, “And you are sure that Master Zist recommended you, Kindan?”
“Verilan’s much better,” Kelsa filled Kindan in at lunchtime. “He’ll be so disappointed that he didn’t get to watch the fight.” She cast her eyes toward Vaxoram, who sat at the end of their table, eating distractedly. She glanced over to Kindan, her expression making it plain that she wished he hadn’t invited Vaxoram to sit with them. Kindan gave her the merest frown in reply and gestured for her to continue with her story.
“He’s still coughing a bit,” Nonala said, not missing any of their exchange of expressions. Her glance toward Vaxoram was thoughtful, almost pitying. “But Master Lenner says he’ll be released later on today.”
“What herbals did he get?” Kindan asked, mentally developing his own list of herbals. At the beginning of his second year at the Harper Hall, Kindan had been offered the chance to become a healer and declined, feeling that he wasn’t suited for the duties. He’d meant it when he’d said that he didn’t want to be a healer, but he also knew that harpers had to know some healing: They were often called upon to assist the local healer or expected to provide remedies when no healer was available.
As Nonala recited the list in a singsong fashion, Kindan could see Kelsa nodding approvingly and only once frowning, as though she would have ordered the words more melodically. Kindan wondered when “Herbs for Colds” would be sung around the Harper Hall.
“That sounds like ‘Minor Green Dragon,’” Vaxoram murmured.
“Pardon?” Nonala asked, turning to him in surprise.
“It’s a song I learned,” Vaxoram said, looking at her uncomfortably. “It talks about different herbs and what they treat. One decoction is Minor Green Dragon—it’s used for minor colds and coughs.”
“Could you sing it to me?” Kelsa asked. Vaxoram started to answer, then turned to Kindan.
“Later, maybe,” Kindan said. “We’ve got to get to our classes.”
“And me?” Vaxoram asked.
“You, too,” Kindan told him. “You’re to keep to your standard schedule.”
Vaxoram nodded, but Kindan could see that he looked troubled.
“You still want to be a harper, don’t you?” Kindan asked him.
“But I’m not good enough,” Vaxoram protested.
“You are if you say you are,” Kelsa snapped at him. “But at least you don’t have people saying you can’t be a harper because you’re a girl.”
Vaxoram paled. “You could be a harper,” he told her. “I was wrong.”
“You’re not the only one who thinks I shouldn’t be a harper,” Kelsa snapped back hotly. She gestured to Nonala. “Nor Nonala.”
“But you can sing!” Vaxoram said to Nonala, then turned back to Kelsa. “And you can write songs I only dream of!”
“Keep saying that,” Kindan told him. “Keep telling them and anyone you meet. Maybe the others will get it.”
Vaxoram closed his mouth suddenly, his lips thin. Kindan got up from his place and walked over to Vaxoram. He leaned close by his ear, groping for the right words.
“We can all help each other here,” Kindan said at last. Judging by the twitch of Vaxoram’s shoulders, he hadn’t made his point. He sighed to himself. Maybe the next time he would figure out a better way to express himself. “Let’s get to our classes.”
That evening, Vaxoram joined them for dinner. He ate silently.
As they prepared for bed that night, Vaxoram came over to Kindan with an expectant look on his face. Kindan pointed to an empty bunk.
“You’re to sleep there,” he said. Vaxoram nodded tersely, and Kindan could tell that the older apprentice was still adjusting to his new position. “The four of us—me, Verilan, Kelsa, and Nonala—are from different years; there’s no shame in joining us.”
“Another outcast,” Vaxoram muttered resignedly, going over to his old bunk and retrieving his chest.
“You’re still the senior apprentice,” Kindan reminded him.
Vaxoram shook his head. “How can I be? I take orders from you.”
Kindan had nothing to say to that. As Vaxoram was arranging his bed, Kelsa came over to Kindan. “Does he really have to sleep with us?”
“Yes,” Kindan said. “Unless you want me to move.”
“No,” Kelsa replied hastily, shaking her head in em
phasis. “It’s just that—”
“He serves me; he needs to be near me,” Kindan told her, his face set. “If that’s a problem for you, we can move, or you can move.”
“You’d better be right,” Kelsa snapped. She stomped off, casting angry glances in his direction until she finally climbed into her bunk.
Kindan settled into his bed not much later, then crawled out to turn out the glows.
“I can do that,” Vaxoram said from behind him. Kindan started to protest, then stopped himself and nodded. Turning out the glows was, after all, the duty of the senior apprentice.
“Thanks,” Kindan said when he’d finished.
“Glows over,” Vaxoram called loudly to the rest of the room. Scurrying noises showed that he was obeyed.
Kindan settled into his bunk, reviewing all the amazing events of the day and realizing with a shiver that had things gone differently, he would have been dead.
He drifted slowly off to sleep, considering all the ramifications of his actions and trying to imagine the future. He was startled awake suddenly by the one thing he hadn’t counted on: Vaxoram snored.
The next issue occurred after their run next morning, as Kelsa and Nonala cast concerned glances between Kindan and the bath room, clearly asking him what he intended to do about the bathing situation. Vaxoram, however, had an answer, rousting out the remaining laggards and handing out large fluffy towels to the four of them. Kindan kept a smile to himself as he reflected that in most ways Vaxoram was still a bully—just his bully.
“He’s not bathing with us, is he?” Nonala hissed worriedly toward Kindan. Vaxoram stiffened, but he continued on his journey into the bath room with them. Inside, he pulled another set of towels off his shoulder and hung them lengthwise between the front and back rows of baths.
Kindan understood at once.
“An excellent idea,” he told the older apprentice. Vaxoram gave him the faintest of grins that vanished before Kindan could reciprocate.
“The girls are getting too old for us not to respect their privacy,” Vaxoram said. He glanced at Kindan and Verilan. “And so are you.”
Anne Mccaffrey_ Dragonriders of Pern 20 Page 7
