Tyber nodded and looked back at Theola. She watched the archers, and then her eyes darted up to him.
“Your bag, sip,” one of the weyrboys said as he stepped up to Tyber.
“Sip?” Tyber asked as he pulled the bag from his shoulder and held it out to the boy.
“It’s an old term,” the clerk said. “An informal title given to recruits such as yourself, the ones who have not passed the first trial.”
Tyber nodded as he handed over the satchel. “And what should I call you?”
The boy looked to Tyber’s feet.
“The weyrboys are not to be addressed formally,” the clerk said.
Tyber lifted a disbelieving eyebrow to the clerk. It certainly hadn’t taken long to find another reason to dislike the place.
The weyrboy clutched the straps of the satchel and held on. Tyber got the distinct impression that if he never let go of the bag, the boy would stand there and hold it, his fingers around the straps until the end of time. Tyber let go, and the boy’s hands dipped slightly as he took the weight of Tyber’s possessions. He turned and hurried away at a brisk pace, dark red robes whisking about his feet.
“I don’t want to keep you,” Theola said. She placed the tips of her fingers against Tyber’s arm, just below his shoulder. He fought to keep his eyes from drifting closed, wanting suddenly to believe this was all a dream. How he wanted to wake up on the floor of the cottage, surrounded by his brothers and sisters, his father asleep atop the table.
But this was his own doing. And if this was a prison, it was certainly the most beautiful prison he could hope to ever find. He looked at the main building again. The structure was filled with arches and high windows. Atop the building, on either corner, stone dragons perched on ledges in front of a parapet and watched over all with spread wings and necks curved in S shapes.
In the yard, young men loosed arrows at targets. As Tyber watched the arrows fly, it occurred to him that there was something wrong with the building. He looked back and reexamined it. The building appeared to be right up against the wall that curved behind it, but as his eyes flitted back to the arrows flying from the archers to the targets, he realized it had to be an illusion. The building had to be far deeper than it appeared to be.
His brow furrowed slightly as his head tried to make sense of it.
“Tyber?” Theola asked.
“Yes. Sorry,” Tyber said, then turned to his sister. “My mind was wandering.”
“I bet,” Theola said. Her eyes were clouded with concern, her brow heavy with worry. His budding homesickness was evident in her expression, reflected in the deep blue of her eyes. They had never gone to sleep in different places.
“I’ll be—” he began, then stopped himself. “... expecting your visit on Sundays.”
Theola nodded. “I’ll be here. And I’ll bring a few of the little ones as well.” She threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly, her face buried in his shoulder. She stepped back and looked up at her twin as if trying to memorize his face that looked so much like her own. “I’ll tell them they have to behave all week if they want to go see Tyber.”
Tyber grinned. “But you won’t hold them to that, will you?”
Theola shrugged. “Only if it works.”
Tyber chuckled and placed a hand upon her arm. “Thank you,” he said. “For taking care of them. With that bonus, I’ll be sure to buy you something nice.”
“I might be in the market for a servant,” Theola said. “I’ll be needing help.”
Tyber grinned at her joke, but it didn’t reach his heart. He glanced at the weyrboy waiting patiently and silently next to him. The last thing in the world Tyber wanted was to be a master of anyone.
“Go home,” he said quietly to Theola. “I’ll be fine, and I’ll see you on Sunday.”
Theola waved a slight wave as she stepped back, then turned and walked off. Tyber watched and noticed the scent of something sweet lift up in her wake. He looked down to the crushed chamomile, the stems rising slowly behind her. It was a soothing scent, but strange.
He looked back up as Theola stepped off the lawn and onto the stone pavers of Dragon Lane. Almost immediately, she was swallowed up by a crowd of onlookers. Tyber inhaled deeply, unsure of what to do with the sensation that she had just left him a world away from his family.
Chapter 8
Tyber turned to the weyrboy waiting beside him. The boy looked out to the archery range then back at Tyber. A slight tic in his eyebrows suggested that Tyber might want to head that way.
“You’re not allowed to speak?” Tyber asked.
“When spoken to, sip.”
Tyber reached for the strap on his shoulder, then paused when he recalled that it wasn’t there. He brushed at the front of his jerkin instead and then turned to the archery range. “You don’t have to be that way around me,” Tyber said as the weyrboy followed him, always half a step behind. “You can speak your mind freely in my presence. I’m no better than you or anyone.”
The weyrboy didn’t respond.
As they approached the archery range, Tyber studied the academy. After some scrutiny, he realized that the front of the building was wider than the rest of it. The building tapered back gently until it ended at the city wall, butting up against it. The strange architecture created the curious illusion that the building was not as deep as it was. Tyber scowled. He didn’t care for tricks.
“It’s the oldest building in the mother city,” the weyrboy said, his voice barely audible. “Built before the wall itself.”
Tyber looked back, but could not see that the boy had actually spoken. He walked with his gaze cast to the ground slightly ahead of him, his hands behind his back. His posture indicated that he was not up for a conversation.
Tyber shrugged and turned his attention to the archers, a collection of young men, all about his own age. From their clothes, he could see that they came from a variety of backgrounds, but most of them were dressed like him.
At least he would fit in.
Tyber approached a young man in a jerkin of dark, coarse fustian and trousers that hung loosely about his legs, complete with a frayed tear near the left hip. No shoes covered his feet. As he plucked an arrow from the ground before him, notched it, and pulled back the bowstring, his toes curled into the growth beneath him. When he released the arrow, it streaked away so fast it was nearly invisible, save for the blur of the bright red fletchings. Then the arrow was suddenly lodged in the target, halfway between the edge and the center. The fletchings bobbed slightly and then were still.
“That’s some nice shooting,” Tyber said as he approached.
The young man peered over his shoulder. His eyes zipped down and up Tyber. He then grinned as if approving of what he saw. He nodded at the weyrboy. “I’ll take him.”
The weyrboy bowed slightly, then hurried off toward the clerk.
“You’ll take me?” Tyber asked, a little incredulous at the idea.
The young man plucked up another arrow, notched it, and sent it streaking into the target. “No offense, but I don’t want to be paired up with a chuff. You look like a good man. A real one.”
“A chuff?” Tyber asked.
The man nodded at the people off to his right. “You know, the wealthy ones. The ones who are here to make their fathers happy. To add a little honor to the family title, rub in a little noble grease. Know what I mean?”
Tyber surveyed the row of young men. It was apparent that the ones who were dressed well were paired with others who were dressed just as sharply. Those wearing clothing like Tyber’s were clumped together in small groups, and though they held bows and handled arrows, they weren’t shooting them.
“Why are you here, anyway?” the young man asked. “Money and meals?”
“Money and meals?” Tyber asked.
The young man nodded as if Tyber had given the correct answer. He drew up another arrow and lodged it into the target, very close to the center.
“Ever handl
e a bow?”
Tyber shook his head.
“Nothing to it. Here. I’ll show you.” He turned and held the bow out in his left hand while extending his right to Tyber. “Call me Ren.”
“Tyber.” He took the man’s hand.
“Good to meet you, Tyber. Us stones got to stick together.” Ren gave Tyber’s hand a hearty pump.
“Stones?”
Ren’s expression passed quickly through confusion, surprise, and then amusement. “Where are you from?”
A flush of embarrassment colored Tyber’s face. He nodded in the direction of Dragon Lane. “Just outside True Gate.”
“Ah!” Ren said with a nod of satisfaction. He then let out a low whistle. “A real scrapper, are you? I bet you’re not afraid to fight dirty if you have to, are you?”
Tyber looked at the bow, ready to move the conversation on.
“Here,” Ren said, then thrust the bow at him. “Take a shot. I’m from the Brassist, by the way.”
“Brassist?” Tyber asked. He looked over Ren’s clothes again, as if he had somehow mistaken trader-class clothes for the laborer’s rags.
“I guess you and your friends don’t make it to that part of the city often, do you?”
“No,” Tyber said as he shook his head slowly, unsure of what to think of Ren.
“Go on. Give it a shot.” He nodded to the bow again.
Tyber took the bow, then stepped into the area of crushed lawn where Ren had been standing. He tried to recall Ren’s stance, and then arrange his own posture into a fair imitation. He glanced at the other young men down the row and watched one of the “chuffs” take a shot at the target. Tyber plucked an arrow from the ground, notched it, drew back the bowstring, then let go.
“Scales!” Tyber hissed as a burning sensation gripped his left forearm. He swung his arm away, raking the bow out before himself. He hardly noticed the arrow that landed weakly halfway between himself and the target.
Ren let out a hearty laugh and slapped his thigh. “Man, you weren’t lying, were you?”
Color flushed over Tyber’s face.
“Don’t worry about it,” Ren said as he stepped up and took the bow from Tyber’s hand. “They’ll teach you how to shoot in archery class. Besides, it’s not like you need to know this, right? In fact, the worse a shot you are…” He snatched an arrow from before him, notched it, and sent it flying. It nicked the edge of the target before skipping off and clattering against the wall. “... The less likely you are to pass the final, am I right?”
Tyber rubbed absently at the red flesh along the inside of his forearm. “You’re not going to pass?”
Ren snorted. “Oh, wilds, no. I’m just here for the bonus. Food’s good, too. You eat well here. Clean beds. Clothes. Maybe I’ll even stay for the second final. But there’s no way in the sky that I am going to let them make a hordesman of me.”
Ren let out a slight grunt as he shot another arrow. “If the King is fool enough to throw his money at me, I’ll take it. But I’ll keep my own life, thank you very much.”
Ren cast a glance back at Gods’ Reach. He then plucked the next-to-the-last arrow from the ground and notched it. “Here’s what you did wrong. Flex your wrist like this.” He made a show of moving the bow inward. “The bowstring will take off your skin if you roll your wrist out like you did. Some guys wear wrist guards, but then you have to take the time to put one on when you’re under attack. It’s better to just have proper posture from the start. Also, don’t yank back the bowstring. Ease it back. You’re building up tension in the bow, not winding up to throw a stone. There’s a difference.”
Ren released the bowstring. It sang a low tone as the arrow plucked the target near the center.
“Who taught you to shoot?” Tyber asked.
Ren plucked up the remaining arrow. He held it for a second and examined the fletchings. “My father was a hordesman.”
Tyber nodded. “He is Fallen?”
Ren shook his head without looking up. “No. He’s just not a hordesman anymore.”
The man thrust the bow and remaining arrow at Tyber. “Now, you try. Let me watch you pull it back. Get the stance right before you worry about hitting the wall, much less that target.”
Chapter 9
After a single toll of the academy bell, the weyrboys returned and ushered the recruits toward the oddly-shaped building. As they approached one of the arches, Ren gestured to the red-robed boys. “Can you see me as one of them? That was almost my fate, you know.”
Tyber made a quick study of a solemn-faced boy who peered at the ground several feet behind them. It seemed unlikely that the easy-going Ren would be content among them.
“They’re the sons of royal hordesmen,” Ren said, with a hint of disgust. “The oldest sons are practically given over to the academy upon birth. They’re raised like that. It’s the only way to become a dragoneer.”
Tyber studied the weyrboy behind him again. Suddenly, the boy seemed different. This wasn’t a meek, cowering boy, but someone fated for the exalted position of leading a horde of dragons into battle.
He would be a hero one day.
Tyber felt a bit like stepping back, like the boy should be leading, rather than escorting, carefully keeping himself just on the edge of Tyber’s vision.
“Your father didn’t…” Tyber stopped.
“Give me to the academy?” Ren asked. “No.” He shook his head. “He wanted me to have a choice in my life. Walk my own path, and not the one that the academy laid out for him.”
Their conversation stopped as they passed through the high, stone arch stretching over them. The yard continued on, running beneath an overhang before the chamomile thinned out as the shadows deepened. The yard ended at a stone walkway. The weyrboys led them along the walkway beneath the overhang that continued down the side of the building. They walked passed high, arched windows. Inside appeared to be the most fantastic and well-kept stable Tyber had ever seen. It made the livery stable his father worked at look like a dump with horses. But instead of stalls for horses and mules, this stable held large, wide stalls, more than half of them holding dragons.
Ren let out a low whistle. “Wow. Things are worse than I thought.”
“What?” Tyber asked.
“Look at them,” Ren said as if it were obvious. “They’re so small. Young.”
At the next window, Tyber slowed his pace as much as he dared. Inside he peered at a dragon of deep blue, a layered color that reminded him of Theola’s eyes. It was difficult for him to say whether it was large or small. Most of the dragons he’d seen had been in the sky, flying over at a great distance. He tried to picture Ander’s dragon next to the blue one, but could not.
The dragon turned her head to Tyber and peered at him with large dark eyes before he stepped away from the window. He rubbed his upper arms, suddenly chilled.
Ren leaned in a little closer to Tyber. “You best be careful, my friend. If you accidentally end up as a hordesman, you might find yourself at the tip of a Western arrow the way things are going. You just stick with me, and I’ll be sure we don’t get in over our heads, all right?”
Tyber nodded. It was a bit comforting to be in Ren’s presence. He seemed to know what was going on, walking confidently along on his bare feet, his hair tied back with a broad leather strap. It wasn’t hard to picture him in one of the gray tunics of the hordesmen, sitting tall and comfortable upon a dragon despite his assurance that he’d avoid such a fate.
Tyber opened his mouth to ask what had happened to Ren’s father. If the man was simply not a hordesman any longer, then why not finish the training, and then choose to no longer be a hordesman at the end of the academy?
It couldn’t be that simple. Otherwise, Ren wouldn’t have warned him. Tyber dropped the line of questioning and focused his attention ahead. Friends always came easy to Tyber outside True Gate, but there, he was in his element, his own environment. He had spent his life there, and knew who everyone was and how everythin
g worked.
The academy was as alien and strange to him as anything he might have imagined with its buildings that suggested they were a size other than what they actually were and monkish boys that were not to be spoken to. It would be best to keep his mouth shut and his eyes open, for now.
Halfway down the length of the rectangular academy building, the weyrboys ushered the recruits through a set of double doors, down a dark, stone hall, and out into a courtyard surrounded on three sides by towering walls, five stories tall at least. High windows stared down at them from behind ledges that ringed each level. Spaced about every twenty feet, iron poles arched off the roof, then ran just past the ledges before ending in the soil of the courtyard.
A two story building with no courtyard facing windows made up the fourth side of the rectangle. Based on the path they had taken, Tyber could tell it was the weyr. He thought of the blue dragon he’d seen, then he thought of Theola’s eyes. He couldn’t wait to tell her about this place.
It was a curious setup.Tyber began to lean over toward Ren to ask about it when his attention instead fell upon an enormous tree in the center of the courtyard. It was bare, without a single leaf despite it being high summer. Pigeons perched in its branches. As the crowd of recruits and weyrboys approached, the birds erupted from the tree in a blur of whirring wings, and rose to roost along the stone ledges of the building.
On the other side of the courtyard, the recruits passed through another set of double doors and into a hall. Rows of benches perched on graduating risers that formed a quarter of a circle around a small stage. A lectern stood in the center of the stage.
The weyrboys gestured for the recruits to move up among the benches and take a seat. Tyber climbed to the back with Ren, and looked over the small auditorium. Near the ceiling, courtyard windows filled the room with light that focused on the lectern. Tyber tried to count the heads of the recruits, although it was difficult with the boys milling about and mingling with the weyrboys. Eventually, he decided there were about eighty boys around his age filling the benches. The boys made a dull roar of chatter and nervous laughter, fidgeting and teasing one another. At one point, Ren stood and let loose a shrill, two-part whistle. A young man who had just entered the auditorium halted and looked about before spotting Ren. The newcomer climbed the risers to join them.
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