Kingmaker

by Eric Zawadzki

CHAPTER 8

  “You’re here to polish equipment?” said a woman’s voice.

  “Yeah.”

  It was darker in here than in the desert light, but Butu could feel everything in the tent around him even before his eyes adjusted — the racks of swords and other weapons, piles of armor and boots, and the slim woman in sordenu garb. A flap on each shoulder of her uniform was buttoned back to reveal two square, brass studs.

  “It’s yes, sir, not yeah,” she said, pointing at one of the studs, but it sounded rote, not an attack. “What’s your name?”

  “Butu, sir.”

  “Better.” She smiled slightly. It didn’t make her pretty, but it did soften her face. It was the third-most-friendly face he had seen this morning, “I’m Corporal Kira.”

  She threw a stained cloth at him, and he snatched it from the air, wincing at the smell.

  “Well? You do know armor, right?”

  “Yes, sir.” Saying “sir” gets easier the more you do it. “I’ve polished swords and mended armor. They like the kids to do that.”

  “Then start on that pile over there.” She pointed to a stack of boiled leather breastplates. “Get to work.” There was neither malice nor sympathy in her voice.

  It’s terrible when the people you consider friendly are simply the ones who don’t hurt you, he thought as he hefted the first breastplate and got to work, humming the polishing chant. When Kira slapped him on the back with the flat of the blade, he let it hit him. It stung, but not as much as his first fall had. Butu stopped polishing, and looked at Kira in mild amusement.

  “No magic,” she said, waving the sword at him. “You have to learn to do these things without magic.”

  He frowned at the armor. “I only know how to do it using magic.”

  “Are you going to be useless?” Kira barked harshly. “Are you going to waste my time? Magic is the crutch of the child. Magic is the guardian of the infant. Are you an infant, recruit? Do you want me to send for a wet nurse?” Her tone waxed sarcastic.

  Butu kept his mouth shut, staring at her until she settled back from him. The cloth moved restlessly across the leather, oiling it smooth. He knew how to polish without using magic. It was a long and boring process.

  The armor weighted down his knees accusingly, and he rubbed harder at it, as though everything today was its fault.

  He got slapped again.

  “Not so hard. You don’t want to wear a hole in it.”

  I’ll bet they can’t use magic because they stop practicing it, he thought. Or maybe they think about it too much.

  When he fell the second time, he had thought about falling. He had known, somewhere, that what he was doing wasn’t natural. It was something he didn’t usually think about. And thinking back to the first time — he had noticed how the tent roof didn’t sag beneath his feet, and knew it should.

  So, if I don’t think about why what I’m doing works, ever, I’ll be able to keep using it.

  He got slapped again. “No magic.”

  Butu put down the breastplate and picked up another one. Kira picked it up to examine it.

  “May as well tell me to stop breathing,” he muttered, and the boiled leather came down on his head.

  “Watch your attitude.” She tossed the armor back on the pile. “And do that one again. It’s scuffed.”

  Butu’s anger flared, and he dropped the armor and polishing cloth and stood up. Standing, he came up to her breasts. She met his fiery stare with a calm one. The boy stood with fists clenched, unarmed against this woman with a sword.

  “I was here for an hour,” he vented. “Zhepal wasn’t around. Then the sergeant saw me out of uniform and punished me. Does everyone get treated like camel turds when they show up?” He stood there, breathing hard, waiting for her response.

  “Are you done?” Her expression did not change. “I don’t care why you are here, recruit. You will follow orders from a superior. You will learn what you can and cannot do. And as your superior, I can extend your punishment for insubordination.” She gestured to the armor with the sword. “Work. That is an order, recruit.”

  She didn’t raise her voice, but Butu suddenly understood something he felt was very important. He sat down and began polishing again.

  If I’m going to learn anything, he thought, and I can’t ask questions, I’m going to have to watch what other people are doing. And another thing, “I’m going to have to learn to see.”

  “Quiet.” But no sword came down, and he glanced at her, reappraising him.

  After a few minutes of polishing, he felt her draw nearer. “Jusep sends them over with that lesson to learn: You have to learn to see.”

  He stopped and looked up at her.

  She shrugged. “Here’s another lesson for you, Butu. If you want to use magic, go right ahead.” She nodded as his jaw dropped. “It doesn’t matter to me if you polish five breastplates or all of them. You’re going to be here all day, either way.” He closed his mouth, but she went on, voice as supple as the armor on his lap. “And if you use magic to polish faster, you’ll be here tomorrow, too. And the next day, and the next — until you can go a single day polishing without using magic to help you. There’s always plenty to polish, and if you polish everything in the armory, sarge’ll just find another tedious job for you to do.”

  Kira smiled coolly, turned her head and spat expertly at his most recently finished armor. “You’re better off just doing what you’re told and doing it without magic like all the other adults. Are you a man or a boy?”

  Butu picked up the piece and scrubbed at the spit, but his anger at the adults he had met today ebbed. No one had tried to hurt him, really. They had just tried to warn him, in brutal fashion. The same way Kira was. He just had to learn to see. And, in the meantime, he would consciously practice ...

  “No magic.”

  He met her eyes and smiled, earning a grimace in return. This must be why adults can’t use magic. The ones who can’t use magic anymore force the kids not use magic until they forget how to do it. I’m going to remember, though. If I’m going to prove myself worthy of blood adoption, I’ll need every advantage I can get.

  Soon enough he was sweating in the hot tent, and still had a small pile near him. The air reeked of polish. Two sordenu who looked no older than him came in, looking sheepish.

  “Phedam. Nolen. Welcome back,” Kira greeted them with the sort of friendly air that could only be sarcasm. “The swords have barely had time to miss you. Phedam, you’ll do the shields. Nolen, the swords could use more of your attention.”

  The two young men said nothing as they sat down to polish equipment. Less than a minute later, there was a slap of steel on cloth as Kira swatted the slightly larger one, Nolen, with her sword.

  “No magic.”

  Butu winced, but felt elated. I’m not the only one!

  “Yes, sir!” Nolen shouted back with exaggerated compliance.

  “Don’t mock me, or I’ll send you to muck out the camel stalls.”

  “Yes, sir.” Almost contrite.

  Butu grinned slightly, and Phedam smirked into the shield on his lap. After a second, the newcomer met Butu’s eyes and the grin was shared.

  “What did you two do?” he whispered timidly.

  Kira hit him with the flat of the sword again. “No talking.”

  Butu turned his attention back to the boiled leather. It was difficult to focus on such a mindless task, but every time his mind wandered, Kira hit him for using magic.

  She could not watch all three at once, though, and as the punishment passed, they made a game of making faces at each other behind Kira’s back. One of Butu’s made Phedam laugh right after Kira had smacked him with the sword, earning him a double-whacking. The face he shot back at them after the second hit forced them both to stifle laughter and pretend to be extremely interested in polishing.