soon!
As they neared the docks, Clo spotted a couple of mercenaries she knew, and hailed them. They, too, were headed for the demonstration, so Talis and Clo followed them. They reached the quays with their vessels tied up at the docks with great hawsers, and headed for one of the warehouses.
The warehouse had bales and barrels of cargo stacked at one end, but the other was open, and was being used as an impromptu arena. Eregard followed Clo and Talis in as they jostled for a good place to watch what was happening. There were perhaps a score of onlookers. In the middle of a roped-off space, two men stood facing each other.
One was a giant, a huge, burly fellow who must have weighed nearly twice what Eregard did. Though stocky and barrel-chested, his weight did not come from fat, but from muscle. Eregard was reminded, suddenly and painfully, of his brother Adranan, though this man looked nothing like him. He was older, in the late prime of his life, and he was obviously an experienced tavern brawler. Both arms bulged with muscle, and the garish tattoos made them seem even bigger. He was stripped to the waist, and the shafts of sunlight from the tall, narrow window-openings gleamed off his bald head and his chest.
Eregard eyed him, thinking he wouldn’t want to face such a man even armed with a pistol. A cannon, perhaps, he concluded ruefully.
The man facing the giant was young. He was of medium height, slender and wiry, and had dark brown hair tied back at the nape of his neck. He wore loose pants and a sleeveless tunic. His arms were well-muscled, but half the size of the bald giant’s, and his feet were bare.
The slender young man made a salute to his opponent, and they began to circle each other. The big man’s boots made thumping noises on the wooden floor. The youth moved as silently as a prowling house cat.
With a loud bellow, the giant rushed the youth. Eregard could hardly bear to look—he braced himself to see the young man demolished with one blow. He was completely un-prepared for what happened. In a blur of motion, the youth turned, twisted, pivoted on one foot, and the two bodies intersected for just a brief second. Then the giant was flying through the air. He landed, rolled over, and lay still, his wind knocked out.
All around Eregard the audience of off-duty soldiers, colonial militia, and mercenaries were muttering in surprise.
“How’d he do that? … Did you see that? … What happened? I blinked and missed it!”
In front of him, Clo and Talis turned and looked at each other, and then, as if they’d reached some unspoken agreement, nodded.
The youth in the baggy clothes gave two more demonstra-tions, and each larger opponent was handled as expediently as the bald giant. When the demonstration was over, the youth spoke for the first time, in fluent but accented Pelanese. He announced that he would be giving introduc-tory lessons starting next week, here in the warehouse, and the cost would be five pesentos per pupil.
The crowd mingled, then began to thin out. Finally, only the young fighter and the man who had arranged the demonstration were left. Clo and Talis started forward, Eregard trailing behind them.
Clo walked up to the young man and gave him a half bow.
“That was impressive.”
He bowed back. “Thank you. Will you be signing up for lessons, ladies?”
Clo shook her head. “We are from out of town. That’s what we wanted to talk to you about. Could we arrange for a private lesson with you, while we’re here? Your style of fighting is one that any woman would like to learn, since the fighter who is the fastest and has the best balance can defeat a heavier opponent with longer reach.”
He nodded. “The women of my country are not warriors, but I believe you are correct. I could arrange a private lesson for later tonight, if you are willing.”
“That would be ideal,” Talis said. “I am Talis Aloro, and this is Clo. We came up from the south today, to buy supplies for the farm. Clo is a professional fighter.” She shrugged. “I am still a student.”
The young man bowed again. “I am Jezzil.”
“Well, I’ll leave you folks to your negotiations,” the manager said. “See you next week, lad.”
Jezzil beckoned to the women to accompany him as he, too, headed for the exit. “Walk with me, if you do not mind.
My lodgings are not far, and I must check with my landlady to see if I can use the yard tonight for a session.”
Eregard trailed behind them as they walked, listening to the conversation. Jezzil had an accent that he couldn’t place, though it was vaguely familiar. “I thought I had seen most styles of hand-to-hand,” Clo said. “But I never saw that before. Do all the warriors from your country fight so?”
He sounded amused by the question. “The techniques I used tonight are not confined to warriors in Ktavao. Farmers, merchants, even children are taught to defend themselves. Warriors are taught skills that are more advanced, but we never reveal them.”
“So we can’t learn those advanced techniques?” Talis asked.
“No, I am sworn to keep them secret,” he replied.
Ktavao? Eregard thought. That’s north of Bauka, where the Redai launched his invasion force. This fellow is Chonao! Could he be a spy?
“Well, I’ll be satisfied to be able to do what you did tonight,” Clo said. “That maneuver you did with that hip-thrust, swing and pivot … well, I’ve been in more than one tavern brawl in my time, and that would come in real handy.”
“I can teach you all of the techniques commonly used in my land,” Jezzil assured her.
“We want to learn as much as we can before we leave for home,” Talis said.
The cobblestone street sloped upward from the harbor, and Eregard glanced around him at the town houses and shops.
Q’Kal seemed like a prosperous place, bustling with com-merce. Jezzil led them up a hill, past a small, fenced-off park, past an impressive temple, then he turned right, onto Mul-berry Lane. The shops were smaller here, more run-down, and there were more taverns. Finally they reached a small bakery, and Jezzil stopped them with a gesture. He opened the door, poked his head inside. “Mistress Bolfini, would you mind if I used the backyard for some lessons tonight?”
Eregard heard a voice say, “Go ahead, but mind you don’t knock down my wash lines!”
“We’ll be careful,” Jezzil promised.
He beckoned them around to the back. The walled yard boasted a vegetable garden, the wash lines, and a small weedy lawn. Jezzil beckoned Talis and Clo over to that area.
Both women pulled off their jackets and pulled their loose-sleeve shirts out of their breeches so they could move freely.
Jezzil beckoned Eregard to join them. “You, what is your name?”
“Eregard, sir.”
“Good. Since we’ll be doing defensive moves, I’ll use you as the attacker at times.”
Eregard regarded the teacher dubiously, but an order was an order. “Yes, sir.”
“Now, listen closely, and do as I do. The first thing you need to learn is proper balance for this style of fighting. The second thing you need to learn is how to fall so you won’t be hurt.”
Jezzil demonstrated balancing and falling, then had the women emulate him. Eregard admired the instructor’s quick, almost feline moves. If he can fight with a blade as well as he can unarmed, he could probably beat Salesin in a duel, he thought.
By the time they had managed to fall down to Jezzil’s satisfaction, both Talis and Clo were sweaty and grass-stained.
The women worked hard, paying close attention. Eregard paid attention, too. He’d never been good at fist-fighting, but
the skills Jezzil was teaching depended far more on balance, speed, and skill than on reach or strength.
Several times toward the end of the lesson, Eregard had to “attack” either Clo or Talis. He was glad he’d listened to Jezzil’s instructions about falling, because one of the moves the women had learned was a quick over-the-hip throw that, when done correctly, left him sprawled on the lawn.
Finally, Jezzil straightened and looked
at his sweaty, flushed students. “That’s enough for today,” he said. “You don’t want to be so stiff and sore tomorrow that you can’t work.”
“Can we come back for another lesson tomorrow?” Talis asked as she counted out the coins into Jezzil’s palm.
“Yes, I’ll be here about this time tomorrow,” he said. The Chonao led them back to the front of the building.
A young woman, dressed in plain, soberly colored garments, was just walking up to the steps that led up to the second story. When she saw them, she stopped.
Jezzil indicated his new students. “Talis, Clo, this is my …” He hesitated a moment. “… my sister, Thia.”
Sister? Eregard thought derisively. That’s what they all say.
Thia had pale, thin features, brightened only by remarkable dark eyes. A wisp of hair showed from beneath the scarf that covered her head, pale as ash, pale as newly minted silver. She was thin, but from the way she carried herself, Eregard thought there might be a wiry strength beneath that drab garb.
Her voice was low, musical, with an accent Eregard couldn’t place. It was different from Jezzil’s. “Greetings to you, Miss Clo, Miss Talis. Hello … brother.” A faint smile touched her mouth, and her dark eyes brightened with quiet amusement. She looked past them at Eregard. “And you are?”
“My slave, Miss Thia,” Talis said.
Still, those eyes, dark as the ocean on a moonless night, gazed straight at Eregard. He found himself coloring as he bowed low—as he would have to a crowned head. “I am Eregard, mistress.”
“Your brother has been teaching us his new form of hand-to-hand combat,” Clo said. “And glad we are to have the chance to learn from him. Are you skilled in his warrior art, Miss Thia?”
She smiled and shook her head. “The women of my people do not do battle,” she said. “It is different in this land, I know.”
Talis glanced up the street. “How far away are we from the inn and livery on Avenue of the Blessed? I’ve gotten turned around. I must check on Bayberry before nightfall.”
“Your horse?” Jezzil was quick to ask.
She nodded. “Yes. A fine one. We raise good horses in my region of Kata.”
“Jezzil’s family raises horses, too,” Thia said.
“Jezzil’s family?” Clo said, then the older woman closed her mouth quickly, as though she regretted her words.
Thia smiled. “I think we all know by now that Jezzil and I are not related by blood. We are brother and sister in our hearts, though.”
Hearing her, Eregard realized she was speaking the simple truth. These two were as chaste with one another as newborn babes.
“Would you like to see my horse?” Talis asked Jezzil. “We could sup at the inn afterward. You and Thia will be our guests.”
Jezzil and Thia exchanged a glance, then Jezzil nodded.
“Very well. And after supper, I shall show you my horse.”
“She’s beautiful,” Talis said, gazing admiringly at Falar. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen nicer conformation. And you say she’s battle-trained?”
Jezzil nodded. “Chonao depend upon our horses in battle as much as we do our fellow soldiers. Let me show you,” he said, opening the stall door.
At his soft command, the mare trotted out of her stall, bare of any tack, not even a halter. Jezzil led them out toward the paddock. The sun was just setting, and the long blue evening shadows were creeping over Q’Kal, stealing the color
from the world. Eregard followed the group out to the paddock, thinking that this was his chance to find out more about the military techniques of the famed Chonao warriors.
Jezzil opened the paddock gate, and Falar trotted into the enclosure, then turned to face him, ears pricked. Jezzil did not even speak, only raised his hand to his chest, then lowered it with a sharp motion. The mare bent her knees, then lay down and rolled over onto her side, lying flat on the ground, motionless.
Talis made an admiring noise and clapped, as did Clo.
The Chonao made another gesture, and the mare was back on her feet. He glanced over at Eregard. “Go and try to lay your hand on her, as if you were going to grab at an opponent in battle.”
Eregard went, though he was not happy about the order.
But slaves had no choice but to obey.
The moment he drew near the mare, she whirled to face him, ears flattened, teeth bared. When he raised his hand toward her, she reared and plunged forward, and only Jezzil’s quick order stopped her.
Eregard backed away, eyeing the horse nervously, determined that if they ordered him to try to grab her again he would refuse. A beating would be better than being struck by those deadly hooves.
But Jezzil was giving the mare other hand signals. As Eregard and the others watched, she walked, trotted, hand-galloped, halted, then backed up, all without a single command being spoken. Jezzil went out into the paddock, leapt onto her back with one smooth, flowing motion, then went through a pantomimed fight against an armed opponent. The horse danced beneath him, obedient to his slightest shift of weight or pressure of leg. Finally, she whirled, launched into a gallop and, with a flowing motion, cleared the paddock fence.
Eregard was impressed. If all the soldiers of the Redai are trained and mounted like that, they will be formidable opponents!
He stood behind the group, watching silently as they gathered around Jezzil and his mount, talking excitedly, praising his horsemanship and Falar’s training. I’ve learned a lot today that will help my father. If I can just escape and tell him …
During dinner, Eregard had been consigned to the inn kitchen, and Talis had paid the innkeeper to make sure he was fed. He’d sat there, eating part of a joint that was more than a little overdone, some cheese that wasn’t supposed to be moldy but was anyway, and some bread that had failed to rise properly, saying nothing but listening to all that went on around him.
Slaves and servants were far more observant than their masters ever suspected. Eregard had learned a great deal about the Katan colonists and their attitudes toward the Crown from listening to the kitchen gossip. It seemed that Rufen Castio had been seen here in Q’Kal, and that Governor Laurenz had quietly put out the word to the mercenary units that he would offer a substantial reward for his capture.
Probably Salesin ordered him to do that, Eregard thought cynically. Laurenz isn’t known for either his munificence or his initiative.
He decided that he was learning so much of what his father had sent him to Kata to learn that he’d stay a slave as long as possible before he ran away. For a moment he allowed himself to think about what it would be like to be back home. He’d tell Agivir everything he’d seen that would help the Crown against these insurgent colonials. And then …
Then I’ll sleep on clean sheets, wear clean clothes, take nice, hot baths. I’ll bask in the attentions of my valet and barber … and most of all, I’ll eat food that isn’t someone else’s discarded leavings.
For the first time in days Eregard thought of Ulandra. She seemed as distant and insubstantial as a happy dream. By now she’s certainly married to Salesin, may the Goddess help her …
Princess Ulandra of Pela sat at her dressing table, applying rouge with hands that shook, despite her efforts to control them. I must hurry. He’ll be here soon.
She’d been brought up strictly, and the holy sisters had taught her that any woman who enhanced her looks with paint was a slut. But when she’d come to court, she discovered that everyone painted. Even some of the men were known to apply a beauty patch or two, or to redden their lips and cheeks.
Still, left to her own devices, she would not have used cosmetics for anything but formal court occasions. But this morning …
Her hand shook so much that she smeared a blob of rouge across her lower lip. She took a square of cloth and began dabbing at it. Hurry, hurry!
This morning, Salesin had commanded her to join him for a private breakfast. When she’d duly appeared, doing her best to summon a pleasant smile, Sales
in looked at her across the table and she knew that, as usual, he was angry.
She didn’t know why, but then, she seldom did.
“What’s wrong with you?” the Crown Prince had snapped, staring at her critically. “You look as pale as a specter. I’d love to think you’re pale because you’re breeding, but we know better than that—don’t we?”
The scorn in his tone made the blood rise in her cheeks, but she did not dare look at him, much less reply.
“Well?” he demanded, when she did not speak. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I … I …” She cast about, trying to think of what she could say that would not anger him further. “I am well, my lord.”
“Looking at your whey face across the table has ruined my appetite,” Salesin said, throwing down his serviette.
“When are your courses due this month?”
Every month, the same question. Ulandra thought that by now she should be getting used to it, but embarrassment made her face grow even hotter. She’d seldom spoken of her menses to even another woman—to have to report on them to a male, even her husband, was degrading.
“Any day now, my lord,” she said.
Eyeing her calculatingly, he said, “The sooner we know, the better. I know you hate being bedded even more than I hate doing my royal duty by you.” He smiled, and for the first time there was a glint of real humor in his dark eyes.
“Just give me a few strong sons and I’ll trouble you no further, my lady.”
The knowledge that he was laughing at her, that she was truly distasteful to him, made her want to crawl away and hide, but she forced herself to simply sit there, silent, as he got up from the table and strode away.
Now she sat there, checking her hair, her cosmetics, dreading the moment when he would arrive. She was wearing a simple boudoir gown of sky-blue satin trimmed with indigo lace, with a short, pale blue silk chemise under it, and she thought she looked well. Except for my eyes, she thought, leaning closer to the mirror and studying the shadows beneath them.
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