by Jocelyn Fox
The beleaguered new pages ran, sweating and panting, to the center of the training yard. A few of them glanced about surreptitiously, their eyes wide and unsure.
“Don’t pick one of the frightened ones, Moryn,” said Ramel. “They’re no fun.”
Moryn smiled crookedly. “Aye.” He conferenced with one of the other younger pages in a low voice as Balaron bellowed at the young pages for standing in crooked ranks. They hastily tried to rearrange themselves and only disfigured their formation even further, earning roars from Balaron and the assistant training masters. The pages watched, silently waiting. The two most junior pages at each training ring leaned forward, like sprinters at the blocks. Finally, Balaron and the other instructors fell silent, prowling around the ragged formation of the new pages.
Balaron shook his head and crossed his arms as he looked at the youngest additions to his responsibility as training master. Most of them looked exhausted, with deep circles under their eyes, but they stood at rigid attention under Balaron’s baleful gaze. He let the silence build in the training yard, and then he shattered it with a roaring torrent of words.
“You are the softest and most pathetic handful of boys that I’ve ever had the misfortune to be handed! Look at you, can’t even stand in formation properly! Shivering like whipped little pups!” Balaron’s voice shook with what could have been taken as rage.
“His speech gets better every year,” murmured Murtagh appreciatively. Ramel nodded in agreement.
“Think any will faint on the spot?” Ramel said in a low voice.
“Second from the left, back row.”
“Bet on it?”
“Fetching supper for a week.”
The training partners shook hands without taking their eyes from the riveting scene. Balaron’s tirade had indeed caused a few of the pages to pale visibly, and the one that Murtagh had named swayed.
“Today is a day you will never forget…if you survive.” Balaron roared the first part and then lowered his voice ominously. The page second from the left in the back row shuddered. The older pages held their breath. No matter how else Balaron changed his speech from year to year, this part always remained the same.
“Today is a day you will never forget, because it is your First Training Day!”
The older pages shouted the last words along with their training master, the resulting cacophony deafening.
“Hounds, retrieve your little rabbits!” bellowed Balaron.
The two youngest pages in each training ring erupted into bloodcurdling howls as they leapt toward the center of the practice yard. The remaining pages in each training ring gave shouts of support and direction to their “hounds,” rendering the training yard a confusing and earsplitting scene of mayhem. The “hounds” sprinted toward the new pages – who didn’t know if they were going to be manhandled, beaten, frightened or dragged away to some other terrible fate. After their first sennight of training, they didn’t put anything beyond their instructors. A few of them even raised their slim little staffs to ward off the “hounds,” but each pair of older pages swooped down on their chosen quarry and neatly lifted him from his feet, racing back toward their training ring with their prey.
Moryn and the other “hound” from Ramel’s training ring proved to be fleet-footed. They plucked a page from the front of the formation with a stubborn set to his jaw; the boy stood almost as tall as they did, but he was slender and kicked indignantly when they lifted him by the armpits to bear him back to their training ring.
“Spirited,” said Ramel approvingly.
The “hounds” deposited their “rabbit” in the center of their training ring, where he stumbled, regained his footing and glared defiantly at each of them. He watched them warily. Ramel stepped forward, nodding in thanks to the two grinning “hounds.”
“Well,” he said to the young page. “Let’s see what you’ve learned with that staff of yours.”
The senior pages spent the morning going over the basic staff movements that the new pages had learned. Balaron kept time with the sand in his glass, and when all the sand had fallen to the bottom, he gave a piercing whistle and the “hounds” sprinted off again, gleefully abducting a new “rabbit” from another training ring. They continued as the sun made its way higher in the sky. When it was overhead, the squires would join them, and then First Training Day would get really interesting.
“Did we have this one before?” said Moryn, breathing a little hard as he held up their latest acquisition for Ramel’s inspection.
Ramel looked the new page up and down. The boy was tall and slender, just as their first “rabbit” had been, but there was something different about the line of his jaw and the color of his eyes. He frowned. The new page wasn’t sweating or panting. Clearly the older pages hadn’t been pushing him hard enough in his previous sessions in the training ring.
“Are you going to stand there staring at me, or are you going to spar with me?” the young page said brazenly, lifting one eyebrow.
Ramel chuckled and hefted his staff in his hand. “Careful what you wish for, lad.” He leapt forward and tested the boy’s knowledge of simple blocks. The slender young page kept up admirably well with Ramel’s speed, blocking three of his blows with his staff and spinning out of reach of the last. He grinned at Ramel.
“Perhaps I ought to wish for a faster sparring partner,” he said with a little half-smile.
Ramel leaned on his staff and grinned back. “Oh, I’ll spar with you again, lad, but I think the hounds want their chance.”
“Did your mother always tell you how smart and pretty you are?” said the second hound, a younger page that Ramel was beginning to think had a bit of a mean streak in him.
“Only after she was done tupping your father,” replied the slender boy crudely.
That made even Ramel raise his eyebrows. The insulted page reddened at the slang and raised his staff as he stepped forward into the ring. The slim page grinned as he blocked the blows again – not easily, but competently. Ramel narrowed his eyes. Even if the page wasn’t skilled, it was clear that he’d practiced for longer than a sennight.
“Come to think of it, I remember my mother talking about your brother too,” taunted the younger page, freeing one hand from his staff long enough to make an insulting gesture.
The other page growled and savagely knocked the slim page down. Ramel stepped forward to intervene; it looked as though the “hound” wanted to strike the younger boy while he was on the ground. But he took a step back. Ramel blinked as the younger page stood – something shimmered strangely in the air about him, blurring the lines of his face, but it faded as the lad brushed the dirt from his trousers. He planted his staff and looked at Moryn.
“I think my mother bent over your da, too,” he insulted Moryn cheerfully.
Moryn tried to hide a grin. “You’re going to get yourself in trouble if you just keep insulting everyone.”
“Apparently, it’s the only way to get anyone to actually fight around here,” said the younger page.
Without another word, Moryn stepped into the ring and neatly knocked the page down again in less than five strokes of his staff.
“Nicely done,” said Ramel in appreciation. The lad would need to learn humility somehow, and better with some dust and bruises now than with blood and death later. Moryn saluted Ramel with his staff as he stepped back.
The indefatigable page leapt up once again, though this time Ramel saw him hide a wince. “All right then, next one!”
“You’d do well to learn to hold your tongue until your skill can defend you,” said Murtagh as he stepped forward.
The new page bowed mockingly. “Or I’ll just keep getting knocked down by bigger boys until I learn how to defend myself.”
Murtagh gave a small sigh. Ramel could tell his training partner really didn’t relish the prospect of giving the cocky lad more bruises. He took him through a simple pattern at a moderate pace. Ramel glanced up at the sun; it was almost at its ze
nith. The squires would be joining them soon. He hoped, in an odd way, that Squire Finnead and Squire Kieran would observe him today.
“Well, aren’t you being softhearted today,” said one of the other pages to Murtagh, who gave him an impassive look. The other page twirled his staff and stepped into the ring. True to form, the younger lad insulted him until he was knocked down…but it took the older page longer to find a weakness in the lad’s guard. Ramel had to hand it to him, he was a fast learner. But First Training Day wasn’t exactly the place to earn a reputation for a sharp tongue; even he had kept his mouth shut while the hounds had hustled him from training ring to training ring.
Then several strange things happened at once. Balaron’s sharp whistle rang out twice – not the signal for the hounds to pick their next prey, but the universal signal for all training to stop immediately. As Ramel heard the first whistle, the older page in the ring reached down to grab the young lad by his dark hair – rude, but perhaps just to show the lad who was in charge. Instead, the page stared at the black cap inscribed with little glimmering runes that had come away in his hand. The second whistle sounded, and Ramel automatically stepped back from the training ring, dazed, staring at the Princess Andraste, dust smudging her face as she grimaced slightly and stood, staring at them with defiant eyes.
Chapter 8
“To be honest, I’ll be glad when we don’t have to do First Training Days anymore,” said Finn as they neared the training yard. They were the first squires to arrive, as usual.
“Oh, have a little fun,” admonished Kieran. Then the bigger squire reconsidered as they heard the sound of controlled chaos emanating from behind the courtyard walls. “Actually, you’re right. I just forget how obnoxious the pages get.”
Finn chuckled as they entered the main gate and walked unobtrusively along the wall, watching the pages sparring in the rings. “Perhaps you’re right. Look at them, so joyful…”
Kieran snorted. “Even I can tell that’s sarcasm.”
Finn spotted their old training master, but the fond smile on his face suddenly turned to a look of thoughtfulness as he saw the other figure standing with Balaron. “Why would the Vaelanseld be down here for First Training Day?”
Kieran shrugged unconcernedly. “Maybe he wanted to relive his glory days?”
“Something strange is going on,” murmured Finn, watching the scarred Knight stiffen as the Vaelanseld spoke. Balaron’s shrill whistles rang out across the courtyard a heartbeat later. Kieran raised his eyebrows. The double whistle wasn’t used without good cause.
“Everyone to the walls,” roared Balaron, and pages hastily obeyed, the older pages grabbing the youngest ones who hadn’t even been pages long enough to respond instinctively to the command. The pages receded from the training rings like a wave returning to sea, leaving one lone figure standing in a training ring toward the other end of the yard.
“Midnight preserve us,” said Kieran in shock as they realized the solitary figure was not a page at all. The slender young woman wore the garb of a page: dark breeches, white shirt, and she held a staff in her hand, but her long dark tresses tumbled over her shoulders, and her features slid from boyish prettiness into sharp beauty as the last of the rune-magic fell away.
A strange shock ran through Finn as he recognized the crown princess. His feet started forward of their own accord, but Kieran caught his arm in an iron grip.
“No,” his roommate said firmly into his ear. “You are not her knight in shining armor. Not right now.” Finn leaned forward against his grip, and Kieran shook him a little. “You’re not even a knight yet, so remember that.”
The Vaelanseld strode across the courtyard toward the crown princess. She stood straighter and planted her slim training staff firmly on the packed dirt.
“What in the world was she doing?” Kieran whispered.
“Training,” Finn said faintly. “She was training with the pages.”
The pages of whom he spoke lined the walls of the training yard silently, watching the impending confrontation with varying expressions of horrified curiosity, awe and admiration. Finn wasn’t sure whether the admiration was for Princess Andraste’s courage or the fine figure she cut in boy’s breeches. He found that the idea of the pages ogling her made him want to thrash them himself. Kieran tightened his grip on Finn’s arm.
“Easy,” his training partner murmured.
The Vaelanseld did not raise his voice, but his words still carried across the silent training yard.
“If you were a boy, I would have you whipped for your deceit,” he said, towering over the princess.
Andraste drew herself up, her eyes blazing as she said clearly, “If I were a boy, I would not have to resort to deceit to learn how to fight.”
The Vaelanseld faced away from them, so Finn couldn’t see his expression, but he did see the shock and then grudging admiration that passed quickly over Balaron’s scarred face. The Vaelanseld stiffly held out his hand, motioning toward the princess’s staff. She glared at him and gripped it so hard that Finn could see the whiteness of her knuckles even at a distance.
“My lady,” said the Vaelanseld in a quiet, firm voice, the words barely audible, “please do not make this any more difficult than it has to be.”
Princess Andraste took three deep breaths, then raised her chin and handed the Vaelanseld her staff, her mouth pressed into a thin line of anger. She clenched her jaw and then, without a word, she stormed from the training yard, the Vaelanseld following two steps behind her. As soon as the princess had disappeared beyond the gate to the courtyard, Balaron roared out, “Back to your training! I hope you enjoyed the rest, lads, because you won’t get another one all afternoon!”
The pages sprang back to life, racing toward their training rings, the hounds seizing the new pages they’d been working with before the interruption. Finn quickly picked out the little group of pages standing around their ring without a new page in the center. He shook off Kieran’s grip and strode toward them. One of the pages held a black cap in his hands, handling it as gently as a holy relic or an ancient scroll. A senior page bent over it, his russet hair gleaming in the noon light. Finn felt his lips twitch in a smile as he recognized the older page’s voice.
“Embroidered runes for concealment and glamour,” Ramel said, pointing at the silvery symbols sliding on the surface of the black cap.
“Why’re they moving like that?” asked one of the younger pages. Ramel leaned closer and a crease appeared on his brows as he examined the runes.
“Because,” said Finn, making them all jump guiltily, “once the runes are activated, they stay activated for their prescribed lifetime. It’s something built into the rune itself.” He looked at the pages, who now all stared at him wide-eyed, the younger ones with a bit of hero-worship on their faces that made him cringe internally. “Why is it important to understand the lifetime of a rune before you inscribe it?”
“Because the longer the lifetime, the more taebramh that the activation of the rune will take from the inscriber,” answered the green-eyed page that Finn remembered was Ramel’s roommate. Murtagh, that was the lad’s name. He nodded at Murtagh’s answer.
“Yes. The rune will demand the taebramh needed to sustain it for its lifetime at its activation. So just because you’ve memorized how to draw a rune doesn’t mean that it won’t kill you by draining your life force when you activate it.” Finn looked at them all seriously, and they nodded in acknowledgement. He held out a hand to the page who held the princess’s cap, and the page hastily gave it to him, looking relieved to be rid of the little scrap of black felt. A brief flash of disappointment crossed Ramel’s face as Finn folded the cap neatly and stowed it in his belt pouch, ignoring the cold bite of the runes against his bare skin. The pages watched him expectantly. He pointed to the two youngest. “You hounds had better figure out a solution to your empty ring.”
The hounds grinned at each other; they’d essentially just been given permission to go steal a r
abbit from another training ring, and that would most likely lead to a very satisfying melee.
“You just let them off the leash, didn’t you?” asked Kieran as Finn returned to their vantage point. Finn shrugged and smiled; Kieran shook his head and grinned as they watched the attempted abduction of one of the new pages, which very quickly devolved into a battle between the pages of Ramel’s training ring and the pages of the ring from which they’d tried to steal the rabbit. Balaron looked over at Finn and raised his eyebrows, making his scar ripple. Finn saluted him and grinned in reply as they watched the training yard erupt into full-fledged chaos.
“Well done,” said Kieran, nodding appreciatively as two of the hounds decided to switch from staffs to wrestling.
“I am but an instrument of fate,” replied Finn with mock sincerity.
Kieran chuckled and shook his head. They watched the pages in silence, thinking of their own First Training Day and all that had changed in their lives and the Court in the decades since.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a strident whirl of activity: pushing the new pages past what they thought were their limits, reminding the senior pages once again to remember their humility, and observing the senior pages that might make good squires come the New Year after the Solstice. Of course, Kieran and Finn never spoke of becoming Knights. It felt too much like inviting disaster to talk about it as if it were a certainty. They knew that many promising squires never made it past the gauntlet. It had been a few years since any had died, but it was always a possibility. The Knights and Guards never spoke of it, but when a squire died it was said they buried him where he fell in the gauntlet, his sword in his hand, his master’s sigil on his breast for all eternity.
Finn let himself observe Ramel, and he allowed himself to think that the lad was perhaps ready to become a squire, but he didn’t let himself think about what Knight Ramel would serve. After a few hours, his mind drifted to the black cap in his belt pouch. He resolved to study it in his room and then, perhaps, find a way to give it back to the princess.
