Ascendant

by Craig Alanson

  Koren looked in the pouch. It held four gold coins. He was shocked. “I can’t take this!” He had never seen so much money in his life.

  Kyre waved his hand, as if gold coins were nothing special to him. “Take it, take it. If you need to run, you’ll need to run far, and never come back. I’d like to offer you sanctuary, but if the Falco’s defy the Regent, that would be treason.”

  “OK, I’ll hold it someplace safe, and hope I never need it.”

  Kyre frowned. “I think you will, and sooner than you think.” If Niles Forne’s plan worked, Kyre said to himself, Koren would need it soon.

  “You gave him what?” Niles Forne asked, shocked.

  “It’s only four gold coins, Forne, the Falco’s can afford it.” Kyre added defensively. “Besides, we want Koren to go far way, right? How far do you think he would get without money? Four gold coins is a good investment.”

  “Hmmf. Your reasoning is sound, young sire, but I think your reason is not. You feel sorry for this boy.”

  “Koren didn’t do anything. It’s not his fault.” Kyre protested.

  Forne snorted. “Koren is not your friend. His own parents didn’t want him. I think you forget sometimes that Duke Falco is not only your father, he is your liege lord, and he gave you an order to get rid of Koren, so Ariana will need to find someone else as a companion.”

  “I know my father’s orders, Forne.”

  “Knowing, and obeying, are two different things. You need to do both.”

  That evening, Niles Forne scribbled a letter to Duke Falco, informing him of the day’s events. That Koren had been wizard-spelled to be blindingly fast with a sword was dismaying, but no great problem. The castle had been made a less pleasant place for Koren, Kyre had warned him he was in danger from Paedris, and Koren was now thinking maybe he needed to run away in the future. Now all Forne needed to do is give Koren a reason to think the time to run was now. But, Forne added to the letter, “I fear your son, although following my instructions, is sympathetic to the Bladewell boy. Kyre must take care, lest he become soft.” Softness, Forne knew, was not allowed in the Falco family.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Koren had thought he could train with the weapons master when he wanted to, when he had time and felt like sparring. No such luck. Paedris had worked out a schedule with the weapons master, and Koren now had to report to the sparring ring three times a week, in addition to his own work for Paedris. And caring for Thunderbolt, and working in the stables to pay for the horse's keep. And the three times a week tutoring in writing, history and mathematics that Paedris had insisted for Koren. With the weapons master, there was training with the sword, of course, but also Koren learned to use a shield, a pike, a spear and a bow. The bow he liked best, he had always been deadly accurate with arrows when hunting, and now he never missed a target, even when Koren was on horseback and the target was also moving. The sword training was the worst. Instead of a chance to show off, and whack the weapons master with a practice sword, the training involved what the weapons master called Forms; endless repetitions of swinging the sword around, and placing his feet in exactly the correct position, and bending his elbow just so, until Koren’s whole body ached, and his arms felt like they would fall off from weariness. Koren thought that, after training with the weapons master and the man’s stupid Forms, that he was going to curl up in the Form of a ball, and be stuck in that Form forever, because he was so stiff and sore.

  Between his two jobs, caring for his horse, and combat training, Koren decided he needed to forget about silly things like looking for a lost Cornerstone.

  Koren was cleaning up after the wizard's dinner, when he lifted a knife, and balanced it on his finger, like the weapons master showed him to do with swords. "Sir," he asked, "I'm training to use weapons."

  "Hmm? Yes, the weapons master tells me you are learning quickly." The weapons master had sounded overjoyed to have such a talented and obedient student, rather than the clumsy, arrogant royal children he was used to.

  "Yes, sir. I am doing my best, sir." And Koren had the bruises and aching muscles to prove his efforts. "Am I going to get a real sword, sir? To protect you?"

  "Eh? Why would I need you to protect-" Paedris sucked in a breath. Having to remember all the lies he'd told was getting to be all too much. "Oh, certainly, yes, of course, now that you are gaining skill, it is time for you to get a sword of your own. Yes, yes, that is a capital idea." Paedris hoped to venture out with the army in the summer, and would take Koren with him. For that, the boy needed weapons of his own, weapons he was familiar with, rather than whatever second-hand gear the army had available. Perhaps the weapons master had, no, Paedris had a better idea. Koren was working very hard, the boy deserved a reward. Something nice, but something that didn't seem like an indulgence. "A sword is a very personal thing, it needs to feel right in your hand. You should start with a short sword." The wizard saw Koren's face fall, so he hastened to add "The short sword is carried by most archers, as a secondary weapon. With your remarkable skill with a bow, it is unlikely you will be called upon to fight at short range." And, if Paedris could help it, Koren would not be called upon to fight at all, until he mastered his immense magical power. "Tomorrow, go to Hedurmur's in Linden, you know where the flower fountain is, near the clocktower? Hedurmur's shop is down the street to the north a block or two, I haven't been there in some time. Ask people when you get near, tell them you want to buy a sword from the dwarf."

  "A dwarf? Hedurmur is a dwarf, sir?" Koren had seen dwarves around the castle, the dwarves had an ambassador who visited the castle at least once a week from his home just outside the main gate. And he'd seen dwarves in Crebbs Ford, a wagon came through the village to use the bridge once a year or so, and would stop outside the Golden Trout to sell their fine metalworking. But Koren had never spoken to a dwarf. Twice he had gone with his father to buy items from the dwarves, their metal plow blades lasted almost forever, his father had said, and needed sharpening only once each season. The first time, Koren had stayed under a tree with the family wagon while his father bargained for a good price, the second time Koren had shyly stood beside his father, watching the dwarves with fascination. Dwarves were, to his surprise, not as short as he expected, most were a good four or more feet tall! It was amusing to see some of the less-tall humans stretching themselves to full height when around the dwarves, when that height was not much more than half a foot taller than the visitors. The few dwarf women Koren had seen were lovely; petite with bright eyes, looking no different than miniature human women. It was the dwarf men who were somewhat exotic, being much more broad than a human man of the same height, and stronger. The stories Koren had heard of dwarves being inordinately proud of their beards appeared to be true, all the dwarf men Koren had seen had thick, luxurious beards, some adorned with beads or even gold ringlets.

  "Yes, he is the chief of his clan here, he operates a metal shop. Take this," the wizard pulled a gold and silver token out of this pocket and gave it to Koren, it felt heavier than it should have, and was rather warm, "and go to Hedurmur, tell him I want you to have a proper sword, he can put it on my account."

  "Oh, yes sir, thank you sir!"

  Koren awoke early the next morning, eager to get his chores done and go into the city to see the dwarf. By two glasses before noon, his horse had been exercised, groomed and fed, the stoves in the tower were well stocked with wood and burning nicely, the wizard's dining area had been cleaned up after breakfast, and the wizard himself was happily puttering away in his laboratory, sipping from a fresh pot of coffee. Koren walked out through the main gate, greeting the guards, feeling the token Paedris had given him laying heavy in his pocket. Even in winter, the city of Linden was busy; wagons rolling about the streets, the markets open although the people selling wares were bundled up against the cold, huddling over small stoves while they waited for customers. Many of the merchants knew Koren, and called out to him, offering roots, spices and other such things he often bou
ght for the wizard, but this day he only smiled and waved back. When he arrived at the fountain in front of the clock tower, he wandered north up several streets until he found the building that must belong to the dwarf. The front of the building looked like the entrance to a cave, Koren wondered how the dwarves had brought such large, heavy pieces of stone through the city streets, until he realized the stones were fake, being made of plaster. He ran his hand over the fake rock, which needed to be repainted in spots, where the bare plaster showed through. Suddenly, the heavy wood door was yanked open, and Koren was face to face with a dwarf. Or face to chest, since the top of the dwarf's head came up not quite to Koren's chin. The dwarf shrugged. "You humans think all dwarves live in caves, so we added this ridiculous facade on the building. You have business here?" He asked gruffly, looking skeptically at Koren's rough workman clothing.

  "Yes, uh, sir?" Koren said, unsure how to address the dwarf. Or man, since the dwarf was a man, with a grey beard that draped halfway to his belt. "Lord Salva sent me?" He pulled the token out of his pocket and held it up.

  "The wizard!" The dwarf exclaimed in surprise. "Come in, come in, kind sir. My name's Leggard, at your service. Why, we haven't heard from Lord Salva in many seasons. Too long!" He held the door open just wide enough for Koren to pass through, then closed it firmly. "My old bones can't stand this cold anymore." They entered a dark, low-ceilinged chamber that Leggard said apologetically was also just for show, through a larger door, and into a large, cheery room, with a cozy fire in the stone fireplace, and windows in the ceiling. Koren thought that having windows in a roof was strange, but they did let in a lot of light. The dwarf bowed to a figure sitting in a large leather chair in front of the fireplace. "Hedurmur, Lord Salva's servant to see you."

  Hedurmur stood up, he was younger than Koren expected. Perhaps very young, for Hedurmur's beard was a mere dark shadow on his face. Although, he had lines on his face, so was he old, or was that just the way dwarves were? Koren must have been staring, for Hedurmur self-consciously ran a hand over his chin. "Odd looking isn't it?" The dwarf chuckled. "My face feels naked without it, and cold, too, bad time of year to be without a beard, I tell you. Magnificent beard I had, until an accident at the forge three days ago, and singed half of it off. Figured it best to shave it all off, and start over."

  "Um, um, yes, master Hedurmur, sir. I'm Koren, sir, Lord Salva's servant." Koren's own hand touched the wispy fuzz on his own face, before he realized what he was doing. He checked hopefully for beard growth in a polished metal mirror every morning, but so far he had been disappointed.

  "Leggard, get our friend Koren here a drink, we have some mead, uh, hmm," Hedurmur considered Koren for a moment, "you are rather young, aren't you, eh? Hard for us to tell with you humans sometimes. Leggard, put some tea on to brew, I could use a cup myself, on this cold day. Koren, come sit by the fire while we discuss what brings you here today."

  Koren explained about his need for a sword, and Hedurmur nodded when he heard the wizard had suggested a short sword.

  "Mmm, a short sword, just the thing, just the thing, indeed. I've heard about you, Koren, your sparring with the weapons master. Heard you have incredible skill with a bow. If you'll be fighting, it will either be with a bow, at long range, or sword for short quarters. In close combat, a short sword is both faster and less clumsy that a broad sword. Leave the big showy metal to knight cavalry, and to the idiot sons of royalty so they can play at being soldiers. When your life is at stake, you want to move quick, slash and stab, slash and stab. No room for a long sword in close combat, you get unlucky and the tip gets caught on something, and next eyeblink you're looking at your guts spilled out onto the ground." Hedurmur saw Koren's face go white at that thought, he'd forgotten how young the boy was. The dwarf coughed, and sipped tea while Koren stared into the fire for a moment, nervously slurping tea from his own cup. "Ah, if you're ever in trouble, you'll have the master wizard by your side, eh? Let's go find you a sword."

  Hedurmur led the way into a room that was filled with weapons, both finished and in rough form. The dwarf selected a half dozen finished blades, thought as minute, and unlocked a cabinet to get out another blade, then carried them into yet another door, which opened into a long, narrow corridor, at the end of which was a door to a well-equipped blacksmith shop. Hedurmur walked through, shouting greetings and orders to several dwarf blacksmiths over the din of forges, bellows, pounding hammers, the hissing of hot metal being quenched in barrels of oil. Coming from the hot, closed air of the shop into an open courtyard was a shock; the cold winter air actually felt good. "Try these swords. Feel the balance, swing them around. If you find one that's close to what you want, I'll send for more of that type. And we can always modify a sword, or make a new one for you."

  Koren didn't need Hedurmur's shop to change anything for him, the fourth sword he picked up was the one. As soon as he picked it up, he knew, it simply felt right in his hand, like it was a part of him. He was pretty sure this was the blade Hedurmur had taken from the locked cabinet, whatever that meant.

  "You're sure, then?" Hedurmur asked, almost disappointed that he wouldn't be creating a custom sword for the wizard's servant.

  "I'm sure, sir. Like it was made for me, it's perfect."

  "Huh. Let's see how you use it." Hedurmur strapped a blunt brass covering over Koren's sword, and picked up a practice axe. They began sparring, slowly at first.

  Koren had never sparred against a battleaxe, nor against an opponent shorter than he was. Shorter, but also stronger. Instead of using the proper forms and techniques, because Koren didn't know the proper technique for defending against an axe, he had to fall back on his speed and instinct, or he'd be falling on his behind in the dirt. The weapons master, Koren decided, need to teach axe fighting, and fighting against shorter enemies. Orcs were short in stature like dwarves, weren't they? And fought with axes.

  On his third time being knocked to the ground, Hedurmur held up a hand in surrender. "Ah, if I still had a beard, I'd have to shave it off in shame, young Koren. With your speed, I'd wager you could beat me, or most anyone, with that sword. Or with a feather." The dwarf grumbled under his breath.

  Koren was sore, and his arms felt ready to fall off. "I was lucky, sir, I've never fought an axe, or a dwarf. " He swung his right shoulder around slowly, to loosen it. "You're very strong, sir."

  "Bless you for taking it easy on an old dwarf's ego, I'll be sore in the morning, I wager. That's the sword for you, no question about it. I'll have it sharpened, and we'll deliver it to the wizard's tower tomorrow. What about the grip?" It was plain, rough brown leather. "I can make it nice, inscribe your name on it?"

  Koren shook his head. He wasn't buying the sword, the money would come from the wizard's pockets. The sword would be Koren's to use while he served the wizard, but it would not be his property, any more than the brooms, mops or other tools around the tower. "No, sir, it's fine the way it is. Thank you, sir, this is a fine blade."

  "None finer." Hedurmur beamed with pride, as he held the sword up and sighted down its length. "People think the strength of our metal comes from the way we work the metal in our forges, or the mixture of oil we use in the quench, or the quality of the ores we mine up in the mountains. The truth is, it's all that combined, plus more." He winked. "And that's all I'll say about it now. Give my regards to the wizard, please."

  The Lady Carlana Trehayme, Regent of Tarador and mother of the crown princess, closed the heavy accounts book with a loud thump and rubbed her tired eyes. "Enough of these accounts for tonight, I am weary of keeping track of grain storage-"

  "Forgive me, your Highness," Chancellor Kallron interrupted gently, "we must-"

  "Enough!" Carlana fairly shouted, and emphatically slapped the leather cover of the accounts book. She picked up her half-empty wine glass and drained it in one long drink, then waved away the servant who was coming to refill the glass. "Yes, we need to look at this, but not tonight. Not tonight. Tomorrow morning, then w
e can look at this again, after I have breakfast, and perhaps a ride into the countryside. The wizard promised the weather will be better tomorrow; these cloudy, chilly days have me down. I do so need a ride."

  Kallron rose from his chair, gathered up his books and scrolls, and bowed slightly to the Regent. "Certainly, your Highness." He would be up late, again, reviewing the royal accounts by himself, only royalty could decide when they wanted to work, or not. The rest of the world worked when they had to, which was all the time. "I shall wait upon you in the morning."

  "Wait, Chancellor, before you go, how is my daughter able to maintain her personal guard in the Thrallren? I received a report from my captain there," she absent-mindedly searched for the particular scroll amongst the disorderly pile on her table before giving up, "and her troops are still there, with no sign they are preparing to leave anytime soon. In fact, the commander of her guard ordered new pack mules. Surely she has run out of money by now." Carlana had expected her daughter to raise the subject, and apologize, but the princess had not mentioned it once.

  "Oh, that." Kallron had been dreading this question from the Regent. "Your daughter has been able to obtain a loan, from a merchant banker, a substantial loan. She will be able to fund her personal guard until she becomes queen."

  "My daughter dealt with a banker? When? How did she-" Her eyes narrowed. "She didn't, you did, didn't you?"

  "Not personally, I had it handled with extreme discretion. The banking house does not know the loan was to your daughter."

  "Those tight-fisted merchants don't loan money to strangers. What did you do?" She asked suspiciously.

  The chancellor felt like a fish on the end of a hook, dangling in front of the Regent. "The princess gave me an emerald ring, to use as surety for the loan. The merchant was led to believe the loan is to an unnamed baroness. Your daughter said she rarely wore this ring, so it is unlikely to be recognized?"