Reynor led the column to the stadholl, a great sod-covered longhouse in the center of the hamlet. And there on the wooden steps awaiting the Prince were the village elders, as well as the captains of the Dragonships.
The formal greeting had been short, but hearty; and the feasting that followed, most welcomed by Elgo and his Men, for they had been many days in the saddle, and field rations grow weary to the tongue.
Roast pig there was and fish, and fresh baked bread, as well as a thick vegetable stew. Horns of ale and honeyed mead flowed freely, and ship’s skalds sang of the heroes of elden days. And Elgo’s viridian eyes lighted up to hear of such Men, and of their deeds. And early during the fest, one poet sang the lay of Sleeth the Orm and the Taking of the Treasure of Blackstone. And during the telling it was hard for the Vanadurin to maintain a pose of polite interest; and a silence fell upon them, and they looked everywhere but at one another; yet none of the Fjordsmen seemed to take note of their studied nonchalance. But the moment passed when the tale came to an end, and another bard took up the bawdy ode of Snorri, Borri’s Son, and the Mystical Maid of the Maelstrom, the Harlingar singing lustily with all the rest.
Mead and bread and pig and fish and ale and stew were each consumed in prodigious quantities, and thralls rushed thither and yon to replenish emptied platters and depleted pots and drained pitchers. And night fell as the feast went on, but still the singing continued. Yet even the young must rest at last, and so they did: Some fell asleep in their platters, while others curled up on the floor; still others found a willing maid, and where they went it is not told. And there were those who left the stadholl to sleep in places prepared for them, and among these were Elgo and Ruric.
And as he drifted off into slumber, Ruric’s thoughts turned to Sleeth the Orm. And the Vanadurin Warrior’s mind strayed to a time apast when Elgo had first heard of the great Cold-drake’s taking of Blackstone, for in a manner of speaking, it was Ruric who had introduced the youngling to the tale.
CHAPTER 4
The Testing
Spring, Summer, and Fall, 3E1589
[Thirteen Years Past]
Bok! Noc, nok! Clak-klak!
Ruric sharply reined Flint, the white-speckled roan skidding to a halt in the dew-wet turf. The warrior on Flint’s back canted his head to the side, listening, trying to hear above the blowing steed.
Dok! Klak! Nok!
There!—Ruric’s eyes sought the source—Coming from the thicket. Sounds like staves.
Quietly, Ruric dismounted, leading Flint to the trees, looping a rein over a branch.
Dok! Dok! Nok!
The warrior made his way through the saplings, coming at last to the edge of a clearing, where were tethered two mounts. Standing quietly in the coppice, Ruric watched in marvel as two younglings battled amid a fury of battering, their quarterstaves flashing in the sunlit glade.
Suddenly, one went stumbling backwards, going down hard on his rump, his staff flying through the air, lost to his grip.
“Elyn!”—the youth’s features were distorted with rage—“You did that apurpose!”
Elyn stood a moment breathing hard, perspiration running in rivulets down her face.
“Here, let me tend that.” Her voice was soft as she set aside her quarterstaff and knelt in the grass beside him, unbinding her headband and reaching forth with the cloth.
“No!” spat Elgo, jerking his head to the side, blood flowing freely from his nose. “No!” he cried again, leaping to his feet and storming off toward the horses.
Elyn watched him go, then stood and bound her hair once more. She stooped and caught up his stave and followed, a gangly nearly-eleven-year-old girl trailing behind a nearly-eleven-year-old boy.
Whuff! Again young Elgo stumbled backward, and once more would have landed on his rump except a strong hand caught him ere he went down.
“Hold, my Princeling.” Ruric’s voice was gruff, and Elgo looked up in astonishment, for in his anger the lad had not been heeding his steps, and he had jolted into the warrior concealed in the shadows at the edge of the glade.
“Armsmaster Ruric, I did not see you.” Elgo lowered his head and turned it aside, sniffing, trying to conceal his bloody nose.
But Ruric was having none of that, reaching down and taking the boy by the chin, tilting the lad’s face upward toward his own. “Here, youngling, let us tend to that leaking neb o’ yers.” And as Elyn came up: “Ye had the right of it, Princess: we shall need yer headband.”
The Armsmaster led them both to the mossy bank of a clear freshette, the sparkling water bubbling through the trees, Elgo sullen, Elyn juggling the staves as she unbound her hair, Ruric secretly smiling to himself.
“Pride, laddie, pride,” growled Ruric, kneeling beside the stream and dipping the cloth in the icy water. Bidding the boy to lay down on the soft brye, the warrior pressed the cold cloth to the back of Elgo’s neck. “ ’Tis pride that ha’ been the downfall o’ many. They be too proud to learn from their mistakes, and in the end, that be what brings about their undoing. And that’ll be yer own undoing one day, too, unless ye learn to control yer prideful temper, yer prideful ways.”
Elyn sat down amid the soft moss, with its tiny flowerettes abloom in the early spring, plucking one and gently inhaling its faint fragrance, while Ruric fished another cloth from his sleeve and wetted it, placing it over Elgo’s nose. “Snuffle through that, youngling, it’ll cool ye down and stop that trickling beak o’ yers.”
As Elgo sniffed the soothing coolth, the Armsmaster leaned back against a birch and glanced over at Elyn and smiled. Then he turned back to Elgo, the warrior’s voice taking on a gruff tone. “Again I say, pride gets in the way o’ learning. Let me ask ye, laddie, why was Elyn able to get past yer guard, get past yer stave wi’ her own? D’ye know?”
“She cheat—” Elgo began, his voice harsh, but he was whelmed into silence at the sudden roar that burst forth from the Armsmaster:
“Silence!” A glare leapt upon Ruric’s features, and he started up in anger, both Elgo and Elyn flinching back from his ire. “Ha’e ye not heard a word I’ve said? Troll bones and Dragonhide, boy, how can ye expect to be King if ye persist in such stupidity?”
Ruric glowered down at the youth, and slowly the anger seemed to ebb away. “Let’s try it again, laddie,” he said, relaxing, leaning back against the tree once more, “but this time make not the sound o’ a whining whelp; think ere ye speak. Tell me now, as a warrior, as a Vanadurin, as a Harlingar, how did Elyn get past yer guard?”
Elgo, somewhat chastened yet still sulky, peevishly considered the problem. “I don’t know,” he answered at last, his voice surly.
“Hai!” crowed Ruric, leaning forward. “That be just it, boyo, ye don’t know! And if ye storm off in a huff, ye’ll ne’er know!” The warrior’s voice took on a sharp edge. “And the next time ye’ll make the same mistake, and ye’ll take it slap in the face again. And should ye make that kind o’ mistake as a Man . . . well, ye may not survive to tell o’ it.”
Once more Ruric leaned back against the birch, his voice growing softer. “Pride, laddie, pride. It’ll be yer downfall if ye let it. But the way to beat it be to learn from yer mistakes, and the best teacher be the one who defeated ye.
“Ah me, lad. I don’t mean for ye to lose yer spirit, but I do mean for ye to learn from yer betters. And in stavery, right now Elyn be yer better. ’Tis her that ye should be looking to for instruction, if she knows what it be that she did, and how she did it. E’en if ’twere but an accident, still ye should explore the which o’ it . . . and learn.”
Ruric fell silent, and for long moments there was nought but the burble of the stream and the shush of a fresh breeze among the leaves to listen to. Finally, “How did you do it, Elyn?” Elgo’s voice was low, sullen, the words reluctantly forced out of his mouth.
Elyn glanced up from the tiny flower she held and looked at Ruric, and at his nod, back to her twin. “Every time you stamp back with your left foot, th
en forward again, you drop your right shoulder to swing up from below. I simply waited, and shot my stave over yours as you came forward.”
“Ai-oi!” exclaimed Ruric. “A Warrior Maid!”
“Yes!” cried Elyn, casting the bloom aside, scrambling to her knees, eagerly leaning forward, her face flush with a sudden rush of blood. “Yes! That’s what I would be, Armsmaster Ruric. A Warrior Maiden as of eld.”
A look of startlement and then wonder filled Ruric’s features. “Warrior Maid?—” he began, but ere he could say aught else, Elyn plunged on.
“Aye, Armsmaster, a Warrior Maiden as of eld,” she repeated. Elyn’s clear eyes took on a bright viridian sparkle, and her words tumbled o’er one another in their rush to get out. “I’m already skilled with the sling. And Elgo has been teaching me the stave. But I need training with the bow . . . and . . . and the chariot, too.”
At this last, Ruric burst out in laughter. “Ho, lass, the chariot too?”
Elyn drew back from the Armsmaster, stung by his guffaws. Seeing the effect upon the young girl, Ruric suddenly grew sober. “Ach, Princess, chariots be no longer used, except for those toys raced during the midyear fest. Why, there’s not a real War chariot nearabout, and ha’ been none for hundreds o’ years. Hold, mayhap there be one gathering dust in the museum o’ the Aven King, but not a trace o’ a true chariot is to be found in Jord, lass, and Warrior Maid charioteers be a thing o’ the past.”
At these words, Elgo snorted, and once again blood began to trickle from his nose. In frustration he clapped the wet cloth back against his face, ire in his muffled voice. “See, Elyn! I told you it was stupid! I’m sorry I ever started.”
Ruric looked askance at the boy. “Dreams be not stupid, lad. Misguided, mayhap, but not stupid.”
Elgo sniffed.
Exasperated by her brother, but encouraged by Ruric’s words, Elyn spoke, fervor in her voice: “Yes, Armsmaster, I do have a dream: to be a Warrior Maid as they were in the days of Strong Harl. Charioteers. Spear hurlers. Archers. Slingsters. Wielders of the quarterstaff, and, aye, e’en at times plying swords or other blades in close combat. Scouts and messengers, too, where a maiden’s lighter weight ahorse, permits ranging wider afield, and fleet crossings of great distances.” Elyn’s voice dropped, and she settled back and peered at the ground. “That’s what I would be, Armsmaster. That’s what I would be.”
“Ah, lass, but all that ended wi’ the Great War,” responded Ruric, “for the Vanadurin Folk were devastated, nigh unto extinction I ween, Warrior Men and Maidens all. Then ’twas that the surviving Women decided that they must set aside their weapons, to give up War for hearth and home, to raise wee bairns instead o’ arms, for in no other way could the Harlingar survive. In no other way could the Harlingar recover, could we once again become a mighty nation. And that, my girl, be why there be no Warrior Maidens today.”
“But Armsmaster, that was thousands of years agone!” protested Elyn. “The Harlingar are strong once more. No longer is there a need for all Women to abide at the hearth, for all Women to suckle the young, for all Women to tend the cradle, Hence, as there were in the past, so should there be once more: it is time for Warrior Maidens to return.” Elyn thrust out her jaw, and for the first time her green eyes glared defiantly into Ruric’s blue. “And that is what I would be, Armsmaster, that is what I would be!”
“Pah!” said Elgo, sniffing disdainfully.
“Argh!” growled Ruric, provoked by the boy’s attitude, wanting to take the lad over his knee and teach him a lesson he would not forget. Instead, in his anger, the warrior turned to the Princess. “Alright, lass, ’tis a compact we’ll make: I’ll teach ye the skills o’ a Warrior Maiden, but ye must keep up wi’ the learning. Should ye fall behind or lose interest, then we be quits; but as long as ye work at it and improve, then that be how long I’ll teach.”
Ruric had the satisfaction of hearing Elgo groan and of seeing the Prince entirely cover his face with the damp cloth, trying to shut out the sight of Elyn throwing her arms about the gruff warrior’s neck. But then the Armsmaster’s delight at Elgo’s discomfiture quickly faded as he contemplated just what he had gotten himself into.
True to his word, time and again Ruric met with Elyn in the thicket by the side of the stream. And at the Armsmaster’s command, Elgo attended these sessions as well, for as Ruric knew, Elyn needed to drill against a foeman of her size, and as Ruric also knew, Elgo came not only to learn, but also to keep his sister from surpassing him. Too, Elgo’s tour on the Vanadurin training grounds would not begin till a year and two months hence, at the age of twelve; and so the Prince came eager to learn, and to test his growing skills in “battle,” though he would rather be pitted ’gainst boys of his own season. Even so, Elgo was at a disadvantage, for Elyn, just two months shy of eleven, was at that age where over the next two or three years she would be stronger, quicker, and more fleet of foot than her moments-elder twin brother, his spurt of growth into manhood yet to begin.
And so the coppice echoed with the clitter-clatter of wooden sabers, and the nok-bok of staves. And there was the strum and hiss and thock of bow hurling arrow into target and the whirr and siss and crack of sling-hurtled bullet as well. And they flung spears and grappled with “daggers” and Ruric even managed to acquire a festival chariot and teach them how to maneuver it in battle.
And the glade rang with the Armsmaster’s exhortations as time and again he set before them a new task, a new way of dealing with an attack, a new skill to learn.
And learn they did, though many a time Ruric would stop the action and give one or the other or both a good tongue-lashing:
“—Hold! Andrak’s black nails, boy, ’twas yer pride again. Will ye ne’er learn, young Prince? Hearken to me: Lady Elyn kept a cool head under yer assault, but ye became ired when she went on the attack, and yer temper got the better o’ ye and allowed her to score.”
“—Elyn, Elyn, what am I going to do wi’ ye? In this exercise, ’tis yer task to drive the chariot, and ’tis Elgo’s to hurl the spear. Stop screaming ‘Now!’ at him when ye think the lance should be hurled. That be his to do. Adon’s hammer, lass, keep yer own mind on the horses running straight and true, instead o’ careening about like drunken cobs.”
Spring became summer, and summer faded into fall, and still the lessons continued. Early on, these training sessions had become an open secret in the Court, but King Aranor did nought, for he was pleased that Elgo’s training had started so early, and only slightly disturbed by Elyn’s pursuit of arms. But Elyn’s spinster aunt, Mala, daughter of Earl Bost of the Fian Downs in Pellar, elder stepsister of the twins’ long-dead mother, Alania, was scandalized by Elyn’s behavior. After all, Mala had spent some time at the High King’s Court in Caer Pendwyr, and as Mala said, “. . . no Lady of that Court would even consider learning weaponry, much less becoming a warrior.”
And Mala nagged and nagged until finally in the fall, over Ruric’s objections, Aranor bade the Armsmaster to bring Elyn to the weapons ground, where the Warrior Maid’s mettle was to be tested ’gainst some of the elder lads, so that, as Mala put it, “. . . she will see the foolishness of her ways and turn to those things better suited to a genteel girl of noble breeding.”
Slowly the light crept upon the land, and the chill dawn mist enwrapped all. Down in the swales, undulant fog lay thickly, but up on the ramparts the vapor wafted frail and thin, causing halos to bloom ’round cresseted torches. Castle doors boomed open, and the King emerged along with others, while lackeys ran from the stables leading horses. With a great rattle and chatter of gears and chains and ratchets, the portcullis was raised and the gates were opened, as the entourage mounted up and clattered across the stone courtyard and out into the misty fields.
When they came to the training grounds, all dismounted and took up their respective places.
Aranor, a Man who looked to be in his middle forties, sat in the King’s pavilion, and by no deed did he show that Elyn was known to
him. Yet any who gazed upon Aranor would know that Elyn and Elgo had sprung from his loins. Green eyes looked out from a handsome face, and his wide forehead was capped by a tangle of coppery hair, and in this he was like unto his seed. But it was his bearing—straight, with a grace and power—that marked him as sire to the twins, as well as a look deep within his gaze: “The look of hawks,” said some; “Nay, the look of eagles,” claimed others. But hawk or eagle, the same spirit also could be marked on both Elyn’s and Elgo’s features; and at times, the twins’ movements were filled with a fluency and ease that spoke of their sire—though if asked, Aranor would claim that it was their mother that filled the twain with her elegant grace.
At Aranor’s side sat Mala, rigid and sour, her black hair coiled into its habitual tight knot at the back of her head. It was an hour she was not accustomed to seeing, and her icy blue gaze and thin-drawn lips spoke volumes. Yet, lurking within that chill stare was anticipation of the triumph to come, for now Elyn would see just how foolish she had been, and would at last be raised as a proper Princess should be.
Elgo, embarrassed to be trapped in this debacle, squirmed on one of the ground-level pages’ benches before the pavilion. Several other youngsters sat with him.
Out on the field Elyn looked wan, as if she had not slept the night before. Yet her eyes were bright and clear.
On the field, too, an archery target was set up, a black silhouette of one of the Rutchen spawn.
Ardon, a lad of fourteen summers, stood some twenty paces from the dark profile, bow strung, waiting.
As Ruric walked out to the mark with Elyn, he spoke little. “Courage, lass. Remember: Inhale full. Exhale half and hold. Draw to yer anchor point. Fix yer aim. Loose.”
Elyn took up her place beside the lad. Each was given four arrows. Elyn stood straight as a reed, nocking missile to string, peering through the uncertain light at the distant target.
Dragondoom: A Novel of Mithgar Page 3
