by Carol Berg
“What is it he does?”
Karon had removed his cloak, his tunic, and his shirt. Now he sat on the steps in front of the six and motioned to an onlooker, who proceeded to remove Karon’s boots. When he rose again, clad only in breeches and leggings, doing something with his hands, the crowd was instantly hushed.
“He surrenders himself,” said the Dulcé, laying aside the Prince’s weapons. “His actions tell his people that he is their servant and that he will abide by the results of examination by their Preceptors. In essence, he states his willingness to risk everything-his freedom and his rightful inheritance-to erase all doubts as to his lineage and capacities. The silver ribbon she wraps about his wrists symbolizes his submission to their authority.” His chin lifting a bit, he pointed out the window. “Note that it is to Madyalar he has surrendered, not to the head of the council-Exeget-as would be expected. A clever move, but a terrible insult to Exeget. All will understand it, of course. Everyone in the city knows of the bitterness between them.”
The six turned and walked slowly up the steps to the palace gates, which swung open before them. Karon followed, shirtless and barefoot in the cold, bright morning, and a phalanx of guards fell in behind him.
“Why?” I said. “Why would Dassine tell him to do such a thing? It doesn’t make sense.”
“I wish I could answer, my lady. My late master was a wise and clever man, and I knew him better than anyone living save the Prince, who cannot yet remember how they existed as one mind in the years when he had no body. Master Dassine did many things in his life that were tangled and obscure, yet-please do not think that I boast-I have always been able to unravel his plots. This one, though”- he clasped his hands tightly behind his back. “I cannot piece together any strategy requiring the Prince to present himself defenseless to those who were willing for him to die on the Bridge only a few months ago.”
The crowds dispersed quickly, leaving the commard almost deserted. Kellea and Paulo had wakened and joined us at the window, and we explained what we’d seen and Bareil’s misgivings.
“What are the possible outcomes of this examination?” asked Kellea.
“If he is found to be the Heir and sound of mind, then he will be able to assume his throne and do as he pleases. If it is determined that he is an impostor, he will be executed immediately. If he is found to be the true Heir, yet of unsound mind-which is what I fear-I do not know. In a thousand years such a thing has never occurred.”
“I say we move ahead,” said Kellea, turning her back on the window. “It sounds as if we can’t count on the Prince to be of any use. If he can, then all to the good, but we can’t wait to find out. We must go after the boy now-on our own, if that’s the only way.”
Kellea was right. The Prince-Karon-was on his own. I had to put aside fear and anger, to crush and bind the emotions that had been driving me to lash out so thoughtlessly. Our opponents were sorcerers whose powers I could not imagine. I would fight for my son, but I doubted this battle would be fought with swords and troops. “How long until the results of the Prince’s examination are known?”
Bareil settled on the stool by the fire. “Days, certainly. More likely many weeks. In such a state as he is in…”
“Then, as Kellea says, we must prepare to do this ourselves,” I said. “But I’ll not risk Gerick’s life by acting without thought. You’ve said they’ll want to teach Gerick… train him… raise him in their ways… is that right?”
“That is the only plan that seems likely, though, of course, I cannot say-”
“That will take time. So we must take advantage of it. We have to find aid we can trust, and a plan that will work. We must learn how to live in this world: the customs, the language, the geography, whatever else Bareil can teach us of the Lords, the Zhid, and Zhev’Na. We’ll need clothing that will not be remarked. If it means six weeks instead of six days until we’re ready, then that’s the way it must be. Proceeding rashly could cost us everything. Will you help us, Bareil?”
The Dulcé bowed to me. “It will be my pleasure to share all I can bring forth. The Prince commanded me to be of service to you during his absence.”
My anger threatened to break loose again. “Do you mean he told you he was going to go through with this? Knowing the risk, you let him go without waking me?”
“He saw no alternatives and no benefit in further discussion. Though he did not understand Master Dassine’s reasoning, he said he sincerely hoped it did not involve the Preceptors putting a knife in him and trading him for the boy, for such was the only rational plan he had heard.” The Dulcé buried his grief in his sweet smile. “It was a jest, my lady, and he did not forbid me to tell you of it.”
CHAPTER 20
Gerick
The sun on my face was bright and hot. I pushed back the blanket, only to pull it right back up again when I realized I was naked. I sat up instead. The bed was huge and high off the floor, but hard, more like a table than Mama’s bed with its piles of pillows. The bedchamber was as big as Papa’s room at Comigor, though this one looked even bigger because it didn’t have much furnishing: a few tables, a giant hearth, some straight chairs of light-colored wood, and a few lamp-stands with copper oil lamps hung from them. Along one side of the room were the tall window openings where the sun shone in so fiercely.
I didn’t remember coming here. Darzid had taken me off the horse and carried me through a doorway in a rock, but that was the last thing I knew.
Clothes that looked my size were laid out on the end of the bed. As I couldn’t see any of my own things, I assumed these were meant for me. I pulled on a linen singlet and underdrawers, and then climbed out of the bed so I could look around. Some of the windows were actually doors opening onto a balcony that looked out over courtyards, lower buildings, and walls. Beyond the walls lay desert- red cliffs and dirt all the way to the horizon, smoke and dust hanging in the air. The sun that was still low on the horizon was red, too.
I had never seen true desert country. Papa had taken me to eastern Leire once to visit his favorite swordmaker. The land there was dry and flat and ugly, but Papa had said that true deserts were beautiful, with fine colors, and their own kind of odd plants and interesting animals, and mysterious water holes where everything lived together. As far as I could see, nothing grew in this place, and nothing was at all beautiful.
I turned back to the room. The bedchamber didn’t have long solid walls like the rooms at Comigor. The rooms were divided by ranks of thin pillars forming arches. Metal grill-work holding candles sat in some of the arches. Strips of woven cord hung in others, moving in the hot air coming in from the balcony. Each wall had one archway that was wider than the others and didn’t have anything else in it. These were the “doors,” I supposed.
Beyond one of the doorway arches was a room entirely filled with clothes and boots. At Comigor I had a clothes chest where my things were folded and put away, and Mama had a huge clothes chest and a carved wardrobe taller than Papa to hang her dresses in. I had never seen so many garments at once, and they were clearly for one person, as they were all the same size. Shirts and tunics were hung up one after the other from long poles. Leggings, hose, breeches, and singlets were folded on shelves that extended higher than I could reach. Short and long cloaks hung on hooks. And rows of shoes stood under the hanging shirts-riding and walking boots of every cut and soft shoes to wear indoors. The clothes were not colored silk or ruffled, embroidered things like Mama had made for me. Most seemed to be plain, sturdy shirts and breeches and tunics like Papa wore when he went to war. On one shelf was a wooden case that held buckles and belts, and some jewelry-a man’s jewelry. I didn’t touch any of it.
Through another archway I found a bathing room. The floor and outer walls were covered with painted tiles of dark blue and green, and a deep pool was built right into the floor. I touched an ivory handle and steaming water gushed out of a gold pipe that was shaped like a screaming man. I’d never seen anything like it. When I pul
led my hand away, the water stopped.
Other archways led to a sitting room with more tall window openings and another hearth. In front of the hearth was a table big enough to eat on and a number of straight wood chairs. Across that room, beyond another arched opening, was a wide staircase that curved downward. I thought I’d better get some clothes on before going downstairs, so I returned to the bedchamber and put on the clothes that lay on the bed: a gray linen shirt, black breeches and tunic, gray leggings and black leather boots that reached over my calves.
Laid out right next to the clothes were a sword belt and a knife sheath. They were wonderful. The knife was polished like a looking glass, and so sharp it took a sliver of wood off the edge of the table as easy as cutting a peach. The hilt was engraved with all manner of strange beasts, and fit my hand perfectly. The sword was a real rapier, every bit as fine as the knife. Even Papa would have approved the point and the finish. Best of all, the length was perfect for my height. My fencing master at Comigor, Swordmaster Fenotte, had insisted I use wooden weapons or old brittle swords that had been cut off short, so dull and nicked and blunt that you couldn’t stick a hunk of bread with them. If the clothes were meant for me, then surely the weapons must be intended for me, too, or else they wouldn’t be next to the clothes. Just at that moment, I heard footsteps on the tile floor behind me. I spun about, dropping the sword belt with a loud clatter.
Captain Darzid walked in through the archway that led to the sitting room and the stairs. He was followed by a man wearing almost nothing. “No, no, Your Grace,” said Captain Darzid, smiling and waggling his finger at the sword belt. “The weapons are certainly yours, just as you guessed. Wear them as a young duke should. In Zhev’Na, a noble with a sworn blood debt is not treated as a child, but given his proper respect. You’ll find life here very different than in a household run by women.”
“Is Zhev’Na the name of this country?” I said. I didn’t want to tell him that I couldn’t even remember how we got here. A duke with a sworn blood oath shouldn’t be stupid enough to lose track of himself the way I had.
“This land is called Ce Uroth, which in the local language means ‘the Barrens.’” Darzid stepped to the windows.
“And it is indeed a barren land-stripped of softness and frivolous decoration, its power exposed for all to see. If he wants to accomplish his purposes, a soldier must be hard like this land, not decked out in a whore’s finery, or wallowing in weakness or sentimentality.”
He smiled then-that too-friendly smile that I didn’t like. “But more such lessons later. We’ve had a long journey, and for the moment we are safely out of the reach of your enemies.” He waved his hand in the air. “This house and everything in it are yours for as long as you stay in the fortress of Zhev’Na. It is not so large as Comigor, but finer, I think, and well suited to your situation.”
“Mine… all of this?”
“Yes. Your hosts… the Lords of this place… had the house and clothing made ready for you when they heard you were coming. Do you approve?”
I gawked at everything all over again. “It’s very fine.”
The other man had knelt down beside the doorway, bowed his head, and stretched his arms out to either side. Darzid poked at the man’s back with his boot as if he were something not quite nice lying in the road, but the man didn’t change his position. “This slave Sefaro will be your chamberlain. He will run your household and see to all your needs. He-as all Dar’Nethi slaves-must have permission before he speaks or you must cut out his tongue. Command him as you will. Kill him if he does not please you. He is very capable, but there are many more to take his place if he does not serve.”
The kneeling man didn’t look at all surprised at the captain’s terrible words. His skimpy gray tunic left his arms and legs and feet bare, and his hair was cut off very short. Wide metal bands were wrapped about his neck and his wrists. We didn’t have slaves in Leire. Prisoners were usually killed or maimed, unless they were needed in the quarries or mines. Enemies who were not soldiers were left to work and pay taxes to our king.
As I stared at the slave and thought about what it must feel like to cut out a man’s tongue, Captain Darzid went on talking. “… look in on you from time to time, but you’ll not lack for entertainment. A swordmaster will begin your training this afternoon-and he will not be a gibbering dancing master in pantaloons like Philomena hired for you. Tomorrow you will begin lessons in hand combat and to learn to ride like a soldier instead of a child. You’ve never in your life ridden such horses as we have in Zhev’Na.”
“But-”
“Is this not your wish? To become a strong and ruthless warrior like your father and grandfather?”
“Yes… yes, of course it is,” I said. I was just surprised at it happening so fast. And I wasn’t certain I ought to stay so close to Captain Darzid. Surely he would find out about my sorcery and arrest me. To think of burning to death made my stomach hurt.
All happened just as Darzid said. That afternoon I met Calador, my swordmaster. He was tall and thin. His arms looked like a thin layer of skin stretched over a bundle of ropes, and his eyes were strange, like the eyes in a statue where they forgot to put any pupils in them. He wore a plain gold earring in one ear. On that first day he made me run and jump, stretch, bend, and twist for hours until every muscle was sore. Never once did I get to pick up my new sword. When he said we were finished for the day, I guess he saw that I was disappointed.
“Soon enough, young Lord. We have a great deal of work to do before you take up a weapon.” His voice was cold. “You have decent reflexes, but you are weak and poorly disciplined.”
A whole week of sword training passed before I got to try my rapier, and then only to poke at dry leaves and shavings of wood that a slave would drop from the top of a wall. By that time I already hated Calador. He was forever taunting me and telling me how like a dainty girl I was, and how I was too stupid to know which end of the sword was sharp. When I did something wrong, he would make me squat for an hour with my hands extended in front of me, holding a brick in each one. He said he could not believe I was kin to a great swordsman and that perhaps swordsmen in my country were not of the same quality as those of Ce Uroth. All I could think of in those hours was how I had to keep getting better so I could beat Calador someday.
I rose at dawn every day, ate some fruit and cheese, and went straight to sword training for several hours. At mid-morning I ate again, only a little, for after another hour of sword practice I went straight to the wrestling ground, a small courtyard of packed sand, for training in hand combat. Two hours later, after only a brief rest and a drink, I would walk out to the stables for my riding lessons. I didn’t need to worry about sorcery. By sunset, I was so tired I could hardly stay awake to eat before I fell into the bed.
A big, burly slave named Xeno taught me hand combat. He was patient and coaxed me along when I was so black and blue that it hurt even to clench my fist. He said he wouldn’t go easy just because I was inexperienced. But I knew he could have snapped me like a twig, and that he truly did hold back when things got too hard. He wore one of the iron collars, too-all the slaves had to wear them. I wanted to ask Xeno how he got to be a slave, but like all the slaves he was not allowed to speak beyond our business. All the slaves were afraid all of the time, even one so strong as Xeno.
My riding master was called Murn, and he was like Calador-not a slave. Like Calador he wore a gold earring and had eyes that prickled your skin when you looked at them. He wasn’t quite so nasty as the swordmaster, but then I was a better rider than I was a swordsman. The problem with Murn was that I always came to him last in the day, and it didn’t matter if I was bleeding from sword fighting or bruised from hand combat, he never changed his lesson at all. Some days I was so tired I couldn’t stay on the horse when we were practicing jumps, or even control the beasts, they were so wild. It seemed like I spent half the riding time sprawled out on the ground. Murn shook his head and said that was just t
oo bad. My technique needed to improve.
It felt good to fight and train, though. After only two weeks I had grown stronger and faster than I ever had been in my life. And no one bothered me about dressing properly or dancing lessons or being polite. This was just what I had always wanted.
Thousands of soldiers were camped around the fortress. At night you could see their fires dotted all over the plains like stars that had fallen out of the sky. In the daytime they marched and drilled and fought with each other, looking like ants there were so many. They were allowed to fight to the death in their training, which was never done in Leire. Sometimes they marched crowds of people-slaves and servants-out onto the plains and made them play the part of the enemy. They killed lots of them. On almost every day I saw bodies thrown onto piles and burned. Some days I just saw and smelled the nasty smoke that hung over the desert. You didn’t have to be in Ce Uroth very long before you knew that the Lords of Zhev’Na were at war with somebody.
One day after I had lived in Zhev’Na for several weeks, my swordmaster Calador came to watch my hand-combat training. Xeno was teaching me how to disable an opponent without damaging him permanently. As our practice progressed, Calador’s face turned red and angry. After a while, he called Xeno over and commanded him to kneel down. Xeno did so, which looked strange since Xeno was about twice Calador’s size. “What are you are doing here, slave?”
“I’m teaching the young master hand combat as I was commanded, Swordmaster.”
“You are teaching him to be killed.”
“No, begging your pardon, Swordmaster. I am teaching him how to survive, how to deal with attackers that are larger or stronger or quicker, how to disarm them with guile.”
