by David Drake
A man in a robe was in what seemed to be a common room; there were three doors opening into it, two of them now open. Heckert said, “Good morning, Master Welsh. This is Lord Pal of Beune, who’s taking the empty room in this suite.”
“Empty?” said Welsh. He was a squat man with black hair whose moustache flared into his beard. “Bloody hell, I meant to watch Daniello’s trial but I really tied one on last night. He passed, then?”
The door opened behind us and a large red-haired man strode in. He looked angry.
“Hey, Garrett!” Welsh called. “Daniello passed!”
“Like hell he did!” the redhead said. “He got cut down in the first minute. I was bloody watching, wasn’t I?”
“Well, why are they…?” Welsh said, turning his head toward one of the open doors. The bed within had been stripped.
“I believe Lord Daniello withdrew from Aspirants’ Hall after injuries in his admissions joust, Master Welsh,” Heckert said. I wondered how he’d lost his arm, though I suppose it didn’t matter.
“Withdrew!” said Garrett. “He took a hard one on the side of the knee and you kicked him out on his ass, you mean!”
“Does it matter, sir?” said Heckert calmly. “This is Lord Pal of Beune, who is taking Lord Daniello’s place. Lord Pal, I’ll see that your servants are informed.”
He was quickly out the door of the suite, closing it behind him.
Garrett and Welsh were both looking at me with grim expressions. I said, “Gentlemen, I’m sorry about your friend. I just arrived here today and don’t know anything.”
Clearing my throat, I added, “And look, that ‘Lord Pal,’ stuff is crap and I didn’t start it. There’s nobody in Beune that’s noble, and if there was it wouldn’t be me.”
They looked at each other. “Well, it’s not your fault,” Welsh said. “I wouldn’t call Daniello a friend, but the three of us shared this room for the best part of a year. I’d really hoped that one of us was going to make Champion.”
“Hell, Daniello maybe dropped out on his own,” Garrett said, sounding depressed. “The admissions joust is at forty percent. I could hear the snap from the sideline when the cut landed. He’ll limp for the rest of his life.”
“Bloody hell,” Welsh muttered. Then he straightened and faced me squarely. “All right, Pal,” he said. “Let’s see your gear. Or did you leave it with your man?”
“No, it’s right here,” I said. I took the shield and weapon out of my pockets and set them on top of a table projecting from the wall beside the door. I had to push half a dozen empty bottles together to make room.
Garrett and Welsh bent close. “Dainty little things, aren’t they?” Welsh said. “You get them on Beune, wherever that is?”
I kept my voice calm. “They work pretty well,” I said. “The shield is from here, I’m told, but the weapon comes from Beune. I helped make it myself.”
“You’re a Maker?” Garrett said, frowning.
“I’m a Maker also,” I said. “But I’m here to join the Company of Champions.”
“Well, fair enough,” said Welsh. “That’s why Garrett and me are here, too. Why don’t we all go over to the practice room and see how you and the hardware perform, hey?”
“No time like the present,” I said, putting the shield and weapon back in my pockets. My mouth was so dry that I’d been afraid that I was going to gag getting out those few words, but it was the truth. If I couldn’t cut it in Dun Add, it was best to learn now.
* * *
The practice room was an arched wooden extension built out the north side of the palace. The ground floor room we entered through had probably been the whole business before more machines were added. There must be fifty of them now, ranked against the right and left walls. Only about half were in use at the moment, a few of them by warriors with dogs by their sides.
I wondered if Guntram had borrowed the machine I’d trained on from here. They might not all be the same.
“Where do you want me?” I said, speaking to Welsh since it had been his idea. I couldn’t quarrel with my roommates wanting to know how I stacked up, but it was still a challenge. Anybody—any animal—reacts to a challenge.
“The one on the end here has plenty of room for us to watch,” Garrett said. He’d been wearing his gear to watch Daniello fight, and Welsh had strapped on his harness as we left Room Twelve.
I walked over to the machine and switched it on. For the time being I left it set wherever the last guy had used it. I brought my gear live.
I was actually tenser about this than I had been to fight Walters and Camm for real. I guess that was because I’d had more time to think about this than I had when Camm’s boat suddenly landed beside me on Dewbranch.
The first opponent was a hairy man wearing roughly stitched sheepskins and rushing me with a club over his head. The unit must have been set on the bottom level. I stepped forward and thrust the image through the top of his breastbone before the club could land. He—it—vanished.
Garrett adjusted the level at the side of the machine. This time I faced a man in orange, his face concealed in a tight-fitting mask of the same color. I guided its first overhand stroke into the ground with my own weapon, but I felt the shock up the length of my arm.
I remembered what had happened to Daniello and cut backhand at the image’s ankles. It jumped back but not quickly enough. I’d have taken the heel off a real human opponent. The image toppled backward and vanished.
“He hasn’t used his shield yet,” Welsh grumbled. Garrett made another adjustment.
I was facing a red warrior with a short-haired black and tan dog, rangy and dangerous looking. Buck was still in the stables. This wasn’t anything like a fair fight, but that wasn’t the point: Garrett and Welsh wanted to learn how good my equipment was—and how good I was as well. There was no guarantee that in a real fight I’d have Buck along or that he wouldn’t be injured in the course of it.
Instead of rushing, I held myself ready. As I’d expected, my opponent used its dog’s agility to shift suddenly to my right and drive home. If my shield hadn’t been so handy I could never have presented it in time.
The shock jolted me backward, but I didn’t go down. I cut at the image but its shield was too good for me to accomplish anything from off-balance.
The image came at me three more times, circling to my right before each rush. We’d almost made a full circle when the image made its fourth rush—this time shifting left.
I didn’t have to turn much to bring my shield into position, and I thrust—not slashing—before the shock of contact. The image’s shield sparkled brightly. It didn’t fail completely, but the bottom third of its shimmering coverage went black.
The image fell back. Its cut hadn’t made it through my shield any better than the previous three had done. I crouched forward a little, gasping through my mouth. My lungs were on fire. I waited for the image to attack again.
Garrett touched the practice machine again, this time switching it off. I continued to gasp where I was.
“I guess your kit’ll do,” Garrett said.
“Bloody hell,” said Welsh. Then he said, “Let’s go get something to eat. And drink. I definitely need a drink.”
* * *
Welsh was the second son of a big landowner on Richter, a place not a lot fancier than Beune was. His father had mortgaged the estate with the elder brother’s agreement for the money to buy Welsh his equipment.
In exchange Welsh agreed never to come back to Richter. His brother already had three children, so the deal avoided a fight over succession rights whenever the landowner died.
Garrett’s father was a wealthy merchant on Stahlfeld. He’d read the romances, same as I had, and he was just as set on being a Champion as I was. Garrett saw himself as being the center of a band of adoring women.
They were both solid fellows, guys I got along with and was glad to know. Given that I was on closer terms with them than anybody before except my mom and dad, I
was really lucky in my roommates.
Welsh drank more than I thought was good for him. Garrett had a woman back to his room more nights than he didn’t, and it was always a different woman. I’d have rather that neither of those things had happened, but I wasn’t a priest or their mother. Dun Add was a big place with other customs than I’d learned on Beune. And if it came to that, Beune had its drunks and tomcats too.
I practiced on the machines in the morning. Then in the afternoon, I went out to the jousting ground—either with a roommate if one of them was up for it, or I’d just take Buck out myself and see what I could pick up on the field. There was usually another Aspirant who’d give me a match.
The practice machines were supposed to be exactly like a real fight, but of course they weren’t. People were random. They sometimes did dumb stuff which a machine never would. I was pressing one fellow when he shut his eyes and charged with a roundhouse swing; he was a lefty, too, and he’d have rung my bell good if I hadn’t flopped on my belly. I grabbed his ankle and tripped him as he went by. I had my weapon in his face when he rolled over.
Welsh and Garrett were pretty good. Welsh was really better than that, but his equipment was an anchor around his neck. Not near as bad as the gear I’d brought to Dun Add the first time, but the best he could find on Richter wasn’t good enough for the Hall of Champions. His shield was decent, but his weapon couldn’t have damaged my shield if I’d simply stood there and let him hack at it.
That wouldn’t have done me any good, of course. I worked to divert each of his strokes with my own weapon. This was easiest when we were using our dogs—Welsh had a black and white collie, a nice dog—and I could use Buck’s movement tracking sense, but doing that a lot taught me what a dog looks for. That didn’t give me the quickness that I had when Buck’s brain was in charge, but I still had an edge on the warriors I was fighting.
I tried to teach my roommates to do the same thing, but they didn’t understand what I was talking about. I wondered if maybe it had something to do with me being a Maker too, though I didn’t see any connection myself.
One afternoon the three of us had finished our series of bouts and were about ready to go in and shower, when a large troupe came down from the castle. They weren’t just warriors; there were attendants and also women dressed as fancy as the ones I’d seen in the Lady’s Court.
When I squinted, I was pretty sure that Lady Jolene herself was among them. She was on the arm of the black-haired warrior who’d spoken to me when Guntram introduced me to the Consort.
“Say, let’s watch,” Welsh said. “The Champions don’t often spar where such as we can see them.”
“God, what I’d give to be one of them,” Garrett said reverently. I was about to agree when he turned to me and added, “If you’re a Champion, you can have any woman you see, you know? You just point your finger and she follows you right into bed.”
“Surely not!” I said.
“It’s the truth, kid,” Welsh said. “I’m not saying that’s what all Champions do, but all of ’em could do it.”
“Bloody few don’t!” Garrett said. “I mean, it stands to reason, doesn’t it? I mean, the women want it, don’t they? It gives them bragging rights to be sleeping with a Champion.”
“Look, let’s stop talking about this, can we?” I said. “We’re talking about the men that law and civilization rest on and about ladies!”
“Kid, there’s a big difference between a hero and a saint,” said Garrett. “There’s some Champions just as chaste as you are, I grant you. But not all by a long way.”
“Even Lord Clain out there,” Welsh said, gesturing to the warriors pairing off on the field. “He’s the one in red. You saw who he was with when they came down?”
He meant the black-haired man I’d seen in the Lady’s Court, the one who’d impressed me. “That was Lord Clain?” I said. “I believe he escorted the Consort herself, didn’t he?”
“You’re bloody well told he did,” Garrett said. “Well, he’s with her in private too. Everybody knows, but nobody says anything because Jon doesn’t say anything.”
“The husband’s always the last to know,” said Welsh.
“Naw, it’s not that,” said Garrett. “He knows, but he doesn’t dare to say anything. Clain’s as much the rock of the Commonwealth as Jon himself is—or Louis. They started this together, reuniting Here under one leader. Jon’d be lost without Clain’s arm to steady him.”
“Come on, Buck,” I said. He and I headed back to the castle. My roommates didn’t follow, though I heard Garrett call Welsh back. That was the right thing to do.
I’d really wanted to watch the Champions joust, but I needed to settle my head now. Settle my stomach, really. What I’d heard made me sick.
I put Buck in the stables and found an attendant—it was Heckert, as it chanced—to guide me to Guntram’s room. Guntram didn’t ask questions but he found me a piece—the image projector that’d been in my pile—to work on to my heart’s content.
The artifact completely soaked up all my concentration; I even made a little headway. I was tired enough to fall asleep right there on Guntram’s floor if I’d let myself, but I went down to Room Twelve.
My roommates didn’t say anything about the discussion the next morning—or later. And I sure didn’t.
CHAPTER 18
Proper Behavior
Me and my roommates came out the south passage from the castle, heading to the jousting ground with our dogs. Welsh had been telling us about an officer in the army who might be willing to sell his weapon.
I didn’t figure gear owned by a soldier was going to be much of a step up from what Welsh already had, but I kept my mouth shut. If it made Welsh happy to think that there was a practical way out of his problem, I didn’t see any benefit—to me, him, or the world—in dashing his hopes.
There were benches along the path here. The woman sitting on one stood up as we approached, stroking the tortoise-shell cat in the crook of the other arm.
It was—she was—Lady May.
“Lord Pal?” May called. “I wonder if I might borrow you for the afternoon?”
“Ah…?” I said, looking from Garrett to Welsh.
“Go ahead, kid,” Welsh said, clapping me on the shoulder. “We can get along without you knocking us black and blue for an afternoon, and you sure don’t need the practice.”
“If you turn your back on luck like that,” Garrett said, “we’ll throw your traps out into the hall. Even if it takes both of us to do it.”
“Thanks, guys,” I said. I clucked to Buck as I peeled off toward May.
“Hello, May,” I said. “Is there anything you want?”
“I was hoping you’d carry flowers back for me after we visit the Lady’s garden,” May said. “It’s not far up the Road from here. And—”
She looked sidelong at me.
“—I was hoping you’d be a little more enthusiastic when you saw me.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, ma’am,” I said as we walked through the trees on the way to landingplace. “It’s just that the Aspirants’ Tournament starts in two days and that’s all any of us have been thinking of for the past week. Us Aspirants.”
“So,” May said. “Are you worried about your chances, then?”
We’d reached landingplace and were heading toward the Road. The hawkers ignored us, but Maggie was standing in the hatch of my boat. I waved but broke eye contact by looking toward May again. She was in pale blue today with rings of honeysuckle in bloom embroidered around the throat, sleeves, and hem of the frock.
“Not exactly worried, ma’am,” I said. “But unless I finish in the top quarter, I won’t be allowed to challenge for a place in the Hall of Champions.”
“What are your scores on the machines, Pal?” May said. “Fifty percent is required to enter the tournament, I believe.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said.
“Yes, May,” she said. “Unless you want me to go back to calling you Lord P
al.”
“I don’t want that, May,” I said. I decided it wasn’t bragging if I just answered her question. “I’m averaging about eighty-five percent on foot, ninety-seven percent if I’m with Buck. But the machines aren’t the same as fighting real people.”
We stepped onto the Road. I switched my perceptions to Buck’s and the russet stems—the brush fringing the Road here looked like a stand of sumac to me—went gray-brown but became a lot sharper.
“I’m sure they’re not,” May said. We were so close together that I didn’t have any problem hearing her. “But I’m also sure that you’re not in serious risk of not qualifying.”
I laughed. “May, I’m likely worrying too much,” I said, “but that’s the better way to be. Anyhow, it’s probably a good idea for me to take a break this afternoon.”
We took a narrow branching to the right—so narrow that I hadn’t noticed it when Buck and me had first hiked to Dun Add. Parts of the Road narrowed where they weren’t used and could even just about close up, though a dog could always find where the Road had been. Squeezing through a crack, which I’d done a lot of times while hunting for artifacts, was uncomfortable but you didn’t take your life in your hands the way you did when you ventured into the Waste.
This was just a short branching before May led me out into a garden facing the sea. The flowers—poppies and hollyhocks that I recognized—were in beds bordered by pieces of the gray limestone that made up the bare rocks of the headlands to left and right. The water of the bay beneath us was blue-white with choppy little waves.
I could see the edge of the Waste forming the horizon to the left and ahead of us. It was about the prettiest place I’d seen since I’d left home, so I said so.
May beamed, making her even prettier than she was other times. “You like it, then?” she said. “Here, let’s sit down and you can tell me about your home.”
I hadn’t more than noticed the six-sided gazebo to the right of where we’d left the Road. There were wicker couches on each side so that you could always be in the sun or in the shade, depending on how warm a day it was.
