I studied the old man carefully. A wooden crutch supported his left arm, and his face, an unhealthy grey, was wrinkled on the right in something like pride or humor. “If I severed the spines of everyone here,” I said, “you could rule the world.”
Something spoke within my mind: Very funny, young—
And, as quickly, something else answered: Out of my skull, impudent backwoods hedgewizard!
Naiji was staring at me. Slowly, I realized that the others did so too. “Rifkin?” she said gently, conveying concern, curiosity, and fear.
Talivane had knelt by his father, who lay crumpled on the ground. The old man still breathed, but his breaths were loud and erratic.
“My father...” Talivane gnawed his lip, then began again. “Lord Mondivinaw is the most powerful mindspeakcr of us all. Yet you silenced him....”
I wondered who Talivane talked to, until he turned his gaze from his father’s face to mine. “What are you, Rifkin? Tell me or I swear that you die in the next instant.”
* * *
10
CASTLE GROMANDIEL
AROUND ME, MOST of the guards had drawn bronze swords and watched me as if I were some monster. While my wits wrestled with a thousand frightening possibilities of what had happened and who the second mindspeaker might be, I said lamely, “I’m ... just Rifkin. Rifkin Boundman.”
“You’re also a witch,” said Tali vane. The air around his hands began to sparkle and shimmer as though he wore gloves made of lightning. “Else you couldn’t have felled my father so easily.”
“A witch? Me?” I shook my head. “I don’t know what happened to Lord Mondivinaw, but I had nothing to do with it.”
“He speaks the truth,” said Naiji. “I’d know if he didn’t. I looked into his thoughts when I met him.”
Talivane glanced at her. “Deeply?”
“Enough to know if he lied.”
“I sensed the mindspeech between Rifkin and our father, only moments ago.”
“That’s true,” I said. “Perhaps the strain was too much for an old man.”
“Perhaps.” Talivane looked at two red-haired women, twins who might have been Dovriex’s sisters. “Take Lord Mondivinaw to his rooms. See that he’s comfortable. Let me know if he regains consciousness.” He looked back at me. The lightning flared once in his hand. “What did he say to you?”
“He wasn’t amused by my comments.”
“Is anyone?”
I shrugged.
“What happened then?” Talivane said.
“Our communication ended, and your father fell.”
“You stared at him like one who’d lost his wits.”
“It’s a common reaction to surprise.”
“You seemed... more than surprised.”
“I rarely hear voices in my head, though some might tell you otherwise.”
Naiji put her hand on her brother’s arm. “You’re too suspicious, Talivane. Father’s already suffered one stroke. This is probably another. I should go to him.”
Talivane nodded slowly. “Go, then.”
Naiji glanced at me as she followed the twins who bore her father. Her look told me nothing of her thoughts.
The remaining witches still seemed suspicious, but they also watched nervously around them, hunting for hidden enemies. Chifeo’s brow was wrinkled in puzzlement, and Dovriex wore a slight, wary smile.
Talivane said, “Very well.” He shook his hand, and the lightning disappeared. “You may begin your class, Rifkin. But remember, you can’t hope to deceive witchfolk for long.”
“Fine,” I said. “Your first lesson, then. So long as the class is in session, address me as Master.”
He hesitated. “Or you won’t teach?”
“You are quick.”
He smiled suddenly. “Then I’ll address you as you please. Master Rifkin, for so long as you have anything I wish to learn.”
Lucky me. I said, “All right, everyone! Leave your boots and weapons by the wall, then form a line.”
No one moved to obey. I stepped over and began unbuckling my sword belt. Dovriex, saying nothing, joined me. Then Talivane and Chifeo followed, and then the others. Naiji and the twins returned while my students were still ridding themselves of shoes and weapons.
“Da sleeps,” she told Talivane. “I think he’ll recover.”
“Thank the gods,” said Talivane. “We need him.”
The class formed a ragged line before me on a cold, bare patch of ground in the courtyard. I was glad for a bright morning sun. I studied each of my students. Chifeo and Dovriex appeared eager, but I could not read Talivane’s face. Naiji seemed proud of me, or possibly amused. The two red-haired women were impatient, perhaps a little dubious of learning anything useful from a dark little foreigner. The rest, two boys and a pretty girl about Chifeo’s age, a burly man, a middle-aged woman as stout as the man, and a thin, balding fellow of Talivane’s age, were still mistrustful of me. Obviously they were only here because Talivane had ordered it.
I smiled as though I had perfect control of my class. “You may already know my name. It is Rifkin Teacher. You’ll address me as Master in any matter concerning the Art, and at all times when we gather to learn it together. I do not claim the title for any ability of mine, or because I demand your respect. When we gather, I represent the Warrior-Saint’s teaching. All courtesy done to me is done to her, as is all discourtesy. Lack of respect will not be punished. It will merely be acknowledged, and the discourteous one will be dismissed from this class. Is that understood?”
They all nodded.
I said, “Say, ‘Yes, Master.’”
“Yes, Master,” they answered in unison, even Talivane.
I smiled. I liked teaching. “Good. Then this is the first lesson for you all. In the short time we have, you cannot hope to learn any tricks that’ll aid you in battling the Duke’s warriors.”
“What? This is a waste of time?” said Talivane.
I scratched my neck, looked at my fingernail, then looked at him. “Did I say that?”
“No.”
I waited.
“Master.”
I smiled again. I considered telling him that true study of the Art did not end when a class was dismissed. “You’ll learn no tricks. But if you listen, and study, and learn, you may be able to act more efficiently in times of stress.” I thought about my own behavior since I had arrived at Castle Gromandiel and said, “Then again, you may not.”
Talivane raised an eyebrow in question, though he nodded.
“Master?” asked Naiji. Her smile at the name was such that I had difficulty restraining mine.
“Yes?”
“What is this Art?”
“It’s a way of life. Some say it’s the best way for people to live, but the truth is that it’s only one of many paths to a goal, and not a goal in itself.”
“And what’s the goal?”
I shrugged. “I rarely know where I’m going. I just choose the road that looks easiest.”
A few students chuckled. Naiji said, “That’s no answer.”
“True. If you’re lucky, you’ll find one for yourself.” I looked around. “Have any of you studied fencing?”
The older man nodded. His moustache was thin, flecked with white, and the hair at his temples had receded. A scar was etched along his left cheek, which was the reason I had asked about fencing.
I said, “Why did you choose to study the sword?”
He smiled coldly. “Because a witch cannot defend himself with a harp.”
I might have told him that would depend on the harpist, but he would not understand. I said, “And has anyone studied dance?”
Chifeo raised his hand.
“Ah. Why?”
“It’s pretty.”
Several of the others laughed. “A good reason,” I told him.
The pretty girl of Chifeo’s age said, “I also dance, Master.” Her smile suggested she was thinking of a more private ballet.
“Why?”
“Because I enjoy learning the things my body can do.”
Dovriex said, “I’d enjoy learning the things your body can do.”
The girl laughed with the others. “Dovriex,” I said quickly, trying to maintain some semblance of classroom spirit. “You wish to become a Master Chef. Why?”
“Because I like to eat.”
The stout woman laughed. “That’s why I’d become a chef, but you’re too thin, Tanager.”
Dovriex cocked his head to one side, then said, “But I do like to eat. And cooking’s an easy life.”
The woman said, “You may think so. I’ll stay a locksmith.”
Talivane said, “Good. I’ve eaten your bread. I thought I’d eaten one of your stones.”
When the others chuckled, Naiji said, “I’m glad Dovriex cooks for us.”
Dovriex said, “Thank you! Oh. You slept through breakfast.”
I began to consider abandoning the oblique approach. One more try, I told myself. “You!” I said to the stout man. “What do you do to earn your keep?”
“I transform myself into a panther and chase away annoyances.”
I imagined he would make a rather plump panther. I only said, “Oh.”
“I’m good at it.”
“I’m sure. That’s why you do it?”
He looked suspicious, but nodded. “In part.”
“And?”
“It’s a living.”
“And?”
He grimaced. “Are you going to teach us to fight or are you going to keep asking questions?”
“What do you expect?”
“I don’t know.”
Chifeo said, “I do!” We all looked at him. He blushed. “Well, I thought there’d be, you know...”
“No,” I said.
“Well, sitting around with our legs crossed and thinking about nothingness, and riddles, and—”
“Ah,” I said. “Like, what’s the sound of one hand clapping?” I snapped my fingers as an answer. “Or is it masturbation? Or is the only answer the sound of slapping whoever asks the question?”
Naiji said, “You’re saying that there are many answers to every question.”
“In part.”
“There’s more?”
I nodded.
“So tell us.”
I laughed. “What would anything mean, that I told you?”
“It would mean that you thought...” Her eyes narrowed as she grew suspicious.
I nodded again.
“You want us to find the answer ourselves, so we’ll believe it.”
“Yes.”
“But there are so many answers.”
“Yes.”
Chifeo shouted. “There are different answers for each of us!”
I sighed my relief. “Exactly.”
The shape-shifter said, “I didn’t come here to think.”
“If you don’t like it,” said Dovriex, “pity Avarineo in the next class.”
Talivane said, “This lesson seems rather simplistic.”
“Odd, then, that you weren’t first with any answers.” I looked at the others and wondered what I hoped to accomplish. I doubted I could teach enough of the Art to give us even a tiny advantage in the upcoming conflict. Perhaps I only wanted to earn the witches’ respect and trust. Finding no answer that satisfied me, I decided to simply teach them as though they were any other group who met to learn the Art.
I led them through several exercises. Their life in these hills had made them strong, so I concentrated on stretching and relaxing their muscles. The casual chatter ended as the physical work began. I demonstrated the basic kicks and punches and blocks, and let them practice a few fighting techniques with each other.
The dancers, Chifeo and the pretty girl, showed promise, if they decided to continue their studies. So did Naiji and Dovriex. I wondered what went into training a Master Chef. The rocksmith had a sense of perseverance that would help her in the early stages of learning, but the red-haired twins were almost ideal students, being limber and strong, quick to see an action, understand it, and make it their own.
Talivane, on the other hand, was too tense. I told him twice to relax his shoulders, then decided that twice was once too often for a first class. The fencer tried too hard and therefore did poorly. His pride demanded that he be perfect with a single attempt. The other man, the self-proclaimed shape-shifter, moved with grace but without power. His punches and blocks were pleasant to see, yet meant nothing.
Sometime in the second hour of practice, Chifeo said, “Master?”
“Yes.”
“Would you show us what we’re to learn?”
“I’ve been doing exactly that.”
“I don’t mean like that. I mean, would you give us an exhibition of how an Artist fights?”
“The Art may teach fighting, but fighting isn’t its goal.”
Chifeo ignored that. “Please?”
The others smiled and nodded. In part, I knew from experience, they only wanted to rest, and watching the teacher would give them an excuse to sit. The rocksmith was flushed with exertion, and Talivane’s breathing was loud. I remembered how I had enjoyed seeing those who knew more of the Art than I did, and how grateful I had been for the opportunity to sit. “Very well,” I said. “I’ll need a volunteer.”
They glanced at each other. Chifeo, after a moment, hesitantly raised his hand.
“Fine,” I said. “It was your idea.”
“What do I do?” He seemed to regret his impulse. He looked at the ground and wiped his hands nervously on his pants.
“Fight me. And don’t worry. I’ll stop each technique just before I hit you.”
Chifeo nodded. “I don’t think I can control—”
“That’s all right. I can defend myself.” A few of the others laughed, thinking I had spoken modestly. But then, I thought I had spoken modestly too.
“Good,” said Chifeo. A hint of a smile came to his lips, more than would normally come from a nervous student facing his teacher before a group of his peers. I should have seen that as a warning. I only thought he felt cocky facing someone of approximately his own size.
Chifeo circled me, holding his arms in an awkward parody of mine. I followed him with my eyes and only turned when he was about to pass beyond my sight. He finally came at me with a double-strike at my face and midriff, a punching technique that I had shown the class. I blocked and countered with a hand thrust that would have driven his nose into his brain, He gasped as he dodged back. The audience gasped also. I congratulated myself. Old Rifkin’s the greatest against untrained children.
Chifeo tried a side-kick at my face. He was limber, which I credited to his dance training, but the kick was clumsy and slow. I leaned away from it, then darted in for a hammerhand blow to his skull. He ducked, flailing his arms and kicking again so wildly that he should have fallen. Instead, his foot struck my ribs. Only an instinctive block saved me from a crushed chest, but I still coughed in pain and surprise.
Chifeo’s eyes went wide. “Are you hurt, Master?”
“Only my pride,” I said. “Continue.” I am a very slow learner.
My right side ached more than I wanted to acknowledge. I shifted so that my left was to him, then stepped in close to sweep his feet from under him. I had decided to end this practice bout quickly.
His forward foot lifted a bit, seemingly by coincidence, and came down on my ankle. I twisted to keep from breaking it. That meant falling, so I turned, and wrenching my leg free, somersaulted out of Chifeo’s way.
He laughed, apparently in innocent enjoyment at doing well in a friendly fight, as he skipped forward to kick at my head. His heel grazed my skull, dazing me. I reacted at last as I was trained, as though this were an actual battle and not a teaching demonstration that, for some reason, had gone wrong. My hand came up to snatch Chifeo’s ankle. It closed on air. He was faster than I was.
It made no sense to me. I am a very slow learner. Chifeo came in
with another punch, a blow that must have seemed harmless to the observers. It barely touched me, but it glanced against a nerve in my left arm, paralyzing it. I understood then. The boy’s performance, no matter what it looked like, was due to more than his good fortune or my bad. Chifeo was not what he seemed. Which meant—
I warded off a kick that almost ended any of my future hopes of fatherhood. Chifeo laughed, again innocently, and said, “This is fun, Master!” The class laughed, too, a little nervously. Several of them had begun to wonder if I was clowning or, worse, if I was not as skilled as I had seemed. I was alone in knowing just how much fun Chifeo was having.
I didn’t know if he wanted to kill me because he had recognized me or if he thought I would be in his way when it was time to shuck his role of servant and slay the Gromandiels. It didn’t matter. He had chosen an interesting ploy, to make me appear less competent than I was, then to kill me with an “accidental” blow that a “real master” would have deflected. He had overplayed his hand by trying too hard to prove my inability. I shouted, “Chifeo’s a Spir—”
And then, for that crucial instant, my mouth seemed to fill with cotton. I opened my lips, but I could not speak, or even grunt. I thought Chifeo’s smile grew slightly wider to show his satisfaction with his skill and his subtlety, though that may have been my imagination. I realized with the horror that slows time that Chifeo had infiltrated the witchfolk on his own merits as a witch. During that long moment, I watched as he skipped forward, ready to silence me forever.
And then he fainted.
Naiji stared at Chifeo, unconscious on the ground. “Oh, Rifkin. Not again.”
“Two,” said Talivane with a sigh. “I don’t know why, Rifkin, but you aren’t at all subtle. Do you really think to dupe us twice in as many hours?”
I faced a ring of grim, unsympathetic faces. “Wait!” I cried. “Did anyone sense any mindspeaking? Any at all?”
No one answered, though they all continued to stare.
“Or any use of witchcraft coming from me? Any? I know you’re all suspicious enough to have watched me closely.”
Will Shetterly - Witch Blood Page 9
