Students of the Order

by Edward W. Robertson

  This time he watched her body, instead of her weapon, and was able to see her attack and even swing his staff in what he thought was her general direction. She nimbly got out of his way, hit him in the leg, bringing him to his knees, and then hit him twice in the back to force him down.

  "You call that a stance?" she asked when he was standing again. "That might be your problem." She dropped her weapon and walked over to him. She repositioned his hands on the staff, and moved his legs a little further apart. Something deeply pleasing about being near her, briefly, made itself felt above the aching in his body.

  Moments later Wit was lying in the dirt again, but she was apparently pleased with his effort.

  "Much quicker, that time," she said as he got up. "No, no, back like I told you."

  Wit shifted his feet and hands. Eventually, she was satisfied enough to knock him down again.

  He kept pulling himself up, mostly out of a lack of imagination. The weeks on the road had left him physically exhausted; the events of the journey had taken a deep toll on his mind. Both of these had been utterly forgotten during the blissful hour he had spent anticipating having sex, but now that the treacherous captain's true intentions had been revealed they came rushing back to him. Had he been any less tired it would have occurred to him to tell her to leave him alone, but he lacked the will to do anything other than get up, make feeble attempts at parrying her blows, and then get knocked down.

  "Of course," she said, "most people won't attack you with a quarterstaff."

  "That's a relief," he said somewhat numbly.

  She shook her head. "No, they'll use a sword."

  She unhooked the sword from her belt, keeping it in the scabbard, and they battled over the length of the field. Every time the sheathed blade made contact with his body she would say something like "dead" or "cut off your arm" or "no more fingers for you" or "five minutes until you bleed out." She said it with enough confidence that Wit believed she spoke from experience; the blows from the covered blade hurt enough that Wit thought about asking her to take it off and get it over with.

  When they reached the far end of the field, she knocked the staff out of Wit's hand with her sword, kneed him in the stomach, caught him by the collar with her free hand, and easily tossed him to the ground. Wit found himself looking up at the point of the sheathed sword.

  She spun it away from him and reattached it to her belt. "I've killed you over a dozen times—I think that might be enough for you, at least for now." She laughed. "I have to do some things at the fort, but maybe I'll see you at the inn." She walked briskly across the field and was gone.

  Wit lay on the ground for a while, tried to get up, stumbled a few paces, and fell back down. Eventually, leaning heavily on his staff, he began to walk back to the inn.

  Dusk was falling when he reached the inn and he could make out Wa'llach's guttural laugh coming from the tavern, mixing with the voices of soldiers. Covered in dust and barely standing, in a moment of inspiration it occurred to Wit that entering the inn from a back door and getting to his room without being seen by the dwarf or the soldiers might save him some embarrassment. He painfully made his way around to the back of the inn, and found a door that led into a kitchen, where a cook and two servants paid no attention to him. The kitchen had one door, which Wit hoped would lead into a hallway, and ideally a back staircase.

  It did not. Wit found himself standing directly in front of a table where the captain, several of her soldiers, and Wa'llach were all sitting over flagons of ale. All of them promptly erupted into laughter.

  "Good evening," said Wit when he could be heard, and then he turned and dragged himself up the stairs, as laughter broke out behind him again.

  In his room he took off his clothes and collapsed onto the bed. He thought that the aching in his limbs would keep him awake but he quickly and gratefully lost consciousness.

  He awoke to a soft but incessant rapping at his door. His body ached all over. He picked up the dagger that Wa'llach had given him, took it out of its scabbard, and walked gingerly over to the door. He carefully undid the latch and opened it a crack. Elayne was standing in the doorway, smelling of beer and giggling.

  "All the gods," said Wit raising the knife, "I'll kill you."

  Again, she moved far faster than Wit could even think, which he considered deeply unfair because she was clearly drunk. She stepped into the room, snatched the knife out of his hand, and kicked the door closed behind her in one neat movement. With no apparent effort she tossed the knife into the wall with one hand and pulled something on her dress with the other that caused it to fall to the floor, leaving her completely naked. She gave Wit a hard push and he landed back on the bed—although she could easily have accomplished the same thing by simply blowing on him—and an instant later she was straddling him. They looked at each other for a long moment.

  Wit could feel the dampness between her legs, pressing against his stomach. He reached up and stroked her cheek, and then she leaned forward, it seemed painfully slowly, until their lips were brushing against each other. They kissed, gently at first. She shifted her weight very slightly, and he was inside her.

  The knife was still reverberating in the wall.

  Neither of them wanted to sleep afterwards. "Have you ever made love to royalty before?" she asked.

  "All the time, actually, although I only recently became aware of it."

  "What?"

  "I'm the son of a chief, or a captain, or something. Whatever it is that Sea People have."

  "So we might actually be a suitable match?" She was humorously shocked.

  "Well, I've never even met the people who consider me noble, and you give up all claim to title upon joining the Order, so probably not."

  "I'm not much of a princess, only seventeenth in line for my father's throne. It could work."

  "Seventeenth?"

  "I'm the seventh child of Borgardus V—when you count my older brothers' and sisters' children there are seventeen people who the throne will pass to before me."

  "What are you doing out here though? Chasing trolls away from dwarves doesn't really seem like a job for a princess."

  "No, it's all on purpose. The kings and queens of my line always have far too many children, and any of them that aren't in immediate danger of succeeding to the throne are sent into the army, if we have any kind of aptitude for it. We believe that our soldiers fight better when they can see that the monarch is willing to send their own children to fight at their side. If we die in battle it is wonderful for morale and it saves the throne the expense and hassle of marrying us off." She ran a hand over his chest until she reached an extremely tender bruise. He winced and she smiled. "I got you pretty good?"

  "You did."

  "You shouldn't feel too bad—I have been trained to do that all my life. Ride, fight with swords, sticks, spears, knives, how to position soldiers in battle, how to lay siege to a castle. All my life, they taught me how to hurt people."

  He laughed. "You're quite good at it."

  She suddenly looked serious, for the first time that Wit had ever seen. The beauty of her face was almost too much for him to bear. "Wa'llach told me about what you did in that village. That you broke a man's mind with your Power to save some children and then watched him die. Is that true?"

  "Yes."

  "Was he the first person you killed?"

  "Sort of? I helped my friends kill someone once, but it was a very different situation. It was a wizard thing, I'm sorry, I can't talk about it."

  She kissed his neck. "You've never even met your family?"

  "No."

  "I can't imagine what that would be like."

  "I'm lucky. They knew I would be Gifted and so the Order has always had me. When you join the Order, you sever all other ties. Wizards almost never see their families again—but enough of the time there isn't much left of the family."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I was lucky, so lucky. Everyone around me always knew, or
suspected, that I would be Gifted. With others, you're just a child and then one day…you can do things, see things, that no one ever taught you about or explained to you. One of my friends read his mother's mind and saw that she was unfaithful to his father. He was three years old, didn't know what anything was, and he asked his father a question about it. His father beat his mother to death and then got hanged by the lord. Since then, the Order has been all that my friend has. Even if he was to leave, there would be nothing for him to go back to…we are all like that, though, in the end."

  "I'm sorry."

  Wit shrugged. "Thank you? I don't know. I've read too many people's minds: everyone is unhappy; everyone's life is hard. Ours are hard in different ways—but I'm not sure that they are actually harder. Thank you anyway."

  He pulled her closer, and she squeezed him tightly, until he moaned in pain.

  "I really did get you."

  "You really, really did."

  "But I might have made it up to you?"

  Wit gave her a long, slow kiss. "You almost made it up to me."

  He woke up as she was getting dressed, a little before dawn.

  "I have to get back and make sure that none of the idiots have burned down the fort and can still remember how to put on their armor," she said. "Meet me in the field around noon. You really could stand to learn how to fight—and I've decided that I am strongly opposed to anyone killing you." She leaned over the bed and kissed him.

  "You plan on killing me yourself?"

  She poked him savagely in one of his bruises. "If you don't come to the field, I won't have anything to make up to you tonight."

  "I still don't think we're even," he mumbled once he could talk over the pain, but the door was already closing behind her.

  Multiple forms of exhaustion finally overcame Wit's habitual sense of urgency, and he let himself rest in bed without any feelings of guilt. The pillow still smelled like the princess. He smiled and stretched, and fell back into a happy doze.

  He woke up about an hour later, got up stiffly, and went down to the tavern. He had tea and bread, and learned that Wa'llach was already at the mine. He supposed that the whole reason for the journey was to make sure that the dwarf was allowed to conduct his examination, so he went after him.

  He found Wa'llach in a metal shop by the mouth of the mine. The dwarf had been given a bench in a corner, and appeared to be diligently fussing over samples of iron. The rest of the dwarves were giving him a wide birth, but only seemed mildly offended by his presence. Wa'llach confirmed that he had everything that he needed.

  "But I fear that I have been most wretchedly neglectful of my duty: Bound to serve the Order, and there I go, letting the wizard I am sent to protect get mauled by a mountain troll."

  "Come again?"

  "Well, the way that you are limping about, and how battered you seemed last night, and you being a fearsome wizard and all, it must have been a mountain troll, or something more ferocious, that got a hold of you."

  "It was three mountain trolls, actually. I killed two of them with my teeth, but the third got away."

  Wit found the foreman of the mine and spoke with him briefly, learning that everything was in order. He walked back towards town, and then up to the field behind the fort. He was early. He found a tree to sit against, and peacefully watched the sky.

  His heart skipped when he saw her, and he got up and walked towards her, far more quickly than he meant to. She was walking up the path carrying a quarterstaff and smiling.

  Wit checked his instinct to embrace her with barely a moment to spare. He tried to both step out of the way and block her staff with his, but the result was just that he tripped over his feet and fell over on his own, rather than because she hit him.

  She hadn't stopped laughing by the time that he got up, so having finally gotten into the spirit, he swung his staff at her without warning. She parried, counterattacked, and knocked him down, still chuckling. Wit got up and she advanced on him swiftly, landing two hard blows and sending him back to the ground. Wit moaned in pain, and she sat down beside him.

  "It is awfully fun to just beat the snot out of you, but maybe I should try teaching you something?"

  "If you insist?"

  She helped him up and they spent the next hour going over stances, guards, thrusts, and blocks. She taught him how to hold the staff, how to watch an opponent, and how to breathe. While the movements seemed awkward and unnatural at first, they slowly started to come more readily. At the end of the hour, Wit felt somewhat confident and strong.

  Her patience ran out at that point, and she spent the next forty minutes proving that Wit had not, in fact, learned anything that could help him against her even mildly determined efforts. Eventually, he took too long to even start to get up, and she sat down next to him, and let him rest his head in her lap.

  "You're getting better, you really are."

  "I'll take your word for it."

  She took one of his hands in hers and they locked fingers. They listened to each other's heartbeats and felt the rise and fall of their breath. Eventually, it occurred to Wit that they had been sitting like that for a very long time, and that maybe they should do something else, and then he realized that all that he ever wanted to do was stay there in the sunny field, holding her hand, with his head in her lap.

  He squeezed her hand, and she squeezed his back.

  They got up with the lengthening shadows, held each other, and kissed. He was mostly able to make it back to the tavern on his own, but when he stumbled she helped him.

  Wa'llach and a handful of soldiers were already at the long table in the back of the tavern, and Wit and Elayne joined them. She talked about some business at the fort with one of her soldiers while Wit motioned to one of the inn's servers and talked about food and drink.

  "Skirbit wine?" Wit said, excited. "I think we might have a bottle or two for the table."

  Several of the soldiers smirked and the princess jerked to attention. "All the gods, none for me. Bring me an ale."

  Wit looked at her questioningly.

  "When I was nine, my eldest sister, the one who will have the throne, got married. An older brother and two of my sisters got me to drink nearly a bottle of the stuff—until I vomited all over my nicest gown in the middle of the feast. I was sick as a dog, and it seemed the whole kingdom was furious at me. I still can barely stand the smell."

  They all laughed.

  One by one the soldiers dispersed until Wit, Wa'llach, and Lady Elayne had the table to themselves.

  "Do you envy your sister?" asked Wa'llach. "The one who will take the throne?"

  "Why do you ask?"

  Wa'llach's eyes twinkled. "Well, if I had been trained all my life to kill, and if there were only seventeen lives between me and a throne…"

  "I wouldn't want it."

  "Don't mind him," Wit said, "he's utterly depraved. But, if you could choose, would you have rather been born first or seventh?"

  "First, last, or middle, anything other than to a king."

  "To who then?"

  She thought for a moment. "Traveling sword master, probably. I like to fight, but I could do without the commanding of troops. You could travel about, see what you wanted of the world, study with whatever warriors you wanted, fight for gold, and marry who you liked."

  "Is she correct?" asked Wa'llach.

  "What on earth do you mean?"

  "Well, you've seen into the minds of nobles, and the minds of mercenaries. Is she correct to think that the other would be better?"

  "It's impossible to say, I think," said Wit. "People are all different, and there's no telling what anyone would like."

  "Do you think that nobles are happier than common folk?" asked the princess.

  "It's no answer, but it would depend on the type of common folk. There is such misery in deprivation, hunger, and physical hardship." Wit shook his head. "Anyone who says that they envy our lowest peasants is a fool. There lives are, actually, not at all a
s wretched as they might seem—and indeed they experience joys as fully as anyone—but it is always better to be fed than to be hungry, and better to know that you will be fed than to wonder."

  "But if you were a merchant, or a sword master? Some of those live even better than nobles."

  Wit nodded. "It becomes more complicated, if that is the question. I think there is much to be said for the freedom of the well-off common folk; there is also something to be said for the sense of purpose and worth that comes with nobility."

  "What would you be, if you could be anyone, then?"

  "Nooker Bowe," said Wit, instantly.

  They both looked at him questioningly.

  "He was the heir to the Strahl winery. He came in front of us when he was in his sixties in a Controversy over something or another—and he did not care about it at all. Hardly knew where he was. He was delightfully plump—he had never had to work, never wanted for anything. We decided the Controversy in his favor, and he asked us how much he had to pay—didn't even know that he had won. As far as I could tell, he had been blissfully drunk on the best wine for maybe 45 years, and had never worried about anything."

  "Really?" said Wa'llach. "You would not be a mighty wizard of your Great Order?"

  Wit looked at them evenly. "I would not."

  Wa'llach yawned. "Well, I'm for bed. I reckon that if I get an early start tomorrow, I can bring my examination to a finish on the day after that, and we can leave this place in three days' time." He stomped up the stairs, not looking back at all, pretending he did not hear Wit practically yelling, "Wait, stay, I'll buy you seven or eight drinks!"

  When they heard Wa'llach's door they wordlessly went up the stairs and into Wit's room. Wit had no idea whether he was trying to kiss her, undress her, or take off his own clothes, and he never really figured it out. At some point they ended up on the bed, and quite a bit later, tossed their last few garments on the floor and curled up in each other's arms.

  "What will happen to you when you are done with your journey?"

  "I don't know. Unless I mess it up very badly, I'll be a wizard somewhere. Maybe the capital, maybe…"