Garin shook his head. When he'd set out from Hunt's Hollow, he'd hoped to see more of the World. But he'd never imagined how all the stories would come alive before his eyes.
"Fresh blood?" the Master-at-Arms bellowed as they stepped onto the courtyard. "Come here, boy! You're late!"
Garin clenched his jaw at being called "boy," but talking back to the weaponsmaster didn't seem likely to make a good first impression.
As he walked over to join the other boys, Tal grabbed his arm, stopping him. "Remember, this is the game of the King's court," he said in a low voice. "You must watch what you say, even here. As far as we're concerned, anyone can be a traitor."
"Got it." Garin pulled away.
"Enjoy hitting other boys with sticks!" Tal called at his back.
Garin hunched his shoulders and hurried away, hoping his face didn't look as hot as it felt.
The Master-at-Arms was staring severely at him when he reached the others. Garin was the tallest by far among them, but he doubted it would play to his favor. Odds were that all of them had been "hitting other boys with sticks" much longer than he had.
"Finally," the Master growled. "But next time I tell you to hurry, you run. Understood?"
Garin opened his mouth uncertainly, then nodded.
"That's good. What's your name, boy?"
"Garin. Garin Dunford." His eyes flickered to the others, wondering what distinguished names they had. He doubted anyone as provincial as himself usually received lessons from the Master-at-Arms to the King.
"Garin. Let me tell you something." The weaponsmaster stepped within inches of him, staring up into Garin's face, though his glare made it feel as if he were staring down at him. "Your name doesn't matter here. Be you a sweeper's son or a duke's daughter, you're one and the same to me. And you know what that is, Garin?"
"No, sir."
The half-dwarf squinted up into this face for a moment that stretched out long and brought a trickle of sweat to Garin's brow. "Clay!" the Master barked, making Garin jump before he turned to look at the others. "Clay to be molded as it suits me! Understood?"
Now, the other pupils joined Garin in saying, "Yes, sir!"
"That's good!" The Master began jabbing his finger at the pupils like he meant to spear them. "Jad, you pair with Kendall. Petier, with Haruld. Wren, you're with the fresh blood."
"As you wish, Master," the last pupil said, turning toward him.
Garin stared. Five boys, he'd thought them. But between the name and a second look, he saw without a doubt his partner was a girl. Her black hair was cut short, but her features were petite and decidedly feminine, and beneath the tunic and trousers showed the beginning of curves.
"What are you staring at?" Wren snapped. "Are we sparring or picking our noses?"
Garin flushed. "Sparring, I suppose. But don't we need sticks to spar?"
"Sticks!" The girl snorted and turned away. "Come on. I'll show you where we keep the swords. But keep your stick put away, or I'll snap it off."
As he babbled a reply, Wren cast him a disdainful look and stalked toward the other end of the courtyard. Red-faced, Garin set to follow at a distance, but an iron grip seized his arm.
"Mind you treat her the same as the others," the Master-at-Arms growled in his ear. "Wren is one of us and has the same right as you to train here. Understood?"
"Yes, sir." Though he didn't know what he meant, Garin figured she had far more of a right than him.
"That's good." The half-dwarf released him, and Garin scuttled after Wren.
He caught up to her at the racks. The other pairs had already grabbed wooden swords and shields, but Wren waited, expression bored. "You took your time."
"The master just—" he started, then stopped.
Her eyes narrowed as she looked back at him. "What? He give you the talk?"
"No, no, nothing like that! …At least, I don't think so?"
"Gah!" The girl turned to the rack, then tossed a practice sword at him so swiftly Garin nearly fumbled it. When he'd managed to secure it in his hands, he found Wren standing inches away from his face. He wondered if his breath smelled of his breakfast, and held it just in case.
"Look," Wren said in a low whisper, "I know it's strange for a girl to learn the sword. But you know what? I'm not going to let you or any other moronic boy stop me. My father couldn't stop me — so don't dream that you could."
He had to let out his breath to respond. Had there been garlic in the potatoes? He thought he tasted garlic. "I wasn't trying to stop you," he said weakly.
"Good." Suddenly, she grinned, and he found himself even more frightened than before. "We'll get along well, then. Grab a shield and follow me."
Feeling as if he had two left feet, he staggered over to the racks, grabbed a shield, and hurried after his strange sparring partner.
The sun beat down from high noon by the time the Master-at-Arms demanded they return the equipment to the racks. Garin's head felt swollen, and not just from the beatings he'd endured from his partner. They'd received instruction on every manner of form: the proper grip for varying lengths of swords; the ideal footwork for different styles and intents; how to watch your opponent and judge their next movement before they knew it themselves — and a hundred other considerations.
Swordplay, he was beginning to realize, was not like the freeform contests between the boys of Hunt's Hollow, but was as exacting and unforgiving as a courtly dance.
"You did well," Wren said, holding out a hand to Garin. "For fresh blood."
Wearily, Garin accepted it, as he had every time she'd knocked him flat on his backside. "I'm nothing. You're brilliant."
"Truer words were never spoken." Wren flashed him another of those grins that made his insides turn and tumble as he had for the last three hours.
The Master-at-Arms suddenly stood at their elbows, roaring, "Didn't I say it was over? Get those arms back to the racks!"
"Yes, sir!" they chorused as they ran.
When they'd returned the swords and shields, Wren glanced over at him. "Thanks for giving it your all," she muttered. "None of the other boys do. That's why Krador paired you with me."
Garin blinked, taken aback. "For all the good it did me. I couldn't have scratched you if you had both eyes closed."
She snorted. "Flattery will do you well. But don't take it too far."
"Alright." He ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair.
With a last curious smile, she walked past him without a backward glance. Garin stared after her, dumbfounded, before realizing he had to follow.
Tal was waiting for him at the other end of the courtyard, one eyebrow arched. "Who was that?"
"Don't ask," Garin mumbled, walking past him.
"A girl, sparring in the Coral courtyard?" Tal nodded with a small smile. "I'm impressed. That's one forward-thinking nobleman allowing her here, and I don't say that lightly."
"Can we stop talking about Wren?"
"Wren?" His smile turned to a frown, and he peered after her. "Her ears are right…"
"Her ears are right for what?"
Tal just shook his head. "We'll check before I start spreading rumors. In any case, we must hurry to your next lesson."
"My next one?" Garin groaned. "But Master Krador has already worked me to the bone!"
"Oh, you won't have to move from your chair for this one — it's your mind that's in peril."
Tal swept through the Coral Castle, and Garin struggled to keep up with his leaden legs. He had a bad feeling he knew what was coming but didn't know if he could refuse. In Hunt's Hollow, it had been acceptable to be illiterate; but here, surrounded by Avendoran nobility, he found himself wanting to know and be able to do just as much as they could.
Sure enough, Tal led him to a dim, dusty room from which an older woman emerged. "Is this him?" she asked with a tender smile. "Oh, and look at that growth on his lip! Almost a man, aren't you?"
Garin shifted uncomfortably, wondering if it would be too obvious to
cover his mouth.
"Sister Pond is going to teach you reading and writing, Garin," Tal said. "She's a nun, but she hasn't taken any vow of silence so that she could be a teacher."
"And I do so love doing it!" Sister Pond simpered. "Teaching that is. Silence has ever been a struggle for me." She tittered a laugh.
"Thanks," Garin muttered, casting a rebellious look at Tal. The man grinned back.
"Now, my dear, shall we get started? So much to learn for a boy your age! Come in, sit down, grab a quill…"
With a heavy heart and drooping eyelids, Garin followed the old nun into the room.
It felt far longer than the morning's practice by the time Tal returned for him.
"And how was it?" his mentor asked with a grin.
Garin gave him a mutinous look. "Miserable. First, she had me on my letters, sounding them out one by one — I felt like a mooing cow, drawing each vowel out. Then she spoke about the Creed and the Whispering Gods, and how important it was to listen for Silence, Solemnity, and Serenity in every quiet moment. Only, I couldn't figure how she thought there'd be a quiet moment with her around."
"Sounds like you're learning already. Keep at it, and you'll be composing religious manifestos in no time."
"Manifestos?"
Tal waved a hand. "Lengthy, self-indulgent ramblings that gather mad folks to them."
"Like 'The Legend of Tal' songs?"
Tal grinned over at him. "Nearly. But written down."
"Then you've described the Creed. She had me repeat the First Creed about a thousand times."
"Let's hear it once more."
Garin faked another scowl, then obliged, taking on the droning tone Sister Pond had used:
"In Silence, we hear their Song.
In Solemnity, we understand their Song.
In Serenity, we accept their Song."
Tal paused, a thoughtful look on his face. The next moment, though, he masked it with a smile. "I about fell asleep just listening to it once. One problem you won't have in your next lesson."
Garin wondered at that look, but aloud, he groaned. "Will they never end?"
"Yes, in fact — this is the last one. But mind that you pay attention." Tal's expression had gone uncharacteristically serious. "This more than the others taught me things that would have served me well in my younger years. Had I known what you are about to learn, I might have avoided many of the mistakes that led me to where I am today."
"To what? Being a hero?"
Tal smiled, but there was no humor in it. "To being a legend. Which is far from the same thing."
They walked silently to the far end of the castle, far away from the gatherings of nobility or the bustlings of the kitchen. Garin, who hadn't eaten since breakfast, found his stomach rumbling, but curiosity reigned supreme for the moment.
Finally, they stopped at an unadorned door. Beyond it, laughter and loud voices rang through, jarring against the silence that had fallen between the two of them. Tal glanced at him.
"Ready?"
Garin raised an eyebrow. "How could I be? You haven't told me why we're here."
"All part of the fun."
Then he pushed the door open and stepped inside.
As Garin followed him, a cornucopia of sound, light, and color flooded his senses. Every high-mounted window seemed to beam with delight at the eclectic array of sight and sound. People of every size and Bloodline, dressed in more colors than a rainbow, spoke loudly at each other, or tumbled, or held mock sword fights that were far from the displays Garin had seen earlier that morning.
A man who could only be a goblin — with his short stature, wrinkled, grayish skin, pointed ears, and black, beady eyes — blared a familiar, bawdy pub tune. A big man with skin as dark as coal leaned next to a milky pale elf with blazing blue eyes. Two of the squattest of the company resembled Master Krador, but their girth was broader and their height shorter. He knew they must be dwarves, and one of them a woman, from the pink dress she wore. Garin was vaguely surprised she didn't have a beard, as he thought female dwarves were supposed to.
He wanted to run and hide. For him, this room held far more fear than the Master-at-Arms or even the quill and ink had. Even if there were lessons fit for a legend here, he wasn't sure he wanted to give them a try. But for Tal's sake, after all he'd done for him, he knew he had to.
Swallowing, Garin followed Tal within.
"Ah! The Three-Faced Rogue himself!" Falcon emerged from seemingly nowhere, arms spread, his grin stretching nearly as wide. Drawing up short of them, he made a mocking bow. "Your Great Smelliness!"
Tal put him upright again with a smile of his own. "And I even cleaned yesterday for you! Never enough for a trouper's sensitive nose. But no matter — I didn't come for a social calling." Tal jabbed a thumb back at Garin. "I need you to turn him into an actor."
"Him?" Falcon's smile slipped as the bard peered at him. "Hm… Even worse off than when you began. You're sure you want to put the poor boy through this?"
"He has a clever tongue and an ear for pitch, though he rarely uses them. With some training, he might make a passable troubadour in a pinch."
That, Garin decided, was going too far. "I don't want to be a troubadour."
They both turned to him, astonishment writ large across their expressions. The room fell silent as everyone turned to stare. Garin felt his face flush an even deeper red than it had before Wren.
"You don't?" Falcon gasped.
"Garin!" Tal thundered. "How could you say such a thing?!"
He was frozen, unable to move, unable to speak, barely able to breathe. He didn't know if he should run or start babbling excuses, but he felt he had to do something…
"Kidding," he gasped with a weak smile. "Just kidding."
Everyone in the room stared at him for a moment longer. Then, as one, they burst out laughing.
"Well done, lad!" Tal clapped him on the back. "You passed the test!"
Garin looked from Tal's beaming expression to Falcon's grin to the rest of the laughing troupe. "Test?" he asked dumbly.
"Of course!" Falcon gestured expansively to the room. "A test to see how you would react in an unexpected situation. And you played a role! If that's not passing, then all of us are doing it wrong."
While Garin chewed on that, Falcon suddenly bowed, sweeping his feathered hat from his head. "Falcon Sunstring welcomes you to his acting troupe for His Highness, King Aldric Rexall the Fourth — the Dancing Feathers!"
The troupe gave a cheer. Then, all at once, they were pressing forward, everyone wanting to hug or shake his hand. Names were exchanged so quickly he could hardly keep track of any of them, and though he felt like a juggler who'd dropped all of his balls, he grasped at them all the same. Ox, the big man with an even bigger laugh; Jonn, the pale, blue-eyed elf who stayed closed by Ox's side; Yelda, the dwarfess, a stern-looking actress who told him straight-off she always played the lead female roles; Mikael, the goblin, who seemed to think everything was a joke, funny or not—
Finally, Tal extricated him from the mass of over-friendly players and pulled him close. "I think there's at least one person you'll be pleased to see."
Head still spinning, it took Garin a moment to notice a slight, short-haired girl leaning in the corner, an eyebrow arched and a quirk to her lips. His mouth went dry.
"Wren Sunstring," Tal said with a chuckle, "is Falcon's daughter. So I imagine she'll be teaching you how to act as well as how to use a sword. Sounds like a lot of time together to my ear."
Garin had no responses left but stared dumbly at her. He only knew it for a mistake when she pushed away from the wall and stalked over toward him.
"My surname isn't Sunstring," Wren said to Tal. "If my father can make up his name, why can't I?" She looked at Garin next. "And you. Are you tailing me?"
"Wren, Wren," Falcon said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "We've already had our fun with him."
Now that he saw the father and daughter side by side, the resemblance
was unmistakable, down to the green-gold eyes — though Wren's colors swirled so slightly, and her ears were so lightly pointed, he could barely tell she had any elf in her at all.
She shrugged off his hand. "You can never have too much fun."
"Spoken like a true trouper," Tal said approvingly.
That she gave him, a living legend, as cool a glance as she had Garin, made him feel better — if only slightly.
She glanced at Garin again. "Come on. I'll show you the ropes since they're going to ask me to do it anyway."
Looking at Falcon, who nodded, then Tal, who raised an eyebrow as if to say What are you waiting for? Garin hurried after her. He had to hide a grin.
A day of lessons could turn out to be not so bad after all.
Stories Under the Stars
Falcon leaned back and sighed. "Ah, is there any fairer feeling than a rooftop under a clear sky paired with a glass of Jakadi wine?"
Tal smiled and lifted his wine to his lips. Though neither of them could be called young anymore, he'd felt a boy as he followed the bard out of one of the castle's windows and onto an obscure open rooftop. If the space had been meant for any purpose, he couldn't divine it, but it suited their purposes well enough: two old friends, drinking together, and reminiscing over days gone by.
"Perhaps a warm bed with a wily woman waiting in it," Tal posited. "Paired with a glass of Jakadi wine, of course."
"Perhaps for me, old friend. But I know there is only one woman for you, and she's quite cold." The bard patted his arm consolingly.
Tal arched an eyebrow, hiding the depth of feeling awakened by his words. "You make it sound as if she's dead."
"Dead of affection, perhaps." Falcon's eyes found his. "She has a son now."
For a moment, he was as still as the night-shrouded castle below them. Then he sucked in a ragged breath and laughed. "Well. That's put to rest, then."
"If only," Falcon said wistfully.
They drank.
"Your daughter seems hale and healthy," Tal said, following the first change of topic he could invent, as he poured them each a second glass, finishing off the bottle. "If not quite happy."
A King's Bargain Page 11
