~ 4 ~
One year later
The Master beguiled, Year 3838
“You’re ready to fight in the Exhibition.” Radimar placed the training sword he used into the rack of similar blades lining the wall and grabbed a nearby towel to wipe the sweat off his face and neck. Today’s lesson had been a grueling one, and he was pleased with his student’s progress. He turned in time to see Sodrin give a celebratory leap in the air and raise a fist to the sky.
He grinned at Radimar, unabashed at his impromptu cheering. “This is good news! Are you sure?”
Radimar began collecting the various weaponry and protective padding scattered around the room. Sodrin copied his actions, working from the opposite side. “You’ve worked hard to reach this point. Your father will be proud. Your sister is.”
Sodrin snorted as he tossed a pair of padded woolen pauldrons into a chest. “She’s harder to please than he is.” He accepted the goblet of water Radimar handed him with a heartfelt thanks. He emptied it of its contents and went to the nearby pitcher for a refill. “These skills may come in handy for more than the Exhibition or my future as a king’s guard, though I hope that won’t be the case.”
Radimar paused in raising his own goblet to his lips. “What do you mean?”
Sodrin’s buoyant expression turned grim. “Delyalda is a celebration for most of us but an ordeal for Jahna. However, Father insists she attend with us every year.”
A year had passed since Radimar joined the Uhlfrida household to train Sodrin. In that time, he learned a great deal about the family members and their relationship to each other. Jahna and Sodrin squabbled like most siblings, but their reciprocal devotion was unmistakable as was Sodrin’s protectiveness toward his sister. He’d seen first-hand what Jahna dealt with at the royal palace during Delyalda. “How often did you use your fists to defend her name?”
Sodrin glanced toward the door, as if to assure himself Jahna didn’t lurk there, unseen and unheard. “More often than she’ll ever know or I’ll ever tell.” He gave Radimar an approving nod. “You’re kind to her.”
It was a compliment, but Radimar didn’t want Sodrin to think a lack of cruelty constituted something special in a man’s character. His own mentor had often impressed upon him that such a trait should always be the rule, not the exception. “There’s no reason not to be kind,” he said. “She’s an admirable girl. The Archives will gain a fine chronicler once she leaves to start her apprenticeship.”
“What you’ve taught her will help her when she has to live in the capital and neither I nor our father is there to shield her. She’s brave to go.”
She was brave. Even knowing she’d likely face a barrage of mockery or shallow pity, Jahna pursued her goal of joining the Archives body of chroniclers with the passion of a zealot.
The previous winter Radimar had said he would teach her to save herself, and he’d made good on that declaration within the limitations of his role and hers. He’d done what he could to teach her basic maneuvers of defense and escape—foundation skills that any person learning a martial art could employ, be they armed or not. He knew from longtime experience, once as a student and now as a teacher, how empowering it was. Jahna might never be the fighter her brother trained to be, but if she had to face adversaries like the ones who pursued her in the palace, she had the choice to run again and hide or face them down. Radimar suspected if forced into such a situation now, she’d choose the second.
He left Sodrin to straighten the rest of the solar while he returned to his rooms to bathe and change. The cold in the hallway stole his breath for a moment after hours spent training in the warmer solar. A pair of shutters had escaped their latch and cleaved to the wall, allowing the brittle winter air inside to tease the torches.
Radimar crossed the corridor to close the panels and paused at the sight of Jahna hurrying across Hollowfell’s courtyard, clutching a satchel to her chest. Her cloak whipped around her legs and strands of her brown hair snaked out of the confines of her hood to flutter in the wind. Delicate snow flurries trailed her progress as if coaxing her to stop and spin as they did in the steady fall of lacy snowflakes that shrouded the yard.
There was a grace to her movements that had been lacking the previous year, along with a confidence Radimar credited to her participation in the morning training lessons as well as her own maturation. The girl was transforming into a woman, one whose intelligence and unquenchable thirst for knowledge gleamed back at him from the depths of her wide brown eyes.
He took his time closing and relatching the shutters. The way to her chambers took her down this corridor. They’d cross paths and he looked forward to conversing with her, as he always did. Her wide smile when she saw him sent a rush of warmth through him, chasing away the gooseflesh that pebbled the skin of his arms and back.
“Sir Radimar, I didn’t think I’d see you until supper. Are you and Sodrin finished for the day?”
She had scraped her concealing hood back, leaving her head bare and her features fully exposed. Even in the hall’s diminished light and half shadow, the purple birthmark staining the right side of her face was easy to see.
Radimar was glad she no longer wore the hood in his presence or pulled her hair forward to obscure the blemish, nor did she offer only her unblemished profile when she spoke to him. His months at Hollowfell and lack of reaction to her birthmark had eased her anxiety. She trusted him now not to mock her appearance, and had she asked, he would readily told her he was blind to it, just as her family and the longtime servants were.
He noticed, instead, the refinement of her face as she grew older, the way her cheeks slimmed and highlighted the curve of her cheekbones. Her jawline and nose were more defined as well, promising an elegance reflected in her own father’s features.
He gave her a brief bow as she drew closer and pointed at the satchel in her arms. “Did you manage to corner the last caravan of the season?”
She had warned him the previous day that she wouldn’t attend this morning’s training in favor of traveling to nearby Osobaris and meeting with a caravan master whose caravan was quartering in the village for a few days before heading for lower elevations to winter until the snows melted.
“I did,” she replied. “They’ve brought goods from as far away as the Idrith Peninsula.”
“And what did you buy?”
She grinned, eyes shining with excitement. “Two hours of the caravan master’s time. He’s from a place called Meruka where the remains of an Elder temple still stand and hold their magic. He even sketched the ruin for me.” She patted the satchel where the precious drawing was tucked away. “Would you like to see it later?”
“Of course. I’ll fetch you after a game of turni menet with your father. I promised him the chance to win back the monies he lost to me last night.”
She shook her head. “Father and his wagers. How many times did you beat him?”
“Four out of five.”
“Better you than me,” she said. “I refuse to play him anymore. He cheats.”
Radimar grinned. “I cheat better.”
They both laughed, and she gave him a wide smile before continuing to her chamber, throwing a warning over her shoulder for him to be careful her father didn’t trap him in his chair until dawn with “that infernal game.”
When he came to her rooms that evening, she ushered him in with a scroll in one hand and a tunic in the other. Two servants were with her, sorting through the chaos of clothes and writing supplies scattered across the bed and table, waiting to be packed for the annual journey to the capital for the Delyalda festival.
Radimar gawked at the tower of parchment books set beside an open trunk. “How long do you plan to stay in the capital?”
Jahna shrugged and passed a tray of capped ink pots to one of the servants. “Most of those are completed accounts for the Archives, including what you told me about Ilinfan this past year.”
No one could accuse Jahna Uhlfrida of idleness. “Does Dame Stalt know you’ve prepared this much material?”
“She knows I’ve been working hard.”
That was an understatement. “This is the work of three industrious scribes,” he said.
A worried frown line creased the smooth skin between her eyebrows. “Do you think she’ll be pleased?”
Radimar snorted. “I think she’ll be stunned. I can’t speak for the quality of your records as that isn’t my expertise, but in the year I’ve known you, you’ve proven yourself thorough in your studies, whether they be recording histories or training with me.”
Her relieved exhalation made him smile. “I’m so glad you think so. You are an amazing teacher, and your words mean a great deal to my brother and me.”
A telltale heat settled across Radimar’s cheekbones at her generous praise. At such times he wished he didn’t have the fair skin that came with being ginger-haired. He’d never been able to hide a blush.
Thankfully, Jahna didn’t notice, too busy with emptying her satchel in search of her prize. “Did you still want to see the sketche the caravan master drew for me?”
He stayed long enough to admire the sketch and ask a few questions about her plans with meeting the dames at the Archives during their stay in the capital before returning to his chamber, pensive and a little troubled.
Jahna had waxed enthusiastic about her future meetings with Dame Stalt and been resigned about the suppers and dances that constituted a majority of the Delyalda festivals. He recalled Sodrin’s remark that the celebration was more a trial for her than anything, and he resolved to do what he could to make it less so for her this year. During one part of their conversation—and he couldn’t even remember what she said—candlelight had illuminated her features in such a way that Radimar could easily see how she would look in a decade as a woman fully grown and settled into her own skin. The image had struck him with the force of a mule’s kick, and for a moment he lost the ability to breathe.
Jahna’s repeated calling of his name brought him back to his surroundings. He assured her he was well, just tired from the day’s training, and hurriedly excused himself from the room, the weight of her puzzled gaze and that of her servants heavy on his back.
He lay in bed that night, chasing elusive sleep as the image of an older Jahna teased his mind’s eye over and over. Radimar rolled to his side, punched his pillow, and did his best to exorcise her from his thoughts. Sleep didn’t come for a long, long time.
The trip to Timsiora was cold and uneventful, the long days on horseback broken by the much more diverting evenings when the Uhlfrida family and their servants gathered around their camp’s fire built for warmth and supper and shared an easier camaraderie than they did on the estate. However, the closer they got to the capital, the quieter and more withdrawn Jahna became.
She had returned to yanking incessantly on her hood or fiddling with her hair so that both covered the marked cheek. She also reviewed the tomes she had put together for review at the Archives, her lips moving soundlessly as she read and re-read her writings, eyes tracking over the lines of script, pausing sometimes as a scowl bloomed across her features at some word she regretted using or a description that no longer pleased her.
On the last day of their travel, Radimar slowed his horse until Jahna caught up to him on hers. “I think you worry overmuch,” he said abruptly. “You aren’t approaching Dame Stalt as a prospective teacher but as an apprentice. She’s already shown interest in you, so much so that she sought out your father last year to see if he was agreeable to you pursuing the path of a king’s chronicler.”
Jahna huddled deeper into her cloak, whether from cold or anxiousness, he couldn’t say. “It isn’t Dame Stalt that worries me. King Rodan demands all noble families attend Delyalda. I dread it every year. I wouldn’t go except that being on your deathbed is the only excuse he’ll accept for not attending.”
“I can keep you company when I’m not preparing your brother for the exhibition bouts,” he offered.
She gave him a wan smile. “That isn’t necessary, though I’m tempted to take you up on your offer. I think if I split my time between my room and the Archives, all will be well.”
He didn’t bring it up again but resolved to do what he could to make the festival the entertainment it was supposed to be for her and not a gauntlet to run and survive to its ending.
That resolution was put to the test when they arrived at the palace, settled into the suite of rooms Lord Uhlfrida once again paid a small fortune to the royal coffers to reserve, and went their separate ways—Uhlfrida to meet and drink with his fellow courtiers, Radimar to the royal training lists with Sodrin, and Jahna to the Archives with her packed trunks of precious manuscripts.
Uhlfrida joined Radimar and Sodrin at the lists later in the afternoon. The sky was clear for the moment, the clouds of snow breaking apart to reveal an anemic winter sun hovering low on the horizon as it prepared to end its very short journey. Night at this time was long, with the longest darkness to come in a week. By then, the festivities would be at their wildest and most frenetic, with the capital near to bursting with people drunk on wine, dancing, brawling and sex.
Radimar signaled to Sodrin that his father had arrived, and both men paused in their sparring to make their way to where Uhlfrida watched the king’s guard spar with each other. His shrewd gaze took in Sodrin’s perspiring face, the dirt-scuffed clothing and occasional smears of blood from his sparring and wrestling with the swordmaster.
Radimar knew he didn’t look much better. They had trained hard through the day, starting before the feeble dawn had even broken. He didn’t appreciate the interruption. Familial visits like these tended to distract his students enough that it took an hour or more for them to refocus on their lessons. Still, Uhlfrida wasn’t in the habit of interrupting training, and Radimar wondered what had brought him to the lists.
“I’ll need to steal Sodrin from you for a few hours, Radimar,” the nobleman said and turned to Sodrin. “His Majesty has invited us to a private dinner with three other families.”
Sodrin’s shoulders slumped and his eyes rolled. “Let me guess. At least one of them has a daughter or two on the marriage market. I’ll get my things.” He slunk away, a sullen bow to his back as he crossed the lists to retrieve his armor and weaponry.
Uhlfrida’s small smile was both amused and sympathetic. He returned his attention to Radimar. “You understand, Radimar, that these things are just a different kind of list or battlefield and the opponents are often softer and far more dangerous.”
Radimar chuckled. “Understood, my lord. I’ll just work him harder tomorrow to make up for the lost time. Maybe his sister’s company can lighten the ordeal for him.”
Uhlfrida’s smile melted away. “She won’t be there and will thank me for that favor.” His slumped shoulders and his disappointed sigh echoed those of his son. “I never really had much hope Jahna would marry. Sodrin will be the one to carry on our line. This scribe business is a good alternative for her, though I know her mother would be disappointed had she lived.”
Radimar was saved from giving some noncommittal reply by Sodrin’s return and glum “I’m ready.” Radimar bid father and son farewell and good luck, reminding Sodrin that the evening’s upcoming celebrations were no excuse for arriving late to the lists the following morning.
He watched them leave, seeing not them but Jahna, her eyes bright with anticipation and excitement at presenting her work to Dame Stalt. He tried to imagine her as a nobleman’s wife and couldn’t. She was sixteen, and while young, within the age range many considered acceptable for marriage. Radimar himself knew several couples who married while both were the same or close to the same age as Jahna and Sodrin.
A mental cataloguing of those Beladine noblemen looking for a wife assured Radimar that Uhlfrida’s support of his daughter joining the Archives as an apprentice was the best of ideas. He couldn’t think of a single name on that list worthy of Jahna Uhlfrida.
He spent the remainder of the short day and part of the evening with the royal guard after receiving invitations to drink, game and swap stories of the various fights and battles they had gotten into. It was an exercise in good-natured one-upmanship, brought to a pinnacle by one tipsy guard’s assurances he had faced down a dragon with a broomstick and won.
Radimar left them to their revelry after that, eager to clear his ale-fogged senses with several gulps of cold night air. The snow-heavy clouds had rolled in again, promising a steady snowfall by morning. People eddied and flowed around him as he stood at one edge of the bailey, their laughter and conversation filling the air as they strolled or raced to the various dances in play throughout the palace grounds and on two of the upper loggias. The smells of roasting food and baked goods filled the air, and the numerous torches blazing throughout the palace grounds made one forget the sun had already set hours earlier.
He spotted Jahna hovering on the far periphery of the circle which formed the Maiden Flower dance. She wore her favorite cloak, a sage-green garment with a generous hood in which to hide her face and wide cuffs so she could tuck her arms into the sleeves to warm her hands.
Radimar purchased two goblets of wine from a nearby vintner’s temporary stall and navigated a path through the milling crowd toward her. She stiffened as he drew closer but immediately relaxed when she recognized her visitor.
He stood next to her, offering one of the goblets. She took it with a thank you and a quick smile before turning her attention back to the dancers as more rushed to join the ring, creating a colorful pattern of a five-pointed star inside a circle. The gathering crowd settled into a waiting hush as the musicians nearby played quick notes, and those who participated adopted poses in anticipation of the dance’s start.
The first notes sent the dancers into a slow twirl that gained speed and complexity as the song progressed. The dancers spun and arched, weaving in and out of the pattern in perfect synchrony, flowing skirts like flower petals blossoming to the rhythm of string and drum and flute.
Radimar took his eye off the scene to glance at Jahna. A sick feeling settled in his gut at the yearning look on her face as she watched beside him, one foot tapping to the music’s quick beat. This bright spark of a girl hid her light in the depths of her hood and the dusty rooms of the Archives, longing to be part of the colorful ebb and flow of life around her but afraid of the cruelties it could so easily inflict.
When the dance ended, the crowd roared its approval, clapping and laughing and calling for more from the musicians who took up another tune, one everyone could dance to if they desired.
Jahna turned to Radimar, a wide smile curving her mouth. “The Maiden Flower dance is my very favorite of all the Delyalda dances,” she proclaimed. “I think I could watch it year after year and never grow tired of it.”
He clinked goblets with her in a silent toast to the dance. “They do look like flowers in a garden.” He wondered if she wore similar colorful skirts under her cloak and if they fanned out in the same flower petal design in the spin and twirl of a dance.
The dancing now was less ritualized and danced by both men and women in couples or small groups. They swung each other in their arms, the more adventurous men tossing their shrieking partners in the air only to catch them with a dramatic flourish before tipping them back to the ground.
“Have you ever danced the Maiden Flower dance?”
She gave him a brief, pained smile. “No. I’m not very good at it, and if you misstep, you throw off the entire pattern. Only the best dancers dance Maiden Flower.”
The musicians segued from one tune to the next without stopping, this one only a touch more sedate than the last. The surge and fire of the dances coursed through Radimar’s blood.
She gasped when he grabbed her free hand and began pulling her in the direction of a hidden place where the music could still be heard but the crowd seemed far away. “Come with me.”
She jogged behind him, unresisting, as they wove through rivers of people and trekked between islands of vendor stalls set up for the festival. The light dimmed as the torches thinned, until they traveled through a heavier darkness clotted with shadows splintered in spots by moonlight.
Radimar didn’t stop until they reached rusted gates entwined with the withered vines of dead or dying ivy. Beside him, Jahna clapped her hands, a delighted glitter in her eyes he could clearly see, even in the broken darkness.
“I thought I was the only one to know of this garden.”
Radimar had discovered this abandoned sanctuary the previous year in his exploration of the palace grounds.
What had once been manicured landscaping had been left to run wild, and nature had obliterated the orderly footpaths and trimmed designs in favor of a chaotic profusion of plants, flowers and trees that had climbed pergolas, choked gazebos, and swallowed benches whole. Most of the garden was brown this time of year, the leaves shriveled to dust under a covering of snow, but here and there hints of color beckoned. Crimson roses masqueraded as black ones in the dark, with the occasional flicker of stray torchlight revealing their lie to the viewer.
Radimar pushed the gates open with a squeak and led Jahna inside, his boots snapping twigs underfoot as they went. They stopped in an open space where a towering fir held court and cast a triangular darkness over the ground.
Jahna’s hand slipped from his so she could draw patterns in a nearby snowdrift with a stick she picked up nearby. “I’ve always loved this garden more than the one the royal household enjoys now.”
He joined her, watching as she drew a fair rendition of one of the roses in the drift. “There’s a wild beauty to it, as if being left to its own path has brought out something winsome a gardener’s hand can’t create.”
Her eyes rounded. “Yes, that’s it exactly!”
She was far more at ease here, away from the teeming crowds. Strains of a new tune drifted toward them, clear and sweet on the cold air. Radimar had brought her here for one reason.
He held out a hand. “Shall we?”
She dropped the stick in favor of eyeing first his hand and then him as if wondering what lay behind so ludicrous a request. “I don’t know.”
Had no one ever asked her to dance? Not even her brother or father? She had attained a natural grace, enhanced by her training with him. He found it hard to believe she might be clumsy on her feet, even if she didn’t know the steps.
“My lady, to be blunt, I’ve knocked you on your backside more than a few times during bouts in the past year. I certainly won’t judge you if you stumble or step on my feet. And we’re the only ones here to witness it if you do.”
Jahna laughed, her body losing the tension that stiffened her shoulders. “I can’t argue such sound reasoning.” She took his outstretched hand. “But no complaining if I trample your toes.”
They started off a little awkwardly, Radimar at first taking the steps at a snail’s pace until he realized Jahna knew how to dance them better than he did. Soon they danced together as if they’d done so for years.
“You’ve kept a dire secret, Jahna.” He twirled her until she faced him again. “You dance these steps better than most.”
She grinned, not at all repentant. “My father hired an instructor to teach Sodrin and me when we were younger. Sodrin found it dull. I liked it.”
“Probably because he balked at taking instruction like he did with me at first.” Jahna had been accurate in her warning to him that his greatest challenge with Sodrin would be in making him listen.
“Oh, he did,” she agreed with a fervent nod. Her hood had fallen back, revealing her hair, swept back in a simple bun at her nape.
“Should I ever meet your teacher, I will thank him or her for lessons well taught. You haven’t crushed my toes yet.”
He led her through another set of steps, twirling her in a slow rotation that stopped with the tune’s ending. The tireless musicians halted for no more than the space of a blink before starting another tune.
Radimar bowed and spread his arm in invitation. “Again, my lady?” He’d brought her to give her the gift of a dance partner and discovered he enjoyed dancing with her as much as he hoped she liked dancing with him.
She nodded and reached for his hand, only to snatch it back at the sound of voices passing close on the other side of the garden wall. Her joyful expression gave way to a wary one as they both stood silent until those who spoke moved on toward their destination. They were gone, but the magic of the garden was broken.
Radimar sighed inwardly when Jahna pulled her hood up until he could barely make out her pale features in its concealing shadows. “I thank you, Sir Radimar,” she said, another smile—this one a ghost of its predecessor—flitted across her mouth and glittered in her eyes. “I enjoyed our dancing, but I have to go. Goodnight.” She left without waiting for his reply or offer to escort her back to where the crowd now sang with the newest song the musicians played.
He hurried to catch up and keep her in sight, making certain she wasn’t accosted by some drunkard or the vindictive cats who had hunted her the previous year.
Once she disappeared through the doors of the Archives, and he assured himself she was safe, he returned to the festivities. He didn’t stay. The celebrations seemed hollow somehow, the crowd a surging clot of humanity that lurched from one song to another. He returned to the guard house where others like him spurned the celebrants outside in favor of drinking, dicing, or whoring. It was a far different environment from the abandoned garden, but he preferred it to the hordes crowding the bailey.
Radimar awoke the next morning well before the rest of Uhlfrida’s household, dressed quietly in the dark and tiptoed out in stocking feet. A few servants were about, casting him puzzled looks as they passed him in the corridor where he sat and laced up his boots.
While the palace was relatively quiet, the lists were not. Men from across Belawat had traveled to the capital not only for Delyalda but to compete in the exhibition fights. Several were already on the training field, practicing their sword form.
Radimar was on his third cup of tea, watching the combatants, when Sodrin arrived, sleepy-eyed and a little green.
He reluctantly took the cup Radimar gave him. “I don’t know if I can hold it down,” he said in a thin voice.
Unsympathetic to his plight, Radimar pushed the cup toward his face. “Drink it. If you vomit it up, I’ll pour you another one. I warned you not to sink too deep in your cups last night.”
He didn’t admonish him beyond that. Radimar remembered his own anxiety prior to his first combat against someone other than one of his teachers. He’d made the same mistake as Sodrin—calmed his nerves with an overindulgence in spirits. Training while suffering from a pounding head and roiling stomach was its own punishment.
They trained the entire morning and into the afternoon, a lighter lesson than Radimar normally taught. “I don’t want you tired out by the time you’re up to fight,” he explained to a relieved Sodrin.
Radimar halted the training once to accept a missive stamped with the royal seal from a servant wearing King Rodan’s livery. He broke the seal and read while the servant waited for his reply. His gaze traveled the list, settling on a cluster of soldiers in various states of harness. A few fought in pairs, but most watched one man—the king’s champion—wield his sword against another opponent.
As if the champion felt Radimar’s gaze, he held up a hand to halt the fight and turned, searching for his observer. He nodded once to Radimar before returning to the bout. Radimar handed the missive back to the servant. “Tell His Majesty I am honored and accept.”
Sodrin approached him once the servant left. “Good news?”
That depended on the outcome. Radimar gestured to their gear. “A challenge. I’ll tell you over a meal. We’re done for the day. You can take the time before the exhibition to clear your mind.”
While the previous night had been devoted to the dances that celebrated the coming solstice and paid homage to the gods for a good harvest, this night was devoted to the Exhibition.
Vendor stalls had been dismantled and erected outside the bailey to make room for a large, makeshift arena with seating for the royal family and the nobility. Another area that hugged the arena was reserved for the rest of the population who jostled for space to stand and gain a good view of the fighting.
A temporary billet housed the competitors participating in the different combats that evening. Most concentrated on sword fighting, though there was also wrestling and displays of horsemanship scheduled as well.
Inside the billet, Radimar checked his student’s armor for any defects or flaws such as broken straps or loose scale. Sodrin paced in front of him, pausing at times to practice footwork or map out the sequencing of attack and counterattack. He scraped his palm down the leg of his trousers before switching his grip on the sword to do the same with his other palm.
Radimar tightened a knot in a pauldron strap, testing its give before setting it aside. “You’re letting your nerves get the best of you,” he warned Sodrin.
The other man exhaled a harsh breath. “I can’t help it.” He paused in his pacing, his expression stricken. “What if I lose?”
Radimar shrugged. “Then you lose. We take what you learn from the defeat and use it to train better and harder for next year. This is bouting, Sodrin, not battle. You might come away with a bruised ego, but you’ll survive the fight. Now go sit there, close your eyes, calm your breathing and recite in your mind all the maneuvers I taught you while I go speak to your father.”
Sodrin’s eyes widened. “All the maneuvers?”
“All of them.”
He left Sodrin sitting on a bench, eyes closed, lips moving in soundless recitation of the many actions Radimar had taught him in the past year. While he didn’t tell Sodrin, the exercise was more of a way for him to calm himself, find that center that allowed him to concentrate and not be distracted by the mayhem swirling around him.
Uhlfrida and Jahna sat in a choice spot along the arena’s south side, close enough to get an uninterrupted view of the event but far enough so as not to be splattered by mud from the horses or ending up with a pair of fighters falling through the barriers and into their laps.
Lord Uhlfrida waved Radimar over when he caught sight of him in the crowd. Jahna perched on the edge of her seat and huddled deep within her cloak. There were shadows under her eyes as if she hadn’t slept well the night before.
Uhlfrida gestured to the billet where Sodrin waited. “What do you think? Will he do well for himself today or embarrass us both?”
A disapproving frown darkened Jahna’s features as she stared at her father but held her tongue.
Radimar shared her disapproval. Sodrin had worked hard the past year. Not always the model student but an enthusiastic one. “I have no doubts he’ll do well in the bouting even against the toughest opponent.”
Lord Uhlfrida thrust his hand through his thinning hair. “But will he win?”
That was an outcome Radimar couldn’t and wouldn’t guarantee. “No one can predict that, my lord. It’s why the wager pools exist.”
He silently applauded Jahna when she tried to deflect her father’s focus on Sodrin’s chances at winning his combats. “Are you bouting today as well, Sir Radimar?”
“Not originally, my lady.” His role during the Exhibition was supposed to be as Sodrin’s mentor and support before, during, and after the bouts. The missive he received earlier changed those plans. “A last minute request from His Majesty. The king’s newest champion is eager to cross swords with an Ilinfan swordmaster. We’ll bout after the competitions are over.”
Uhlfrida’s eyes lit up like bonfires. “No doubt that wager pool is lively at the moment.”
“No doubt, my lord.”
Uhlfrida heaved himself out of his chair. “I’ll be right back,” he said before hurrying off to the tables where the bookmakers accepted the bets placed on the combatants.
Jahna shook her head as she watched him leave. “He could never resist a sure bet.”
Despite the tired shadows under her eyes, there was something more animated about her today. She didn’t hide within the depths her cloak and hood for concealment so much as she did for warmth. The notion cheered Radimar. “But who does he wager on?”
One slender eyebrow arched. “You of course.”
He gave a dramatic sigh. “Then I have even more riding on this bout. My pride and reputation, your father’s monies and his children’s respect.”
Jahna giggled. “I don’t think you have anything to fear, sir, especially regarding the third thing. Sodrin and I will remain your faithful admirers and students, even if you’re soundly beaten.”
He gave her a short bow. “That’s a comfort, my lady.”
She reached into the depths of her cloak, creating ripples as she searched for something. “Had I known you’d be fighting, I would have made two favors instead of one.” After more shuffling inside the cloak, she pulled a delicate brooch constructed of a single amethyst surrounded by tiny pearls. Will this do?” She dropped it in his upturned palm. “I give it to you with all my hope for a triumphant outcome.” A blush pinkened one cheek and darkened the violet blemish of the other. “It isn’t much.”
Radimar took a moment to pin it to his quilted tunic near the shoulder. The many eyes of curious onlookers watched the exchange, accompanied by a few whispers. He ignored them, glad to see Jahna did as well. Were they alone, he’d succumb to the desire to stroke her arm, or plant a kiss in her palm. “I’m honored and will wear it proudly, my lady.”
He returned to a much more peaceful Sodrin after that. The Exhibition played out into the evening, and while the competitors tired, the crowd only grew more frenzied and raucous. Radimar was pleased with Sodrin’s performance. Of the five bouts he fought, he won three, losing the last to a fighter older and more experienced.
Afterwards, in the billet, Sodrin threw himself onto one of the benches and poured a pitcher of cold water over his head to cool off. Radimar handed him a towel and waited for the inevitable.
Sodrin toweled off before flinging the cloth into a corner. “I can’t believe it! I should have won that last bout!”
Radimar retrieved the towel to drape it over the bench where Sodrin sat. “No, you shouldn’t have. It wasn’t just his skill that won him the bout; it was your arrogance that lost it for you. You never assume you’ll win until you’ve actually won. Have you not listened to anything I’ve taught you regarding the value of humility? You can drown your disappointment in ale and whores tonight, but I want to see you at the royal training lists tomorrow morning first light. Don’t make me come find you. You’ll regret it.”
“You’ll still teach me after this?”
The worry in Sodrin’s voice made Radimar pause. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because I lost due to my own stupidity.”
“This is your first Exhibition. You exceeded my expectations. Besides, if we all gave up on each other for stupid mistakes, there would be no hope for any of us.”
Sodrin leaned his head back against the wall and stared at the ceiling. “I’ll never hear the end of it from Father.”
The crowd’s roar over another bout winner sounded like a dragon’s bellow. Radimar peeked outside for a moment before returning to Sodrin “Let your sire’s disappointment remain his. Besides, it stems from a lost bet, so don’t assign it an importance it doesn’t deserve.”
They were both laying out and inspecting Radimar’s armor in the emptying billet when voices on the other side of the wall where Radimar and Sodrin stood grew louder and closer. Used to the empty boasts and vulgar talk often exchanged between fighting men, Radimar closed his ears to their conversation and concentrated on repairing a broken patch of mail in his hauberk.
The shocked outrage on Sodrin’s face caught his attention, and he halted his work to listen. He didn’t recognize the voices, but a few of the names he knew. One was the king’s champion, Simusor Alreed.
“You think old Uhlfrida paid that swordmaster a second fortune to fuck his ugly daughter?”
“If he can teach that girl how to fuck the way he’s taught her brother how to fight, she’ll be the finest lay in all the kingdom, ugly or not.”
Alreed spoke then, his voice flat, emotionless. “I’d fuck her. Uhlfrida wouldn’t have to pay me either. Just turn her around and hump her like a bitch. All you’d see is her arse and the back of her head, not her face.”
Sodrin’s face flushed crimson. He rose silently from the bench, hands clenched into fists at his side. Radimar put a finger to his lips, signaling for his continued quiet. His own rage threatened to choke him, and the urge to round the corner and skewer the three pigs on the other side with his sword almost overwhelmed him. But he held his temper and kept an eye on Sodrin and an ear on the conversation.
The three moved away from their base conjectures regarding Jahna and instead focused on puffing up Alreed’s vanity, assuring him with the most effusive praise that he’d easily win the bout with Radimar and prove himself once again the king’s champion.
Whatever they had come for, they finally gathered up and left, their conversation fading until the billet was quiet, empty save for Radimar and Sodrin. Outside the crowd chanted Alreed’s name, eager to see their favorite face off against one of the famed Ilinfan swordmasters.
Sodrin snatched his favorite sword off the hook where he’d hung the scabbard. “I’m going to kill him.” He yanked the blade free and lunged for the doorway.
Radimar was quicker. He pivoted in front of Sodrin, knocking the sword out of his hand with one hand while driving him back against one of the billet’s support columns. Radimar arm-barred him across the chest, pinning the enraged Sodrin to the beam. “Don’t be a fool! He’s a superior fighter and will wipe the floor with you.”
Sodrin struggled but couldn’t break Radimar’s grip. “He deserves a gutting!”
He did, but Radimar had no intention of allowing Sodrin to commit suicide while defending his sister’s name. “Fourth rule of combat,” he said. “What is it?” The other man only glared at him, literally growling through clenched teeth. Radimar pressed harder. “Fourth rule, Sodrin.”
They stayed like that for several moments until the first surge of Sodrin’s fury cooled. He slumped under Radimar’s hold. “Never attack in anger,” he said in a grudging voice.
Satisfied that the immediate risk had passed, Radimar stepped back, freeing Sodrin who stayed where he was but glared daggers. “We can’t let him get away with talking about Jahna like that.”
Radimar recovered the sword where it lay and returned it to Sodrin. “Clean this and put it back. Then help me with my armor and weapons. The king will announce commencement of the challenge and I need to be ready.”
The initial red fury that had almost blinded him and easily matched, if not outstripped, Sodrin’s was transforming into a cold, black anger, the kind of seething that hollowed a person out if they held it close too long. Radimar had no intention of letting his sit in his gut for more than this night.
Alreed’s words made him want to retch and to kill. He sympathized with Sodrin’s wrath, understood down to his bones why Sodrin wanted instant retribution. Radimar closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the laughter and wonder in Jahna’s eyes as he danced with her in the forgotten garden amid the snow and roses. A pig like Alreed would abuse her, break her and toss her aside like refuse fit only for the midden.
He shuddered and opened his eyes to return to the task of belting and buckling on the armor he’d wear to face the king’s champion. Fourth rule, he told himself. Remember the fourth rule.
His own teachers had taught him that rule long ago, and when he’d broken it, the lesson they meted out to him guaranteed he wouldn’t break it again, but never attacking in anger wasn’t always easy, and this time Alreed had made it especially challenging.
Sodrin helped him adjust one of his pauldrons before handing Radimar the two training swords he indicated he’d use for the bout. Radimar wished they were the true weapons he normally carried—pointed, sharp-edged and lethal.
He tested their balance. Today he’d fight with two swords and no shield. The crowd had come to see a show, and two-handed sword fighting was an extravagant style. Impractical on the battlefield but perfect for a duel, it showcased a swordsman’s skills and engaged the crowd. Radimar planned to use it to teach the king’s champion a lesson.
Pain and outrage sheened Sodrin’s brown eyes, so like his sister’s. “Too bad it’s an exhibition and not true battle. You can’t kill him.”
The grin stretching Radimar’s mouth made Sodrin take a step back. “No, but by the time I’m done with him, he’ll wish I had.”