In which a noble gets a bit piqued and the Master at Arms has a laugh

Allen had a delightful thought of his own, and it involved throwing the noble off the battlements, but a direct approach was likely only to infuriate the noble and cause a scene.

“Sir, with a philosophy like that, you must be an avid hunter.”

“Of course,” the noble replied, “my hounds are the finest in the kingdom. They will run a wild hart to exhaustion in the woods and straight into my arms. But for finer game, different hounds are required.” He cast a lazy glance across his men who had drawn back.

“Is it the thrill of the chase that interests you?”

“What else, my dear lieutenant…the chase to raise the blood and then that final climax when the beating heart explodes and you know you hold life in your hand.” The noble’s face became distant for a moment. “But I am becoming impatient with your attempt at conversation. Take yourself away.”

His pack of dogs moved back towards the table.

“Would it not be a greater challenge to hunt alone?” Allen asked, ignoring the approach of the retainers. If they surrounded the table again, he would have to leave with nothing accomplished or it would escalate into a fight.

“That would hardly be appropriate for my rank. I am not a forester. Although I do not expect you to understand.” The noble looked Allen up and down, and sneered.

Allen’s muscles began to twitch with anger, but he kept it off his face and out of his voice. He perpetually felt it boiling at the unanswered questions of where he had come from was and how he had arrived in Aciel, and he had long ago learned to wall it away, but hearing about nobles like this one fed that anger from other sources and caused cracks in his fortifications. Now, one of those arrogant nobles was standing in front of him and compounding those cracks by proving all the sayings about them true.

“What skill is shown in hunting game that cannot run?” He clenched his jaw and nodded to the girl; his face was a rigid mask. “You seem to be holding her in place.”

“Women are not exactly like deer, my man. It is the mind that you have to hunt. It’s much easier to restrain them until you find it.”

The noble’s generalization brought the fragmented images of his sister and mother to his mind; he wondered about them constantly, running the images through his mind again and again until he no longer knew if they were even accurate–sometimes he would see the images changing in his mind as he watched, their hair changing from blond to brown, then fading to dark. The idea of them as deer for this noble was too much for him.

“I would expect that from you,” he said, the words grating like ice on his tongue, “Who must never have known a woman willing to sleep with you without coercion–all you have to your name are bribery and force. You would not recognize honor if you spent the night in the goddess’ embrace.”

The noble’s face turned red. “Guards!” he shouted.

It was an unfortunate choice of words. Even as his retainers ran over and surrounded Allen, and a few blows began to land on his stomach and head, the few Guards left in the room rushed over and ones who had been within earshot began to pour in.

The noble glared at Allen, but a moment later said to his men, “Leave him. Come.”

The retainers abandoned Allen and followed their master toward the doors, earning sidelong glances from the gathered Guards, and then they disappeared out of the hall.

“What happened here? What was the shouting about?” one junior captain asked.

The Guards looked around the room and at each other, but there no one answered the question and the area seemed calm now. They began to disperse with mutters about unnecessary shouting.

Only the few who had been in the room had seen what happened, and they cast a few glances in Allen’s direction as they returned to their meals. But they said nothing.

After they left, the lieutenant was still sitting there. She still seemed wary, but she didn’t look as rigid as she had been.

“That was not what I expected would happen when he came over,” she said, looking him over, “but at least he’s gone. Thank you for the help, but you really should have left it alone: that was Count Thaesil…the fifth most powerful noble in the kingdom.”

Allen gingerly felt at where the retainers had hit him, and his right eye already felt hot and swollen. Thaesil? He’d heard of a Count Thaesil before, but it didn’t match with what he’d just seen. “I thought Thaesil was an older man, and the ambassador to the South.”

“He was. He died last month. That was his only son.” She nodded at the chair across from her. “You could at least you could sit down. That’s going to be black inside an hour unless you heal it.”

After a moment he sat down.

“It’s not the worst that could have happened, I guess. He’ll probably stay quiet about the fight out of pride. I’m just a lieutenant; it would tarnish his reputation to be caught fighting with me.”

“I wouldn’t be entirely sure of that…from what I’ve heard, Thaesil is spiteful…and you insulted him. He might want to get back at you for it. And you’re very distinctive with that ivy mark…there aren’t many marks in the Guard. All Thaesil has to do is ask around for you, a lieutenant with a mark who might have been in a fight recently. He’ll probably know who you are by tomorrow. And as for the few Guards who saw what happened…that word will be all over the barracks by this evening. You know how Guards talk to each other.”

Allen glanced up at the ceiling through the hazy vision of an eye that was swiftly closing. She was probably right. He hadn’t intended to insult the noble; his temper had got the better of him. It didn’t seem like there was much he could do though except wait and see how it turned out over the next couple of days.

He concentrated for a moment, and opened the gates that bound the torrents of energy in his blood. A crackle of heat ran through him and in its wake his skin knit and bruises faded. When he felt the damage vanish, he willed the current to settle and set it back where it belonged.

“I’m Jaella, by the way.” The lieutenant held out a hand to him, and he shook it. Her hand was cool and light in his.

“Allen Delais.”

“You’re going to want to watch your back, Allen Delais. You’ve seen what the new count is like. I hope you have a powerful patron. Thank you for the help, but a word of advice…help is not always needed; sometimes it just makes things worse for everyone.” She stood up with her tray still half-finished. “Perhaps we’ll see each other again, in different circumstances.”

She dropped her tray off at the cooks on her way out.

There was still enough time for another tray of food before the afternoon training began, and Allen worked his way through it to replace the energy he’d used in healing.

He wondered if Jaella were right, and if Thaesil would try to get back at him for the insult. Her recommendation of a powerful patron was probably accurate, but it didn’t help him. He didn’t really know any of the nobles in the kingdom. All of the guards had to be sponsored by an aristocratic family, and his old captain, Raeli, had managed to get him a recommendation from one somehow, but after that requirement he had paid no attention to sponsorship. Now, it seemed he should have.

Kilin’s easy promotion that morning gave him something to think about too. He knew Kilin came from a fairly aristocratic family, even if they weren’t the highest ranking. Had Kilin’s family connections gained him the promotion, despite that he was not that good with a sword and relatively average in other respects?

Allen pushed the thought out of his mind. He didn’t like thinking of his friend as undeserving. The other lieutenant was charismatic, and perhaps that was enough.

When he finished his lunch, he headed to the training grounds. He had a weapons class with the other junior lieutenants; then a tactics and logistics discussion with Senior Captain Ferril and a field-exercise on defensive emplacements that would stretch into the evening.

The weapons class was in a section of the training quarters that looked like a tornado had gone through it. Some rooms of it were bare stone, others dirt, others with ruined walls and covered in a mixture of shale, straw, loose boards, and gravel, some were designed to simulate decking, and others had stone pillars or trees with branches in the way. It was intended to replicate varying battle conditions. There was even a way to create a fake rainstorm or flood in one area by opening a cistern on the roof and a sluice gate.

Little actual training took place in the special rooms. Practicing in them was inevitably more dangerous and dependent as much on luck as on skill. The classes would rotate through them every once in a while, and discuss tactics that might be of use in the various environments, but the majority of the training was on straightforward dirt, gravel, or wood.

The training salles that made up the practice ground surrounded an open courtyard of dirt and gravel where classes were held. An extensive selection of armor and weapons filled the first room and more was racked wherever there was space.

This afternoon was a free-style rather than standard formation, so Allen dressed in the chain and plate mix that he’d learned to favor while on the Dhara. It was not far different from the standard armor for the Guard, which favored a full breastplate, but it offered a reduced weight and better maneuverability. Chain hauberk hung from his shoulders, was buckled at the waist by a heavy belt, and split into leggings covered by plate greaves. Plate pauldrons, bracers, and vambraces protected his arms and shoulders. The pauldrons were buckled on by a crisscrossing leather strap backed by linked steel rings that held an oblong metal plate over the center of his chest.

He pulled on the steel-backed gauntlets and picked up a falchion and medium kite shield. Guard infantry typically used wall shields, but they were unwieldy outside of a formation. The kite shield was equally adaptable to fighting on foot or riding, and its long tail covered his knees.

The falchion was edged on one side and curved slightly, with a fairly heavy blade. It had sinuous quillons that curled around to protect his hand. The front side of the quillons made a loop to meet at the pommel and was studded with small pyramidal spikes.

All told, it was a style of arms that was very similar to what he’d learned on the Dhara.

The rest of the class trickled in while he was dressing, and eventually the dozen junior and senior lieutenants were gathered on the courtyard in front of the Guard’s Master at Arms. The Master at Arms had several assistants, but he rotated through to teach every class at least once a week.

“You’ve done this before,” he said, after he nodded a greeting to them. “Pick a partner and warm up for a bit, and then we’re going to have a general melee. Last one standing gets a drink on me.”

There were a few cheers at that, and the Armsmaster grinned; then he gestured for them to begin. “Get to work. Drinking later.”

Allen faced off against Senior Lieutenant Relin, dressed in standard armor, who had been standing closest to him. They’d sparred many times before. Relin was one of the officers permanently assigned to the palace, and he sometimes doubled as an assistant for the supply classes. Allen had worked with him very briefly before he’d been assigned to Felim’s office.

“Afternoon, Relin.” Allen said as he saluted him.

“Not a good one though.” Relin frowned as he saluted him in turn. “Something’s in the air today and it has the whole palace jumping.” He moved into a guard position and began to circle to Allen’s left.

How quickly could word travel in the castle, Allen wondered. Surely rumors about Thaesil at lunch hadn’t started already.

“Any idea of what?” Allen ignored a feint to his right, parried the following overhead strike and slid Relin’s blade off to the side. He kept turning to keep Relin in view.

“Not sure. Something about the South. You can bet the increase of the new legions are going to be stepped up.”

That eased his mind a bit, but it was still early. “You think Karn is going to advance through the Kestrel?” The Kestrel Pass cut through a barrier mountain range that divided the north and south and served as the major point of conflict for the two nations. Each nation held one side, and the traditional first act of war was to try and grab the other. His blade rose above Relin’s head, trying to draw his blade up and out of line, and then swooped down to strike at the lieutenant’s shoulder. Relin missed the parry but managed to dodge out of the way.

“I haven’t heard anything about it, but I’d say it’s more to do with treaties and trade. War might come from it; it wouldn’t be the first time. It’s not there yet though.” He closed and slammed his shield into Allen’s, trying to knock the kite shield out of line.

Allen shifted into the blow, spun on his foot, and used Relin’s momentum to toss him off to the side. Relin was already moving out of range, but he tagged him with his falchion just enough to make his armor ring.

“Good. It’s too hot down there to fight.”

“Hah, you just like the women better in the north.” Relin recovered and darted in again, this time leaving a slash along Allen’s shield before he returned to circling.

“Unlike you, I don’t see the attraction to the women in the south. Dark hair, mysterious…. No, give me an honest one anytime.” He took a slash against his bracer as he closed and used his hilt to hammer at Relin’s head.

“It’s the charm, the grace…. Danger and all that too. I bet they’re wildcats in bed.”

Allen snorted. “There are real wildcats in the far north you know, great white ones.”

“Ahh, but not so nice to sleep with.” Relin retreated from a strike and returned one, which Allen parried.

“Point. But I wouldn’t trust the women in the south not to have claws of their own. Poison and deceit are art forms down there.” He parried and delivered a kick to Relin’s stomach that earned him a grunt.

“Ahh, but it’d be worth it. One night of fire. What a way to go out.”

“Break!” the Master at Arms shouted. “You mangy dogs are all out of shape. I won’t need to buy any beers tonight, since you’ll all collapse of exhaustion halfway through the melee!”

Relin grinned. “I like it when he shows up. His assistants are boring.”

“So they are, but good at what they do.”

The lieutenants broke into two sections for the melee. Allen knew the names of all of them, and had worked with a couple, but they were either new lieutenants or assigned specifically to the capital. None of them had been on patrol with him, and he hadn’t spoken to most of them outside of the class. Kilin probably knew their life details, but Allen didn’t find it easy to talk to most people outside of work. He’d lost the habit of small talk after he’d arrived in Rylar. It had been easier on the ship, when he had really known everyone, and the casual stresses between the crew and the guards had been a source of jokes.

The newer lieutenants were likely to go to the 9th, 11th, or 17th, but not until they’d had a tour on patrol somewhere. If they were ended up on duty with him, he would make the effort to find out more about them.

“If you receive a strike that would have killed you without armor,” the Master at Arms said, “Fall down, play dead, and don’t stand up again until I say to. That’s the only rule. Feel free to grab feet and try to trip the ones are still standing. We’re going to make this fun. I don’t want to hear any whining if you get stepped on; that’s the way this works. You should have done better.”

“The rest of you,” he continued, “Make sure to step on them to remind them that they should still be alive. Learn to fight on a cluttered battlefield. Now, you’re in two teams, but that doesn’t mean anything except that I can only count to two. Feel free to surprise and betray the guard next to you; it’s a general melee. But I like to call it ‘fun.’ On my mark.”

“Fight!”

The two groups rushed at each other across the courtyard, and bodies slammed into bodies and shields. There was no disciplined shield wall here like the guards would have usually fought in, just a full-out attack. Names and faces were lost in it.

Allen slammed himself against the figure in front of him, slammed his hilt into the guard’s head, and turned before he could see him drop. A sword slammed against his ribs and he tried to turn with it, but it left him gasping.

He turned in the direction of the blow and locked his shield around the edge of the guard’s, jerked with all his strength to drag it to the side, and stabbed behind it as soon as he had an opening.

He kicked the guard in the side as he turned back to the front, took a blow on his shield, parried another, was smashed against the guard in front of him, and so slammed his forehead into the helmet there since the guard was too close for anything else.

He saw stars for a moment, but went with it. Then his knees were kicked out from under him, and he fell against another guard and grabbed on, punching him in the ribs to distract him as he hauled himself back up.

A sword rang against his helmet and he winced. Then he complied with the Master’s orders and fell to the ground, where he rolled around kicking at knees and grabbing ankles. Most of the guard was down already; he had been one of the later ones. The last few went down under the number of hands and feet attacking them from the ground.

The Master’s laughter rang out above the crowd of fallen lieutenants. “I love this exercise! Get up you lazy bastards and do it again! I owe Jazik a beer!”

The melee continued for the rest of the class until every one of lieutenants was injured and thoroughly exhausted, some were unconscious, and the Master at Arms owed ten of them a beer, sometimes multiple beers. Allen had earned three. Korel and Perine had four each. Peale, Miera, and Relin had two.

“All right,” he finally called. “Drag the unconscious ones into the other room and let them sleep it off. Strip the armor off them. Then heal yourselves and get off to whatever other class you have.”

Allen helped to drag the unconscious Relin, for whom it had gone badly in the last round, into the other room. The unconscious would heal as they slept. It was slower than a conscious healing, but they would be fine. Killing someone required massive blood loss, and the armor had prevented that.

When he’d done that, he racked his arms and stripped off his armor, then relaxed into the flows of blood and heat within himself. He felt the rippling energy of his limbs and arteries, the pulsing core of his heart drumming a beat that filled his mind and world, the spark and release of each muscle. He found the bruises and shattered pathways, the broken conduits that swelled where hot blood gathered, and he reached towards the hot sun at the center of his being, and wrapped himself in it, letting its tides of fire and cascading, twisting light and the pounding and rippling waves of the drumbeat wash through him, until his bruises and wounds twisted themselves back into their original shape, leaving no mark of scar on his body.

When it was finished, he stretched his newly healed muscles and felt his skin pull taut and whole where it had been damaged. On most days there were not many injuries in the class and they focused on perfecting their technique and stamina, but the Master at Arms must have wanted to liven things up today.

A table in the corner held cold food to replace the energy the Guards had used in their melee and healing, and Allen and the others helped themselves to it. Logistics and tactics was next. The melee had driven thoughts out of his head for a while, but now that it was over he worried about the consequences of insulting Thaesil.

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