Authors: Angus Wells
Ardyon sniffed. It was impossible to read his expression, but I thought it likely disapproving. In the same toneless voice he said, “Amongst my duties is the meeting of newcomers. That is but one task to which I must attend. There are others, as you’ll learn, but foremost is the maintenance of discipline amongst the Mnemonikos-elect. This”—he flourished the caduceus—“is the badge of my office. You will obey any Trueman bearing this emblem. Do you understand?”
We nodded and assured him it was so.
“Good,” he said. “Now understand this. When you are sent for, you attend. You do not go exploring the alehouses of Durbrecht, or any other of the city’s many pleasures. You wait. You do as you are bid and no more; nor any less.
Remember that, and your sojourn here shall not be too unpleasant. Now follow me.”
He spun about, spindleshanks propelling him swiftly away: we hastened to follow. Cleton and I exchanged a glance, my friend exaggerating an expression of remorse. I felt abashed, and even Pyrdon, though he had not been included in the reprimand, looked distinctly nervous. I thought it an inauspicious beginning.
But my doubts faded as we traversed the streets of the city, overwhelmed by the wonders all about me. Ardyon led us from the harbor through a maze of warehouses that filled the air with exotic perfumes, onto a wide avenue faced on both sides by emporiums offering such a wealth of produce as widened my eyes and set my nostrils to twitching like a questing hound’s. We saw arcades and bazaars, whole squares filled with canopied stalls, grand taverns and eating houses, plazas where fountains played and trees grew, protected by ornate fences. And people—more people than I had thought the whole world could hold, merchants and their customers, folk who did no more than stroll leisurely as if they had no work to call them, but only time in which to wander this cornucopia of wonders.
We hurried after the briskly striding warden down streets overhung with balconies that trailed bright flowers, past walls painted with a kaleidoscope of colors, or tiled; up stairways narrow and wide; across squares where statues stood proud. I saw loaded carts driven by Changed and carriages holding Truemen, horses ridden by men and women both. I gaped and goggled my way to a great white wall where Ardyon halted and gestured with his staff.
“This is the College of the Mnemonikos,” he announced. “Save you are dismissed early, this shall be your home for the next year at least.”
I was too excited to allow his reminder of possible failure to dampen my spirits. I stared, wondering if the wall was to keep us in or the city out. There was a gate, tall and wide, stained a pale blue, standing open. Ardyon led us through into a courtyard paved with great stone slabs, shrubs and fledgling trees growing in stone basins, benches set along the inner face of the wall occupied by men old and young. A few Changed went about menial tasks. Ardyon continued his march without breaking pace, across the courtyard to a high
building with windows set like watching eyes and an arch at its center that granted entry to the cloistered quadrangle beyond. We turned off there, following our guide up a stairway to a door of black wood, where he motioned us to halt, tapping three times with his caduceus. A muffled voice bade us enter, and Ardyon swung the door open.
A small man, the light from the window at his back shining on his pate, sat behind a desk. He did not rise, but I could see he was not tall and that his face was unlined and amiable as his welcome.
“The day’s greetings,” he said pleasantly. “Welcome to Durbrecht.”
Pyrdon and I mumbled a response, Cleton replying more firmly. Ardyon named us one by one, tapping us each on the chest with his staff, and handed over our tokens. The bald man glanced at the disks and set them aside. “I am Decius,” he said, “master of the College. Your journey here was comfortable, I trust?”
Pyrdon nodded.
I said, “We saw the skyboats that attacked the city.” Cleton said, “And the wreck of one; along the Treppanek.”
Decius smiled and said, “Do you tell me what you saw?”’
He motioned for me to begin. I know not why, for I was not entirely at ease, whilst Cleton seemed quite confident, as if an interview with so elevated a personage was to him an everyday event.
I swallowed, cleared my throat, and commenced to tell him all I remembered. I was speaking of the elementals I believed I had seen sporting about the Sky Lords’ craft when he raised a hand to halt me and bade Cleton continue. Cleton took up the tale and was in his turn halted, Pyrdon finishing with an account of the wrecked airboat.
“How many bodies did you see?” asked Decius, when Pyrdon fell silent.
Pyrdon frowned and shrugged and said, “I am not sure, master.”
Decius smiled and raised inquiring brows at Cleton, who said, “I think there were thirteen.”
I found those mild eyes fastened on me then, and I closed my own an instant, conjuring the image. I said, “There were fifteen, master.”
“You’re sure?” asked Decius.
I hesitated a moment and then said, “Not absolutely. They were amid the wreckage, like bodies in the belly of a dead beast. But I think there were fifteen.”
Decius nodded, and I wondered if I had done well or badly in what I took to be a test. I was not told, for he turned his face to the warden then and said, “Do you show them to their dormitory, Ardyon? And I’d suppose they’ll want to eat. After, do you bring them to Martus.”
Ardyon offered a brief bow in response and motioned for us to follow him again. We quit the room, trailing after the warden back down the stairs, across the quadrangle to a separate building that he advised us held the dormitories of the Mnemonikos-elect.
Ours was a long, high-windowed room containing twenty beds, each with a cupboard beside that Ardyon explained was for our sole use. There were, he told us in his toneless voice, only fifteen candidates in residence, and no more were expected. He took our daggers into safekeeping, promising their return at the year’s end, waited as we chose our beds and stowed our gear, and then brought us to the dining hall, which lay on the far side of the quadrangle. He was meticulous in the dispensation of his duties, and even though neither Cleton nor I had appetite left, we were settled at a table with Pyrdon, watching as porridge, bread, and tea were brought him by a servant I recognized as Changed. As he ate, Ardyon outlined the timetable of our days.
Cleton caught my eye as we quit the dining hall, and on his face I saw the promise of disobedience to come.
He remained dutifully silent, however, as Ardyon led us through gardens to a walled enclosure, where a man of middle years sat with the fifteen candidates already in residence. We were introduced, and the warden left us. The man studied us a moment, then said, “I am Martus, your tutor for the next year. Do you tell me something of yourselves?”
We each in turn recited our brief histories, and Martus named our fellow candidates. I studied him and them. He seemed a pleasant enough man of no especial distinction. He was of average height and build, shaven clean, with an abundant head of light brown hair and eyes that seemed somewhat sleepy, though I soon learned they missed nothing. He was clad in well-worn breeks and tunic, with a sash
of vivid red. The other students were a disparate lot, as might be expected, given they came from all over Dharbek. There were fishermen like me, another tanner’s son, two blacksmiths, several merchants’ offspring, three from taverns; Cleton was the only student of noble descent. Nor, Martus explained, were there female Mnemonikos, our itinerant lives being deemed unsuitable for the supposedly gentler sex.
That first day passed swift, and it seemed not long at all before a gong summoned us to the dining hall for the evening meal. The hall was filled with students of all ages and loud with the buzz of conversation. I was marveling at the richness of our fare when one of the farriers’ sons, a hulking fellow from the west coast whose name was Raede, fixed Cleton with his small eyes and said, “So you’re an aeldor’s son, eh?”
Cleton nodded, smiled amiably, and answered, “That I am. Brython of Madbry is my father.”
Raede snorted. Like one of the horses he helped his father shoe, I thought. Certainly he was built for the work, or the work had built him. I was no weakling—rowing a boat and hauling nets had put muscle on my frame—but next to Raede I was nothing. He was huge, with bulging forearms and a neck thick as a bull’s: I had seen no one bigger save Kerym’s Changed crewmen. He studied Cleton awhile, then said, “I suppose you think yourself better than us.”
A hamhock hand gestured at the others. Cleton, still smiling, said, “No. Why should I?”
Raede paused a moment, frowning, and said, “You’re an aeldor’s son.” It appeared he found that sufficient explanation and cause for resentment.
Cleton nodded again and said, “Here we are all students, equal.”
“I’m stronger,” said Raede.
“I can see that,” said Cleton.
I suppose I had, in a way, led a sheltered life. There had been no bullies in Whitefish village, and it was a while before I recognized that Raede was less concerned with Cleton’s antecedents than with establishing his own authority. I stared at his blunt features and wondered why he sought to
provoke this argument, simultaneously realizing that Cleton’s mild responses served only to irritate him the more.
“I could break you,” he said.
“Perhaps,” said Cleton.
I thought there was no
perhaps
about it. I thought Raede could likely break us both. I thought it a pity Ardyon had confiscated our weapons. I heard Raede say, “The aeldor of Kesbry had a son; a snotty creature he was.”
“Some are,” Cleton said.
“Like you,” said Raede.
“You make swift judgments, friend Raede,” Cleton said, still mild, as if they conducted an entirely friendly conversation. “You’ve known me but a single afternoon and already you mark me one with a man I’ve never set eyes on. Think you you’re perhaps a trifle hasty?”
Raede said, “No. I think you’re a popinjay. I think you’re a pampered keep-son. And I don’t like you.”
To his right and left two students sniggered. Their names were Leon and Tyras. I thought that did this come to the fight Raede appeared intent on provoking, they would take his side. I thought that singly I could defeat either one, but together … I glanced sidelong at Pyrdon, wondering if he would aid us, and saw his eyes shifting nervously between Cleton and Raede. I thought he would not.
Cleton said equably, “That’s your right, my friend. Indeed, I must admit I’ve not much fondness for you.” Then his eyes flashed and his voice dropped, though his words came clear: “But still I’ll warn you—do you continue this, you’ll regret it.”
Raede was a moment taken aback, then he snorted laughter and said, “I’ll regret it, eh? And how shall you make me regret it, popinjay?”
Cleton’s voice was mild again, but his eyes were pale and hard. “I’ll thrash you,” he said confidently.
Raede’s eyes narrowed until they were tiny slits: I thought no longer of a bull, but of a wild boar brought to bay and ready to attack. He said, “We’ll see. After dinner.”
“As you wish,” said Cleton.
After we had eaten we left the hall and waited outside for the tutors to disperse. As is the way of such things, word had gone around the students, and a crowd was gathered in the quadrangle, eager for the promised diversion. Raede announced
that the enclosure where we had taken our first lessons was a suitable place, and we made our way there, as stealthily as any group of bloodthirsty young men. It was foolish of us to think we should go unnoticed, but we believed ourselves unobserved as we filled the space, the spectators spreading along the walls, Cleton and I facing Raede and his two acolytes at the center. The night was starry, and sufficient light came from the College buildings and the streets of Durbrecht that we could see well enough. I saw that Raede was smiling hugely.
“I trust this is between we two alone,” Cleton said, intending insult, “and your friends shall not aid you.”
“I’ll not need aid,” Raede answered.
“Then do we begin?” said Cleton.
Raede grunted and took a long step forward, swinging a clublike fist at Cleton’s head. He was not yet seventeen years old, but that blow could have downed a full-grown man. Cleton, however, was not there for the fist to strike: I saw him dance clear, ducking, and then rise to grasp Raede’s wrist in both his hands. I am not sure what happened next—there was a swift shifting of feet, sudden movement, and Raede lay on his back. I laughed. Cleton stood waiting, smiling. Raede climbed to his feet and attacked again. And once more was toppled, landing this time on his face in a flowerbed. He pushed up, shaking his head, dirt smeared over his cheeks and mouth. Then he snarled and stood, staring at Cleton with furious eyes. He was not hurt, but he was humiliated, and perhaps aware for the first time that this might not be the easy victory of his anticipation. He advanced more cautiously, his head down and his hands extended from his sides. Cleton stood waiting for him, that easy smile still on his lips. Raede came on slowly, then sprang, faster than I had thought his size should allow, his great hands reaching for Cleton’s throat. Had they landed, I think he would have choked my friend, or broken his neck. Instead, they found only empty air as Cleton again ducked under his opponent’s reach, took hold of his tunic, and fell backward, crashing down with Raede into a bush. This time Raede cried out, and when he extricated himself, I saw his face was scratched, thin lines scored across his forehead and cheeks. He wiped a dirtied hand over his wounds and muttered
a foul oath, then lowered his head and charged, caution forgotten.
It was a foolish move: Cleton simply stepped a pace sideways and in an eye’s blink pivoted and kicked out, knocking Raede’s legs from under him. For the fourth time the bully went down, skidding helplessly over the flagstones. When he rose, his nose was bloodied and his lips puffed, his tunic filthy. I became aware of the audience muttering, that wagers had been placed. I grinned, sure now that Cleton must win.
Raede, too, had that thought, for he swung his heavy head and made some sign to Leon and Tyras. I saw it, and then that Raede maneuvered to turn Cleton’s back to his supporters, advancing slowly again, his arms spread wide, driving Cleton across the opened space. I moved from my position, making my way along the edge of the crowd until I stood behind Leon and Tyras. I watched as Raede came onward, Cleton sensing some subterfuge, so that he risked a glance over his shoulder. He saw the two, and me behind, and nodded once as I waved, trusting me. Then he turned to face Raede again, feinting to one side and then the other, the larger man blocking his escape each time. I saw Leon and Tyras exchange a look and their shoulders tense in preparation. As Cleton was driven back, they readied to grab him. Raede smiled now, which was an ugly sight, and darted at Cleton, intending to force him back against Leon and Tyras.