Songs of the Earth (25 page)

Somewhat to his surprise, he missed Leah. Out there, today would have been a good day to ride up to Carterway Head, where the road dropped over the shoulder of the Great Glen and it was possible to see halfway to Leahaven, if the sky was clear. South a mile or two was the vast limestone outcrop known as the Giant’s Table; he used to climb it and look out over the misty valley, feeling as if he stood on the roof of the world. There were a thousand things that he missed, from sweet heather honey to the breathless hush of the morning after the first deep snow, and they called to him. No matter how he had tried to suppress his feelings since he had left, Leah had a string tied to his heart that would never be undone.

Rolling his shoulders to ease the burn of hard work, Gair walked back to the steps where he had left his scabbard – but it had been moved, and now it was lying beside a box of oiled rags. A fresh towel hung over the railing. Someone had come into the yard, and he’d been too absorbed in the forms to notice. Flexing his grip on the longsword, he looked around.

The walkways were empty, but the armoury door stood open and a broadset man sat on a stool beside it in the morning light. Thick fingers deftly wound new whipping round the hilt of a wooden waster sword. Two of the battered practice weapons stood against the armoury wall, freshly repaired; three more lay on the packed earth by the man’s feet in a litter of leather scraps, waiting their turn.

‘Thank you for the towel,’ Gair said.

‘Thought you might need it. You usually remember to bring your own.’ The man made the last loop and held the thong in place with his thumb, whilst he fished a clasp knife from his pocket with his free hand. ‘You’ve good balance, but don’t you get bored with the solo forms?’

‘Sometimes.’ Gair reached for the towel to dry his face.

The fellow on the stool swapped the knife for a bodkin from his belt and pressed the cut end down under the last few turns of leather to secure it. Then he stood up, knuckling his spine. ‘Goddess, don’t get old. Your back’s the first thing to go,’ he muttered and came forward into the yard. He had close-cropped hair the colour and texture of iron filings, and a prize-fighter’s face. Dark brown, almost black eyes flanked a much-broken nose, and his left cheekbone was crumpled under an old scar. When he smiled, the scar lifted his upper lip into a villainous sneer.

‘Haral. Weapons-master,’ he said. ‘Who taught you the sword?’

‘Selenas of Dun Ygorn.’

‘Up at the Motherhouse, yes? I see.’

The waster blurred in his hand and swept in towards Gair’s ribs. Instinctively he raised his blade to block it, but the stocky Syfrian had already pulled his blow and the steel barely bit a splinter from the wood.

‘Quick hands,’ Haral said, stepping back. ‘He taught you well.’

‘Do you know him?’

The weapons-master stood the waster against the wall with its brothers and dusted his palms together. ‘A little, from the war. Does he still have that
qatan
?’

‘He does.’

‘Still make you face it with just a pair of knives?’

‘Sometimes it’s a quarterstaff, or a broken lance. He says you never know what you might have to defend yourself with.’ Gair flipped the towel back over the railing and sheathed his sword.

‘Aye, that you don’t!’ the Syfrian grinned. ‘Sword breaks, or gets
taken from you, you make do with the first thing that comes to hand. Saw a woman take on a
qatan
once with naught but a skillet, and didn’t she make the fellow look damned foolish with it too, for a few minutes, anyways. Show me your hands.’

Gair’s palms were dark from the sword’s leather grip, but the scar was plainly visible. Haral didn’t appear to pay it any particular mind, taking each hand in turn and rubbing a horny thumb over the calluses on palm and fingers.

‘And a bowman too – but of course, you’re Leahn. Probably cut your teeth on your da’s old longbow, eh? Grip.’

Gair squeezed Haral’s hands hard. His shoulders were burning before the Syfrian indicated he could let go. When he did, he had to flex the life back into his fingers.

‘So they didn’t ruin you completely. How does it feel?’

‘It’s not perfect, but it’s good enough. Master Haral, how long were you watching me?’

‘About an hour today, maybe half that every other day this week, when I had more chores to do.’ He gestured towards the eastern side of the yard, where a row of mullioned windows winked over the tile-roofed walk. ‘My rooms are just up there. Like Church folk, I tend to be up with the sparrows. Watching you’s been a welcome distraction from book-work. With a weapon or without, I’ll take on any man and give him my best, but when the armoury ledgers need balancing …’ Haral grinned wryly. ‘I don’t make much of a clerk!’

He scratched his cheek, a speculative furrow creasing his brows. ‘There’s half an hour or so before breakfast. Care to spar with me a little?’

It was tempting, but Gair said, ‘Thank you, Master Haral, but I think I’m done for the day. I have a tutorial with Master Brendan at Eighth, and I need a bath.’

‘Understood – some other time, then. There’s space in my classes for one more, if you’ve a mind for it. Twice a week. Can’t
promise as varied an experience as you’re perhaps used to, but it’ll stretch you more than the solo forms.’

‘That sounds good, thank you.’

‘Truth told, you’d be doing me a service. Couple of my students are starting to think that there’s nothing left a broken-down old war-horse like me can teach them. You’d shake them up a little.’

‘If it gets me away from the Masters for a few hours, I’d sweep the stable yard,’ Gair admitted. He picked up his sword and slung the baldric over his shoulder.

‘Man needs to flex more than his brains from time to time,’ Haral said. ‘Stop by the yards day after tomorrow and you can show me what else Selenas taught you. It could be … enlightening.’ Then he barked a laugh. ‘This is one trick they won’t see coming!’

Darin dropped onto the opposite bench and set a loaded breakfast tray on the table in front of him. ‘You look as if you were ridden hard and put away wet,’ he said cheerfully.

Gair sipped at his tea. ‘About as good as I feel, then.’

‘Didn’t sleep well?’

‘Not really. Too warm.’

‘Missing the icy caress of a Leahn winter, eh?’ The Belisthan spread a thick layer of butter on a slice of spicebread and took an enormous bite. ‘You’ll get used to it eventually. Me, I’ve always hated the snow. I think I was born at the wrong latitude.’

He folded the rest of the bread into his mouth and was buttering a second slice before the first was even swallowed.

Gair had a healthy appetite, but he had never seen anyone tuck into food the way Darin did. The Belisthan simply inhaled it. ‘I don’t know how you don’t throw up, eating like that.’

‘I grew up with four brothers. I had to eat quick, or go hungry.’ Darin tipped his head towards the sword propped against the wall. ‘Been practising?’

‘I’ll get rusty if I don’t.’ Gair’s jaw creaked as he stifled a yawn. ‘Saints, I’m ready to go back to bed.’

‘The Masters still working you hard?’

‘You could say that. I haven’t even had a free day yet. Demonstrate this, shield against that – Coran threw fish at me yesterday.’

Darin almost sprayed tea across the table. ‘Fish!’ he exclaimed.

‘Mackerel, I think. He said he wanted to see how I reacted to the unexpected.’

Coran looked soft, at first glance, but behind those twinkling eyes and rosebud mouth there was a mind of polished Yelda steel. Scorching fireballs had come as no surprise, and Gair’s shield had deflected them with ease, as it had the ice-storm that came after, though a few jagged splinters had porcupined his weaving before he could bounce them away. Coran had just stood to one side, hands folded behind his back and a trace of amusement on his round-cheeked face. His smile didn’t even flicker as the finny barrage began.

The mackerel had been illusory, of course, but they’d been startlingly real as they flapped across the yard and slapped off Gair’s shield. He’d almost lost control of it, his jaw dropping at the sight of the gasping fish, but he’d managed to snag the edge as it started to unravel and slammed it back down into the ground.

Darin hooted with laughter as he recounted the story. ‘Now that’s what I call unexpected – a rain of fish out of a clear blue sky!’

‘He is a deeply devious man.’

‘Rather you than me! I’m not much of a shield-weaver.’ Darin filched the last fig from Gair’s plate.

‘Hey, go get your own!’

‘Quicker to steal yours – I love figs. So are we playing chess after supper?’

‘Assuming I can stay awake, yes, of course. I’ll try to make the game last longer than twenty-three moves this time.’

‘Care to make a small wager on that?’

Gair cut the air with his hands. ‘No bet!’

‘Is that because you don’t gamble, or because you think you might lose?’

‘Both. I’ll just play for the glory, thanks.’

‘If it’s glory you’re after, I suggest you start winning a few games.’

Finally I get you to myself
. Without hesitation or introduction, Aysha’s voice sounded in Gair’s mind, imperious as the ring of trumpets.
My study, and pick up your feet. Fifth floor, west side
. Then she was gone.

‘You look like you were just goosed,’ said Darin.

‘Master Aysha,’ Gair told him. ‘Is she always that abrupt?’

‘Usually, yes.’ The Belisthan picked up his tea. ‘I take it you’ve been summoned to the presence at last?’

‘I thought I had a class with Master Brendan this morning, but apparently not.’

‘Well, she tests all the new students eventually. I’m surprised it’s taken her so long to get around to you.’

‘Tests for what?’ Gair asked, although he could guess what the answer would be. He drained his own mug and piled plates onto his tray.

‘Hadn’t you heard? She’s a shape-shifter. Supposedly she’s looking for someone else like her. She spends all her time flying round the islands as a seagull or some such, so I guess she’s starved for company.’

‘Did she test you?’

‘Took one look and decided I wasn’t even worth delving,’ Darin laughed. ‘Don’t worry, there’s practically no chance you’ve got the gift. It’s incredibly rare. She’s been here fifteen years and never found another one.’

Slowly Gair set his mug on the tray. If it had been up to him, he wouldn’t have told anyone; he would have kept it secret, hoarded it, hugged it to himself as the one thing that could not be taken from him. Flight was his escape. He would not even have shown the other Masters, if not for her.

‘Master Aysha was one of the six who tested me my first day,’ he said at last.

Darin took a beat to catch on. When he did his mug banged down on the tabletop so hard he slopped tea over his hand.

‘Bloody hellfire,’ he breathed, eyes round as cottage loaves. ‘You can—? Blood and stones! How long have you known?’

‘About ten years. Darin—’

‘What’s it like? It must be amazing, being able to do that. Can you show me?’

‘Someday, if you like. Look, I have to go.’ Gair picked up his tray and started for the hatch. The Belisthan scrambled after him, trying to ask questions, finish his drink without spilling any more of it and keep up with Gair’s long strides all at once. It took a none-too-subtle elbow in the ribs to make him keep his voice down so other people didn’t hear. As they queued to hand in their trays Darin shifted from foot to foot like a small boy in need of a privy, gnawing his lip with the strain of keeping his questions inside.

The instant the refectory doors swung closed behind them, his indignation burst out. ‘I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!’

‘Darin, I’ve only known you two weeks, and the Masters have been pounding the sap out of me every day of them! When have I had time to tell you anything? Besides, it’s just a talent, like being able to whistle or sing.’

‘
Just a talent
. You can turn yourself into any other animal on the Goddess’ green earth and you say it’s
just a talent
?’ Darin’s laugh was incredulous. He raked his fingers through his hair, then, hands on his hips, fixed Gair with an accusatory glare. ‘I can’t
believe
you didn’t tell me.’