"The boy has lived by the sword, Justin. The sword is literally part of him. You only have to look at the scars to see that. Yesterday when he was still in his own clothes I noticed that the skin between the point where his gambeson ends and his vambraces begin is scarred with a dozen different cuts. There's a small one on his chin, and look at his throat! Someone literally cut the boy's throat. It's a wonder that didn't kill him outright. I would no more take that boy's sword from him than I would lay my own weapon down."
"All right, then I'll speak the words we all never spoke about the boy's father. There is something unnatural about him," Justin said lowering his voice still more. "There was something unnatural about Jabon, and there is something just as unnatural about his son—if not more so. They aren't
like
us, Darian! For the gods' sakes, they cut off their fingers and put them into the hilts of their swords!"
"Give me twenty men as unorthodox with as much skill and as good a heart, and I'll have an army that will grind the Amalites into sand," Darian said. "Let this bunch learn to deal with diversity from Tarius. Let Tarius learn our ways from them. In the end, we will all be the same people. All will have gained from knowing one another. I learned much from Jabon and so did you. I only hope that he learned something from us as well."
Tarius looked at the book in front of her in panic. She hadn't counted on this, hadn't counted on this at all.
She listened intently as the teacher at the front of the room lectured, and the other students interacted with him. He liked to teach by asking them questions, having them answer, and then telling them whether they were right or wrong. He seemed to especially enjoy it when they were wrong.
"Young Tarius?"
Her head snapped up at the sound of her name. "Tell me, then, what would you do?"
"The grain clearly belongs to the man who grew it and stored it. The man who stole the grain is a thief and should be punished."
"How?"
"I would order him to work for the farmer in the spring until he had done enough work to make up for what he had taken," Tarius said.
All the other students laughed.
Tarius shot a heated look around the room, and slowly the laughter died down.
The teacher, Edmond, obviously a man of books and not of swords looked at them all and smiled, then picked a young man named Burgis. "So, Burgis . . . why are you laughing?"
"The penalty for theft is death; everyone knows that," Burgis said.
"You would kill a man because he was hungry?" Tarius asked, defending her answer.
"He broke the law!" Burgis spat back at Tarius.
"He stole grain, not even that much, obviously he doesn't mean to resell it," Tarius said.
"It wasn't his . . ."
"Which is why I said he should have to work off what he stole," Tarius said.
"You don't understand our laws, foreigner," Burgis said.
"Actually," Edmond said as if shocked, "Tarius is correct. As a Swordmaster of the Jethrik, you will occasionally be asked to patrol, and on these patrols you will sometimes be asked to settle local disputes. For some of the more remote villages you will be their only access to the law, and you must judge these cases carefully. Because of the small amount of grain that was taken, it is obvious that the man does not mean to sell it for a profit. You didn't even bother to ask important questions such as
Does the man have a family?
If he does, who will provide for them when he is killed? How does it serve the community to kill this man who was only trying to feed his family? The normal course is to make the man work on the village roadways for six weeks, but Tarius's answer is even more just. Let the man work for the person he has stolen from. People's lives will be in your hands; your ethics must be perfect. You must follow the spirt of the law, not follow it to the letter. That is the reason for this class, because out there you will not just be protecting the kingdom, but protecting what the king stands for. If you make a cruel judgment it will reflect on the king and the kingdom, as well as destroying the lives of people whose only crime might be that they are hungry."
The class only lasted for an hour, and then they were dismissed. As the others walked by, Tarius could see that being right in class hadn't helped her popularity any. Not that she cared one bit. The further away they stayed, the less likely they were to learn her secrets.
* * *
Arvon shook the hair from his eyes. Now a full-fledged Swordmaster, he wore his hair as he wished. "That the one?" Arvon asked, although the boy was kind of hard to miss. Like looking for a black cat in a white room.
"That's him," Darian said.
"He's just a boy, and starving at that," Arvon said.
"He is Jabon's son," Darian said.
"Jabon the Breaker?" Arvon asked in hushed reverence upon hearing the name of one of his heroes.
"The same. Boy even has his finger in the hilt of his sword like his father."
"But still . . . He's just a boy!" Arvon balked. He felt like a schoolyard bully being asked to teach some wise ass a lesson.
"Approach him as if he is only a boy, and he will make you look a fool. He took Gudgin out like it was nothing for him, and he wasn't even warmed up yet. He fights like his father—wild and yet calculated. He needs some refinement, and I figure you're the only one who can teach him anything he doesn't already know. Who knows? You might even learn a few new tricks yourself."
* * *
Tarius set the book down on a bench and went to join the others in line waiting for instruction. Darian came over and pulled Tarius out of line.
"Follow me, Tarius," Darian said.
Tarius nodded and followed him across the yard to where a young man, somewhat older than herself, stood holding a practice sword.
"Tarius, I want you to meet Arvon. He will be in charge of your training from now on."
Tarius looked from Arvon to where the others were being paired up to second term students. "No offense, but I don't want to be treated differently than the others." She looked Arvon up and down. It was evident by the scars on his forearms and cheek that he was the veteran of many battles. His hair was blond and slightly longer than the cadets were allowed to wear. He wore a sleeveless white tunic.
"Tarius, quite simply put, I can't afford to constantly be nursing the injuries you would make on second term students . . ."
"My father always said there is something to be learned from even the slowest man," Tarius said.
"If you're afraid you can't handle Arvon . . ."
That was all it took. Tarius was looking for a practice weapon before Darian had a chance to finish his thought.
"Take your sword off, Tarius," Darian instructed.
Tarius reluctantly took the sword from her back. She put it on a bench close by, but then couldn't quite walk away from it.
"No one will touch your sword, Tarius," Darian promised.
Tarius nodded and went into the practice ring with Arvon where he was stretching. He told Tarius to do the same. Tarius went through the stretching exercises, and Arvon laughed.
"Am I doing something wrong?" Tarius asked glaring at him.
Arvon laughed louder and slapped Tarius hard on the back. "Not at all! I just never saw a man with so few bones in his body. So . . . you ready?"
Tarius nodded, and without warning Arvon slung his wooden blade at Tarius's head. Tarius caught the blade and easily slung it off.
"Ah!" Arvon said with a smile, jumping back and taking a more protective stance. "So, you are good."
Tarius smiled back. She liked Arvon instantly. Here was a man who understood the sword; who loved it as much as she did. They were a pretty even match, and as Darian had predicted Arvon was learning as much from Tarius as Tarius was learning from him. When it was time to go to lunch, they both seemed reluctant to stop fighting.
* * *
Arvon sat with them at lunch, and as Tarius and Arvon talked on and on and on, Tragon felt more and more lost and afraid. He hadn't done so well in the arena. In fact, one of the second term boys had said it was sure to be the first time in Swordmaster history that a recruit had impaled themselves on their own practice blade. As if that weren't bad enough, no one had bothered to tell him that the cloth covered wooden practice blades actually
hurt
. He had knots and bruises everywhere. Tarius had a knot over his right eye, but it didn't seem to bother him at all.
There was no way Tragon could make it in. There were twenty-five of them now, but in two weeks they would cut them down to fifteen. If you didn't make the cut you could always try again, but very few were ever accepted if they didn't make it the first time around. His father would never let him live it down.
He had to make it in. But how? He wasn't worried about the academics. Book learning came easy to him. But he'd never pass the sword part unless by some miracle he stopped tripping over his own feet.
Arvon excused himself and left, and Tragon moved closer to Tarius. "So, how'd you do?" he asked, even though he knew.
"I did all right." Suddenly Tarius looked sullen. "Not that it matters."
"Why do you say that?" Tragon asked in disbelief.
Tarius picked up the handbook then put it down slowly. "I can't read or write. Not even my own language," Tarius whispered. "I surely can't read
this
! I'll be out as soon as I flunk the test."
Tragon smiled. All was not yet lost. "I've got an idea."
* * *
They sat in the courtyard after the evening meal. It was the middle of spring, and the days were getting longer and warmer. It was turning out to be almost as hard to teach Tragon to handle a sword as it was to teach Tarius to read and write. Tarius had tied Tragon's feet together with a string in order to try and improve his stance.
Tragon shook his head and dropped his sword. "That's it. I'm done in." He looked at Tarius eagerly. "Am I getting any better at all?"
"Most assuredly," Tarius said, although she wasn't at all sure that he was improving fast enough to make the cut.
"He looks better to me," Harris said, nodding appreciatively. Tarius was his hero, his champion. Tarius protected him from all the pompous little asses who wanted to kick Harris around. In return, he was devoted to helping Tarius do anything he wanted done.
It was Friday night, and they had the weekend off. A bunch of the other students walked towards them on their way into town.
"Tragon!" Derek yelled. "We're going to the pub. Want to go with us?"
Tragon looked at Tarius. "Want to go?"
"No, I have too much to do," Tarius said. She knew the invitation didn't extend to her. She watched him walk away.
"They're all jerks anyway," Harris said, patting Tarius on the shoulder. "I'll help you with your reading."
"That would be good." Tarius and Harris sat down on a bench under a tree. Harris was actually a better teacher than Tragon was. He was more patient and explained things better. Tarius liked Tragon, but realized that he was mostly self-serving. It was fine as long as she was helping him, but when he was supposed to be helping her he was always in a big hurry.
After about an hour she put down the book. "So in all fairness I should now teach you the sword. After all, that was my deal with Tragon, who ran off to leave you to do his work. So what do you say?"
Harris automatically looked at his foot. "I can't fight. I'm a cripple."
"What utter crap!" Tarius arched backwards and jumped to her feet in one fluid motion without using her hands. A feat that always delighted the boy as was evident by the smile which leapt to his face. She reached down and helped Harris to his feet. "If a clumsy oaf like Tragon can learn to fight, anyone can."
"I can never be a Swordmaster," Harris said.
"No offense, but your country's rules on who can and can not fight are idiotic. You can allow someone to fight, but if they aren't a fighter in their heart, what good is it? Then you tell someone else they can't fight. Yet if that person is a warrior at heart, then you're an idiot. Come now; I'll teach you. I can tell you have a fighter's heart."
Tarius pressed a practice sword into Harris's hand and walked around behind him to show him how to hold it. With her hand on his she started to move the blade through the air, carefully whispering in his ear all the little tricks and movements as they went. It wasn't the way she was teaching Tragon; he wouldn't have stood for it. It was, however, how her father had taught her.
She put the front of her legs on the back of his. "Now, move your feet with mine."
He nodded, the concentration making wrinkles in his forehead. "I can . . . I can do it, Tarius!"
"See? I told you. You have a bad leg, so we fight around it. Use it, it's part of you, part of what you bring to the fight."
He nodded. He knew exactly what she meant. Knew what she was trying to do. She was teaching him to move around the leg. To move it less. To make the rest of his body compensate for it. Soon she moved away from him, took up her own practice blade, and started to spar with him. When they took a break Harris looked at Tarius his face beeming and said, "I don't think I have ever been this happy or felt this normal."
"You see my friend, you were born for the sword."
They fought with very few breaks till it was almost dark.
* * *
Periodically, Jena's father sent her to stay with her aunt so that she could teach Jena to be a proper lady. Jena hated it. As soon as she walked through the front gates into the courtyard she took off her shoes and put them with her bag on the ground. She took the pins out of her hair and let it roll down her back, then she undid the top two buttons on her dress. As she drew in a deep cleansing breath, she heard the familiar sound of practice swords clanking somewhere over to her left. Curious, she went to investigate. Most of the boys went home or to the bars on the weekends, but some of them were poor or lived too far away to go home, so they stayed even on the weekends and breaks.
She recognized Harris immediately and was both shocked and excited. She had seen the boy wistfully watching the swordsmen training all around him, obviously wanting to be part of what was going on, and knowing that he could never be. Before she even looked at the man Harris was fighting with she liked him. Then she turned to look at Harris's opponent, and her heart literally skipped a beat. He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen—dark and strong and mysterious.