by Peter Fane
“Real good!” he said.
But when Dan opened his eyes, he saw that Master Falmon was staring at him. The Master’s good eye was wide and slightly crazy looking, and Dan realized that he must’ve done the work wrong—like real wrong to make Master Falmon look like that.
Dan stepped away from the armor, bowed his head, held up the hammer for Master Falmon to take, and got ready for it.
“I’m sorry,” Dan said, looking at the ground, still holding the hammer out. “I’ve got . . . poop in my brains. So sorry, Master Falmon, sir. So sorry.”
And he meant it.
But the Master didn’t take the hammer.
And the Master didn’t say anything, either.
Dan turned slightly so that when the hits came they wouldn’t land on his sore arm, even though it didn’t hurt now because of the blue leaf. One of the tricks; the way to play if you wanted to take it like a proper soldier. But this was the first time that he’d made Master Falmon mad, so he felt horrible and stupid and wished he could be back to cleaning the pit or even back in his bunk with his pals to play the beat-up game, because at least he knew how to do that right.
He shook his head, looking hard at the floor. “I’m a . . . . I don’t know how to do things right. I’m very sorry, sir.”
The Master touched his shoulder. Dan flinched, then regretted that he’d flinched because it was against the rules, and because if you flinched it was always way worse.
“You did very well, Dan.” Master Falmon cleared his throat.
There was something in the Master’s voice that made Dan look up.
The Master was looking down at him—and he was smiling. It was a scary smile, because of all the scars on the Master’s scarred-up face. And now that he thought about it, Dan didn’t think that he’d ever even seen Master Falmon actually smile before, but there it was: a smile. Scary with all those scars, but real! Yes, sir!
Dan made to say something, but the Master raised his hand, and Dan’s mouth clicked shut.
“Why don’t you finish up these pieces here?” Master Falmon gestured at the other shin guard and the leg protection, gear that Dan could reach. “And then I’ll hold you up, and you can do the rest of it.”
Dan nodded. Then he pointed at the other hammers lying on the leather sheet. “What we use those for?”
Master Falmon’s smile was huge. “Don’t think we’ll need ‘em.”
13
SO DAN WORKED with Master Falmon on the silver armor for the next bell or so. It sure was easy work compared to cleaning. It made him tired in his head, but his arm felt better. At the very same time, Dan was thinking he needed to get done and back to the pit, or else he’d be in trouble with the Chief, so that part wasn’t so nice. But everything else was very fine. Yes, sir! Very fine, indeed. Dan would tap the armor with his little hammer, and the armor would glow that silvery glow, its song would come, and then Dan would sing a bit in his head just like he sang to Stormy, and the armor would sing right back until it was all just right. Every time he did it, Master Falmon would smile and nod and turn his ear toward the music and say, “That’s just right, Dan. That’s just right.”
When they were all done, Master Falmon showed him how to roll up the hammers in their leather sheet so they didn’t click against each other. Then he lifted Dan in the crook of his elbow, stepped close to the armor, and placed his scarred hand on the chest of the breastplate.
“Put your hand next to mine, Dan,” the Master said.
Dan leaned toward the armor and did as he was told. The silver was cool under his hand.
The Master said, “This isn’t part of the real work, but I do it every time, all the same.”
Dan nodded.
Master Falmon closed his good eye.
Dan figured he was supposed to shut his eyes, too. But he didn’t. Instead, he looked at the Master’s scarred face. The Master was quiet for a long time. It looked like the Master was sad. But how could that be?
Then the Master cleared his throat and spoke. “Great Sister Aaryn, binder of words and worlds, protect young Garen tomorrow.” His rough voice seemed to go rougher still. “Defend the lad. Let this ancient protection guard him true. Let him return untouched from the fires of war. Let his head touch pillow unscathed. In your holy name, I pray.”
The Master opened his eye, adjusted his eye patch, and looked at Dan. “Tomorrow morning, four helpers are gonna go up with Stormhammer and Oblivion, to help the war adepts’ squires. One of those helpers is gonna be you, Dan. That means you gotta be up and at ‘em and on time tomorrow for muster. And get plenty to eat, too. You’re gonna need it.”
Dan blinked. He didn’t understand exactly what the Master meant. “I’m gonna help?”
The Master nodded. “Yeah. You’re gonna help with the big guns.”
“We gonna fight tomorrow, sir?”
Master looked at Dan for a long moment. Then he set him down on the ground and stayed down there with him, looking at Dan with his one good eye. He took both of Dan’s little hands in his own and sighed. “Yes, Dan. We’ll fight tomorrow. They say it’s for peace—but neither side wants it. So it’ll be war.”
Dan didn’t really know what to say, but he knew that Master Falmon looked sad, so he patted him on his shoulder and said, “That’s alright, sir. Every day, yes, sir! A day to do better! Like you say! It’s all gonna be just fine, sir. We fight, that’s what we do, eh? We fight. Yes, sir.”
“Yes.” Master Falmon nodded. But he seemed sadder than before. “It’s what we do.”
The Master was quiet for a long time. Then he looked at Dan. “You’re a braver soldier than I, lad. Maybe wiser, too.”
Dan shrugged, saluted as sharp and tight as he could. “Yes, sir! I be brave! Like you! Master Falmon, sir! Just like you!”
Master Falmon looked at him for a moment, like he was going to say something else. Then he said, “Best get back to your work, Dan. Important that nothing seems amiss.” He gestured at the armor. “I’ve got more to do down here and others will be coming down soon to take care of the gear for the bear riders and others. We need to keep this a secret for a bit. And we don’t want you in trouble with Shum and Croot before the big day.” He put his finger to his lips. “Best not say anything about this down here. Not a word. Head on back up, like nothing’s happened. Safer.”
“Safer?”
“Safer.”
“Yes, sir. I be safe! I don’t say nothing. A secret, Master Falmon, sir! Not a word. Do the work! Yes, sir! Don’t say a word.”
“Know your way back?”
“Yes, sir! Master Falmon, sir!”
14
LITTLE DAN KNEW the way back to the pit and he also knew that he was way behind on his task, so when he got back, he set his lamp on a crook of busted rock, opened up his cleaning box, and got busy, busy, busy. And since his elbow didn’t hurt anymore, he could work even harder.
“Feels good!” he yelled.
He started at the back of the pit, close to the little iron door, humming to himself, and worked like a demon from there.
He’d only been working for four or five bells—not too long, but not nothing, either—and he’d just finished up his little afternoon lunch break, when the Chief hollered down, “Eadle! Get your little butt up here, soldier! Now!”
On his hands and knees, scooping a giant pile of dust into one of his rubbish sacks, Dan hollered back, “Yes, sir! Chief, sir!” He dropped everything and ran up the stairs. When he came out, Chief Tendal, Val, Benjy Dalter, and a big kid named Zebber were standing there with Master Shum and Mistress Croot. They were talking to a tall soldier. There were a couple of the other cleaners gathered around listening, but kind of pretending to clean at the same time, too. When Dan came out of the pit, everybody looked at him. He stopped in his tracks and didn’t step out of the pit’s opening.
“Come here, boy,” Master Shum said. He spun his club in a circle on its thong. Mistress Croot looked at Dan, too, her bad eye catching th
e light. Chief Tendal looked mad and gave Dan a mean stare. Master Shum cleared his throat. “Come on now, boy. Some work for you upstairs.”
Dan ran over and saluted. “Yes, sir! Ready to work! Master Shum, sir!”
The soldier looked down at Dan. “This him?”
“Yes, sir.” Master Shum nodded.
“Very well.” The tall soldier nodded. “I’ll take him and these others.” He waved at the Chief, Val, Benjy, and Zebber. “Special duty. Need some small people, get into some tight corners up top.”
“Of course, Captain,” Master Shum said.
“Come with me, children,” the captain said, and immediately turned to leave.
Dan followed, but slowly. The Chief had gone along with the captain, but he was looking back at Dan with that mean look. It was like the Chief didn’t want Dan to come. Dan started to say something, then he shut his mouth and followed, but not as fast as he could.
“Get going, lad,” Master Shum said. “Go on. Follow your Chief there.”
The soldier turned and looked back at Dan. The Chief and the others turned with him.
Dan stopped, saluted, and blurted, “I’m not done with my work, sir. No, sir! I ain’t done down there yet. Gotta do the pit, sir! Clean as spit! And the Chief, he gave me that work, and I do what the Chief says! Yes, sir! Every day! Like Chief say! That’s the way! Gotta finish it up, sir!” Then he added for good measure, “I try to do a good job for the Chief!”
The captain looked at Master Shum and frowned. Master Shum glanced at the Chief. Val, Benjy, and Zebber were looking at Dan like he was a total crazy. Mistress Croot rocked on her feet, her strange eye glimmering. Master Shum cleared his throat, stepped up, leaned down, and tapped Dan’s chest with his club. “You need to go with Captain Durn, lad. That’s your job now. Isn’t that right, Chief?”
The Chief nodded, gave Dan a weird look. “That’s right, Eadle. We’re gonna go up there together. Come on, now. Do what you’re told.”
“My box!” Dan hollered. “Can’t do the work without my box, sir!”
Master Shum tapped Dan again on the chest with his club. “You don’t need your tools, Dan. You need to get going there with your Chief. Don’t make little clubby tell ya.”
“Let’s go, soldier,” the captain—Captain Durn—said to Dan. “Gotta get up there.” When Dan didn’t move, the soldier looked from Master Shum to the Chief, like he didn’t know what to do.
“It’s an order, Eadle,” the Chief said.
For some reason, hearing the Chief say it like that made Dan feel way better. So he stood tall and gave his best salute. “Yes, sir! Ready, sir!”
Then he followed the soldier and the Chief and the rest of them as fast as he could, almost running to keep up.
15
WHEN THE GIANT group hug was over, Kyla Dallanar looked at Kate and grinned. “I missed you.”
She didn’t realize how true it was until the words were out of her mouth.
“Likewise,” Kate said. Her dark eyes reflected the blue light of the study’s stained glass window. “Lots to talk about.”
“I’ll say.” Kyla smiled. “Can’t wait.”
“Yet wait you must,” Garen said, trying to hold back his own enormous grin. “Kate needs to bring them down to breakfast.” He gave Kyla a pointed look. “You and I have some unfinished business.”
“I’m starving,” Susan said.
Tarlen laughed. Bruno woofed. Ponj whispered something to Tarlen. Tarlen nodded.
“We’re working on something, Kate,” Tarlen said, tapping his young aunt on the shoulder.
“So I gathered.” Kate put her hand on Tarlen’s shoulder. “Tell me over breakfast?”
“Oh, yes,” Tarlen said.
“Ponj?” Garen looked at the young ogre. “You’ll see them down to table and off to lessons?”
“Yes, my lord.” Ponj bowed. His voice was not nearly as deep as his mighty father’s, but the basic tenor was the same.
“Anything else?” Garen turned to Colj.
“No, my Lord.” The ogre inclined his huge head. “I shall bring the boy after council.” He looked at Kate and the others. “And I will join you all for your morning meal.”
Ponj and Tarlen looked at each other, then smiled like fools.
“Huzzah!” Susan cried. “Breakfast for all!”
Kate laughed. Kyla laughed, too. She couldn’t help herself. It was as if everything was better. Kate was back. Things were better. For a split moment, everything almost felt normal.
“Very well.” Garen nodded.
It was the cue to leave, and everyone took it but Kyla, talking and chattering. Bruno circled the group, lending an occasional bark to the conversation. Big Colj brought up the rear. Kyla waved as they left, feeling slightly silly at both the gesture and at the crazy smile she couldn’t peel from her face.
When the door shut behind them, Garen said, “Good to have her back.” He gestured at the worktable, inviting her to sit again.
“Yes,” Kyla said, her smile fading. “It’s good to see her. She’s the same—but different. She looks older.”
“Yes,” Garen said. But he didn’t offer more.
“Where has she been?”
“Paráden.”
“Paráden,” Kyla repeated. The founding duchy of Remain, the seat of imperial power, the home of her great uncle Dorómy Dallanar, and the site of the Silver Throne. She focused on her breathing, on her training, willing herself to calm. “All this time, these last years, she was with Dorómy after all? And Michael allowed her to return—?”
Garen raised his hand to stop her, then looked at the High Cup on its blue cushion. “Michael has nothing to do with it. Kate’s departure, her plan, her entire mission—all was arranged in secret. Michael didn’t know. Nobody knew. I didn’t even know. So, yes, Kate went to Paráden, to Dorómy—at the command of the High King and Queen.”
“And she stayed there with him for two years?”
Garen’s gaze was direct. He didn’t answer for a moment, just looked at her with penetrating eyes. Sometimes, Garen was like this. Just when you started to believe that he was a bumbling bookworm, an absent-minded scholar, his eyes would reveal the truth—that he was one of the great minds in the Realm. Finally, he said, “The High King has important plans, intricate plans. He’ll explain your part himself.” He cleared his throat and adjusted his spectacles. “Also, I want you to think about your behavior in front of the ogres and our other loyal henchmen. No matter how close they seem, no matter how close they are, there are some things that must stay within the family, alone.”
Kyla frowned at this pivot. Then she took a breath, focused, and released her frustration, feeling her muscles unwind, her mind clearing, her training coming to the fore. It was one of the things that you had to understand when you were a part of this particular family. There were always five or six plans running through and within and around each other at any given moment, with each highborn sibling having a different take on any or all of them. Garen didn’t always agree with Michael, but he’d never oppose him openly, and he was notoriously discreet. Doldon, on the other hand, almost always supported Michael, and you could count on him telling Michael anything he learned or heard. James didn’t have the time of day for any of them, except maybe Kate, but Kate had been gone so long that James hardly talked to anyone anymore even when he was around, so his opinion was usually a great unknown. Regardless, the material point was this: If Grandpa and Nana wanted her to know something—or if they didn’t want her to know something—then that’s how it would be. Pumping Garen for information was an exercise in futility. If Garen didn’t have the King and Queen’s permission to speak, then she might as well try squeezing water from a stone.
“Would you like some tea?” Garen asked, making himself comfortable in his seat.
“No, thank you.”
He nodded, glanced at the bell pull on the side wall, seemed to think twice about his own want for tea, then shook his head and
continued. “As a family, we must do our best to present a proper picture of unity and strength. The ogres of Jallow are dear friends and valuable allies. But in their presence, we should observe the niceties of rank.”
When Garen said this last sentence, something flickered in his eyes, as if he didn’t fully believe his own words.
Kyla frowned. It was a weird moment for a lesson in decorum. And Garen looked tired. Of course, they were all exhausted, the endless siege taking its toll. Yet he made no effort to hide his exhaustion from her. And that was strange, too. Because a Dallanar prince could never be tired, never be uncertain, never be weak. Even in front of family.
And once again, that weird dread loomed in the back of her mind, a nagging itch, the tingling sense that something truly horrible had happened.
“In any case,” Garen continued, “it’s good practice to keep propriety when they’re around, especially now. For the best, really—.”
“Drivel,” Kyla said. “That sounds like something Michael would say. Look at Ponj and Tarlen. They’re thick as thieves. They sleep in each other’s rooms every night—and just try to tell them different. You think Colj and his men don’t know what we’re up against? The full measure of the challenge we face? They know who we are. Why pretend?”
“You see the formalities of rank as pretense?”
“Of course not.” Kyla shook her head. “I simply suggest we shouldn’t perform for them—at least not Colj and Ponj. They know us. They are family.”
“I’m not thinking of ‘us,’ exactly. I’m thinking of you, Ky. And not just the ogres. Others.”