His teacher would attack again if he missed, but once he had struck his student, he would stop, sometimes waiting hours before swinging at him again.
Gram began to understand the pattern behind it. Cyhan knew that once he had struck him, he had lost the proper frame of mind. He was waiting in the hope that Gram would regain it. If Gram avoided an attack he rewarded him by attacking again.
After the second week Gram began to avoid more than one blow before losing the proper state of mind.
During the third week he had his breakthrough.
He dodged the first attack without losing his calm. A second attack came minutes later, and he moved away from that one as well. The third attack came without pause, and he ducked under it. The fourth and fifth blows followed without interruption, and soon Gram found himself in constant motion, stepping forward and back, now left and then right.
Some of the blows hit him anyway, but he felt them coming. When Cyhan suddenly stopped he became still. An hour passed, and when the next blow came he moved again, neatly avoiding it.
They repeated that cycle several more times, and when the day ended Cyhan gave him one word, “Good.”
The next day he told Gram to leave the blindfold off.
This should be much easier, he thought, but he couldn’t have been more wrong.
Cyhan stood behind him, never entering his field of vision, much as he had when Gram had been sitting. Gram struggled to regain the feeling he had had before, but without the blindfold he found his eyes constantly drawn to any motion. The grass, trees in the distance, even the movement of the clouds served to distract him. When his teacher attacked, he failed to avoid it.
It was days more before he began to have the same success he had had with the blindfold on. He initially tried closing his eyes, but Cyhan forbade it, wanting him to learn to maintain the proper state of mind even while his eyes flooded his head with unnecessary information. When he began to succeed with his eyes open, Cyhan moved into view, letting his student see him.
That completely destroyed Gram’s focus.
“Don’t close your eyes,” warned Cyhan, when Gram again tried closing them.
Even when Gram regained the proper composure, he found it more difficult to avoid Cyhan’s blows when he could see them. A week later Cyhan told him, “Stop looking at my eyes.”
“Why, Zaihair?”
“The eyes lie. Watch my center, where my balance is. A feint begins with the eyes, or sometimes the weapon, or a leg, but my center will be moving in the direction I am truly going,” explained the big man.
Gram tried, but no matter how hard he tried, it was easier said than done. In fact, over the next month he began to realize that when it came to the lessons that Cyhan was giving him, trying harder frequently led to more failure. The key was relaxing his conscious mind and letting his body act with as little intervention as possible. It made mistakes, but those were corrected by repetition and painful reminders given by Cyhan’s bundle of reeds.
The weeks passed, and he grew less frustrated as he began to realize what he was learning. It wasn’t something he could put into words, in fact words only interfered. He finally understood, to some degree, that the reason Cyhan spoke so little was because his most important lessons were not merely difficult to discuss, they were actually antithetical to the spoken word.
Summer was coming to a close, and Gram had been studying with the old warrior for more than two months when Cyhan finally handed him a wooden practice sword. “Why am I handing this to you now?” he asked.
It was uncommon for him to ask his student questions, but Gram understood the lesson now. “It’s like the blindfold,” he said simply.
Cyhan nodded and they began, proving his answer correct almost immediately. Having a weapon in his hands disrupted his ability to reach the proper state of mind. He began to try to think ahead, to anticipate his opponent, or even to counterattack. The result led him to begin receiving many more welts on his arms and legs again, just as he had when the blindfold had been removed.
This time, however, he knew what he had to learn, and he did his best to prevent his conscious desires from interfering. Within a few days he was showing noticeable improvement.
Gram had a warm feeling of accomplishment at the end of that week. It was almost the last day of summer, and he had finally reached a point where he could block or avoid most of Cyhan’s attacks without losing the proper state of mind.
His training was over for the day, and as they crossed the castle yard Gram’s main thought was to wonder what would be served at the evening meal. A flash of green caught his eye, and glancing up, he saw an unfamiliar woman looking out from one of the small windows in the upper keep.
A young woman, close to my age, he noted mentally. She had dark hair and eyes, and she seemed to be watching him with intense interest. As soon as he met her gaze, though, she disappeared from view. I wonder who that was.
Chapter 10
His curiosity was satisfied during the evening meal. He had arrived at the normal time, and the hall fell quiet soon afterward. A small bell was rung, and everyone rose to stand beside their chairs as the Count and Countess entered the hall. Normally they took their seats immediately after that, with no preamble and little delay, but today they paused.
Mordecai Illeniel held up his hand before speaking, “Before we begin our meal, my wife would like to introduce our newest arrival and guest.”
Penelope nodded and gestured behind her. A young woman entered from the doorway behind them and took a position next to the countess. The Countess raised her voice then, “This is Lady Alyssa, daughter and heir to the Baron of Conradt in northern Gododdin. Her mother has asked us to foster her over the winter, and the Count and I were pleased to accept her offer. Please show her the same courtesy you would to any guest and make her feel as welcome as possible.”
Moira waved then, gesturing toward their guest, urging her to take a place beside her at the high table. Gram noticed the change in seating at that point. His sister Carissa’s place at the table, which had been vacant for the past two months, now had Irene standing behind it, while Irene’s seat beside Moira’s chair was empty. Lady Alyssa moved to stand there, taking Moira’s hand with a grateful smile.
The Count and Countess took their seats, and everyone else sat thereafter; the evening meal had begun.
“When did you hear that we were getting a visitor?” asked Gram, leaning closer to Matthew.
His friend shrugged, “I dunno.” He seemed unfazed by the new face at the table.
Conall spoke up instead, “Mother told us she was coming a while ago. Matt just doesn’t pay much attention.”
“Nobody asked your opinion, turd-burglar,” responded Matthew before taking his first spoonful of the soup.
Gram glanced at the young woman who had just taken her seat directly across from him. She was still engrossed in conversation with Moira, but her eyes flicked to him momentarily, registering his presence. He felt awkward then, uncertain whether to interrupt them to introduce himself or to wait. He compromised by looking down at his soup bowl, to avoid making eye contact until she was introduced.
Act normally and hold your conversation with others until introduced. Make eye contact then, and try to make your smile as friendly as possible. He could hear his mother’s voice in his mind, lecturing him once again on proper etiquette. Inevitably, he remembered more than was really helpful. No, not like that. You look like you’re in pain, Son. She had gone to great lengths to get him to produce a natural looking smile after that, but it was to no avail. Every time he attempted it, his face contorted, giving him the look of someone with an affliction.
His ears picked up Moira’s voice then, “…these are my brothers, Conall and Matthew—of course you have already met Irene. The handsome fellow beside Matt is Gram Thornbear, son of Lady Rose Thornbear… he’s also the heir to the Hightower estate in Albamarl…”
Gram took his cue, looking their guest in the eye
and standing to offer his hand across the table. Always offer your hand to a lady, his mother had said, except when being introduced across a table, then it is more acceptable to wait rather than reach across the serving dishes.
Lady Alyssa took his hand graciously and rewarded him with a smile, followed by a friendly laugh as he awkwardly retrieved his arm and sat down again. Matthew watched him with an amused look, starting to laugh as well, but then choked on his soup. His coughing drew attention away from Gram and dispelled the strange air at the table. Moira began to berate him for his table manners and Conall joined in gleefully.
Gram glanced back at Alyssa and found her looking directly at him, rather than paying attention to the banter amongst the Illeniel siblings. She smiled as their eyes met, and he felt his face grow warm. He attempted to smile in return, but his sudden self-consciousness ruined the expression, and he knew he had only succeeded in looking ridiculous. He took refuge in studying his soup.
As he began ferrying the hot liquid from the bowl to his lips, his mind brought back her image. Alyssa was young, younger than he had realized, which probably explained her being seated next to Moira rather than beside the Countess. Her hair was so dark as to seem almost black, and her eyes were a deep brown. Somehow her features reminded him of Cyhan, though unlike the knight, her skin was a light olive tone, where his complexion was dusky.
“Gram!” Moira’s voice cut sharply through the fog in his mind.
“Excuse me?” he answered, startled.
“Alyssa was talking to you. Didn’t you hear her?”
He looked into those dark eyes again before focusing on her hair instead. Avoid the eyes, they make it too hard to talk, he told himself. “Pardon me, Lady Alyssa, I didn’t mean to give offense,” he told her.
“No, it’s quite alright,” she answered. “Please, call me Alyssa.”
“Certainly,” he replied, watching her dark tresses slide as her head moved. The candlelight seemed to cling to them. “I would appreciate it if you would do the same.”
“I was just asking if your father was Sir Dorian,” she said, repeating the question he had missed before.
“Ahhh, yes, I think so,” he responded.
“You aren’t sure?” chuckled Matthew, elbowing him.
Gram could feel his blush returning, “Well, no, of course I’m sure… I mean yes!”
Moira frowned at her brother, “Matt, don’t tease him. You know what he meant.”
“I just didn’t want Lady Alyssa to think he was uncertain of his parentage,” protested Matthew. He couldn’t help but grin slightly as he did so.
Fortunately the next serving tray arrived then and distracted them for a moment. Gram managed to stay out of the conversation after that.
***
Gram decided to check on his friend’s progress with the sword. He and Matthew hadn’t talked much recently, and he was beginning to get worried that something might have gone wrong with the project.
A small form darted out from the statuary in the front hall, a form he immediately recognized. “Good evening, Grace,” he said, pausing and giving her a completely unnecessary bow. “Have you been well?”
Her face was incapable of many expressions, but he could hear the smile in her voice as she replied, “Very well, thank you, Master Thornbear.”
He lifted her, letting her ride on his shoulder as he walked.
“Where are you off to?” she asked.
“I thought I’d visit Matt in his workshop,” he replied honestly.
“You never did tell me what his project involved,” she noted.
He nodded, “You’re right.”
The bear gave an audible sigh, which made Gram wonder how she made such sounds since she had no lungs. Or how she talks at all, for that matter, he told himself.
“Well, if you won’t talk about that, tell me what you think of our new guest, Lady Alyssa,” she enjoined him.
He lifted his brows, “I had no idea she was coming. She was a surprise.”
“She’s very beautiful,” noted Grace, stating the obvious for Gram’s benefit.
“She wasn’t unattractive,” he responded noncommittally.
Grace watched his features. “She was very elegant, not to mention graceful, when she settled into the quarters that the Countess set aside for her. The men were falling all over themselves to do her the favor of carrying her things. She seems to have a lot of allure for a girl her age.”
“Girl?” said Gram curiously. “How old is she?”
“Moira told me that Alyssa had just turned sixteen before she left Gododdin,” answered the stuffed animal.
Gram chuffed at that, “Then she’s hardly a girl anymore.” And she’s only a few months older than me, he noted silently. Sixteen was also the age at which most people began to treat you as an adult, although in Lothion children were still considered under the rule of their parents until they reached the age of nineteen.
“That’s true,” said Grace, “in fact, her mother probably sent her here hoping she might catch some young lordling’s eye. The Count and Countess can introduce her into polite society, allowing her to begin the search for an appropriate husband.”
He laughed, “You mean Matthew? I don’t think he’s very interested in her. She would have done better in the capital.”
“But Cameron is much closer to Gododdin, which has to be a factor in any parent’s mind,” reminded Grace. “Plus, it is well known that the Count is probably the most powerful figure in Lothion’s politics, aside from the Queen herself.”
“Mother says our good Count has made himself a political hermit; if he has any potential sway, he is no longer using it,” lectured Gram. The words surprised him. He hadn’t realized how deeply his mother’s lessons had sunk in.
“There are other eligible young men in Castle Cameron besides Matthew Illeniel,” Grace told him.
Perry Draper maybe, thought Gram. He’ll be knighted most likely. George Prathion might be a possibility, as well. He’s only a little older and he’s close by. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” he admitted, missing her point entirely.
She tapped his shoulder, “I’ll leave you here. I’d rather not go all the way to the workshop, so as to avoid walking back.”
“Sure thing, milady,” he said, depositing her on the stone cobbles with a mock bow. “It wouldn’t do to get dirt from the yard on your delicate paws.”
“Why thank you, milord,” she replied, covering her mouth with one paw and doing her best to affect a coquettish look. Gram laughed and turned away.
He stepped across the threshold and crossed the yard, but the workshop was still locked. Matthew had enspelled it to prevent anyone other than him from opening the door, so Gram waited. He knew his friend would be along shortly. Matthew had been spending most of his evenings in the shop.
Sure enough, Matthew appeared within a quarter of an hour. He gave Gram a wary look as he approached. “It isn’t ready yet.”
“You’ve been at it for a while now,” observed Gram. “They say your dad did the original enchantment in less than a day.”
Matthew glared at him, “This is a bit more complicated than what he did.” He didn’t open the door.
“Aren’t you going inside?” asked Gram.
“It isn’t ready for you to see it.” He looked distinctly uncomfortable.
Gram sighed, “I’m not going to be able to see the magic anyway. I just want to see what the blade looks like.”
“It doesn’t look like much of anything yet,” said the young wizard.
“Let me in,” Gram insisted.
Matthew held up his hands, “I’d rather you wait, Gram. It doesn’t look like you’re expecting yet, and I don’t want you to get upset.”
Gram’s eyes narrowed. “What did you do to it?” he hissed. “Let me see it.”
“Will you calm down? People can see us out here,” cautioned his friend.
“Then let’s go inside, Matt!” said Gram with some emphasis.
“Fine, but you have to promise to keep your head.”
Gram knew better than that, “I’m not promising anything until you show me what you’ve done.”
Matthew didn’t argue any further, he opened the door and let his friend inside before he could get any more upset. Once the door had closed behind them, he paused to say a few words in Lycian, the ancient tongue used by wizards when casting spells.
“What was that?”
“Just a precaution,” said the young wizard. To keep people from hearing anything if you start yelling, he thought to himself. “It’s over here in this case.” He brought out a long wooden box, bound and reinforced with iron. There were no visible locks, but he had enchanted it to ensure that no one else could open it. He lifted the lid and waited while Gram took a look at the interior.
“Where’s Thorn?”
“That’s it,” said Matthew. “I haven’t finished assembling it yet.”
“Assembling?” said Gram quietly. His throat seemed to have gone dry. The interior of the box held a vast collection of tiny pieces of metal, most of them smaller than the nail on the end of his pinky finger. “It’s not a puzzle, Matt. Swords are supposed to be forged, not assembled.”
“Well, this one is different,” said his friend.
My life is over, thought Gram, feeling a cold sweat beading on his forehead. There’s no way she can forgive this. I can’t even forgive me for this. “What have you done?” he moaned. “I can’t show this to my mother. She’ll have me exiled!”
“Now, Gram, that’s an exaggeration,” said his friend soothingly. “Besides, you don’t have to worry. No matter how this turns out you, still have the duplicate on the wall. She’ll never even know if we don’t put the original back.”
“I’ll know!” shouted Gram, beginning to panic. “Do you think I can hide something like this from her? I can’t! I’m a terrible liar, and she can read me like a book. Even if I could keep it a secret, I couldn’t bear it. It would kill me!” He ran his hands through his hair, tugging at it as if he were considering pulling it out by the roots. “I’m dead.”
Thornbear (Book 1) Page 9