Gram’s face was clouded with frustration. “What’s that?”
Cyhan showed his teeth in a feral grin. It was a frightening expression on the old warrior’s face, full of enthusiastic menace. “I’m teaching you to survive, boy, to survive and win. You can learn dressage from any cavalryman. I will teach you to kill, whether it’s with a sword, a spear, or your bare hands. You can fancy it up any way you like afterwards.”
He stared at his instructor stubbornly, “I don’t intend to be an assassin.”
“Just what do you think a knight is, boy?”
He straightened up, thinking of his father, remembering him and everything his mother had said about him. “A knight protects. He serves his lord honorably, and he protects the weak.”
“I’m going to kill your little sister, boy. How are you going to protect her?” said the big man, an evil gleam in his eye.
Gram knew it was meant as a hypothetical, but hearing the words coming from Cyhan sent chills down his spine. “I wouldn’t let you.”
“No. You’ll cut my fucking head off, or something equally permanent. Anything less and your sister is dead. You’re thinking like a soldier, you just want to take orders and fight in a unit. Or maybe you want to be a commander and lead your men to glorious battle on the field, but I’m here to tell you that’s bullshit.
“There’s nothing glorious about war, or battle. It’s kill or be killed. You might study tactics and learn to be a great commander, but that’s up here,” Cyhan pointed at his head. “First you have to survive, and that means understanding how fighting works, and how not to get killed. That’s what I’m teaching you. You’ll have to learn the rest from someone else.”
Gram frowned.
“Let me start at the beginning,” said Cyhan, drawing a deep breath. “There are three types of fighters: men who fight with their bodies, those who fight with their minds, and those who fight with their hearts.
“Most people fight with their bodies. That’s simply part of being alive. Soldiers train to learn obedience, to survive. The smarter ones learn to fight with their minds, to plan the battle and lead their men to victory. Some men, though, the crazy ones, they fight with their hearts. Your father was one of those.
“Those sorts are dangerous, because they’ll do anything to win, including throwing their lives away just to cut your liver out. That’s how your father beat me that day, in case you were wondering.”
It felt as though the world stopped for a moment, and Gram stared at him.
“See this cut?” The old knight traced a scar that ran across the bridge of his nose and along one cheek. “Your father did that. I was trying to kill the Count, and he got in the way. He fought me sword to sword, but he wasn’t quite good enough. He knew it, and I knew it, but rather than accept it, he took a sword to the gut, just so he could break my blade. I got this scar from his backswing.”
“But he died years later, at the World Road…” said Gram.
“Yeah, his armor saved him the day we fought, but he didn’t know it would. I saw it in his eyes. He didn’t care. He took what he thought would be a deathblow just to stop me. That’s the kind of man your father was.
Cyhan paused for a moment and then stepped closer, jabbing his index finger into Gram’s chest, “But that’s not what I’m teaching you. You’re already like him. You were born fighting with your heart. That’s why you nearly hurt Master Grayson that day, because you didn’t have the sense to give up when you should have, and someday, that shit is going to get you killed. Someday you’re going to throw your life away for something you think is more important.”
“Then what are you teaching me?”
“The unnamed path, boy,” growled Cyhan. “I’m teaching you to be perfect. I owe it to your father. He showed me what I lacked; now I’m going to make sure you’re good enough that you never have to throw your life away to win. If you die in battle, it won’t be because you weren’t good enough to beat someone, even someone like me.”
Gram was stunned, but as his mind processed the older man’s words, a new question appeared in his mind. “What did you lack?”
“A heart,” said the big man, his voice pitched almost too low to hear.
Their training ended there for the day. They both knew there would be no way to focus after that discussion. Gram found himself replaying the conversation in his mind, over and over, and it was hard to sleep that night.
***
The next day Gram was at lunch when Moira addressed him directly, “Are you looking forward to the Winter’s Dawn?”
That caught him completely off-guard. Winter’s Dawn was the name of the traditional harvest festival in Washbrook. In the past it had been a celebration to honor Millicenth, the Lady of the Evening Star, but these days it continued as a way to celebrate the end of the summer’s labors. It was an event put on by the people of the town, featuring a bonfire, hot cider, music, and lots of dancing. It was also one of Gram’s favorite times of the year.
“I hadn’t even given it a thought, really,” he admitted to her. Alyssa watched him carefully as he replied.
Matthew chimed in then, “At least this year we’ll be old enough to drink.” The year before the twins hadn’t been quite sixteen yet.
“I still won’t be,” groused Gram, his birthday would come the week after the festival.
“Not to worry,” said Matthew. “You have friends in high places.”
Gram wasn’t sure he wanted to risk it, but he didn’t want to appear timid in front of Alyssa, so he settled for remaining silent.
“What is your festival like?” asked Lady Alyssa, directing her question primarily at Moira.
Moira took to the subject happily, “They build a big bonfire in the middle of the town, in front of the tavern. Usually Joe McDaniel, that’s the tavern owner, will have a stage set up outside the Muddy Pig, and musicians perform throughout the day and late into the night. People gather to drink hot cider, mulled wine, and share the music. There will be dancing and story tellers…”
“…and sweets!” interjected Irene from beside her sister. “They set up stands with caramel apples and pies.”
“One of the old woodworkers, Master Anderson, sells toys,” added Conall.
Matthew nodded, “That used to be my favorite thing. He makes them all year long, using his scraps and leftovers.”
“Is this part of a formal event?” questioned Alyssa. “Will we have to dress for a ball, or will we be able to mingle at the festival?”
“Oh no,” said Moira. “Our parents have kept it separate. They were both raised as commoners, and they always say that it would be a shame to ruin the festival by mixing it with a formal occasion. That way they can join in the festival like everyone else.”
“We have a formal Winter’s Ball two weeks after the festival, but it isn’t nearly as much fun. It’s a lot smaller, and we hold it here in the great hall,” said Gram, finally speaking up again.
“Is it too stuffy?” wondered Alyssa.
Gram nodded, “Those with some rank or station dress in their finest. Duke Roland, from Lancaster, usually attends, as well as the Baron of Arundel and his family, but overall it’s much quieter.”
“Do you dance?” she asked, her eyes challenging him.
Gram smiled, “I do.” Lady Rose had seen to that, not that it had been a hardship for him. Of all the things she insisted that he learn as a future nobleman, dancing was the most pleasant. Being naturally active, he found it to be a lot of fun, and he seemed to have a talent for it. That was one reason he enjoyed the festival more than the formal ball.
At the Winter’s Dawn, the dancing tended to focus on peasant and country dances. Those were typically much more energetic and wild, with fast tempos and strong beats. The ball, by contrast, mainly featured staid court dances that, while beautiful, focused on slower, statelier patterns.
As he thought about it, his mind imagined what Alyssa might look like in a ball gown, or what it would be like to dan
ce with her. He realized that perhaps the problem with the ball had been his age and his lack of a partner who truly interested him. In the past it had mainly been an occasion for him to dance with older women and relatives.
Moira broke in then, “What’s that look about, Gram?” She grinned as if she thought she might know what he was daydreaming about.
Before he could answer, a ringing caught everyone’s attention, and the Count stood up. Mordecai Illeniel held a gold goblet in one hand, and he surveyed the room as he waited for everyone to grow quiet.
After the room had gone still, he spoke into the silence, “As most of you know, Sir Cyhan has been our only knight for some years now, but at my urging he has finally decided to take a squire. In fact, after some consideration he has chosen to take not one, but two squires!”
The announcement brought a positive chorus of affirmations from the room, and those who hadn’t already taken hold of their cups did so.
The Count continued, “My congratulations go to Perry Draper, the son of our accomplished guard captain, as well as to Robert Lethy. You are both following a long tradition of honorable service and hopefully, someday, if you work hard enough, you may find yourselves as knights. I call a toast!”
Cups were raised and cries of ‘hear, hear!’ rang out. Perry and Robert were both urged to their feet and forced to make long bows while those nearest pounded their backs. Sir Cyhan rose and true to his nature gave what was probably the briefest speech in the history of such occasions, but Gram heard none of it.
He stared at his plate, his appetite gone. The flavor of his food had turned to ash. Looking around, he was grateful that everyone’s eyes were elsewhere, for it would have been taken poorly if anyone had seen the sour expression on his face. Wrestling his emotions under control, he raised his cup to his lips and put on a false smile.
Gram made it through the rest of the meal without embarrassing himself, but he did catch a few people glancing at him, sympathetic looks on their faces. Everyone knew of his mother’s prohibition, and while he knew they meant well, the knowledge of their pity only made him feel worse.
He found Cyhan waiting for him as he left the hall.
“I won’t be there today,” said the knight. “We’ll resume tomorrow.”
Gram nodded, unsure if his voice would work. Feeling numb he turned away, heading for the stairs. He wanted only to reach the privacy of his room, to escape.
I knew this was coming, he told himself. Why am I letting it bother me so much?
He stopped, having nearly walked over someone in his path. He started to apologize, and then he recognized who he had walked into. “I’m sorry, Irene.”
The Count’s younger daughter looked up at him. She was carrying Moira’s bear, Grace in her arms. “Don’t you think it’s wonderful for Perry?” said the girl, oblivious to his inner torment.
“Of course,” he said mechanically. “I’m very happy for him.”
“He’ll make a good knight someday,” she continued. “But I wonder if Robert is a good choice. He’s always so silly.”
It struck Gram as ironic hearing the nine year old call someone who was so much older, ‘silly’, but she was right in that regard. Robert Lethy was not only good natured, but very fond of pranks and pratfalls.
While trying to gracefully get past Irene, Gram caught sight of Perry leaving the hall, but what really drew his eye was Alyssa. She was standing close to the captain’s son, hand on his arm, talking animatedly to him as they walked out together.
Jealousy reared up, an ugly beast in his heart, teaching Gram yet another harsh lesson about himself. For a moment he wanted nothing other than to destroy Perry Draper, to humiliate him. It was a petty thought, and a new one for him. Seeing it, Gram was amazed at his own pettiness, yet despite knowing it was wrong, he felt it anyway.
Alyssa looked up then, catching his eye, and she smiled at him for a brief moment before returning her attention to the newly made squire.
“Excuse me, Rennie,” said Gram to the little girl still chatting away at him. “I need to hurry.” Slipping around her, he made his way quickly back to his apartment, not stopping until he had closed himself into his bedroom.
Drawing a familiar book from the shelf, he took the red stone in his hand before sitting on his bed. A long time passed while he sat there, seeking to banish the bitter jealousy in his heart, but he failed in the end. Staring at the ruby, he could only wonder what his father would have thought of him then. His mother had told him many times of his father’s kindness, describing him as a man with a boundless, gentle soul.
Father, I wish I could be like you. It felt as though the stone pulsed in his hand, and a faint warmth spread through him. Eventually, he slept.
Chapter 16
The next day he found Chad Grayson waiting for him at the customary place where he usually met Sir Cyhan. Gram stared at him curiously, unsure what to say.
“He asked me to meet ye today,” said the hunter.
The new squires need him, thought Gram. “I don’t need a babysitter,” he told the lean ranger.
“An I ain’t paid to be one,” returned Chad. “Follow me. If ye can keep from bein’ a snot, I might teach you somethin’.”
The older man led him across the field and onto the verge of the woods. “We’ll start here,” he said abruptly. “What do ye see here?” He pointed at the dry grass that bordered the forest.
“Grass,” said Gram.
“Anything else?”
He stared closer, straightening after a moment, “There’s some dirt under the grass.”
“Ye were born ta be a smart ass weren’t ye?”
Gram took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. It wasn’t the hunter’s fault he was in a bad mood, or that his teacher had dumped him in favor of his squires. He might as well find out what the man was trying to show him. “What do you see?”
“There’s a rabbit warren close by,” said the hunter. “See the grass there, where it’s been nibbled back. That’s the way they chew at it.”
“Could have been a sheep.”
“Nah, they crop it close to the ground—like this,” Chad demonstrated by tearing off the majority of the grass, leaving only a small portion an inch above the dirt. “Plus, if ye look there, ye can see some rabbit scat.”
Gram was no woodsman, but he wasn’t a complete stranger to the wild either. “Might be deer scat.”
“The size is different, and the shape. Deer scat is generally darker, and a little more scattered, cuz it’s falling from a greater height. It’s a bit more oval too.”
The hunter led him into the forest then, stopping frequently to draw his attention to important signs. Despite himself, Gram was fascinated by the things the man saw in, what to him had been, featureless underbrush. As the afternoon passed into evening and they began to head back, he found himself with a new question, though.
“Why are you showing me this stuff?”
“I figured I’d give ya a chance at avoiding the next panther that wanted to snack on ye,” answered the hunter.
“That’s probably pretty unlikely,” said Gram.
“Yeah, that’s true,” replied Chad, “but then there’s bears, and wolves, and men.”
“Men?”
“That’s what he asked me ta teach ye, to track men.”
While that sounded like a useful skill, it wasn’t the sort of thing Gram had expected, nor did he understand the purpose of showing him animal scat in the wilderness if tracking people was the goal. “You’ve been showing me animal signs all day…”
The hunter spat on the ground, then pressed his soft boot into it. “Do ye see a track there?”
He stared at the spot. It was damp and the grass had been bent, but it was already rebounding. There was nothing resembling a boot mark. “No,” he admitted.
“Right,” said Chad. “Cuz there ain’t one, and I was deliberately pressin’ hard. In the real world a visible print is uncommon, so what you have to learn fi
rst, is to see what’s already there. Once you know what you should see, the differences begin to stand out. It’s like a giant book, but there’re no words ta follow. The story reveals itself through a hunnerd different indirect clues, an’ what you’re lookin’ for is what isn’t there.”
Gram frowned.
“Ye learn animal signs first, so you don’ mistake them. Ye learn to read the ground, to spot changes in leaf litter, in the way grass is bent, and ye have to know if that’s cuz a deer passed, or a man. Sometimes just looking at one place won’t tell ye, but if you know how to tell a game trail ye can figure out what’s what.”
“So I have to learn deer to track people…”
“You have ta learn everythin’ to track anythin’ is what I’m sayin’”
***
Cyhan was there the next day. “Ask,” was the only word he gave in greeting.
“Why the hunter?”
“I was busy, and he has much to teach.”
“I don’t want to be a hunter,” Gram stated.
“How many men do you think he killed during the war with Gododdin?” said the big man suddenly.
“I don’t know.”
“Many,” answered the knight. “More than any other besides the Count himself.”
Gram’s eyes widened, “Really?”
The veteran ignored his question, asking another of his own, “How do you think he did that?”
“With his bow?” said Gram uncertainly.
Cyhan nodded. “The archers killed several times as many as were slain by swords, and he was chief among them.”
“He didn’t teach me anything about archery, though.”
The old warrior paused, then answered, “He will. He has much to teach, treat what he offers as a gift.”
“Were you taught to track?”
The big man nodded again. “Yes, but my teacher was not as skilled. Consider yourself lucky.”
After that his training with Cyhan changed again. That day he put away the reeds and began barehanded. Gram thought that might indicate an easier day, but it was far from the truth. He collected a number of interesting bruises as the day wore on.
Thornbear (Book 1) Page 14