by CJ Brightley
He was a boy, one I was growing to tolerate a bit more easily and even beginning to like, but only a boy.
A king must be a man.
In those days, Erdem had need not only of a king, but a wise and strong leader, a man who would rebuild our country and protect it, care for the Erdemen people and love them. If Hakan showed promise of being that sort of man, then I would give everything to get him his throne.
He began to eat, watching me as I poked at the embers. “You’ve been in many battles?”
I nodded.
“Just in the campaign against the Tarvil?”
“No, in the south too, against the Ophrani.”
“I’ve never been to the south. What’s it like?”
“It’s hotter.”
He picked up a small stick and toyed with a minute before throwing it at me. I blocked it instinctively and stared back at him in surprise. What did he mean by that?
“Come on. I thought every soldier had stories to tell. I’ve read about it, but I’ve never been to the south. My father didn’t send me out to learn about my own country. What’s it like? What are the people like? I know they farm, but what do they grow? What about the Senga? How are they different?”
I blinked at the onslaught of questions. “It is hotter. The southeast coast near the mountains is lush and very green, cool at higher elevations, much like here. They raise a lot of sheep in the mountains and lower down there are orchards. Some places are wet enough to grow rice and the hills are terraced. The central part is drier, plains and rich farmland. Very flat and not many trees. Good for grain. It would be hard to defend if you ever had to fight the Ophrani again. Most of the good farmland is north of the border, and the border itself is mostly desert and badlands, but there are stretches of better soil. The coast is rocky near the southern border, but there are several good harbors if you wanted to use them.”
He looked at me in surprise. “You think like a king. I thought you were a soldier but you’re already planning development.”
I shrugged. I was speaking to a prince, and I’d said what I thought he might find useful. “What else do you want to know?”
“What are the people like?” He leaned back on his hands, settling in as if I were a lecturer in a class on strategy or history.
“The Senga?”
“All the races.”
“You know Tuyets. I’m Dari, but I’m no authority on Dari culture. There are few enough Dari in Erdem, and those that live here are mostly near the southeastern border in the mountains.” He nodded, and I turned back to the fire. “I’ve never been there. In Erdem the Senga live all along the southern border except in the coastal areas. Have you ever seen a Senga?”
He shook his head. What had he learned in the palace, then?
“They are smaller than Tuyets, slightly built. Their eyes are almond shaped and they generally have straight black hair, very fine. Their skin is mostly pale like Tuyet skin but with a more yellow or golden cast. I’ve heard they tan dark in the sun but Senga women try to avoid it because they think lighter skin is more beautiful. Many of them are farmers, growing grain in the wide plains north of the border. There are a few nomadic tribes that cross the desert regions. Their culture is very different, defined by their lifestyle rather than by which side of the border they are on.”
I handed him a second skewer of roasted meat and vegetables, but I didn’t take a second one myself. I was getting fat and soft from lack of training. An empty stomach, a light meal, would remind me of the rigors of army life. Self control. Discipline.
“How so?” He ate with his eyes on me, as if at any moment I was going to say something vital to his presumed future reign.
“They’re nomads. They raise sheep and goats and desert horses very different than our suvari mounts. They follow the rains, and they value independence above all. They count no man as king, and they are more loyal to family than to any country. But they’re good men for the most part. If you’re a guest in a man’s tent, his life is yours, and he will sacrifice his own life and all he has, including his children, to protect you, because your safety is his honor.
“When they fight, if they fight, they fight a running battle of attrition rather than pitched battles. Their tactics have been influential in refining Erdemen army strategy, though we do not completely subscribe to the same ideals. The women are not well treated, but they have a unique kind of power because they represent wealth. A man raises his daughters harshly to burn them like gold into purity so that they may honor their father and the man he chooses to grace with them in marriage.”
Hakan stared at me in the growing darkness. “What about the Ophrani?”
“Ophrano has both Senga and Tuyets, and presumably also some few Dari, though I have never seen them. Each has their own culture to a certain extent. The Senga have always had a gift for music, though the nomadic tribes indulge it differently. I do not know their culture in Ophrano itself or how much it is different than that of Erdemen Senga. The Tuyets of Ophrano are like Erdemen Tuyets physically, but Ophrani culture is different. Their courtesy is different. The peace treaty signed ten years ago was partly facilitated by a greater understanding of our different languages of courtesy. A word may be translated clearly but have different meanings within that culture. Appearances are more important in Ophrani culture than they are here. Learning of knowledge is not as highly prized, but they hold their elders in very high respect.”
I forestalled further questions. “It’s time to sleep. We’ll be up early tomorrow for your training.” He rolled up in his cloak with a sigh but he must have been tired for I heard his breathing slow into the rhythm of sleep soon.
4
It took me several hours to make the wooden swords the next morning. They were quite simple, but I wanted to make sure the weights were approximately right before he began training. He watched me curiously, studiously.
I tried to be patient, but it made me self-conscious. Finally I looked up irritably. “What do you want? I’m not done yet.”
“I’m just watching.”
I grunted. “Go gather wood for the fire tonight. And bring back some kiberries and onions.”
He didn’t move.
“Go on then.”
He stared back at me. “No.”
I put down the wooden sword. “What do you mean, no?”
He shook his head. “No. I don’t want to.”
Spoiled brat. Until then he must have been too afraid of me to argue. I felt anger rise, but such a reaction was not fitting. Finally I shrugged and leaned back against the tree, closing my eyes as if to take a nap.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” I shifted into a more comfortable position and yawned.
“Aren’t you going to make the swords?”
“Why should I?” I smiled to see him frowning angrily. “Boy, hear this now. You may be a prince, and you may have been pampered and coddled all your life. But I’m no nursemaid, and I will not cater to your every whim. If you don’t have the courage and the will to take back your throne, Vidar deserves to keep it. You will act like a man and pull your weight, or I’ll leave you here to fend for yourself.”
He stared at me with wide eyes.
“If you show me you deserve it, I’ll shed every drop of blood I have to get back your throne. But if you don’t, I’ve no call to waste any more time on you, and I’ll be on my way.” I stood and brushed off my breeches.
“Stop.” He stood too, and I looked down at him, hiding a smile. “I’ll go get the wood. You don’t have to threaten me.”
I laughed. “I wasn’t threatening you. I was informing you. I’m a soldier, not a servant. I’m hardly treating you as one either. We’ll work together, or we’ll go our separate ways. It’s your choice. Right now, we need wood for a fire, we need kiberries, roots and onions to add to the doves for dinner, and we need to finish these swords so you can begin your training. You will pick one or more of these things to do, but you will no
t sit and wait for me to do all of them, as I’ve been doing for over a week. If you won’t, then I bid you farewell. Do you understand me?”
He looked a little shocked but he did nod. “I’ll go get the wood then.”
I nodded and began to work on the wooden sword again. He disappeared into the woods, reappearing every few minutes with a handful of kiberries or onions or an armful of wood. He worked diligently, amassing a sizable pile of wood, until I finally finished the second sword.
“That’s enough. Let’s have lunch.”
We ate in silence. I would be dishonest if I said I didn’t question my decision to teach him, but I hoped we wouldn’t have a contest of wills over every small task.
I handed him one of the swords hilt first.
He grasped it uncertainly, holding it out as if he thought it was a keen blade rather than a simple wooden practice sword. “I,” he hesitated. “I’m not very good with a sword.”
“That’s why I’m going to teach you.” I felt a twinge of sympathy. His grip was good enough, but that might be the end of his skill.
“You have trained before, haven’t you?”
He nodded.
“Then I’ll attack slowly, and you defend yourself. I want to see what you know.”
I stepped back and bowed formally, sweeping the wooden longsword back and to the side as if we were beginning a true duel. He smiled nervously and dipped his head, letting his eyes drop to the ground for a moment. That would have to be corrected, of course. His stance was passable, though not good, and I swung the sword very slowly, watching him parry nervously. He had some of the basic parries, but though I left myself deliberately open and vulnerable on several occasions, he never attacked.
I pushed him a little harder and studied him. He stood in one spot like a tree, not using his feet to give him greater reach or carry him away from my attacks. His movements were jerky and awkward, his shoulders high and tense, shortening his reach. He kept his eyes on my blade rather than on my body, so he was fooled by every feint.
I rapped him on the shoulder, and he flinched, though it wasn’t a hard blow. After only a few minutes, he was slowing, sweat beaded on his forehead despite the chill, his arms shaking a bit as he parried.
“Attack!”
He flinched away and then lunged at me awkwardly.
I parried the blow easily, but smiled. “Good. Again, when you see I’m open.” I pushed him a little and then gave him an opening that I thought was obvious, but he didn’t take it. Then again, and he slashed at me clumsily.
“Good. That’s enough.” I swept my sword to the side and smiled at him as I bowed again.
He was thoroughly winded and collapsed to lie on the frozen ground. The wooden swords had held up well, and I was pleased with my handiwork. I glanced over at him while I sharpened my knife before preparing our evening meal. There was a bit of suspicious moisture on his eyelids, and I looked away.
Finally he sat up. “I suppose you’re disappointed.” He stared at the ground. “You’re not even tired.”
I shrugged. “I have a bit more practice.”
I could have beaten him when I was ten years old, but it was no time to bring that up. It was clear he would never be a good swordsman. Yet he’d have to improve if he would take the throne. Vidar wouldn’t give it up easily, and I couldn’t imagine that Hakan wouldn’t need a little skill with a sword if he hoped to oppose Vidar.
The boy rubbed his shoulder where I had hit him.
We began his true training the next morning. I drilled him on the basics of swordplay, the essential parries and strikes, footwork, and strengthening exercises. He worked hard, watching me closely. He was an intelligent pupil, his attention to detail much better than his coordination. The day passed easily enough for me at least, though Hakan threw himself on the ground in exhaustion when we halted for dinner.
We continued on our way early the next morning. It was some ten days’ walk to Ravenson through the woods, for I knew several smaller roads that sped our travel.
One night I made stew for us, which took longer than roasting the rabbit but I thought we’d both enjoy the warm comfort of rich stew. “Do you like hot peppers?” I glanced at him.
He was sitting close by the fire, rubbing his feet and grimacing a little. “What kind of peppers?”
“Hot peppers.” I repeated. I’d never heard a name for them.
He looked at me as if I hadn’t answered the question, and his voice sounded very disrespectful. “Sevara peppers? Pharan peppers? Ikoa peppers?” He raised his eyebrows.
I shrugged and tried to push away the irritation. “Hot peppers, from the south. Try one and see.” I dropped one in the bowl of stew I handed him.
He sniffed it cautiously, then took a bite of the stew that did not include the pepper. He chewed thoughtfully. I poked at the fire, then pulled off my own boots so they would dry. The warmth of the fire crept through my woolen socks, and I stretched my shoulders. I felt tense and irritable. He was cold. His boots were wet. His feet ached. He was hungry. Did he think I was not cold, or that I had not walked at least as far as he had? And hunted and fed us both. I tried to keep from scowling. I pitied him, yes, but I did not want to listen to him complain.
He coughed, and I looked up to see him redfaced, tears streaming down his cheeks. He almost overturned the bowl as he put it down, then gulped from his canteen. He glared at me and coughed again, gasping, wiping at his eyes. “You meant to do that!”
“What kind are they?” I almost laughed at him, but I kept my voice even.
“I don’t know!” His nose was dripping, and he wiped his face on his sleeve. “You don’t actually eat those, do you?”
Good. I wouldn’t have to share. They were expensive anyway. I reached over to pluck the remaining half of the pepper out of his bowl and ate it myself. I smiled at him, feeling rather more lighthearted. “I like them.”
He glared at me again.
The weather that winter had been viciously cold, and we were both glad when we sighted Ravenson in the distance. We reached town in the afternoon of the twelfth day of Nalka, the first month of the new year. The inn was easy to find, and we ate a very late lunch at a battered table. Hakan’s head drooped in the warm comfort next to the fire, so I told him to go upstairs and rest while I spoke with the innkeeper, a greasy looking fellow named Blin. Blin showed Hakan to a room with two rough beds, cheap accommodations. I didn’t want to use much of Hakan’s money. Who knew how long it would have to last?
Hayato had not left me a message, and indeed had apparently not yet reached Ravenson. I sat in a corner of the dining room as it slowly filled for the evening, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible. A group of suvari arrived, and I hoped Hayato would be among them, but I didn’t see him. They ate by themselves. Though they didn’t appear to be too concerned with scanning the faces of the crowd, I was glad Hakan was already upstairs.
The food and drinks were served by a pleasant looking young woman who smiled at me kindly and didn’t flinch away when I smiled back. Women make me nervous, uncomfortable, because so often they show their fear of me openly. I liked her for her smile, and because she didn’t notice, or didn’t seem to notice, that I let my eyes linger on her more than was strictly necessary. Many of the other men also liked her, apparently, for she laughed and smiled at everyone, taking their compliments and demands for more ale with good grace and an even temper.
I listened quietly to the conversations, and finally the room filled so completely that men sat right next to me, though with a bit of caution.
“We can’t rely on Stonehaven to do anything. You know as well as I that the raids are getting worse.”
“Aye, I heard so from my brother last month. He lives in Daison, you know.”
“Rhophin was murdered last month on his way home from market. Bandits. Everything of any value was stolen.”
“Phraa, and to think how safe the roads were when we were young. The wife doesn’t want to send our boy
to Creekmill on market days, but I can’t go myself.”
From another table. “There were suvari out this week on the road to Farthinsworth.”
“Why?”
“They asked if we’d seen a boy. I think it’s the prince, but they wouldn’t say. He’s been missing for a few weeks now, haven’t you heard?”
“No, I thought he was dead.”
“Well, I thought they were looking for the prince, but could be anyone I guess. I wonder though. You don’t think Vidar would try to kill him, do you?”
“I don’t trust any of them in Stonehaven. There’s been no good out of there in years. Better to keep your head down and hope for the best.”
Then just by my ear, “Would you like a drink?” The serving woman smiled at me warmly, and I felt like the sun had come out of a cloudy sky.
I ducked my head, a little embarrassed. “Aye. Ale, please.”
She went laughing on her way, stopping to banter with a group of men as she passed into the kitchen. When she returned, and gave me the mug, her fingers brushed mine and she didn’t draw back. I almost thanked her for that kindness.
I spent much of the evening sitting there, listening to the crowd, but finally I went upstairs as well. The room was cramped but clean, warmed by the fire below. I locked the door and opened the window to let in a bit of cool fresh air before climbing into my own bed.
The next morning I woke to the sound of Hakan putting on his boots, though he tried to do it quietly. I blinked the sleep from my eyes. It was early, but Hakan had been sleeping since the late afternoon. “Do you feel better?”
“Yes.” He was bleary eyed. “I’m hungry. Is there food downstairs?”
“Aye.”
He waited while I pulled on my boots and I led the way downstairs. The dining room was deserted. I knocked at the kitchen door loudly, and the serving girl opened it with a smile that quickly disappeared and a small gasp of surprise.
“Could we get some breakfast?”