“Please,” Falon urged him.
“Come to back to me when you’ve got a beard on your face and an Imperial style sword,” he said, shaking his head as if dismissing the whole matter. “For now we’re going to start practicing your blocks. Assume position eight.”
“A beard,” Falon wailed, despair circling around her heart until it landed with a solid plunk in the pit of her stomach. How was she supposed to find something that didn’t exist in her kingdom, and gain another that was impossible for a sister to have in the first place?
“A beard,” he agreed, satisfaction practically oozing out of his swarthy Imperial features. Then, seeing a gleam entering the Imperial’s eye, her own eyes widened. With a grunt of effort she muscled the practice sword into position as quickly as possible—and only just in time, as it turned out—to block a brutal overhand blow from Darius’ wooden practice sword.
“That could have killed me!” Falon squealed with outrage.
“Learn or die,” the Imperial said with a studied lack of concern.
Falon’s eyes couldn’t have got any wider if she had tried to make them.
“En guard,” the Training Master commanded, unleashing a flurry of blows clearly intended to beat down her high guard and pulverize her head and upper body.
“Help!” she gasped as he lunged toward her, his body a blur of motion in the flickering torchlight.
Chapter 36: The Search for Sore Muscle Relief Leads to the Plotting of an Adventure!
Another long day’s march and what did they have to show for it? Nothing, as far as far as Falon could see, that’s what. Idly kicking a stone down the road, she trudged along all by herself.
Even when she heard Duncan and Ernest whispering right behind her, she kept her eyes and attention on the road.
The boys, on the other hand, seemed determined to intrude their business into her eardrums. “We get no respect, Ernest,” Duncan said loud enough that Falon was surprised the whole world—or at least the very men they were complaining about—couldn’t hear them.
“Yeah, but what can we do, Duncan?” Ernest replied.
“We need to grow up, that’s what we need to do,” Duncan said stiffly.
“Yeah, get back to me in a couple years on that,” Ernest sighed.
For almost a minute of blessed silence the two boys trudged along behind her.
“So what’s yer plan,” Ernest asked with a sigh.
“I’ve found just the thing, Ern,” Duncan replied excitedly.
“Uh huh…” Ernest said skeptically, and then as if the words had been dragged out of him, he finally broke down and asked, “what?”
“Mama Tulla’s house of potions and simples, that’s what!” Duncan said triumphantly.
“Oh, Dun,” Ernest groaned, “Falon and I were warned away from her already.”
“By who?” Duncan demanded.
Ernest mumbled something.
“I couldn’t quite hear ye,” Duncan said in a raised voice.
Ernest mumbled again, only slightly louder but Falon still couldn’t hear what it was. Duncan could, however, and he snorted loudly in response.
“A doxy!” Duncan exclaimed.
“She’s not like that,” Ernest defended hotly, and Falon had the sinking sensation that she knew exactly who the two boys were talking about.
“Yer letting the words of some nightwalker scare you away from yer destiny?” Duncan said incredulously.
“Shut yer yap, Dun,” Ernest said angrily.
“Now yer goin’ ta fight me, over some nightwalker I’m not even interested in,” Duncan said, and Falon could hear his fiery temper starting to rise, “are ye scared, is that what this is?”
“I have no fear, take that back,” Ernest snapped.
“All this over a woman,” Duncan mocked, “ye’re going to pass up our chance at respect and adventure over a few words from that street doxy who—”
Duncan didn’t get any further before him Ernest gave an incoherent cry of rage and the two of them started to tussle.
Unable to help herself, Falon stopped and turned around. Even though she wasn’t speaking to either of the boys right now, just watching the two of them beat on each other was too good an opportunity to pass up.
Lips split and noses bloody after only a minute or two, the two brothers finally called a truce.
“Promise not to say another word about Missy, or this is back on,” Ernest finally demanded, breathing hard.
“I will,” Duncan agreed sounding reluctant, “but only if you promise to go with me to see Mama Tulla.”
“Dang it Duncan, why would I want to go someplace to see a person I’ve been warned against?” Ernest asked sounding put out.
“Ready to go another round with the champ instead, I see,” Duncan growled, raising his fists looking ready to rekindle their recent scrape.
Ernest stared at his brother and tossed his hands in the air in disgust. “Fine, ye win,” he said sounding full of sour grapes, “but I’m warning ye, Dun—”
“Yeah-yeah, another word about ‘her,’ and Ern’ll go on another rampage,” Duncan said, rolling his eyes but Falon observed that as he did this he was also careful to a take pair of steps back and out of his brother’s immediate range.
“This is a dumb idea, Dun. I mean ye’ve had a few before, but this one here takes the case,” Ernest grumbled, kicking a stone down the road.
“This is great, ye won’t regret it, Ern. I promise!” Duncan exclaimed, as he began dancing in the road.
“I don’t see what’s so great,” Ernest said flatly.
Duncan shook his head as if at a particularly dense student. “Ye’ve been complaining about yer voice not dropping enough, yet and me hair’s always been a concern for me,” Duncan urged with a wide grin. “We’ll go see Mama Tulla about a spell to lower yer voice, and a potion to put the hair back on me head—where it belongs!”
“Yer hair hasn’t even gone back a thumb length, and it’s only about two fingers wide; ye don’t need a hair spell, Dun,” Ernest exploded. Then, taking a breath, he placed a hand on his brother’s arm as he tried to discourage him. “Look, there’s lots of men who get great respect, and it’s precisely ‘cause they don’t have a full head of hair. Ye aren’t even to that point yet.”
“That is the point, Ern,” Duncan said, shaking his head with an unforgiving expression on his face. “I’m too young to be losing any of me hair! I can always shave it off later, or wax it if I need to be bald.”
Ernest spluttered in response.
“Come on,” Duncan said with finality, “after we finish marching and set up camp for the evening, we’ll head on over to Tulla’s. If those Knightsons what set on ye and huffy little Fal over there can get themselves a spanking new pair of beards yesterday—”
Huffy?!Of all the nerve, Falon thought with a glare at Duncan. She wished Ernest had banged up his nose a few more times before their fight was over. Why, if only she wasn’t not speaking to him right now, she would give him a piece of her mind! She was not in the least bit huffy and besides, getting new hair because some overbearing Knightsons got themselves new beards from Tulla—who was sounding more and more like a witch every day if you asked her opinion. Of course no one bothered to ask her; I mean she was only the daughter of a Witch after all. One would think…
“I don’t see what their new beards have to do with ye needing the new hair,” Ernest declared before adding, “and besides, that sounds expensive.”
Falon’s mind stutter-stepped as she realized that a visit to this Tulla might not be as stupid as it first appeared. Beards! That was the key. Facial hair had been one of the two requirements Darius had so casually thrown into the path of her learning to fight with the much smaller, lighter, and vastly more wieldy Imperial blade. Why, if she could get one, not only would her disguise be all but impenetrable but she’d be halfway to her much needed sword lessons!
“Real beards or just hair glued to your face?” Falon burst out be
fore she could stop herself with the facts—like that she still wasn’t talking to the boys, or several other very valid fears she didn’t want to think too closely about later on. Such as, if it really was a magic spell would the beard fall out naturally, or be permanently stuck on her face? She forced her mind away from such unsettling thoughts.
The boys looked at her.
“Did you heard something, Ern?” Duncan asked, looking over at his brother as if he couldn’t see her.
“Not a thing, me brother,” Ernest glared at her, “if I had, why that would mean someone was talking to us again now, which isn’t impossible.”
Falon turned red in the face.
“Crazy talk,” Duncan agreed, still ignoring her while surreptitiously watching her out of the corner of his eye.
Falon watched and the two brothers shook their heads at each other and turned away.
“You’ll never be able to pay for it,” Falon called out after them.
Duncan and Ernest’s backs stiffened and they stopped, but didn’t turn around.
“We’ll figure out a way,” Duncan said.
“I can pay for it,” Falon urged, hating the pleading tone that had entered in her voice. After all, she was the wronged party here!
“Come on, Ern,” Duncan shook his head, “we don’t need him and his bribes.”
Ernest looked unhappy. “I only have a pair of coppers, Dun,” he said reluctantly.
Falon brightened despite her best intentions when the two brothers put their heads close together and whispered.
“I guess we could use that bribe after all,” Duncan said with a smile that was far too full of itself for Falon’s preference.
“Great,” she said, starting towards them. It was a relief that she wasn’t going to have to go alone.
“Not so fast,” Duncan said, holding up a hand to stop her before she got within six feet of them.
“What now?” she said plaintively, irritation starting to return as she remembered why she hadn’t been speaking with the two insensitive jerks.
“I said we could use yer money, but no one insults me brother and gets away with it, ‘cept me,” Duncan said, stabbing a thumb against his chest. “So ye can apologize or the deal’s off.”
“What for?” Falon blurted, her jaw jutting as she shook her head. But she quickly realized it didn’t matter. “Fine, I apologize.”
“Ye don’t even know what yer apologizing for?” Duncan said in disbelief.
“You wanted an apology and there you have it,” Falon said turning to Ernest, “I’m sorry.”
“That’s no good,” Duncan said with disbelief.
“Let it go, Dun,” Ernest urged with a sigh.
“Nay; if I went to Pa with that, I’d have been tanned,” Duncan declared.
“Well good thing you’re not my Pa,” Falon snapped, “but you know what, fine. If my apology’s not good enough for you, then I rescind my offer.”
Duncan looked at Ernest, his brow wrinkling, “What does “‘rescind’ mean?”
“I think he means he’s taking back his money,” Ernest said.
“That’s right,” Falon said tightly.
Duncan opened his mouth but Ernest cut him off. “Just leave it be,” Ernest said, “nobility rots yer brains or something; I doubt Falon can help himself.”
“Oh fine,” Duncan said sourly to her, “ye can come.”
Thoroughly insulted by this point, Falon forcibly bit her tongue. Instead of yelling and telling the boys to go jump like a frog or get run over by a wagon, she gave a jerking nod instead.
“Then it’s agreed,” Duncan declared, the angst of earlier seeming to roll off him like water off a duck’s back until he was left there grinning at the thought of what they were going to do later, “we’ve a pact. We’re all going to see the Witch!”
“After we set up camp and she has time to set up her tent,” Ernest said hurriedly and this time when Falon nodded, the jerkiness was gone.
The conflict now over, the boys and Falon fell into an easier routine than they had earlier in the day, which consisted mostly of the boys talking and Falon hanging in the back listening, except for when they spoke to her directly.
Almost a half hour later Falon felt the eyes of her training master upon her. Looking up in surprise, she saw him scowling in her direction.
“What’s the problem?” she asked, feeling confused and hoping none of her militia men had got into trouble. The previous night several bedrolls had been empty, and in the morning before the moon had set she had seen a number of men milling around the wagon the Healing Wenches were sleeping under.
“I am informed that having an officer of the noble class walking with the men is considered a smirch upon our honor as a unit,” Darius replied, looking at her impassively.
“I’m just a Squire’s heir,” Falon protested, “and besides, my horse is dead.”
“And yet…” the Imperial said pointing to the donkey trailing along behind the lead wagon.
“Bucket?” Falon said with disbelief.
“You have a mount, do you not?” the Imperial said unperturbed by her protests.
“I’ll be a laughing stock,” Falon protested.
“Perhaps with a few of your peers but not, I am informed, by the rest of the army,” Darius replied evenly.
“This…but this is…” Falon looked over to stare at her little brother Rogan’s favorite, trusty steed with dismay, “what about the supplies he’s carrying?”
The Imperial smirked, “I’m sure we can get them loaded onto the tail wagon and redistribute the load in camp for tomorrow. One half day with a slightly extra load shouldn’t affect the oxen too much,” he said with a hint of a smile playing around his mouth. “However demeaning it may seem at the moment, it is protocol; it is expected, and no officer of mine will be seen as deliberately lacking.”
That was how fifteen minutes later Falon found herself bouncing up and down on the always enthusiastic Bucket the Magnificent. From the smiles she saw hidden behind any number of hands, she was never going to live this one down.
Chapter 37: To the Camp Followers
“I didn’t realize there were so many vendors in the train,” Falon said with disbelief, taking in the many small tents and blankets set on grass with men and women hawking their wares to one side of the massive encampment.
“The militia gets set on the opposite side of the army from the camp followers. They say it’s because we don’t have as much coin to spend,” Ernest informed her.
“They?” Falon inquired curiously.
Ernest colored. “Just a few blokes from Sir Tristan’s fighting tail,” he admitted.
“I didn’t know you had time to shoot the breeze, with all the marching and training we’ve been under,” Falon said, wondering why she felt more than a little hurt at not being included. It’s not that she could (or necessarily would) have gone rousting around the camp with Ernest and Duncan, it’s just that she would have expected them to invite her.
“Ye’re always so busy, Fal,” Duncan said throwing himself into the breach, “we din’na think ye’d have the time or desire.”
“Really,” Falon said more than a little stiffly, trying to keep the disapproval she had no reason to feel—yet still did—out of her voice, “I might have surprised you…but I guess we’ll never know.”
“It was just some dice and a few drinks, Fal,” Ernest said into the growing silence, “and ye’re always busy now being a Lieutenant and all. Training with the men, scribbling with the clerk and running around the camp on the Captain’s orders and all…” he slowly trailed off.
“It’s not a big thing,” Falon said shortly, and even though to her mind it felt very big right in that instant, she knew she was just overreacting. Still, she would not forget this little betrayal anytime soon.
Seeing the glum looks growing on her friends’ faces, for some reason she started to feel better and figured she ought to make some kind of gesture to put them at ease. It
’s not like she wanted to estrange them yet again.
“Besides, you’re right; John and I have been quite busy checking up on the other militia groups in the Fighting Swans and running messages back and forth,” Falon added.
“That’s right,” John said from behind her, “we have.”
Falon jumped and turned around in midair she was so surprised. “Where did you come from?” she yelped.
“I heard we’re all going out to get beards,” the former Page—and current Valet—grinned unrepentantly.
Falon glared at him.
“I’m not getting a beard; I’m reclaiming me proper hairline,” Duncan declared so proudly that one would not have suspected that mere hours ago he had been demanding they go, so that he could avoid the embarrassment of a mere thumb’s length of missing hair.
“I must have misheard,” John admitted easily with a happy-go-lucky shrug and winning smile.
“That’s what you get for snooping around where you’re not supposed to be, listening to conversations you’re not meant to hear,” Falon said direly as she advanced on the little Page, “now git!” In response, John the Valet danced out of range and skipped to the side to skirt around her.
“Oh come on, Lieutenant. Please?” John wheedled, looking at her with such a hopeful expression on his face that she actually started to cave in before coming back to herself abruptly.
“I don’t have the spare coins,” Falon said as fearsomely as she could.
“Then I can come so long as I pay my own way,” John said, pumping his fist in the air and dancing a quick jig, “thanks, Falon!”
At her thunderous expression the glee left his face faster than a galloping horse and he stiffened.
“I mean, Lieutenant Falon,” the Page corrected himself, speaking as fast as the words would come out of his mouth, “no disrespect.”
Behind her Duncan made a raspberry sound, and Falon whirled on him. “It’s no laughing matter, Duncan,” Falon grated at the older farm boy.
“I’m sorry, your Lordship,” Duncan said, knuckling his forehead and bopping his head in a half-assed attempt to hide his smirk.
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