Riyan had scribed far too late last night and it showed. Several times he had allowed the tip of his sword to droop, all but once he caught it himself before the Drillmaster or the other instructor had noticed. Tad, who was the one helping the Drillmaster today, had noticed the one lapse he failed to correct in time. It cost him an extra hour of drill after the others had left for the day.
His extra hour of drill was sparring with Tad, which for the most part he enjoyed. He thought his skill with the sword had improved, but it was hard to judge such things when you sparred with those who could put you to shame if they really wanted. So he had to rely on their judgment and believe what they told him.
“You’re dragging Riyan,” Tad said as he scored another painful hit on Riyan’s upper chest.
Riyan didn’t reply, simply concentrated all the harder on what he was doing. One thing they had taught him about fencing, your opponent would often say things to break your concentration one way or another. The key to good swordsmanship was to remain focused on the battle and not play into your opponent’s hand.
“I hear Stryntner kept you up too late last night,” Tad told him. Then he lashed out with a thrust that Riyan was barely able to parry to the side.
“Nice,” complimented Tad. Of all the instructors, Tad was the one who gave the Recruits the most encouragement. The others expected perfection and only spoke to point out a flaw.
“Trying to make a good impression,” Riyan said as he stepped back to catch his breath.
Unfortunately, Tad wasn’t going to allow him that time. Moving forward he struck a blow aimed at Riyan’s head. When Riyan managed to block it, he came right back with a cut to the side. Then one to the head, the side, the legs, and on and on. Riyan managed to keep his blade from making contact.
Tad finally stepped back and gave Riyan a chance to catch his breath. He didn’t have much endurance left, the day’s worth of fat-ugly practice along with all the rest had sapped his strength to almost nothing. As he waited for Tad’s next attack, his arm started to tremor slightly and his legs grew weak.
“Tired?” asked Tad.
Riyan nodded. “Extremely.”
With a grin, Tad lowered his sword. “I expect you would be after all you’ve done today,” he said.
Relieved that it was over, Riyan let his sword drop. Just when he had the tip pointing toward the ground, Tad gave out with a cry and launched another series of attacks.
As the first blow came at him fast, he tried to bring up his sword in time but failed to stop the broadsided strike to his side. After that, he was able to stop most of them.
“When a battle rages for hours,” Tad said as he continued to launch attack after attack, “this is how you’re going to feel.”
Another blow went through his defenses and pain erupted in his shoulder. But Riyan bore the pain and gritted his teeth. It took all he had to simply keep his arm moving. Then he saw Barin enter the courtyard and approach Tad from behind. He held a bucket in his hands and wore a mischievous grin on his face. That moment of distraction when he looked to Barin cost him another bruised rib. Returning his attention to the battle at hand, he worked to keep Tad’s wooden sword from dotting his body with another bruise.
When Barin was but five feet from Tad, he gave Riyan a wink and launched the contents of the bucket at Tad’s back. Just before the water hit, Tad leaped to the side and the ice cold water hit Riyan head on.
Barin looked in shock at the water soaked Riyan and then to where Tad was grinning at them both. “How?” Barin asked.
Tad pointed the tip of his sword toward Riyan. “He told me,” he explained.
“I did?” asked Riyan. After the initial shock of the cold water wore off, the soaking felt kind of good.
With his other hand, Tad pointed to his eyes. “Always watch your opponent’s eyes,” he told them. “I saw your eyes flick behind me a couple times which caused your technique to suffer. I figured something was going on. Then when your eyes widened, I leaped to the side. Generally, a person’s eyes widen in anticipation of something.” He looked to Barin. “And I was right.” Then he laughed.
Any other instructor would have had them both punished for what Barin had tried to do. And in truth, Barin would never have attempted it with anyone other than Tad.
“Riyan, go get cleaned up and grab a bite to eat before you head up to Stryntner’s. You won’t do him much good starving yourself.”
“I will thanks,” Riyan said.
Barin accompanied Riyan over to the rack where he stored his practice sword. “Sorry about the wetting,” he said with a grin. “But when I saw how hard he was pushing you I couldn’t resist.”
“I don’t mind,” Riyan said. “Felt good actually.” Together they walked back to the barracks where Riyan quickly cleaned up and changed into the outfit he reserved for his time in the Archives. He could be smelly and dirty while at drills, but the Archives seemed to warrant more respect than that.
Barin went with him to the mess where they found Chad and a few others still eating.
They joined them and Barin told them what he had done, or rather attempted to do, which got them all laughing. Riyan was content to listen to the other’s conversations while he wolfed down his meal.
He glanced over to Chad who shook his head ever so slightly. Last night when Riyan had returned to the barracks after leaving the Archives, Chad told him of Bart’s visit and what he had said about others knowing about them. They had expected Bart to put in an appearance in the foyer this evening, but apparently hadn’t yet.
Chad was going to spend time out in the foyer in case Bart should show up while Riyan went up to the Archives. The others finished before Riyan and Barin did, only Chad stayed to keep them company until they were done.
Once Riyan was finished eating, he bid his friend farewell and hurried up to the Archives where he found the door shut. Having a reason to be here this time, he tried the door and found it unlocked. He felt Stryntner really should keep this place more secure than he did.
Cracking the door open, he peered in and found it dark. “Keeper?” he hollered. When no answer came back to him, he opened the door wider. The light from the candle burning out in the hallway passed through the now opened doorway and illuminated the table where he worked the night before. Riyan could see all the items he had used were still in their places.
Hoping that it would be alright for him to be in there without Stryntner, he opened the door further and walked in. After taking the candle from off his table and lighting it from the one burning in the hallway, he walked to the back of the Archives to the room Stryntner called home. He wasn’t there. Riyan then returned to the table and resumed the transcribing of the tome he had worked on the day before.
It was a history of this region that was compiled over a century ago. He didn’t recognize all the names and places it mentioned. But what it talked about hardly seemed like the sort of stuff one would wish to save for future generations. It was full of how many people lived in one town, what kind of grain was harvested in another, those sorts of things. One section he copied last night spoke of nothing but the types of trees that grew in one section of some town he had never even heard of before. Oh well, if this was what Stryntner wanted copied, so be it. Maybe it was another test to see how well he did before entrusting him with something of real value.
He set right to work and before he knew it, had one complete page copied. Nothing of interest, just taxes that were paid that year from various groups. After setting the completed page atop the others of the night before, he stood up and stretched. His muscles had begun to stiffen after having sat for awhile now.
Last night he had copied eight full sheets and hadn’t been able to get his full rest for drills, tonight he planned on doing just four. In a few days he’ll have a good notion as to how many pages a day he’ll be able to get done and still get what rest he needed. The last thing he wanted to do was to face another day of extended drills. True, they did help to
further sharpen his skills, but they were hard to experience.
The Archives was quiet, Stryntner still hadn’t returned yet. He sort of wondered if the Keeper would return at all that night. In order to work the kinks out of his muscles, he decided to inspect the Archives some. Taking the candle from off the table, he wandered over to one of the bookstands that looked like it held some rather old tomes.
He would briefly glance through them one at a time. When he failed to see any coats of arms, he would move on to the next one. Once he had perused each book on one shelf in the bookstand, he returned to the table to finish his transcribing. If Stryntner was in the habit of not being around in the evenings when he did his copying, he would have time to hunt for the information he needed.
Smiling to himself, he got right to work and didn’t stop until he had his four sheets completed.
Chapter Eight
_______________________
Two days of riding found the walls of Wardean appearing ahead in the distance. It was always good to return to the city of his birth, you were never more at home than where you grew up.
Bart gauged the sun to still be several hours away from dusk, plenty of time remaining for what he came here to do. He carried the book Kevik had given him with the symbols needing deciphering in his pack. There was only one person he knew that may even remotely be able to help, and that was Phyndyr the scriber. It just seemed logical to him that since Phyndyr dealt with magic, even though it wasn’t exactly the same as that which Kevik manipulated, he could help.
When he passed through the gates and entered the city, it almost felt like he was passing into another world. Here in Wardean, he knew every nook and cranny. Almost all the people were in some way familiar to him, especially those on the lower rungs of the social ladder.
On his way through the streets to Phyndyr’s he saw several instances where thieves were working as a team to score off of their marks. To his trained eye it was easy to see the mark being set up. How the small child began crying for no apparent reason while another, older accomplice would come up behind a caring individual who had stopped to see what was wrong to relieve them of their purse. Oh yes, it was good to be back.
Several people took note of his passing, some even called out a greeting. He returned the greeting when appropriate, all the while continuing on his way. Bart was wary as he passed through the streets as well. Not only were there old scores that some would like to see settled against him, especially now that he didn’t have the protection of his father, the Master of Thieves. But there was always the chance someone hadn’t heard that the death mark had been removed and would seek to claim the bounty for his death.
As for his father, they held a mutual respect for each other despite the fact Bart had sided against him when Gerrick moved to replace him. It wasn’t that Bart thought his father a bad man, not bad in a way that his peers would judge him. It was simply that Gerrick would have made a better Master than his father was.
All his life his father had told him to be his own man, to follow his own way. Yes, there was pride in that he followed his father’s footsteps, and bitterness that he had sided against him. Still, he and his father weren’t exactly at odds. Frankly, he’s not sure how his father felt about him. After he had bought the death mark, he only encountered his father once more before returning to Gilbeth. That was more in passing than an actual meeting if truth be told.
Pulling up before Phyndyr’s and dismounting, he put all thoughts of his father to the back of his mind. There may come a time when rectification could come, but that time wasn’t now. Taking his pack with him, he walked up to the door and entered.
Phyndyr looked up at his entrance, grinned when he recognized him, and nodded for him to have a seat. He was currently helping another customer so Bart would have to wait until he was done.
Bart took a seat in a char as far from the pair as he could in respect of their privacy. It wasn’t the man’s privacy he was concerned about, but Phyndyr’s. The scriber liked to give his customers confidentiality when at all possible. Some of the things people came and bought scrolls for were of a personal nature. It wasn’t too long before the man’s business was concluded and he was out of the shop.
Phyndyr immediately came over to him once the man was gone. “Bart, it’s good to see you again,” he said.
“You too, Phyndyr,” Bart said. He stood up and shook hands with his old friend.
Actually Phyndyr was more of his father’s friend, but he and the scriber enjoyed a good relationship.
“I’m glad that business with the death mark is over,” he said as he sat down opposite him.
“As am I,” agreed Bart.
“What have you been doing with yourself?” Phyndyr asked.
“Oh, this and that,” he said which elicited a grin from Phyndyr. Bart had ever been one not to speak about his comings and goings. And considering his line of work it was none too surprising.
“I’m here in the hopes you might be able to help a friend of mine,” he said as he set his pack on the table before him.
“Oh? Is he in need of a scroll of some kind?” he mused.
Bart glanced at him as he pulled the book out. “Not exactly,” he explained. “My friend is in a rather untenable position I’m afraid. You see, he’s a magic user.” At that Phyndyr’s face lost some of its geniality. “Go on,” he said.
“He’s an apprentice who is working on his staff so he can be raised to Practitioner,” he said.
“Why would he need my help?” Phyndyr asked. “Wouldn’t he be better served by his master?”
“Well that’s the problem,” Bart said. “His master died.” Phyndyr nodded in understanding. “That explains it,” he said.
Bart set his pack back on the floor next to him and opened the book. “He has everything finished but the final spell which will infuse the staff with the required magic.” He opened it to the page where Kevik had indicated the symbols he didn’t know.
“What I was hoping was that you would be able to decipher these symbols for him.” Phyndyr watched as Bart pointed to each of the symbols in question. When Bart was done, Phyndyr turned his eyes back to him.
“Do you know them?” he asked.
“Oh yes,” he replied. “They are some of the most basic symbols, I’m surprised he hasn’t already learned them. All of the basic symbology is used by both magic users and scribers. It isn’t until one reaches the more advanced arts that we diverge.”
“So you can help him?” he asked with hope.
“The question isn’t can I, but will I,” he said as he looked Bart in the eye.
“What do you mean?”
“I am reluctant to help one who is embarking upon the road of the Magi,” he admitted. “Such folk only do so out of the expectation of the power they will attain.
Rarely are those of the Magi a benefit to society.” Bart sat back, not sure how to respond. It’s true, the stories one heard of magic users were rarely good ones. In fact, they tended to be the bad guys more often than not. “Then do it for me as a personal favor,” he said. “This magic user has saved my life on more than one occasion.”
Phyndyr’s eyebrows arced up as he said, “Indeed?”
Bart nodded. “I can’t imagine he would be what you would call a menace to society,” he explained. “It’s just not in his makeup.”
A thoughtful look crossed Phyndyr’s face as he considered it. “What you say carries much weight with me.”
Hardly daring to breathe, Bart waited for his friend’s decision. When he saw Phyndyr sigh, he knew he would help.
“Very well,” his friend said with some reluctance. “I suppose what I’m about to impart to him is fairly common knowledge anyway.”
“Thank you,” Bart replied.
“But you are going to owe me,” Phyndyr said in all seriousness. Then he grinned.
“I’ll need to keep the book. I should have it ready by tomorrow morning.”
“Take it,” Bart sa
id as he pushed it across the table towards him.
Taking the book, Phyndyr looked again at the symbols and made sure he knew which ones needed explaining. “You understand that I will only be able to explain them and give him an idea of how to pronounce the words,” he explained. “He may have to experiment some before he has the correct inflections understood.” Bart shrugged. “That’s his problem,” he said. “At least with your assistance he’ll be on the right track.”
“Are you going to be in town long?” Phyndyr asked.
Bart shook his head. “Just long enough to meet with you in the morning, then I’m off.”
They both turned as the front door opened and two little old ladies walked in.
Phyndyr sighed when he saw them.
“Regulars?” asked Bart.
Phyndyr nodded. “You could say that,” he replied. When he noticed that they saw him sitting with Bart, he gave them a wave in greeting and said, “I’ll be with you momentarily.”
The two ladies nodded and took a seat at one of the tables. Their heads quickly came together and their whispered conversation could barely be heard.
“They’re going to take the rest of the day I’m afraid,” he told Bart.
“What do they want?” Bart asked.
“They don’t know,” he explained as he rolled his eyes heavenward.
Bart grinned and came to his feet. “I thank you again for your help in this,” he said.
“Not at all Bart,” he replied. Then just as Bart was leaving the table he reached out and placed his hand on his arm. “Your father holds no resentment towards you for your choice,” he said quietly. Before Bart could respond to the statement, Phyndyr removed his hand and proceeded to cross the room over to the two ladies.
He hesitated beside the table wondering what prompted Phyndyr to say such a thing.
Perhaps it was just that he wanted to assure Bart that things between his father and him were not so bad. Pondering the statement, Bart headed for the door and was soon out on the street.
The Broken Key (02) - Hunter of the Horde Page 11