A few minutes later, Warwick rejoined them. He patted Maddie’s arm. “Your boy is settled in nicely, with a big bin of oats and some fresh water. He’s looking very happy.”
“And you can come and see him anytime you like,” Louise added. “Stay the night if you want to.”
“Thanks,” Maddie told them. “It’s nice to know he’s in good hands.”
“Oh yes, oh yes,” said Warwick, rubbing his hands together. “We like Ranger horses on this farm.” He took a sip of the coffee Lou had poured for him and smacked his lips in appreciation. “Good brew, Lou,” he said. Then he laughed. “I made a rhyme!”
“We noticed,” Lou said dryly. But she gave him an affectionate look all the same.
“So, Warwick,” Gilan said, “has anything been going on in the area?” Warwick gathered his thoughts before he spoke. Maddie noticed that the easy grin disappeared from his face as he did. This was official, she realized.
“They say there’ve been lights up in that old abbey again,” he said. “I’ve been out several times to check, but they’ve never been there when I’ve been watching.”
“Are your informants reliable?” Gilan asked.
Warwick shifted on his bench. “I wouldn’t say they were totally reliable,” he said. “But they’ve mentioned it several times over the past month. There may be something going on.”
“Or nothing,” Lou put in cynically. “People can talk themselves into seeing things, and seeing lights in an old building can easily be a trick of the moonlight.”
Gilan rubbed his chin. “Possibly,” he said. “Or maybe travelers passing through have been sheltering there. But keep an eye on it anyway. If you get definite news of something odd while I’m away, pass the news on to Maddie here.”
Maddie looked at him in some surprise. He saw the look and shrugged.
“You’re a fourth-year apprentice now. I trust your judgment and Will says you’re more than capable of handling tricky situations. In fact, I’ve been planning to ask you to keep an eye on the fief while I’m away. Maybe patrol the area two or three times a week.” He switched his gaze to Warwick. “But if you do see something up there, don’t go and investigate by yourself. I don’t want you taking risks.”
Warwick looked serious for a moment, and then the grin spread across his face again. “You don’t want me taking risks, but you’d send a slip of a girl up there to investigate?”
Gilan nodded seriously. “This ‘slip of a girl,’ as you call her, can knock the eyeballs out of a gnat with her sling without even having to think about it.”
Warwick regarded her with new respect, as did Lou. Maddie felt herself reddening.
“That might be a bit of an exaggeration,” she said. “I can really only knock the head off a gnat. We don’t do eyeballs until fifth year.”
“I find that more believable,” Lou said, with a slow smile. “Anyone for more coffee?”
10
On the way home, they passed the training ground where the cavalry were exercising their remounts. Each trooper traveling with Horace and Gilan would take two horses, so that the troop could travel more quickly without tiring the horses unduly. As Horace had observed, the bulk of the herd had been out to grass for several months and had been skittish about being saddled and ridden once more. The troopers were getting them accustomed to the necessary discipline.
“Looks like they’re nearly ready,” Maddie remarked. Gilan nodded, eyeing the horses as they formed fours and then an extended line, then went to a trot, increasing tempo to a canter and then a full gallop while maintaining their formation.
A few of the horses still shied and tugged at the reins, tossing their heads against the restricting bits. But overall, they were well behaved. After all, you never wanted a cavalry horse to become too docile. A bit of wildness could be a good thing.
“So you’ll be leaving tomorrow?” Maddie said. There was a note of wistfulness in her voice.
Gilan turned his attention from the horses to her. “Mid-morning,” he said. “That’ll give us time to get well on the way before we camp for the night.”
“Don’t suppose I could go with you,” she said a little plaintively. “I could be quite useful, you know.”
“Yes, you could. And no, you can’t,” Gilan replied, smiling. “I don’t want your mother mounting my head on a spike over the battlements. You’re here to see her. Not to come traipsing off with us to the northern part of the fief.”
“I’m here to see Dad as well,” she said. But her halfhearted tone said she knew she was arguing in vain.
“And you’ll see him when we come back. We should only be a couple of weeks. Besides, I’ll feel better knowing you’re looking after things here.”
“You’re not just saying that to make me feel better about staying here?”
He shook his head firmly. “I don’t do that. And I meant what I said. You’re going into your fourth year of training. You should be able to cope with anything that crops up.” Not that he expected anything out of the ordinary. Araluen was a well-organized, well-disciplined fief, as befitted the seat of the capital. But you never could be sure, as the incident with the three brigands had indicated.
“Don’t worry. You’ll have plenty to do to keep you busy,” he said. “And if you get bored, you could always spend your time trying to find the old secret tunnels in the castle.”
Maddie pricked up her ears at that. “Tunnels? What tunnels?”
He waved a hand vaguely in the air. “Oh, possibly just rumor and old wives’ tales,” he said. “The castle is supposed to be honeycombed with tunnels and secret stairways behind the walls. Duncan’s grandfather was reputed to have a secret exit that led under the moat. He apparently used to pop out secretly to visit his girlfriend in the village. That was before he was married, of course,” he added, in a very proper tone.
Maddie said nothing further. But she was thoughtful for the rest of the ride home. Secret tunnels and stairways sounded like a fascinating subject to explore. Gilan noticed her preoccupation and smiled at her. He’d known that mention of secret tunnels would fire her imagination. She was a Ranger, after all, and Rangers had an active curiosity and interest in such matters.
* * *
• • •
The small force left the following morning, as Gilan had predicted. Maddie and Cassandra both embraced Horace and Gilan, and stood by the portcullis gate as the horsemen and archers filed through in pairs. Each pair nodded a salute to Cassandra as they passed, and she favored them all with a brilliant smile. Maddie, watching her, realized how popular she was with her soldiers—probably as a result of her background as a fighter and adventurer herself. They respected her courage and her fighting ability, and her grasp of tactics and strategy. They knew she would never set them a task they couldn’t perform.
The two women watched as the small force disappeared into the tree line at the bottom of the hill. For a few moments, a slight haze of dust marked where they had passed, and then the breeze dispersed it and all was silent.
“Well, that’s that,” Cassandra said, and turned to go back into the castle keep.
“I suppose you’re used to seeing Dad ride off to battle,” Maddie said as they strolled back across the cobbles. She knew that Horace had ridden out many times over the years to suppress local rebellions or hunt down bands of robbers and outlaws.
Cassandra nodded. “Used to it. But I never like it.”
“He can look after himself,” Maddie said. After all, she knew her father was the foremost knight in the kingdom. His achievements and abilities were legendary.
“I know,” her mother replied. “But there’s always the chance something can go wrong—a broken stirrup leather or a loose saddle girth, for example. Some things are outside his control.”
Maddie’s expression grew worried. “Thanks,” she said. “You’ve just ruined my
day for me.”
Cassandra smiled. Her negative frame of mind was more the result of knowing she would miss Horace over the next few weeks. The two were very much in love. And in truth, she knew he could look after himself, broken stirrups or saddle girths notwithstanding.
“He’ll be fine, don’t worry,” she said reassuringly. “I’m just a little blue because he’s going. And besides, he has Gilan to look after him.” Conscious of the need to keep her daughter occupied, knowing that palace life could become boring and restrictive for her, she added casually, “I have a session with Maikeru in fifteen minutes. Care to come and watch?”
“I’d love to,” Maddie said enthusiastically. “Dad said he’s remarkable, and I’ve never seen a Nihon-Jan swordsman in action.”
When Cassandra had first visited Nihon-Ja, the Emperor had been fascinated by the fact that both she and Alyss, Will’s future wife, were trained in swordsmanship, arming themselves with lightweight sabers. There was no tradition of female warriors in Nihon-Ja, and the Emperor, Shigeru, had decided that perhaps it might be a good thing if there were. The Emperor had sensed that the Nihon-Jan form of swordsmanship, which relied on speed and agility more than brute force, might well be suited to a woman’s abilities.
Cassandra and Horace, of course, had a large estate in Nihon-Ja, a wedding gift from the Emperor. But with Duncan ill, they had not had an opportunity to visit their lands in the far-distant kingdom for many years. To make up for their inability to travel, and knowing Cassandra’s interest in martial arts, two years ago the Emperor had decided to send Maikeru to her.
Maikeru was a slightly built, wiry man. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on his body. His hair was gray and he was obviously in his sixties. Yet he moved lightly and without difficulty, and his swordplay was a wonder to behold.
“I bring you two gifts from Emperor Shigeru,” he’d said when he first met Cassandra. He had held out a long parcel wrapped in oilcloth.
She had stepped forward to take it from him and unwrap the oilskin. Inside was a Nihon-Jan katana, the long sword favored by the Senshi warriors of the sunrise land. It was sheathed in a beautifully lacquered black scabbard of polished wood, inlaid with mother-of-pearl shell. The blade, when she withdrew it, had a blue tinge to it, and curving lines along its length, showing where several rods of iron had been beaten together, shaped and tempered by a master swordsmith. It had a single edge, which was sharper than the sharpest razor, and a two-handed handle with a small, flat rectangular crosspiece to protect the user’s hands. It was somewhat shorter than a conventional Araluen cavalry sword, and much lighter to wield. But the blade was far harder than any in the kingdom, save for the saxe knives carried by Rangers or the sword Horace wore—which had itself been fashioned by a Nihon-Jan craftsman many years before.
“This is beautiful,” she had said, sliding the blade back into its scabbard and looking around curiously. There had been nothing else in the oilskin package. “But you said two gifts. Where is the second?”
“I am the second,” Maikeru said gravely, inclining his head to her. “I am a Swordmaster of the fourth rank, and my lord Shigeru has charged me with the task of teaching you the use of the katana.”
Cassandra had been startled by the statement. “But it can take years to master the katana.”
Again, Maikeru had bowed to her. “Then I will remain here until you are skilled,” he said.
And so Cassandra had begun her instruction under the amazing Swordmaster, learning the cuts and thrusts, when to retreat, when to attack, how to face an Araluen swordsman armed with sword and shield, how to use speed and cunning to defeat a more powerful warrior. She was an apt student, and Maikeru was pleased with her dedication and her progress.
He was made welcome by Cassandra and Horace, as well as Gilan and the other warriors in the castle, and became a valued and respected member of the Araluen court. Several of the more mature ladies of the court, most of them widows, found his upright bearing, impeccable manners and formal approach to be more than a little attractive. Maikeru had left behind no family in Nihon-Ja. His wife had passed away many years before, and they had no children. His loyalty was to Emperor Shigeru—but, gradually, he transferred that to the slim princess who ruled the island kingdom. And, as the first year turned into the second, Maikeru began to think of Araluen as his home.
Maikeru spent time each day with Cassandra—her other duties permitting—instructing her in the use of the katana and improving her technique. Now, she would be capable of holding her own with all but the finest swordsmen in Nihon-Ja.
Today, she was to practice with Dimon, as Maikeru dictated that she must learn to fight against a style dissimilar to her own. Dimon was a capable swordsman—not as skilled as Horace or Gilan, but a good match for her and a good training partner who would not feel it necessary to hold back. For the bout, they met in the armory hall—a long, bare room on the first floor of the keep. One wall was lined with tall windows that let the daylight flood into the room, providing excellent lighting for the practice bouts that were held here. There were tiered benches along the opposite wall, and Maddie found a seat there.
Her mother was donning her padded practice jacket and protective leather helmet when Dimon arrived, similarly attired. He selected a wooden practice sword and shield from the rack and walked over to greet Maddie, smiling. Cassandra was armed with a wooden weapon, shaped like her katana and replicating its weight and balance.
“Nice to see you again,” he said.
Maddie returned the smile. Dimon had been on duty since the day of the fair, and they hadn’t seen each other in the intervening days—save for the occasional quick, friendly nod as they passed.
“Good to see you,” she said.
“I have the day off tomorrow,” he said. “Would you like to go hunting?”
“That’d be great,” she said.
His smile widened. “I’m keen to see how you manage a proper bow.”
“I told you,” she replied, “my weapon of choice is the sling.” She frowned slightly, looking at the shield on his left arm. “Speaking of weapons, isn’t my mother at a disadvantage here? She doesn’t have a shield.”
“So she has less to carry,” he said.
But Maddie turned to Maikeru and called out across the hall. “Maikeru-san, my mother has no shield. This isn’t an even match.”
She was concerned that Cassandra might be hurt. She knew Dimon was an excellent swordsman and it seemed that he had an advantage over Cassandra’s slim, wooden practice katana.
Maikeru crossed the hall, his thin slippers whispering on the timber floor, scarred and marked by generations of practice weapons that had missed their mark and rebounded off the floorboards. He stopped a few meters away from Maddie and bowed briefly.
“Your mother has a shield,” he said. “You just can’t see it. It is half a sword length in front of her and is activated by the movement of her katana.”
Maddie frowned, not understanding.
Dimon, who had been through this exercise before with Cassandra, smiled encouragingly. “Wait and see,” he said.
“If you injure my mum,” she said, “I won’t go hunting with you tomorrow.”
Dimon acknowledged the statement with a shake of his head. “If I injure your mum, I won’t be going anywhere tomorrow myself.”
Maikeru motioned the two combatants to the center of the hall. They faced each other and took up their respective positions. Dimon had his shield raised and his sword projecting halfway over the top of it. Cassandra faced him, her feet widely spaced, her katana held back over her right shoulder.
Maikeru had a wooden rod in his hand. He began tapping it on the floor in a steady rhythm. Then he called:
“Commence!”
11
Maikeru continued to tap his wooden rod on the floor. Maddie realized he was setting a tempo for the practice bout. Suddenly,
Dimon took a half pace forward and darted his sword out at Cassandra, chest high.
Cassandra brought her sword forward and moved its tip in a small circle, catching the blade of Dimon’s weapon and deflecting it to one side with the circular motion.
Recovering quickly, Dimon lunged once more. The katana moved in the opposite direction now, deflecting his wooden blade to the other side. Then, as he was slightly off balance, Cassandra leapt forward and delivered three rapid cuts at him. He took the first two on his shield, then narrowly managed to block the third, a horizontal sweep at thigh level, with his own sword.
The crack of their swords as they came together echoed in the armory hall. They stepped apart, resumed their ready positions and eyed each other carefully.
Maikeru increased the tempo with the wooden rod on the floor. “Begin!” he said.
This time Cassandra was the first to attack. She swept forward, her wooden blade flashing in the air. A series of staccato CRACKS! marked its impact with Dimon’s sword and shield. The young warrior backed away, defending desperately against the ever-changing direction and blurring speed of Cassandra’s onslaught. Cassandra pursued him down the length of the armory hall, their feet shuffling and squeaking on the floorboards.
But even though she was driving Dimon back, she could find no gap in his defenses. His sword or shield blocked her cuts—overhead, side on, and even sweeping up from knee height. Sometimes he only managed to get his sword or shield into position at the last moment—but he managed nevertheless.
Cassandra, knowing that speed was her best weapon, continued the assault, searching for an opening, seeking a relaxation in his defense. She didn’t find one.
Eventually, Maikeru cried, “Enough!”
The two combatants lowered their swords and stepped back. Both were breathing heavily from their exertions, and from the flood of adrenaline that coursed through their bodies. They eyed each other balefully. There was no room for friendship in this contest. They were practicing for war. The time might come when such a competition was a matter of life and death. Maikeru had dinned into their brains the basic message of weapons practice.
The Red Fox Clan Page 8