by Danny Macks
“How long?” Chad could imagine Lauren asking. He sighed and pushed aside books. He remembered the year, fifteenth tweftury year twenty, immediately after the current King Oberon’s youthful uprising against his own regency council, but not the exact date. He suspected Lauren would want more.
As he shuffled thick history tomes looking for the answer, his hand fell on the much thinner Accumulated Theories and History of Ethereals. His original search temporarily forgotten, he turned to the chapter on hand signs and found the page Lauren had shown him a few days earlier.
How much history had ethereals seen? Most thought they were longer lived than humans, but how long wasn’t known. A light skim of the book contained wildly different theories, some suggesting near immortality, since nothing short of the king’s sword could kill one, and some theorized lifespans much shorter, with a mass rebirth on the days of the eclipse. As he read, a soft glow began to fill a dark corner of his room.
Chapter Ten – Respect of the Lords
Midnight woke in a pen. He hopped back and forth, as he did every morning; front hooves, rear hooves, front hooves, rear hooves, bending knee and hock of the legs on the ground and doing his best to kick the legs in the air as high as possible. Then it was time to run, but neither the king or the man in the red hat had arrived to let him out of the pen, although the sun was already casting pre-dawn light.
He was still attempting to kick open the pen gate when the lady with the crossbow from the night before arrived. Midnight stopped kicking when she arrived and waited for her to stop cursing about sleep and let him out.
“Aunt Cass” poured some grain into a trough but reached over the wall of the pen to do it instead of opening the gate. Midnight waited during this operation and let his mother eat. Then the lady turned and started walking out of the barn. Midnight resumed kicking the gate.
The lady opened the gate this time, but blocked the entrance with her body and it took Midnight several moments to realize she did not intend to let him out, but wanted unimpaired line of sight for the yelling that he was ignoring. He head-butted her like a billy goat and she fell back out of his way.
He had never dreamed that he had done a tölt in any of his previous lives, but the gait seemed well-suited to this form so he practiced it. He was on his fifth lap when the lady stumbled out of the barn and ran after him. The game was fun and Midnight pranced and cavorted while he played it.
When it was obvious that Midnight was much better at the game than the lady, she went back inside the barn and got a rope. Midnight resumed his laps but kept an eye out and was ready to play when the woman returned. The rope increased the difficulty but Midnight was still better and the woman was breathing hard long before Midnight got bored, finished his first round of laps, and returned to the barn for breakfast.
Midnight waited patiently outside the pen but the lady did not seem to be done and tried to throw the rope on him a few more times. He dodged the rope and kicked the pen gate more than once before she got the hint and opened it. He immediately walked up to his mother and started suckling, but kept an ear out. While he was suckling, he heard footsteps approaching from behind his tail, but the lady went away after he kicked out and hit human flesh. His mother nipped him for thrashing around while suckling and he promised to let go of the teat before kicking anyone, next time.
*****
Jeb had to wait when he presented himself -- expertly groomed, plucked and painted into the semblance of a lady -- at the castle gates the next morning. He rode Foxfire, who was brushed until he gleamed, but Midnight and his dam were still at Aunt Cass’ cottage.
While the messenger ran into the castle, the guards gossiped over the latest news: the boy who had punched him had been elevated to lord of the city. Rumors were flying about the details: that Chad Erroll had psychic powers to sense danger, that the ghost of the previous Lord Erroll had delayed reincarnation to speak on his behalf, that Prince Pious had actually been responsible for the appointment…
The longer they talked, the more nervous Jeb got about stepping back inside those iron gates. He'd dreamed about being on the wrong side of a castle siege only the night before.
A tow-headed man eventually appeared, yawning. Jeb glanced at the sun, clearing the city walls. Leaving Aunt Cass’s cottage in pre-dawn light, it had taken him hours to get here and this man looked like he had just rolled out of bed.
He took hold of Foxfire’s bridle then glanced up at Jeb. “We leave for Thesscore tomorrow. Pack light, the baron likes to ride hard.”
Jeb leaned back in the saddle and the stallion reared, but Thesscore’s man yanked his head back down with a scowl. “You are getting a bit ahead of yourself -- Leric, isn’t it? I remember you from the fire,” Jeb said, then smiled. “I haven’t said I’ll take the job. How about we find an ale house and discuss terms?”
Leric’s scowl lingered until Jeb added, “I’m buying.”
Jeb went to the cheapest ale house in the area and hoped Leric wasn't a hard drinker. He'd be spending the last of his coin on this deal.
*****
Wes grimaced as Chad stumbled into the library, a thin book shoved under his arm.
“You look like death warmed over. Lord Libros will not attend this morning. He was called away on other business. And good thing too. Did you have a late night?”
“Hoperoot is edible,” Chad said as he plopped down in a chair and laid his head on the table.
“What?”
“You wanted to know why King Pious planted hoperoot in the last twelftury,” Chad said, dragging his head up to contemplate his teacher. “As I understand it, it doesn't taste very good and people will eat anything else given a choice, but the roots, leaves and even the stems and thorns, if you boil them, are edible. Remember the 'lime plague' of the thirteenth twelftury, when Kibus and Cormeum went to war over some southern citrus orchards? The reason that didn't happen in the fourteenth twelftury was hoperoot: the roots are also a treatment for scurvy.”
Wes leaned back in his chair. His mouth moved, but no sound came out.
“Also, that stuff we have been calling snow is actually ‘frost’.” Chad made a clawing motion with his hands as he said the word. “I asked some of the librarians to search the books for more references to the word, but I don’t expect results yet.”
Chad sat up fully and rubbed his eyes. “I'm sorry, teacher, I had a long night. If we’re not having a test, what would you like to work on today?”
“What would you like to work on?” Wes finally squeaked.
Chad plopped the library’s only copy of Accumulated Theories and History of Ethereals on the table. “Ethereal hand signing. After a whole night practicing each and every letter with a guide book chart in front of me, I hate it. It is slow.” Chad’s hands flew through the entire alphabet. “Hand-cramping painfully slow. I need words. Whole words that are not in this book and not merely military scout signs like ‘go there’ and ‘ready weapons’. How long do you think it would take me to learn a thousand of the most common words?”
“I should consult with Lord Libros on that. After his duel …”
“Duel?” Chad shot up out of his chair. “Where?”
“I’m not allowed to tell you. He’s fighting Thesscore.”
The two men stared at each other, resolve tightening Chad’s face as doubt crept into Wes’s expression, but he said nothing.
Chad growled, low and contemptuous, in unconscious imitation of his father. “You’re useless! I’ll find out for myself!”
Chad sprinted out the door and Wes didn’t try to stop him.
*****
Chad found Pious, the king, and all of the visiting lords on the top of the west wall overlooking the ocean. Even his brother, Deen, was there. The tide was out and three men stood on the beach, in full armor and armed with poleaxes, far below. Even at this distance, far outside of earshot, Chad recognized the three men from their armor: Thesscore, Ravnos and Libros.
“Two against one?”
“Ravnos is judging the duel,” Deen said. ”Father asked for a death duel and will be singing.”
Lauren might be one of the best swordsmen in the kingdom, but Thesscore was too and Chad couldn't believe Ravnos wouldn't step in to help his friend if the fight turned against Thesscore. But Chad could Sing too. He could put a stop to this fight before it started if he could only get close enough.
The king hadn't seen him yet and the lords were more interested in the beach than him. He moved away from the crowd, put Deen between him and the other onlookers, and slipped over the wall.
Chad would need to move fast, without killing himself, down a wall specifically designed to be difficult to scale. He glanced behind him as he dangled from the edge of the parapet. Both combatants had visors up, likely listening to Ravnos declare formal terms. For the first time in his life, he blessed Ravnos’ formal, long-winded nature.
From his position at the edge of the parapet, the wall was five feet away. Chad swung twice then stretched out an arm, jammed his fist in a murder-hole, then swung again for a fingertip grip on the wall under the parapet. Chad took several deep breaths and looked anywhere but at the drop below him. He concentrated, saw another finger-tip grip and pulled his fist from the murder hole, bounced a foot off the wall to get some sideways momentum and regripped.
Chad glanced behind him again. Visors were down, but both men were well outside of weapon range. A shock went through Thesscore’s body and his weapon flew up to ready position. Lauren had to be singing.
Chad took a deep breath and let go. The castle wall had a tiny slope, less than five degrees from vertical, and Chad fought to use every bit of that slope to turn his fall into a controlled slide against the stone. As he neared the bottom, he realized the surface below wouldn’t hold his speeding weight, so pushed off sideways toward a wider section of cliff at the base of the wall.
When he landed, knees flexing painfully at the abuse, he heard Deen cheer far above.
He spared a glance at the fight. Thesscore hadn't moved from his still, ready stance but Lauren was pacing back and forth out of range like a caged dog. Either Lauren’s own song had started to affect him or Thesscore was singing too.
Chad had heard tales of rager’s strength, ripping doors off their hinges and throwing enemies ten feet when they swung a weapon. He fervently hoped that there was enough truth to those tall tales for Lauren to overcome the size difference between the two men long enough for him to get there. He flew down the weathered cliff face to the beach in something that resembled a controlled fall more than a climb.
Hitting the edge of the beach, Chad sprinted across the beach toward the water right as Lauren charged Thesscore. Poleaxes tangled but Lauren pressed his charge and both men fell to the sand in a grapple.
Chad’s vision narrowed until the only thing he saw was the grappling pair and the only thing he heard was his own breathing, pulling great gulps of air like bellows. Air and speed. He needed more speed.
Chad was almost close enough for the two men to hear him over the din of their own blows when the end of a pole caught him in the breastbone, knocking him backwards.
“We cannot interfere!” Ravnos snapped. Rage clouded his eyes when he stopped mouthing Mourning long enough to speak.
Chad’s Song calmed the Rage in Ravnos eyes, but he was still too far away and breathing too hard to be heard by the two rolling in the surf. Ravnos had inverted his six-foot-long poleaxe so that the axe blade and spikes were against his fist and the handle pointed at Chad.
The change from Rage to Mourning did nothing to the position of Ravnos' poleaxe. “I grieve for us both, but you will not pass.”
Chad hesitated as his own sung Mourning fought with his desire to act. Ravnos was fully armored and could easily break a leg or an arm with a flick of his weapon. To fight him, Chad needed to get past the weapon and insert a dagger in armpit, eye slot, or the space between codpiece and leg.
Even if that were possible, Ravnos had never done anything to him. With his own Mourning in his ears, he realized he couldn't kill an innocent man to save two people who desperately wanted to kill each other.
A step past Ravnos, an armored man rushed into Chad's view, charging toward them. Too late, Chad yelled “Look out!”
Thesscore slammed a steel shoulder into Ravnos’ side as the lordly gloom turned, knocking him aside. Thesscore then threw both his gauntlets on the sand and backhanded at Chad with a bare hand. Chad dodged the blow from Thesscore’s right, but not the left that followed, grasped his throat and lifted him off the ground.
“Go ahead, Sing.” Thesscore snarled as Chad kicked steel armor ineffectually. The hand on the teen lord’s throat tightened. “Make me feel like a bad person because I saw a cruel, uncaring world and tried to make you hard enough to survive it.”
Just as Chad saw spots form in front of his eyes, Thesscore slammed him down on his back and released his throat, then sat his full armored weight on Chad’s chest, pinning Chad’s outflung elbows under his knees.
“Yes, I hate. I hate better than anyone I know. So what? Because, at the end of the day, you have to ask yourself, ‘Which one of us was idiotic enough to run onto a battlefield with no armor on?’” Thesscore’s punch make a cracking noise as Chad heard his nose break before he felt it.
“And which one of us dropped his poleaxe?” He punched his son again.
“And which one of us took off his steel gauntlets before administering fatherly lessons?” He grabbed Chad’s face and turned it towards him. “Say ‘thank you for your mercy, Father.’ ”
Chad inhaled, fighting for breath under Thesscore’s weight. He took a second breath, then spit blood on the golden gilding of Thesscore’s faceplate.
“Yeah, you’re my son,” he muttered, then punched twice more. “Idiot.”
Chad fought to stay conscious as Thesscore stood, walked back to Lauren’s body in the surf and removed the guild lord’s helmet and gorget. The best Chad could manage was to roll on his stomach and drag himself across the sand.
Thesscore picked up Lauren’s fallen poleaxe and Ravnos sang Mourning.
“You can make me feel whatever you like, old friend,” Thesscore sighed, his face filled with sorrow. “This still needs to be done. This farce should have ended long ago.”
Chad felt consciousness slipping away, but continued belly-crawling, concentrating on the sand a few inches in front of him. A shadow fell between him and the sun, then a bloody head landed in front of his nose. “I was sixteen once. I forgive you. Come see me when you have some comportment.”
Then Thesscore’s shadow left. Chad struggled, pulled his knees under his body, then wobbled up on his arms. Ravnos helped him the rest of the way to standing.
“Don’t Sing,” he hissed. “It only makes it worse. Not today; not for a long time.”
Chad nodded to show he heard, but the movement made the beach tilt and he leaned heavily on Ravnos.
“I need you to stand, as much as you are able. You are the last royal ally on this beach. Don’t make them see me carry you.”
Lords and royals. A good man died and Chad should stand for politics. Nauseous bile rose in his throat. Bile that had nothing to do with his injuries.
Over the waves, a few strains of Happiness rose in the distance as Thesscore heralded his own return towards the city gates and his friends, ensuring everyone in hearing had to be glad for his victory with him.
*****
Leric was a hard drinker and barely showed any effect when Jeb’s money ran out. But he was also more generous than Jeb expected and bought several more rounds. He had even paid for a scribe to record the negotiations.
“Oh!” Jeb exclaimed as he sat up and raised a finger in inspiration. The finger wobbled a bit, but he tried to ignore it. “I want to be sir’d. I mean, I want people in Thesscore to call me sir.”
Leric smiled. “I don’t care how good you ride, lass, you ain't getting a lord to call a peasant Sir. Yer still a peasant.”<
br />
Jeb frowned in incomprehension, then shook his head. “No, not a lordly sir. A peasant-ly sir. I’m a loyal -- royal peasant sir.”
“Yer drunk.” He handed the scribe a few coins and took the drying scroll. “How about we take this to Baron Thesscore and get his seal on it.”
A stranger burst in the doors, grinning like an idiot. “Quick! Thesscore started a parade!”
Stumbling out the door with Leric, Jeb saw Thesscore striding from the north gate toward the castle with people dancing in celebration around him.
Jeb’s curiosity at the cause of the celebration evaporated as music reached his ears. Other people played instruments but Thesscore’s booming voice could still be heard over the din, carrying a purer sense of joy than … Jeb wasn't sure how long it had been since he felt like that.
“Let’s go help him out,” Leric said as he pulled Jeb forward.
A lady ran toward Thesscore, adoration all over her face. Leric grabbed her wrist, spun her into a quick dance in a circle around his lord then handed her off to a surprised man with a tambourine. Jeb’s interception of a second buxom admirer earned him a throat swabbing kiss before he remembered his duty and found someone else to pass her off to.
“Grab and dance and dance and pass,” Jeb muttered to himself, trying to keep his head straight while he wobbled madly down the street. Jeb noticed more men, in conspicuous red and gold, had arrived from the castle and were assisting with the kissing -- assisting with the crowd control. Amidst the joyful chaos, a thought slowly bubbled up from Jeb’s addled mind.
“Why are we celebrating?” Jeb yelled to the crowd.
“Baron Thesscore defeated both Lord Libros and Lord Erroll in a duel!” one of Thesscore’s men from the castle shouted back. “Long live the barons!”