by Hal Emerson
“Are you going to show us what you’ve got today, Eshendai?” One of the men asked. He was tall and thin as a whip, with a sense of coiled strength about him.
“Hah!” She said twirling the dagger effortlessly between her fingers. “Not a one of you could touch me.”
There were several catcalls when she said this, all in good humor, and she struck a fearsome stance, brandishing her weapons. A good number of them laughed, and once again Raven was surprised by how social she was among friends. For the first few months he’d known her she’d been withdrawn to the point of fault. But now, here, she was at home in her role as something of a living legend; daughter of General Goldwyn, Spellblade, Eshendai to the giant Tomaz Banier, one of the heroes of the battle at Aemon’s Stand, the one who’d found the Prince of Ravens and brought him to the Kindred, one of the only living Kindred to infiltrate a Seeker’s lair and escaped unharmed. He’d heard all the stories, if not lived them with her.
“Let’s make it interesting then,” Raven called out suddenly, speaking over the soldiers gathered around pretending to spar with Leah. He strode forward and grabbed his single-sided blade from the rack – while it was just steel, it was well made, and it felt good in his hand. He turned to her.
“One match – you win, you never have to spar with me again. I win, you spar with me anytime I want.”
There was an appreciate murmur at this – Leah was infamous for training exclusively on her own, with the one exception of Tomaz. She’d only ever sparred with Raven once, and she had won quite handily.
Her green eyes watched him carefully as he swung the blade around, keeping his muscles warm. The Kindred watched him too and began to nod, smiling and egging the girl on.
“Come on Leah!”
“Show him how the Kindred fight!”
“Yeah – beat this Imperial dog once and for all!”
There was laughter here at the good-natured dig and even Raven smiled, caught up in the good feeling of the arena. There was a camaraderie here that didn’t exist elsewhere; in here, everyone was equal.
“You scared of the little prince?” A woman taunted.
“Come on Leah,” Tomaz roared. “Kick his scrawny butt and you’ll never have to worry about it again!”
Actual cheers sprang up at this, but Leah didn’t move.
Raven smiled.
“Scared?” He asked her. “Or just out of practice?”
“Ooooo,” they all crowed, sure she wouldn’t rise to the challenge.
Leah stepped into the ring.
Everyone went silent – and then began to motion frantically to others nearby. Whispers spread to the other arenas, and a few men snapped to their friends and extra benches were brought.
Leah undid her cloak and threw it carelessly to one side. She wore her tight-fitting green and gray woodsman-clothing underneath, the wrists and ankles tied down to prevent any possible hindrance of movement. Raven looked around as the ring became encircled with Kindred eager to see what would happen, and was surprised to find he didn’t feel nervous. Not nervous at all. In fact, he was pretty confident he’d lose this fight, and when you’re sure of losing, you’re just happy to go along for the ride.
Without warning, Leah turned and launched herself at him, long, wicked daggers flying – she hadn’t even bothered to attach edge guards. She was known for that – she had such control over her movements that she never left a mark, even though her blades were razor sharp.
Raven defended with a sweeping move called Fisher Slaps the Water, blocking both daggers and using her momentum to spin them both around, switching places. She turned to him and smiled, and he felt his blood chill. There was something far too predatory in that look.
She came at him again, moving like the wind, twisting and dancing. The daggers lanced out, testing, probing, not striking. She was getting a feel for him.
So he gave her a feel. He let himself go and flowed through the Guardian sword forms he’d learned in the Fortress and practiced with Tomaz. He assumed the most aggressive stances; Tiger Claws the Deer; Fire Born in Wind; Crashing Fall of Earth.
His hands became slick with sweat on the grip of the sword, but the tight wire that bound the hilt kept him steady. He moved through the aches and pains gathered from his bouts with Tomaz, dancing with the sword as Tiffenal and Dysuna had taught him to do so long ago.
And Leah fought back with a grace like nothing he’d ever seen. While Tomaz was the epitome of a fighter, with the strength and stamina of ten men to back up the training of a lifetime, Leah was an artist; each motion was a brush stroke on a blank canvas, each step a motion in a dance. Every move Raven made was met with the flash of her steel daggers; each blow, no matter how hard, met and deflected.
And still they fought.
Leah was trying to strike him now; her mood had changed. Her face had started out as playful, smiling and twinkling with friendly mockery; it was now full of something primal, something deep, and Raven knew the look was mirrored on his own face. Neither of them had landed a blow, neither had even come close. And now she was trying – she wanted to end this, he could feel it. She could feel it too he knew, the rhythm and sway of the fight, the intricate moves of the dance, closing and parting, only to clash again in a swirl of arms and a flash of steel.
He strove forward, his arm grazing hers, his blade caught and parried and repulsed, only to swing around his head and bite back in toward her once more. She lost a step on him and he gained a momentary space advantage. She feinted left, then moved underneath him, rolling to the right, almost breaking free, before he grabbed her arm and spun her back around, forcing her to her feet, forcing her to face him, as he touched his blade to her chest.
They stood there, frozen in tableau, breathing heavy; their eyes were locked on each other, and for that moment, nothing else existed.
And then there was applause around them, and the moment broke; they stepped apart, and Raven realized he had won. He dropped his blade from where he’d rested it against her chest, and bowed his head to her, breaking his eyes away from her piercing stare.
The cheers intensified, and suddenly there were Kindred around them, slapping him on the back, praising him. Tomaz was there, roaring at him that he felt cheated, that Raven had never fought that well against him, and swearing he’d beat it out of him if he had to work him twelve hours a day the whole year round.
Raven turned back to look at Leah, but she was gone. He spun to look toward the entrance to the Bricks and for a moment thought he’d missed her. But then a figure near the door, one of several headed out, turned and looked back at him. She was holding a small, slender piece of wood tight in one hand. She met his gaze with eyes that burned; she smiled, a wry, sideways twitch of the lips, and then was gone.
***
“Stop fussing princeling, we’re already late.”
Raven looked up at Tomaz, feeling suddenly quite offended. What was he talking about, fussing? He just wanted to make sure his clothing was straight. It was an important night for the Kindred.
They’d made it back from the Bricks in time to take baths, trim their beards, and change. Apparently it was tradition for the Kindred on Midwinter Night to dress in black, so Raven had complied, even though it reminded him unfavorably of the dress robes he’d had to wear in the Fortress. He was wearing the tight fitting black shirt he’d stolen from the Healer back in Roarke, a long black cloak, and wide, thick trousers tucked into knee-high black boots that Tomaz had borrowed for him.
“I’m not fussing,” Raven protested, “I’m straightening.”
“Yeah well you’re straight, can we go now? I’ve wanted a steaming cup of mead for days now.”
“What’s mead?”
“It’s wine, fermented with honey and cloves. It’s the nectar of the gods.”
“Wine? But you don’t drink,” Raven said, confused.
“I don’t drink any night except Midwinter!” Tomaz rumbled triumphantly. “Midwinter is the night when you’re su
pposed to let loose. You’re suppose to do what you’d never allow yourself to do on any other night, you’re supposed to ask any question or give any insult, and no one can hold it against you the next day.”
“How do you prevent full on anarchy?” Raven asked, appalled by the idea of people letting loose in such a way. What would happen if he ran into Henri Perci?
“Ironically, it solves most of the problems that have come up throughout the year. Old grudges that haven’t been let out to air suddenly get mentioned, and those around you laugh or groan or make fun of you for it, and suddenly it’s not so important anymore. Part of me thinks that was the reason they came up with the whole night to begin with – some clever Elder realized that once a year it’s probably good to have everyone laugh at each other. Particularly on a night when violence is severely frowned upon.”
“Don’t the Kindred have laws against violence as it is?” Raven asked as he straightened his cloak a final time and motioned for Tomaz to lead the way.
“Laws stop most of it during the year,” Tomaz acknowledged as they left the giant’s cabin, venturing out into the night’s bitter chill. “But tradition is something stronger. You break a law and some people will applaud you for it. But you don’t break popular tradition – no one cheers you on for that.”
Raven thought this had the ring of truth about it; the big man made a valid point. They continued to talk on their way into the city, both of them with the hoods of their cloaks pulled up to ward off the cold winds. There were no clouds, so they didn’t have to fear snow, but it was still below freezing and the ground was coated in a layer of ice, still thick from the night before.
They reached the outskirts of the city and ran into their first group of Kindred, all of whom greeted them enthusiastically. They talked amiably, and soon they met more people, all coming from their houses just as twilight began to fade into true darkness, marking the beginnings of the festivities.
Tomaz caught Raven looking around intently.
“Trying to find someone?” He asked with a grin.
“What? Oh, no,” Raven replied. “Just trying to see everything.”
The whole city seemed to be decorated; colored lanterns had been lit and strung between buildings, wreaths had been hung on doors, sprigs of holly and other plants had been hung from posts topped with flickering oil lamps to light the scene. What was more, everyone seemed to be singing – a whole repertory of songs that everyone seemed to know. Some melodies even sounded familiar to Raven, though the words were different.
“Here we are!” Exclaimed Tomaz, pulling Raven toward a vending stand. There were a number of mugs there with steaming liquid inside. “How much?”
“Five silvers for a pint and the mug it comes in,” said the woman behind the counter, “but for you Tomaz, I’ll give you two for seven, and if you want a refill you can have it for a single.”
“Done!” He roared, smiling and passing over a number of Kindred coins, stamped with the rose and sword. He took the mugs and thrust one into Raven’s hands, before drinking deeply from his own. Raven followed suit and raised the mug to his lips; the liquid was absolutely delicious and warmed him from head to toe.
They made their way to the first stage; there were twelve in all, each patronized by one of the active Elders, and found that Elder Lymaugh’s play had just finished. The set was being struck and the crowd was moving on, further into Vale.
“Wait – that was the one Leah was in wasn’t it?”
“Damn!” Tomaz said. “They said it would be later, after moonrise. They must have changed the time.”
They came closer and found that most of the actors had already gone, disappeared into the crowd to make merry.
“We’ll keep an eye open for her,” Tomaz promised Raven, and so they went off into the crowd again, refilled their mugs, and headed to the other stages.
At the fourth stage, an hour or so later, it was Tomaz’s turn to perform. He was a part of something called the Naeliad, a long combination of traditional songs put up by Elder Ceres who enjoyed the classics. The bulk of the Naeliad was chorus songs, sung by everyone in attendance, but every so often a member of the Kindred went up on stage to perform a solo.
Tomaz had what was apparently an infamously tricky bass solo, and when his name was called he left to mount the stage amidst many excited whispers. The organ-like instrument and the lute they had to accompany the singers struck the first chord, Tomaz sang his first note, and Raven’s mouth dropped open. The giant sang in a deep, vibrating bass, hitting every note masterfully, even acting the song out; it was a war song, about a man who has been lost during the winter but had promised to make it home to be with his family once more. He finished on a long, deep note, deeper than anything Raven had heard before, and the Kindred stood and cheered, almost drowning him out. The organ and lute played a final flourish, and Tomaz bowed. The audience clapped and shouted praises, causing Tomaz to blush a deep, deep scarlet color; he looked as if he might die of embarrassment. He gave an awkward bow, left the stage, and rejoined Raven.
“That was fantastic!” Raven said.
“Thanks,” Tomaz said, beaming.
Another Kindred called to him, and the giant turned away, leaving Raven momentarily alone.
SPLAT!
Something hard and cold hit the side of his face, shocking him into crying out; it was a ball of snow that had come whizzing out of nowhere. Sputtering and coughing, he pulled as much of it out of his hood as possible, but some got down his neck and soaked into his shirt, and he shivered violently.
“What – is the princeling cold?”
Raven looked up and saw Leah standing just outside the pavilion, brushing snow off her hands, mouth curved in a wicked smile.
She wore a long, high-necked black dress, with tight-fitting sleeves that ended in dark green cuffs. Just visible underneath were a pair of thick boots, dark against the white snow. The thick wool dress had a hood, one that she had drawn up, and from which spilled a soft flow of hair.
“Yes,” Raven replied tersely.
“Little Raven Talisman can’t keep you warm in the dark, cold night?”
“Well it could,” he said, looking around, feigning interest. “Anyone here you’re not particularly fond of? I could use the exercise.”
She laughed, a full peal of bells, and her eyes flashed. Raven felt something catch in his chest and he was suddenly coughing, having swallowed his own tongue. She warily reached out a hand, watching him with a look of amusement. He cleared his throat one last time and stood up straight; he could feel his cheeks growing hot even in the icy night, and was suddenly grateful that they were in the wane light of oil lamps instead of the bright clockwork fluorescence of Lucien. Leah looked him up and down quickly, taking in his long black cloak and high collar, sizing him up.
“You’re sure you’re warm enough?” She asked seriously.
“Yes,” he responded, stamping his feet and breathing into his hands with a rueful smile. “You’d think being south of Lucien would make it warmer, but apparently that’s not the case.”
“Not at all,” she said, with a wry smile. “We’re pretty high up elevation-wise. Higher than the Fortress even, nestled as we are in these mountains. It’s part of why the Festival is such an event – we’re all stuck her until the winter is over. We might as well make the best of it.”
“Indeed!” Roared Tomaz, making Raven jump.
“You were great!” Leah said, coming forward and giving him a hug.
“You heard it?” Tomaz asked, looking both eager and apprehensive.
“Of course I did! I was standing right over there. And you were great. As always.”
“Thanks,” the giant said with a huge smile. “We missed you though ... ”
“I figured you would,” she said with a sigh, “we had to start early. The timing got messed up.”
“I’m sure you were brilliant though,” he said quickly. She smiled, that quick sideways quirk of her lips. “Let me get
you some mead – to make up for it.”
“Well, I certainly won’t say no to that. If I act really offended will you get me a double? I’ll put on a pout and everything.”
“I don’t feel that bad.”
“Swindler. I’m emotionally overwrought here.”
“You’ll get over it.”
“Yeah, probably right.”
The rest of the night was a blur – Tomaz led them from the performance pavilion into the heart of the festival in the center of the huge town square. People were everywhere, grouped by the thousand – all of the Kindred in the entire city seemed to have turned out for the event, all wearing the traditional black clothing, though many had seen fit to thrown in small dashes of color; a red scarf here, a blue hood there. One woman wore a violently pink shawl, while her husband was equipped with an equally virulent yellow hat.