Despite the strange delivery that did not make much sense, Calistin took home the point. "So, tell me about this school."
"I's gonna do better'n that," Treysind declared. "I's gonna take ya there."
Taking Calistin to the warrior's school proved more difficult than expected. Treysind disappeared repeatedly to cast about and regain his bearings; and the Renshai took advantage of the wasted time, venting his frustrations in wild flurries of svergelse.
Finally, Treysind plopped down on his backpack in a thready roadway and stared sullenly into the distance.
Calistin studied his companion. He had never seen such a sour expression on the boy's face. "Any luck?"
"No, I ain't gotted no luck!" Treysind snapped. "If I'd a got luck, wouldn't I been takin' ya there?"
Calistin's eyes widened. The Erythanian had never used that tone of voice on him before, and he did not know how to react to it. "Treysind?" he said in a flat tone full of warning.
The boy looked up, his expression going from sullen to horrified. "I's sorry, Hero. I's rilly sorry. I shouldn't never talk ta ya like that."
Calistin had not really minded. It felt oddly good for the boy to treat him like a person rather than an idol for a moment.Yet, he did not feel comfortable encouraging disrespectful behavior in a companion either. "I understand. I'm frustrated, too."
"There's supposed ta be a big ol' twisted herbont tree nears a west-way path, but I ain't seein' it. I's thinkin' maybe we's did go tha wrong way at tha las' crossroad."
Irritation flashed through Calistin, then disappeared as quickly. It seemed impossible for him to be upset at the same time as his companion. Someone had to keep a calm head. "It's not that far back. Let's take the other fork."
Calistin's reasonability seemed to have a positive effect on Treysind, who sprang to his feet, shouldered his overstuffed pack, and waddled back the way they had come.
Calistin followed, a nasty thought occurring to him. "Treysind, you don't suppose those merchants were having a bit of fun with us."
Treysind did not look backward. "Whatcha mean?" he called over his shoulder.
"Maybe there is no school. Maybe they just told you that to get us…"
"… losted?" Treysind finished. "No, sir, Hero. They's wouldn't a done that. They's too grateful, Hero."
Calistin was not so sure. "Maybe they were having fun at our expense. Or telling you what they thought you wanted to hear."
Treysind turned to face Calistin but continued walking… backward. "No, sir. They wouldn't a done that, Hero. I kin usual tell when pee'ple's lyin'. They wasn't. Jus' like I knowed that brawly wasn't lyin'. He's gonna turn hisself aroun' an' work honest."
Calistin never doubted the sincerity of the young street tough, only how long that attitude would last after his companions' killer left New Loven. Once the danger was gone, the fear would lessen, and he might well revert to his old, vicious tactics. Treysind was right about the merchants, however. They had no reason to mistreat their saviors, other than the destruction of the fabric-seller's shop.
After a short stop for a midday meal from the backpack, Calistin and Treysind found the fork in the road, this time choosing the direction they had not yet taken. Calistin did remember that Treysind had paused in this same place a long time before selecting the pathway they now believed was incorrect. The route back to New Loven was clearly marked and well-traveled. The other two much less so.
They had taken only a few steps when Treysind stopped suddenly. "Someone's here."
Calistin squinted through the forest. A figure perched casually amidst the trees, working with something in his hands. Calistin prided himself on reading a man by build and movement. Simply by the way the gods put him together, how they arranged each muscle and sinew, he could calculate whether he faced a real opponent. Movement provided additional clues: fluid or choppy, confident or hesitant, graceful or awkward or anything between. But this man or woman was too far away to assess and had not yet made a significant motion. Perhaps it's a soldier come to train, a warrior who fancies himself competent.
Treysind finished the thought unconsciously. "Maybe he's knowin' where this school's at."
Calistin did not reply but strode toward the stranger, muttering to Treysind. "Now remember.You are not to interfere in any battle."
"But, Hero, I's gotta protec'-"
"You don't, and you know it. You played stupid for a long time, but you're not at all. You know I fight better without you, and you're…" Calistin did not have the time or energy to attempt diplomacy, "… worse than useless at it. So stay out of my way, even if I get attacked by an entire army."
"No," Treysind said petulantly, trotting at his side. "I ain't lettin' no ones kill m'hero."
"The only way someone's going to kill me is if you trip me up." Calistin did not wish to return to that stale argument. Once he had talked Treysind into letting him handle the brawlies alone, he had expected the boy to realize that the Renshai worked best without him, at least when it came to battle.
As they drew nearer, Calistin got a better look at the stranger. He sat on the tangle of branches formed by two leaning trees, a lean, grizzled man of average size and spectacular age. His hair remained full, but it had turned a pure, snowy white. His skin seemed pallid, papery, and showing every vein. Wrinkles shrouded blue-gray eyes that had probably once been steely. Nevertheless, he carried two swords, one at each hip, and their split-leather grips looked as well-worn as their owner. He glanced up quizzically as they approached but did not move from his natural seat.
Calistin stopped in front of the stranger and studied him.Treysind pulled up beside the Renshai. The stranger regarded them back but also said nothing.
At length, Treysind broke the silence, speaking the words Calistin should have said as soon as he approached. "Good day, sir."
The man leaped from his seat, more gracefully than Calistin thought possible for his age, and bowed to Treysind. "Good day, young man. I'm pleased one of you knows some manners."
Calistin scowled at the insult, though deserved. He saw no reason to waste time with amenities, especially now that the other two had handled them. "Can you point us to the warrior's school, old man?"
"That depends."
Calistin narrowed his eyes, taking a dislike to the elderly man who stood in the way of his goal. "You either know where it is, or you don't. On what can that depend?"
The stranger did not seem the least put out by Calistin's demeanor, which did not yet rise to the level of threat. "On who you are and what your purpose is there."
Calistin considered refusing to answer, but it seemed pointless. He had nothing to hide, and the old man would not guide them on their way if he refused. "I'm Calistin, and I plan to challenge their best fighters."
"Do you?" The elderly stranger walked a slow circle around Calistin, as if examining livestock for sale. "That seems a waste, Calistin. Why would you wish to humiliate yourself like that?"
"Humiliate?" It took Calistin a moment to realize what the stranger meant. "Old man, I don't intend to lose."
"No one ever does." He made a clicking noise with his tongue, as if finding something wanting in Calistin's appearance. "And yet, no matter how competent the man, there is always someone better: faster, stronger, more clever."
Calistin screwed up his features into the meanest look he could muster. "Look, old man. I don't need a lecture. I just need directions."
"No, no." The stranger continued to circle Calistin. "You don't need to challenge the school. Why, you couldn't even best an old man."
Calistin gritted his teeth. It was getting progressively harder to hold his temper. "You mean… you?"
"I suppose, for example."
Calistin laughed. When neither of the others joined him, Calistin only laughed harder. "Are you challenging me?"
The old man shrugged, as if the Renshai had just invited him for a stroll. "Why not? Aren't you up for it?"
Calistin could scarcely believe what he had
heard. "But you're… you're an… old man."
"I'm an old warrior, Calistin. Surely, you realize only the best fighters live long enough to become old."
"Well I…" Calistin had never considered it. The Renshai dove into battle with such gusto, they rarely got old. At the first hint of frailty, most attacked a better warrior, usually himself, as a form of suicide. "… I imagine it's either competence… or cowardice."
The stranger's hand twitched but did not reach for a sword. "Every man who dared call me coward has gone to his grave learning otherwise."
Calistin shook back his hair and limbered his arms. A grin snaked across his lips. A battle was a battle, even against an addled old coot. "So the end point is death, then?"
"Death?"The old man spoke with an odd tone that expressed neither surprise nor concern. "Death seems a waste. Either the school loses a teacher, or an arrogant student of the sword dies way too young." He gave the matter further consideration, scratching at the white stubble on his chin. "Perhaps we can end it when one of our butts touches the ground? The one with the muddy rump loses."
It seemed like a weird and humiliating choice, but Calistin appreciated a challenge. "All… right."
"We can always fight to the death later, if you're still insistent."
Calistin frowned. Though the stranger had said nothing obviously offensive, he could not help feeling patronized. He did his best talking with his sword, however, so he gave no reply. Instead, he stepped out onto the road and gestured for the old man to make the first move.
The stranger obliged with a lightning swiftness that took even Calistin's breath away. He drew, but not fast enough, forced to dodge the first blow and barely parrying the second. He took the third stroke on his blade, only then realizing that the stranger fought with both weapons, one in each hand. He scarcely managed to draw his own second sword in time to weave a web of defense that kept the other man half an instant at bay.
The stranger stepped back. "Had enough?"
"I'm not on my ass yet!" Calistin bore in with the frenzy he usually reserved for Renshai. A lunge and a sweep met air, then a third strike became a parry as he found himself on the defensive again. He riposted with a wicked Renshai maneuver intended to carve muscle from his opponent's leg. Instead, he found his own knee hooked out from under him. He spun for balance and dropped to a crouch, saving his backside and his dignity, then launched himself at the old man again.
The assault became a whirlwind of deadly motion and fury. Swords danced, men leaped, dodged, spun. Silver glimmers flashed through the forest. Then, abruptly and without understanding exactly how, Calistin found himself on the ground, the tip of the old man's blade at his throat. Stunned silent, he froze, glancing up the line of steel to an expert, aging hand, then along the arm to an unsmiling face.
Looking as dazed as if he had taken several blows to the head, Treysind huddled behind a tree. If he had interfered with the combat in any way, Calistin had not noticed him.
The sword withdrew, replaced by a proffered hand.
Ignoring it, Calistin bounded to his feet. "Again," he growled.
The old man complied. Like quicksilver, he threaded around and through Calistin's attacks, toying with his defenses. For several moments, they waged a battle that seemed perfect and endless before Calistin found himself, once more, on the ground. He scuttled up instantly, but the damage was done. He had lost.
Without a word, the old man sheathed his swords and returned to his seat on the intertwined tree limbs.
Calistin also put his swords away, and brushed leaf mold off his posterior. He could not help staring. "Who are you?"
"I told you," the stranger seemed no more winded than Calistin. "I'm a teacher at the school."
"But you must have a name; it should be known far and wide."
The stranger shrugged. "I'm simply called Teacher or Amazir, swordmaster, because the blade is my weapon of choice. You may call me what you wish, Calistin, though I prefer you drop the address you've used so far."
Calistin had to think back to remember. "Old man." A grin stretched his lips.
"Not that it's false. It's just that, when you get to be my age, you don't need the constant reminders."
Calistin shook his head and studied the stranger again, but nothing stood out as extraordinary. His build seemed average in most ways, though Calistin could make out the well-apportioned, if not particularly large, sinews. He had keen eyes for one so old; the steeli ness had returned. Yet nothing else about him could explain his exquisite mastery of the sword.
"Why are you staring at me?"
Calistin ceased his inspection, blushing that it had become so obvious. "It's just that… well… no one's ever bested me before. Not since I've become a man."
"As I said, no matter how competent you are, there is always someone better."
"Really."The old man had no way to know that Calistin had battled every Renshai, had fought in the Pirate Wars, and had even faced a Valkyrie. He could not fully comprehend his latest victories; but Calistin did and had to ask, "Have you met anyone who can defeat you?"
The man sometimes called Amazir smiled. "Not yet. But the day I do, I'll either go to my pyre happily or find my sword instructor, depending on how I handle the situation."
Calistin was not stupid. He believed he knew exactly what this man meant. "Are you offering to teach me?" He had long outstripped his many torke and had spent the last several years creating new maneuvers to keep him improving and occupied. The idea of learning new techniques from the old warrior left him desperate with yearning. Worried he might lose the opportunity, that the old man might think he meant the question sarcastically, he added quickly, "Because I'd like that. I'd really like that. More than anything else in the world, truly."
"Well." Amazir seemed unsurprised by Calistin's enthusiasm. "I'll have to ask your current teacher if there's room in the group for me as well."
"My current…" Calistin watched in surprise as Amazir turned to address Treysind, who had stepped out from the trees once the battles ended. "But he's not…" Assuming the old man meant to humor the boy, Calistin went silent and watched their exchange.
The old man made a serious bow. "Would you allow me to assist you in training this talented, but brash and unsophisticated, young man?"
Treysind pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Ain't tha school gonna miss ya?"
Amazir shrugged. "They have other instructors." He jerked a thumb toward Calistin. "And it appears this young Renshai needs me more."
Calistin began to wonder if he would ever fully reunite his top and bottom lips. Every word this aged warrior spoke took him completely off his guard. "How… how did you know I'm…?"
Amazir laughed. "First, you have a classic Northern appearance, but you're in the Westlands."
That did not impress Calistin. Currently, it seemed, many Northmen had come this far south; and Westerners, themselves, were the most diverse people in the world.
"Second," Amazir continued, "your accent is Western, not Northern."
"I can do Northern," Calistin explained. "When I'm speaking Northern."
"Third," Amazir continued undaunted, "you're overconfident, aggressively impetuous, and socially irritating."
Treysind piped in. "Them's jus' his good traits, sir."
Calistin focused his glare on the boy.
"And fourth, you look about the same age as this fellow…" He indicated Treysind with a tip of his head, "… but you're more like his father."
"Hey!" Calistin could not let that one go. "I'm eighteen; he's like about ten."
"I's eleven," Treysind said.
Calistin threw up his hands, his point made. "So I'd have had to have had him when I was seven." Realizing he had left open a teasing point, he amended. "My wife would have to have had him when I was seven." That also needed fixing, "If I had a wife, which I don't." Even as the comment emerged, Calistin realized that put him into a potentially worse situation. "Not that I don't plan to have one eventuall
y. I mean, I do love Treysind, but not like a lover or anything. I'm not a pervert. I love him like a…" Now, Calistin stopped completely. No matter what he said, it seemed to make perfectly innocent things sound ever more sleazy.
"… son?" Amazir inserted.
Calistin groaned. "Let's just say a brother."
Treysind wriggled like a happy puppy. "Ya loves me like… like fam'ly? Ya rilly does?" He clenched his hands and trembled, as if forcing himself not to dance with glee.
Calistin could only stare. "Well, of course. Why else would I let you travel with me? Haven't you noticed that the only people who annoy me as much as you do, and live, are my stupid, irritating brothers? If I didn't think of you as one of them, I'd have killed you a long time ago."
Treysind let out a muffled squeal of excitement.
Calistin looked at Amazir for guidance. "How could he not know that?"
"Apparently," the old man replied softly, "this is the first time you ever told him."
Though he had taken the tirade with a grain of salt, Calistin could not forget that the old man had referred to him as "socially irritating." "You mean I have to tell him?"
Amazir laughed. "Well, if you're otherwise relying on signs like 'you didn't kill him yet,' then yes. You definitely have to tell him things like that. In fact, you could start just saying a few positive things in general to him."
Treysind looked at Calistin expectantly.
Placed on the spot, Calistin flushed. He did not know what to say, and nothing upset a Renshai more than an utter disarming. "I do say positive things to him," he mumbled.
Treysind's brows slid upward.
"You do?" said Amazir.
"Sure, I… I thank him when he brings food."
"He do do that," Treysind defended.
Amazir snorted. "Nothing any man with a hint of manners wouldn't say to a total stranger who brought him an ale in some tavern."
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