“There was only one possible outcome!” he snarled at Doran. “You set me up.”
“I like seeing duels,” Doran corrected. “I’m sorry if you didn’t enjoy that.”
“Of course I didn’t fucking enjoy it!” Tanis replied, aware that he was making a spectacle of himself in front of the younger children.
“I’m sorry, Tanis,” Greta said gently from behind. “Maybe you weren’t quite ready -”
“I was ready,” Tanis said harshly. “I was ready.”
An awkward silence settled over the yard. Not even the little ones dared make a noise. Tanis felt stupid and petty all of a sudden, which made him resent his siblings even more. Why did he participate in these pointless games? Did anyone seriously think the la Berne estate was in any way defendable?
“I’ll be inside,” was all he could say as he dusted himself off and headed to the house.
Vesna found him storing the fish in the cool room adjoining the larder.
“If it were anyone else, I’d accuse them of light fingers,” she said. “Seeing it’s you, I know my larder is fuller than it was.”
Tanis could only muster a weak smile. His mother was practical enough to accept his resourcefulness for what it was. If Devon knew about his clandestine business deals he’d receive a stern lecture about ‘integrity’ and ‘pride’.
“Bested in the yard?” she asked. “I could hear the shouting. I think the whole district did.”
There was no judgment in her tone, but not much sympathy either. Vesna steadfastly refused to molly-coddle her children, knowing more than a little about the world that awaited them.
“You can be sure of one thing, mama,” he murmured. “I won’t be forging my way with a blade in hand.”
Vesna grinned. “Something tells me you won’t need to. Now get out of my kitchen.”
The discordant sound of melee training stung a little as Tanis descended the rough stone stairs to the cellar. It was a world he rejected, sure, but he was realistic enough to know it had probably rejected him first. He simply wasn’t blessed with the ability to maintain poise and composure in the heat of battle. No amount of sweaty training and reinforcement would alter that incorruptible fact. Just like some people could run fast, or wolf-whistle, the fierce appetite for battle was a gift, bestowed on a select few at birth. Thankfully, Tanis’s sense of self-worth had never been battered as much as his body in the training yard. He was smart enough to know that this cruel world could be manipulated with the mind as much as the mace. The day he realized his thin, slight frame was never going to support heavy armor was a liberating one.
The musty cellar beckoned. Devon had a vague notion that Tanis had taken on the unenviable task of cleaning out the cluttered space. Only Vesna was aware of the boy’s true motive - the conversion of old trinkets into gold crowns. Ever pragmatic, the family matriarch knew that Devon’s pension wasn’t enough to run Tavalen. The release of various obscurities Devon had collected over the decades was not only a viable source of income, it was the perfect, low-risk introduction to the business world.
The cellar was a long, rectangular space nestled between the four bluestone pillars that held Tavalen together. Though it was damp in winter and intolerably warm over the summer months, it was a much-needed sanctuary for the people-shy Tanis. Here, among a lifetime of rusting antiques of varying quality, he could plot his glorious rise to the Ardennia’s wealthy elite. Even after two years of painstaking identification, sorting, appraisal and sorting, he’d barely dipped his toe in this ancient quagmire. Devon la Berne had no right to call himself a collector of distinction, but he was certainly a collector. The fact he hadn’t pursued his hobby for several years just made it easier for Tanis to make sense of it all.
Kneeling on a blanket so his knees wouldn’t get soiled, the boy lit an oil lamp and began sifting through untidy piles of bric-a-brac. Documents from Devon’s professional life took the majority of his time. Everything from marriage certificates to property disputes were archived in this dank chamber. Every now and again Tanis was able to sell a document to an interested party. It was amazing how addicted some folks were to the private lives of others. Tanis was somewhat bemused by the concept but more than happy to siphon a tidy extraction fee.
It was late afternoon by the time he reached the bottom of a stack of crusty parchment. Three or four solid leads, nothing more. A welcome shaft of wan sunlight slanted through the ice-glass window near the ceiling. The clank of metal from the yard had mercifully receded. Tanis turned his attention to the crate the documents had been sitting on. He was pleasantly surprised to find nine bottles of wine. Probably vinegar, but certainly worth showing a collector in Andra. Dragging the crate closer revealed a sword against the wall. Irredeemably rusted. Tanis had seen enough old weapons by now to know what was salvageable. Pity, too, because that handle showed lovely, intricate silver-work.
Another sheaf of yellowed documents beckoned. Tanis sighed - that lot would take hours. Delaying the tedious task, he retrieved a plain wooden box from the refuse pile. It was surprisingly heavy and the treated oak had been corroded. It was locked. A cross-shaped keyhole had been cut into a small silver plate. Curious, Tanis dropped to his belly and shimmied his way through a forest of table legs. He was spluttering from the collected dust in no time at all. Devon wasn’t the most organized or meticulous man that ever lived, but surely the key to that box was nearby? Tanis crawled further into the musty space, doing his best to stifle the urge to sneeze. He rolled on his back for a different perspective. All he could see was the fine grain of the table’s underside. The wood was marked with the same corrosion streaks as the box.
On closer inspection, a section of twine hung from the table rim. A small metallic object was wrapped at the base of the loop. Tanis’s hopes rose as he teased it free. A cross-shaped key! Beaming, he crawled awkwardly back to the box. It was so heavy he had to rest it on his lap. The key slotted in beautifully and the lid lifted without a noise. The first thing Tanis noticed was the lead lining. Based on his limited knowledge, smallish boxes with that kind of insulation were rare. He’d heard of royal sappers using lead-lined crates for explosives and such, but this was something else entirely. Or was it? There was only one object inside - a peach-sized sphere couched in velvet. So dark it seemed to consume the cellar’s meager light. Tanis felt an indescribable plume of dread as he lifted it. Perfectly smooth. Impossibly heavy.
“Repellent, ain’t it?”
Tanis jerked his head up, pulse hammering in the back of his throat. It was Adner, Devon’s footman. The old fool liked to patrol the estate at this time of day. Before he had his first drink of the night. Tanis returned the sphere and snapped the box shut.
“Amazing what a man collects over a lifetime,” Adner continued, his rheumy eyes glistening with mischief. “And what do you plan to do with that, master?”
Everyone was ‘master’ to Adner, probably because he couldn’t remember the children’s names. They were vermin to him, a vexing burden he was forced to bear. His passion for kestrels confined him to the crude aviary next to his hut most of the time. They were beautiful birds - svelte and lethal. They even caught his dinner most nights. Tanis wasn’t above paying Adner for the odd brace of conies.
“Where did father get this?” Tanis asked. It was a long shot, but the footman had been around forever. His eyes became shrewd.
“That box been ‘ere as long as he has,” he said. “God only knows how a man so light came by something so heavy.”
Tanis didn’t like the man’s tone or his none-too-subtle dig at Devon.
“It stays here,” he said in what he hoped was a authoritative tone. “I’d be grateful if we left it at that.”
Tanis gathered his documents and pushed past the footman.
“Often times a man can’t change what he sets in motion,” Adner called out from behind him. “I’m not surprised one o’ you kids were drawn to that thing.”
Tanis made no reply, annoyed at t
he man’s intrusion. At least he had a few business leads to investigate on the morrow. He was glad to see the reflected glow of the oil lamp flicker and die. Adner had extinguished the flame and was following him up the stairs. Tanis kept climbing to the second floor, where he stowed the old parchment under his bed.
Most of the family was playing haddle at the far end of the rose garden. A challenging array of steel hoops had been set from the look of it. Devon was shaping to smack his flan through the uppermost ring. Tanis tried to mask his footfall as his father lined up the shot. The flan struck the upper rim but made it through. A strike. The onlookers under the oak tree clapped in appreciation. All siblings were present, but Vesna was probably preparing dinner. As usual, Tanis was coerced into joining a team. An intense bidding war erupted for his services. Unlike his ill-fated duel earlier that day, he found himself having fun.
His family could be trying at times, but these moments were reasonable compensation. The events of the day had been forgotten; everyone had already moved on. At the completion of the set, Tanis was mauled by the younger boys. Screeching with wild joy, Hettie launched herself across his back. He rolled with her across the turf, tickling at every opportunity. She laughed so hard she wet herself. Cybil kindly volunteered to take her inside for a change of clothes. Devon disappeared to the patio for a smoke and Vesna arrived with a tray of fresh fruit. Tanis popped a cherry in his mouth and lay on his back. Scarlet blossoms bobbed and swayed against a backdrop of bruised clouds. Despite the unfortunate loss of comrade Hettie, Billy and Ril snuggled up to their elder brother. Tanis shut his eyes and simply enjoyed the boys’ unguarded remarks on anything and everything.
Most days ended like this. Maybe, just maybe, Tanis wasn’t as hard-hearted as he liked to think. And yet such moments were almost always accompanied by a queer sense of dread - he loved his family, but he also feared for them. Lying alongside the little ones reminded Tanis that they were worth sweating for. Fighting for. He would kill for his family if need be. If only they did more to look after themselves. He could hear Devon’s soft laughter from the patio. If leadership wasn’t forthcoming from that direction, it would need to come from him.
The boys became ragged and tired as the afternoon faded. Tanis and Catelyn chased them inside for dinner. Vesna had prepared an enormous mutton pie and an aged cheddar wheel flecked with pepper and truffle oil. Just when Tanis thought he would burst, his mother insisted he remain for a generous vanilla cupcake. Conversation was even frothier then usual, but with a full belly and a difficult day’s work behind him, Tanis let it all wash over him.
The evening saw the older children reclining before the fire in the ground floor drawing room. Doran’s head was buried in The Hand that Wields the Blade by Alec Mastard. Catelyn was helping Hadley with last-minute dress alterations. The girls’ growing excitement was palpable. As for Tanis, he wished he had access to some form of arcane magic that allowed him to leapfrog the following day. He attended to the list of tasks he was compiling - everything he did now would be in preparation for his move to Andra. It was just a matter of picking the right moment to request Devon’s blessing. Right now the old man was reading contentedly by the glowing embers, but instinct told Tanis to wait until the Feast was behind them.
Vesna had just seen Hettie, Billy and Ril upstairs to bed when there was a commotion by the side door. Tanis rose to investigate. Adner was speaking harshly with a boy in his early teens. Tanis recognized him - Julien Szorka from a vegetable farm to the south. He was wide-eyed with alarm.
“My brother,” he panted. “Fell off the weir, hurt his leg bad.”
“Doran,” Tanis called, immediately aware he hadn’t called for his father. Doran came quickly and the pair followed Julien out into the cold night air and onto the uneven southern field. Tanis almost tripped over the trellis works Devon had recently purchased. Cursing, he wondered how long they’d be lying uselessly in the dirt.
Julien and Doran vaulted gracefully over the lower fence. Tanis tackled it more methodically, but was able to catch up. Their movements were heightened by the night and the cold embrace of the Old Wood. Conscious of unseen brambles and trip hazards, Tanis followed his brother’s path exactly. A dark splodge in the murk resolved itself into a boy lying at the base of the stone weir. Daniel Szorka. Tanis knew it was bad when Doran let out a gasp. The injured boy wore a tortured expression. His hands were clasped around his knee, where a bloody splinter of bone protruded. Having never seen such a wound, Tanis almost gagged at the sight.
“Lift him,” Doran ordered.
Numb, Tanis supported the boy’s left shoulder and began carting him through the trees. The boy screamed with every lurch, which made it hard work. Tanis couldn’t banish the mental image of exposed bone. His siblings liked to accuse him of being squeamish and they were probably right.
It seemed to take forever to reach Tavalen’s southern fence line. By the time Devon’s silhouette loomed over the pickets, the child seemed on the verge of fainting.
“Hand him over,” their father ordered. He hoisted the stricken boy across his back and marched back toward the house.
Devon installed the injured child in one of the guest rooms. Tanis was drawn to the horrible scene even as his senses warned him away. His father called for Adner, who shambled in stinking like booze. Unbelievably, the old man set about stabilizing the boy’s leg and fashioned a workable splint from one of Devon’s walking canes. He even poured a nip of his own smoky brandy down the patient’s throat, which seemed to temper his groans. Wrapped in a woolen dressing gown, Vesna arrived to clean the wound and administer salve.
“Someone needs to fetch Anthea,” she said.
Tanis frowned. Seeking trade, he’d visited the herbalist’s cottage several days ago.
“She’s in the Mittels,” he said.
“That’s why I came to you,” Julien confirmed.
“Bring me the kit,” Vesna demanded.
Catelyn raced off down the hall. The ‘kit’ had achieved legendary status in the La Berne household for its unfailing ability to heal bruises, cuts, rashes and headaches. Vesna applied a clear dressing that would, she said, help bind the skin and ease the pain. Beyond that, all they could do was make the boy as comfortable as possible. By this stage Hadley, Cybil and Greta had also risen from their beds.
“The kids are crying,” Greta reported, visibly flinching when she saw the blood on the crisp sheets.
“Devon, fetch Hilda Szorka please,” Vesna said.
Devon took Julien with him. Hadley gripped Tanis by the elbow.
“Daniel won’t be sleeping tonight,” she said. “Go get your mandolin.”
Tanis winced. He liked to play occasionally, but only for himself. His siblings were forever pleading with him to perform for them, but he equated the instrument to an unfortunate vice, something to be hidden from others.
“I can’t,” Tanis stammered. “It doesn’t feel right.”
Hadley’s green eyes flashed - when she asked for something, it was a good idea to make it happen. No one in Guill had a sharper or more damaging tongue.
“So much for making poor Daniel feel at home,” she said regretfully.
Lanced by his sister’s savage gaze, all Tanis could do was make himself as inconspicuous as possible. Over the course of his life he’d turned that particular skill into an art-form, but right now an awkward chill settled over the room. Daniel Szorka still winced and groaned at the slightest movement, his small frame quivering with pain. His hair was plastered to his forehead and his face had lost all color.
At length Greta took her leave with a quiet flourish. Tanis also took the opportunity to escape the claustrophobic little room, muttering something about his muddy boots. It occurred to him that Julien Szorka had not come to Tavalen just for medical treatment and a warm bed. He’d come because that’s what folks did in these parts. Tavalen represented better things. It was a place where everyday answers couldn’t be found. This is what troubled Tanis as he strip
ped away his clothes and pulled a clean night-shirt over his head. The people of Guill always defined themselves by their relative position to his family. What would happen if Daniel Szorka died in this room? Or lost his leg?
The la Bernes had become symbols more than anything else. As the history of the Old World had shown, it was frighteningly easy to dehumanize a symbol. And when that happened, it was only a matter of time before it was destroyed by the winds of change.
3 - Hadley
Woken by the rooster’s call, Hadley wrapped herself in a fine gossamer gown and padded down the hallway to the far end of the house. The injured boy had finally found sleep but his breathing was shallow. Hilda Szorka had arrived at around two in the morning and was asleep next her to son. Her husband Paul and their elder son were nowhere to be seen. Hadley suspected they’d ridden to Duskovy Castle in the hope of rousing the battle surgeon. Gavar Innis was a taciturn character but could occasionally be drawn away for village calls. If young Daniel’s leg didn’t receive proper treatment soon he might succumb to fever.
Hadley shoved the thought from her mind - it was something that couldn’t possibly happen on her watch. She tidied the room and ventured downstairs to prepare some light refreshment. By the time she returned, Hilda had stirred and gratefully accepted a steaming mug of cinnamon tea.
“Thank you,” she said. “You la Bernes are amazing.”
Hadley forced out a smile.
“I’ve no doubt you would do the same for one of us.”
Hilda nodded, but seemed puzzled by Hadley’s response. The la Bernes were clearly not the Szorkas and never would be.
“What matters is that Daniel makes a full recovery and is bouncing around the Old Wood in no time,” Hadley said. “Looks like you’ll miss the Festival though.”
Knight and Champion Page 5