Master of the Cauldron

by David Drake

  "All right!" Orly blazed. He tried to meet her eyes but blushed and ducked away again. "Have you been into the shrine yourself, then?"

  "Would you believe me if I told you I had?" Mab said. "Well?"

  Orly didn't speak. Herron said, "Mistress, we're sorry if we offended you. But this isn't why you wanted us here, is it?"

  "Of course," agreed Mab mildly. "Let's draw a curtain over it, shall we?"

  She slashed her right hand through the air, her fingernails trailing a cloud of sapphire glitter that drifted toward the ground and vanished. The Sons gaped at her. She smiled.

  "A trick," she said. "A trivial illusion. Now, Master Herron—I wanted Cashel to watch you at your practice. That's what you'd usually be doing at this hour of the afternoon, wouldn't you?"

  Several of the Sons looked at one another. They were Cashel's age or maybe a little older, but they all seemed boys. Herron not as much as the others, but....

  Cashel had seen Garric at age sixteen quiet a pair of drunk bodyguards in the tap room during the Sheep Fair. He hadn't hit them nor called for help, though he'd have had help if he'd needed it; he'd just grabbed both men by the shoulder and shouted for them to belt up as he hustled them to the door.

  None of the Sons had Garric's presence. All of them together couldn't have done what Garric had that night.

  "Well, yeah," Herron said. "When the sun's hot, there's not so many people here to, you know, watch us."

  He looked over his shoulder. Given the size of the field, it wasn't anything like crowded by the number of people present. A double handful were kicking balls against a wall in some kind of competition, and maybe twice that many were running around the track. There was only a scatter of people swinging on the bars, throwing weights, or jumping for distance.

  "Does it bother you to be laughed at?" Mab said. She wasn't asking from curiosity: she was really prodding the youth, though in a teaching way instead of just trying to hurt him."You think you're right, don't you?"

  "Mistress," said Orly fiercely, "we know the King is threatening Ronn again. At night the Made Men are all around us on the plain, and the lower levels keep getting darker. I've gone far enough down to see that. Somebody has to be ready to defend the city!"

  "Yes," said Mab. "I quite agree. Now, why don't you show Cashel your exercises."

  The words were a question but the tone was an order. The Sons looked at each other again. "All right," said Herron. "Usual opponents. Let's go."

  The Sons spread out into three pairs. Cashel backed away but Mab tugged him farther yet, till they were standing with their backs against the parapet. "Be ready to move toward the corner," she murmured.

  Cashel thought she was worrying too much. He'd given the nearest pair, Herron and Stasslin, as much space as he'd have done for a quarterstaff bout. The Sons' sword-shaped clubs weren't but a third the length of his staff. Mab was a woman, so she probably didn't understand how these things were done.

  Some of the people who'd been exercising drifted closer, while others stopped what they were doing and turned to watch. A man—he was with one of the few women, which probably had something to do with him showing off—called, "Hey, boys! You're a hundred years late for that stuff, you know?"

  "Just ignore them," Herron growled. "Get set."

  The Sons hunched over and faced each other. About a double-pace separated each pair. "Now!" Herron said.

  Cashel expected the Sons to start by taking each other's measure, though maybe since it seemed they did the same thing each day they wouldn't need to do that. In a group this big there'd always be one who rushed straight in, trying to overwhelm his opponent with a sleet of blows. Because they'd trained themselves, maybe they'd all do that—

  Except they didn't. Each pair circled widdershins around its center without getting closer. They were too far back to hit. They were barely close enough that the tips of the wooden swords could touch each other if they both waggled them toward the other at the same time. Every once in a while a Son stamped his foot and leaned forward like he was about to lunge, but it was always a feint.

  "Are you impressed, Cashel?" Mab asked in a tone of amusement. She spoke in a normal voice, one that the Sons could maybe hear over their own hoarse panting.

  "No ma'am," Cashel admitted. "Not, you know, in a good way."

  Herron must've heard the exchange, because he jumped toward Stasslin with a wild, overhead swing like he was splitting a log with an axe. Stasslin threw his shield and sword both up above his head. Herron's sword banged hard on the buckler—it was a powerful blow, no mistake—but then instead of kicking Stasslin in the crotch he backpedaled wildly.

  Cashel saw why Mab had moved them so far away. Instead of jumping clear as Herron rushed backwards toward them, he raised his staff crossways in both hands to cover him and the woman both. In the event, Herron stopped just before he ran into the thick hickory instead of just after he did.

  "I believe that's enough of a demonstration," Mab called in a clear voice. "Come back over here, if you will."

  The Sons lowered their arms and walked to where Mab and Cashel stood. They were red-faced and panting: what they'd been doing was certainly exercise. It just wasn't fighting.

  The wooden swords didn't have sheaths. Herron laid his on the ground and set his buckler on top of it, then lifted off his helmet. Sweat plastered his hair to his scalp, turning it two shades darker. He looked at Mab and then looked away in embarrassment.

  "This is the army which plans to defend Ronn, Master Cashel," Mab said. "What do you think of it?"

  "Ma'am, I'm not a soldier," Cashel said. That was true, but it wasn't the real truth. He went on, speaking directly to Herron instead of talking about him as if he wasn't there, "You fellows aren't soldiers either. You're...."

  He didn't know how to put it. He frowned and lifted his hand toward the mass of the city rising to the side. "Ronn's a wonderful place, I can see that," he said. "It's like Mab told me, a palace with everybody living like kings. You're not used to getting hurt—and that's good, I'm not saying it shouldn't be that way for everybody. But back where I come from, people are used to getting hurt, and we're used to fighting. And when you fight, you're likely going to get hurt some even if you win."

  "Look, we don't want to hurt our own friends," Orly said hotly. "It'd be different if we were fighting the Made Men with real swords. It'll be different when we do that, because surely the King'll attack some day soon. And the others will follow us when they see the danger's real."

  "Cashel, do you agree?" Mab asked. "About it being different when they fight the Made Men?"

  Cashel grimaced. She knew the answer, of course. "No, ma'am," he said, then meeting the eyes of the youths again. "Except then you'll be killed. I'm sorry, but you will."

  He thought for a moment. The spectators had gone back to their own business now that the Sons weren't giving their dancing exhibition any more. These fellows, these boys, knew there was a danger, they just didn't have anybody to teach them. And the rest of Ronn's citizens didn't even think there was danger.

  "Look," Cashel said. "Herron—or Mab? Can you maybe hire soldiers? Enough to lead you, anyway? I mean, maybe the people here would follow if they had real soldiers to lead. But you need somebody to, well, get the rest of you started."

  "We'll lead them!" Orly insisted. "When it's not our friends, we'll fight and the other citizens will follow us!"

  "Cashel's not your friend," Mab said. Cashel figured she was putting the sneer into her voice just to goad the others. It sure would've got his back up if it'd been directed at him. "Will you fight him?"

  "He's bigger than any of us," said Enfero doubtfully. He was a lanky fellow, taller than Herron but not nearly as heavy. "He's a lot bigger."

  "He's not bigger than all six of you together," said Mab. "Is that all right with you, Cashel?"

  "Sure," he said, keeping his voice calm. He held his staff upright on his right side; now he tipped the lower end behind him so the upper ferrul
e was just about the height of his eyebrows.

  Back in the borough offering to take on six fellows with clubs would be asking for broken bones; but not here. Mab was teaching them what they needed to know before they got into a real fight with these Made Men. If they weren't willing to hear the words, then pounding the truth into them with a quarterstaff would do the job.

  Stasslin cut at Cashel's head without warning. Cashel'd figured he might pull that. He shifted his right arm just a little so that the whistling wooden sword smacked into the end of the quarterstaff.

  The sword flew off in the air while Stasslin yelped and grabbed his tingling swordhand with the other. He'd at least been trying, so Cashel hadn't let him smash his hand itself into the iron buttcap and break all his fingers. Still, Cashel wasn't feeling so kindly to a fellow who'd tried to sucker punch him that he didn't kick Stasslin just below the edge of his breastplate.

  Cashel was barefoot, but he was generally barefoot so his soles were tough as ox hide. Stasslin flew backward, hit the ground, and spewed up more breakfast than you ought to eat before you start a workout.

  Cashel backed away. "Mab, you stay clear!" he said, but she was just a shimmer of light robes. All Cashel was really seeing right now were the five Sons still standing. "You, Herron! Get your gear on now while I give you the chance!"

  Herron made as if to kneel, but that was a feint too, just like all the foot-stamping when the Sons "fought" each other. Well, you shouldn't trust the guy who's planning to whale the daylights out of you, but Cashel was finding all this pussyfooting around troublesome. If Herron didn't—

  Herron knelt for real this time and slapped the helmet over his head so quick that he canted the nose-guard over the corner of his left eye. He seized the double handgrip of his buckler and scrabbled for the wooden sword, grabbing it first by the wrong end.

  Cashel shifted his quarterstaff crosswise before him, gripping it with his hands just more than shoulder's width out on the shaft. He hadn't had time to limber up properly, but he contented himself with a few twists and flexes instead of giving his staff the series of spins that he'd have liked to. He had too many opponents and they were too close for that to be safe.

  While Herron was getting himself back together, the other four Sons still upright stood with their swords and shields lifted but not doing anything. That was pretty much what Cashel'd figured would happen, though he'd been ready if they'd managed to show some spirit.

  He didn't worry about Stasslin except for remembering where he was just as same as he'd need to for a section of tree trunk. After a kick in the belly like he'd taken, Stasslin wouldn't be leaving the field without a buddy to help him.

  Herron got his sword right end to, then jumped back to put himself at the end of the tight line his friends had formed. Cashel stepped forward, shifting his grip again. He slammed his staff's left ferrule low into Herron's lower chest. The boy managed to get his shield in the way, but Cashel's straight thrust banged it out of the way without slowing.

  Herron went over backwards, throwing his sword and buckler out to opposite sides. There was a fist-sized dent in his breastplate, right over the pit of his stomach.

  Enfero and Manza rushed Cashel together. They weren't coordinated enough to have planned it, but it was a good tactic anyhow. Because his left ferrule was leading, Cashel backpedaled and brought his right arm around widdershins, catching Manza on the left hip and flinging him into Enfero.

  The two of them went down with a crash of metal. The sound seemed to have triggered Athan to leap forward. The gods only knew what the fellow planned to do, but he managed to get his feet tangled with Manza's legs and tripped. That was better luck than he'd otherwise have had, because Cashel rapped him behind the ear with the shaft of the quarterstaff instead of catching him with the iron-shot tip.

  Enfero raised his head. Cashel clipped him a good one, sending his dented helmet flying. Manza was clutching his left hip with both hands and moaning. Cashel hoped he hadn't broken the bone, but he didn't pull his blows in a fight.

  Orly was the only one left. He'd raised his sword overhead like a torch to light his surroundings. He had a fixed look of horror on his face.

  "I guess you can put that down, buddy," Cashel said, his voice a low growl. "I guess you can see it's all over."

  "Kill the monsters!" Orly screamed and charged straight forward. That was the first surprise Cashel'd had in the whole fight, but brought his staff around low and swept the boy's legs out from under him, dropping him as neatly as a scythe does oats. Orly hit on his belly hard enough to knock the breath out of him. The sword flew out of his hand and clacked into the parapet. He tried to get up but the best he could do was paw the ground while weeping with frustration.

  "Hey, way to go, soldier boys!" shouted the man who'd made the earlier gibe. He began to clap.

  Cashel strode toward him. "You want a chance?" he said in a savage voice nothing like the way he normally sounded. "They at least were willing to try. You want to show your girl what you're made of? Because just say the word and I will show her!"

  The man backed away in terror. He stumbled and almost fell.

  "Boo!" shouted Cashel, waggling his quarterstaff overhead. The man gave a strangled cry and staggered off. The woman with him glanced over her shoulder to watch him go, then turned to stare at Cashel.

  Cashel sank to one knee and butted the staff into the ground for an additional support. He'd been moving his considerable weight very fast, and he needed more air now than his lungs could take in even through his open mouth.

  Mab walked over to Cashel and put a supportive hand on his shoulder. To the sprawled Sons she said, "You've learned the reality of what you claim you're willing to do. Go to your homes, now, when you're able to. The Councillors will be calling an emergency assembly before the week's out, unless I'm badly mistaken. If you're really willing to be the heroes you claim you are, come to that assembly. Ronn will need you."

  The Sons didn't say anything, though Herron's lips moved as though he would've spoken if he could've drawn in a breath.

  Mab nodded in approval. "Come, Cashel," she said. "You'll be ready for a meal, I suspect."

  * * *

  Sharina stood with Tenoctris in the small box projecting from the starboard prow of the Star of Valles, looking ahead as the ship rocked through slow swells on oars alone. The box—the ear timber—kept the outrigger from being smashed when the trireme rammed another ship.

  The space was tight for even two slim women, but everything aboard a trireme was tight. Here they weren't in the way of the crew and didn't risk being trampled by the soldiers who, less used to crowding than oarsmen, had left their benches and squeezed together on the decks where at least they could stretch their legs.

  Tenoctris held a small codex and was trying to read it in the fading light. Sharina had found that the ship's rise and fall seemed less uncomfortable if she looked at the horizon instead of down into a page on her lap.

  The old wizard sighed and closed her book. "What do you know about the People, Sharina?" she asked. "The ones who invaded Ornifal. It's—"

  She smiled.

  "—after my time, you see."

  "I'm sorry, Tenoctris," Sharina said. "I know as little about Ornifal's history a generation ago as I do what was happening on the far side of the Moon. I don't think Lord Waldron is much of a student of foreign cultures—"

  This was her turn to smile.

  "—but some of the other officers may know something about the background to the invasion."

  She looked forward again and pursed her lips. A few stars shone on the eastern horizon. There were two lookouts in the prow of the Star of Valles, clinging to the jib boom, but even so it'd soon be too dark to see shoals a safe distance ahead. Both Waldron and Bedrin were aboard the Star of Valles. The other five ships of the squadron followed in line, so that if the leader ran aground they'd at least be able to take the crew and passengers off.

  It was still a dangerous proceeding,
and Sharina knew that the way she'd forced Lord Bedrin to put out later than he'd wanted to was part of the reason. In war, in life, you had to make the best decisions you could even when none of the choices were good ones.

  Something gleamed in the sea just ahead of the trireme's foaming bow wave. Sharina touched the older woman's hand. "Tenoctris?" she said. "Do you see—just ahead of us there?"

  The shimmer broached and rode the trireme's bow wave for a moment, looking back over its shoulder. Looking back over her shoulder, for the figure was as distinctly female as she was human—save for the webs between her toes and fingers and the yellow-green sheen of her hair.

  "She sees us!" the swimming figure called in delight, and she dived back into the sea.

  "Tenoctris!" Sharina said. "She's a nymph! I saw a nymph swimming with us!"

  The two sailors on lookout were muttering to one another, glancing sidelong at Sharina in the boxing just below them, but Tenoctris wore an expression of careful reserve. "Didn't you see her, Tenoctris?" Sharina said.

  The nymph and two others curved up from the depths. As they swam, easily matching the speed of the laboring trireme, they chattered, "She sees us/Do you see us, missy?/Oh look at her hair/at her hair/at her golden hair!" Their words were as clear as the piercing notes of the timekeeper's flute in the stern, but Sharina realized she wasn't hearing them with her ears.

  "I see something, dear," Tenoctris said. She bent forward; Sharina put a hand on her shoulder just in case the older woman managed to overbalance as she tried to glimpse what Sharina had said was there. "I see power, a great deal of power. Concentrated, flowing out of the depths and proceeding with us; but I don't see nymphs as nymphs, I'm afraid."

  "But you're a wizard!" Sharina said desperately. She needed to have her vision affirmed—not because Tenoctris doubted her, but because she doubted herself. "I'm just a person!"

  The nymphs curled beneath the surface again. This time Sharina followed their track into the depths, through water which was suddenly as clear as the air on a bright day. They rolled over and came up again, trailing bubbles and joined by three more of their kind. "... so lovely/so lovely/so lovely!" they caroled.