A Cast of Stones

by Patrick W. Carr

  A woman’s voice answered. Errol had started to ride away when she appeared. He reined Midnight back to a stop. Her simple clothes and the smudges of dirt on her face belied the rich green of her eyes. A lock of sun-gold hair had worked its way free of her head covering. She pressed the bag into Dane’s hands with a quick embrace and a smile that made the old man’s eyes twinkle.

  “There ye go, Dane,” she said with a laugh. “Ye’ll need to stop chasin’ the lasses if ye want that knee to heal.” Her laughter brought a blush to the old man’s cheeks.

  “Yer too good, Dorrie. Thank ’ee.” He turned to the healer. “Thank ’ee Healer Norv.”

  Dane hobbled away, and the healer and his assistant escorted the next patient into the shop. Encouraged by the sign of kindness and generosity amidst the bleakness, Errol twitched the reins and continued on.

  An hour later, at a shouted command from the front, the caravan turned aside. Errol watched them go, and then he approached the city wall from a low rise. Gates wide enough to accommodate twenty men abreast pierced the ancient gray stone every few hundred paces. Spires far higher than the one surmounting the cathedral at Windridge thrust skyward. People of unimaginable variety milled, bustled, ran, and did a hundred other things all at once in the streets. Each face he examined held some unique trait that Errol didn’t share.

  Errol gripped Midnight’s reins as he passed through the imposing gate, until the ache in his fingers reminded him to relax. A forced grin met his request for directions to the watch’s barracks and he resolved to avoid conversation if possible.

  So slowly he wasn’t certain when it started, the crowds of people began to thin and the sound of Midnight’s hooves came to him more often. When he came to another wall—not as high as, but thicker than, the first—only soldiers and churchmen could be seen. He rode up to a smaller, guarded entrance.

  A pair of bored-looking guards in red uniforms stood at attention with pikes crossed. “State your business,” the left one said. His eyes never flickered.

  Errol looked beyond the gate. Manicured grass stretched for a hundred spans before a monolithic building rose like a bulwark from the earth. To the right he saw what he guessed to be the king’s palace, its towers soaring to stand watch over the city and the empire.

  “I, uh, I’m here to see a friend. He’s in the watch.”

  The guard, with the reddish hair and lilting speech of so many in Erinon, lifted an eyebrow. “No one’s permitted entrance to the grounds without a pass.”

  Errol slumped a fraction in his saddle. “How do I get a pass?”

  “The captain of the guard has to sign one for you.”

  That didn’t sound so hard. “Where can I find the captain of the guard?”

  The man beckoned Errol to the side, to a door that led into a guardroom where a dozen other guards lounged and threw dice. A man with two silver bars on his chest occupied a smaller room that lay beyond the first.

  The guard opened the door and motioned Errol inside.

  “State your name and business,” the captain said without looking up from a stack of papers.

  He cleared his throat. “Errol Stone. I’m here to see a friend who’s in the watch.”

  The man at the desk lowered the quill and sat up in his chair with a smile. “Boy, the men in the watch don’t have friends.”

  Errol shrugged. As far as descriptions of Cruk went, that was fairly accurate. “His name is Cruk.”

  The man nodded. “Aye, one of the captains. But how do you know him?”

  “He lived in my village for the past five years.”

  “So you say.” The captain nodded. “Can you describe him?”

  Errol spread his hands. “He’s about this wide, and a bit taller than me. He calls me boy all the time, and when I get too close to Cilla or do things he doesn’t like, he throws me places.”

  A grin appeared in the captain’s freckled face. “And this man is your friend?”

  Errol shrugged. “He tried to teach me how to use a sword, but I wasn’t very good at it. Cruk said the only thing I could do well was drink.” Errol gripped his staff.

  The captain’s interest faded. “Be that as it may, I can’t let you in unless it’s official business.”

  Errol bit his lip in frustration. “Can you send someone to get him?”

  A widening of the captain’s eyes told Errol he’d just proposed something unthinkable. “Boy, unless you’re the king, you do not summon one of the watch. They answer to him alone. You tell an interesting tale, but the only way you’re going through that gate to the barracks is if you intend to challenge for a spot on the watch.” He gave a contemptuous glance at Errol’s staff. “Which, obviously, you’re not about to do.”

  “All right, then. I hereby challenge for a position in the watch.”

  The captain shook his head in disbelief. “Are you that eager for a beating, or are you just ignorant?” He sighed. “Well, you’re about to learn how the watch discourages people from wasting their time. Padrig,” he yelled through the doorway, “conduct Errol Stone to the barracks of the watch and present him to the officer on duty.” The captain shook his head again. “Good luck, boy, but I doubt if there’s enough luck in the kingdom to keep you from the lesson you’re about to get.”

  Errol shrugged. He’d been beaten before. If gaining access to Cruk, Martin, and Luis cost him a few bruises, then he’d just have to pay the price.

  A large rectangular building housed the members of the watch. Five stories high and two hundred paces long, the building was constructed of the same gray stone he’d seen throughout the city, and it dwarfed every building he’d seen on his journey to Erinon. Yet it looked almost small compared to the king’s palace.

  “In here,” Padrig said. He guided him through an archway that proved to be a tunnel leading to an immense courtyard. The reason for the immensity of the barracks became clear. The open area enclosed by the mammoth structure held the training ground for the members of the watch.

  Stacks of weapons in racks lined the outer edges, and here and there, small knots of men trained. At the far end men practiced archery, some on horseback, some on foot. In the middle, men fought and wrestled without the benefit of weapons, their chests and backs gleaming with sweat. Closest to him, several men in black sparred well-dressed nobility, halting from moment to moment to give some word of instruction or to correct an error in stance or posture.

  The men in black, men of the watch, didn’t give their instruction in half measures. Mistakes apparently meant swift correction. Blood appeared commonplace. Errol watched an unconscious man being removed from the sparring area. He gripped his staff and held it close, as though the wood could give him some protection or comfort.

  A man with a single red sword emblazoned on an armband noticed them and glided across the ground to them. “Another one, eh?” the watchman asked.

  Padrig rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders.

  “He’s the third one this week.” He turned to Errol. “I’m Lieutenant Garrigus.” Deep brown eyes looked him over. “Hmmm. A staff man. We haven’t had one of those in a while. Not a bad weapon, the staff, when it’s properly used. Unfortunately, most men think it’s a glorified club.” He shook his head. “You won’t be allowed to use the knobblocks. Take them off.”

  Errol slid his hands along the wood, twisted each weight loose, and stashed them in his cloak.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Errol Stone.”

  The lieutenant nodded. “An orphan. Well, we’ve more than a couple of those in the watch. Why are you here, Errol Stone?”

  He looked over at Padrig. “I have a friend here in the watch. This man’s captain wouldn’t send for him, told me the only way I might get to see him was to challenge. So I did.”

  Even before he’d finished, the lieutenant was shaking his head. “So you don’t want to join the watch.”

  “No, not really.”

  The lieutenant’s face darkened. “Soldier
, escort this boy firmly out of the barracks.”

  Errol broke Padrig’s grip and stepped away. “I came here to see my friend.”

  “I don’t care why you’re here,” the lieutenant said. “I don’t have time to spend on some peasant boy who wants to gad about the imperial grounds.” He turned, pointing. “You see these men? They’ve taken the black as a pledge to give their lives to protect the king.”

  “I know the story of the watch,” Errol said, “but I need to see my friend.”

  The lieutenant’s eyes narrowed. “You want to see him? All you have to do is follow through on your challenge. You’ll face five men of the watch. To join our ranks, you have to defeat three of them. If you manage to beat even one of them, boy, I’ll go fetch your friend myself.”

  Errol’s heart skipped a pair of beats. The best swordsmen in the kingdom came to the watch. How good were they, really? He took a deep breath. “All right, I challenge for the watch.”

  With a snort, the lieutenant led Errol over to an empty area of the courtyard and left him to loosen up with some of the simpler forms. Errol let his breath flow smoothly, calmed his mind, and thought of Rale, Jhade, and everything he’d been taught.

  Minutes later the lieutenant stood before him, five men with practice swords behind him. He stepped aside to show a squat man ten years older than Errol, a silver sword on his breast. “Errol Stone, this is Sergeant Olwen. He’ll be administering your first beating. The four men with him are members of his squad.” He turned, facing the sergeant. “This boy wants to see his friend. He seems to think members of the watch run messages. I would appreciate it if you could disabuse him of that notion, Sergeant.”

  The sergeant glowered. “Aye, Lieutenant. It’d be my pleasure.”

  The lieutenant smiled without humor at Errol. “Prepare yourself, boy.”

  As Errol removed his cloak, fire pumped through his veins. How would the sergeant compare to Skorik?

  “Begin!” the lieutenant’s voice cracked.

  The sergeant charged, but Errol’s staff, light and familiar after months of work with the heavier knobblocks, disappeared leaving only a high-pitched buzzing behind. He flowed and moved with the sergeant’s charge. Almost before it began, the fight ended. The sergeant lay facedown on the ground, unconscious.

  The men of the squad took a collective step back, and Errol heard a set of mutterings. “Never saw him move . . . nobody handles a staff that way . . . can’t be a peasant boy . . . what’s the lieutenant up to . . . better check the sergeant.”

  Errol grounded his staff and leaned on it. “I’ve had my fill of fighting, Lieutenant, and I really need to see my friend. I believe you said that if I beat even one of the five you’d get him yourself. How good is your word?”

  Dark eyes flashed at him. “My word is good. But I also said you’d face five men of the watch, and five men you’ll face.” He turned to the man who’d been last in line. “Brascus, you can go. I’ll be taking your spot.”

  His order drew looks from the squad, but no one spoke. Errol sighed and resigned himself to another four bouts.

  Ten minutes later, angry but untouched, he faced the lieutenant. Three more men had been helped away, and it was likely that at least one of them had a broken ankle. Radere’s words echoed in his mind. “Deas’s hand is on you, boy.” Is that how he was able to do this?

  Errol met his last opponent’s gaze. “Do we have to do this?”

  The lieutenant licked bloodless lips and nodded. A crowd of watchmen had gathered, their stares intent, and mutters floated to Errol from the circle of men. Not all of them were unfriendly.

  A new voice, crackling with authority, called the start in a clear tenor.

  The lieutenant didn’t charge but circled instead.

  It wouldn’t make any difference if Errol lost. He’d won the first bout and the lieutenant was honor-bound to follow through on his promise, but he wouldn’t mind making the man pay for his name calling.

  With his staff spinning, Errol flowed into an attack. The lieutenant tried to parry, but the blows came too quickly. His sword turned aside the first three strikes, but the fourth found his ankle, and the fifth found his ribs. The lieutenant doubled over.

  Errol grounded the staff where the lieutenant could see it. “I could knock you out right now, Lieutenant, but I need you to go get my friend.”

  A man stepped from the crowd with two red swords stitched onto his armband. “If you wanted him to deliver your message, you shouldn’t have hit him on the ankle. I’m Captain Reynald.” He smiled. “Welcome to the watch.”

  “I’m not joining.”

  The smile faded. “Nonsense, lad. Do you know what you’re turning down?”

  Errol shook his head. “No, but it doesn’t matter. I can’t join.” He turned back to the lieutenant, who’d managed to right himself. “Tell Cruk that Errol is here to see him.”

  The lieutenant left, limping, but he appeared to be trying not to.

  Reynald approached him. “Captain Cruk is your friend, eh? Well, perhaps the lieutenant should have had the good sense to inquire before dismissing you, but Cruk doesn’t use the staff.”

  Errol didn’t feel like talking. “No, he does not.”

  The captain was undeterred. “Where did you learn it? I’ve seen more than a few staff wielders in my time. Your style is unique.”

  “Here and there.” He pointed to a nearby bench. “May I sit?”

  “Of course.”

  To his dismay the captain followed him to the bench, but no further efforts at conversation were made.

  After ten minutes, the lieutenant returned with Cruk stomping at his side.

  24

  FAMILIAR FACES

  I SEE YOU MADE IT ALIVE, BOY.” Cruk growled at him, and then looked in disgust at the lieutenant. “This worthless excuse for an officer tells me you beat him in a challenge to get your message to me. I remember telling you before that a sense of humor wasn’t allowed in the watch. Now, it seems they let any sort of jester in. Where’d you get that staff ?”

  Errol shrugged. “From a farmer near Windridge.”

  Captain Reynald stood. “Captain Cruk, Errol Stone has qualified to join the watch.”

  “Nonsense,” Cruk said. “The only thing the boy does well is drink. He’ll be the first to admit it.”

  Errol remembered a time when he would have either agreed with Cruk or hung his head in shame. Now the accusation might as well have been directed at someone else for all the impact it had. He met the captain’s eyes, refused to look away. “Things change.”

  Cruk stilled, seemed to take notice of him for the first time. His eyes widened a fraction, and he turned toward his fellow officer. “Captain Reynald, Errol Stone is unable to join the watch. He has a prior commitment to the church that must be honored.”

  The captain refused to be put off. He gestured in Errol’s direction. “Captain Cruk, this man issued a challenge and won. Not just a majority, Captain. All five bouts! And he beat a sergeant and a lieutenant in doing so.” His voice had risen. With a glance to each side he stepped forward and spoke in lower tones. “You know we need men. Two thirds of the watch is gone, stripped from the king and assigned to the church of all things.”

  Errol had the impression that Reynald outranked Cruk in some fashion. But Cruk stood his ground, refused to be moved despite Reynald’s argument.

  “Captain, the boy’s . . . Errol Stone’s commitment is of the highest order. More than that I cannot say, but even if he defeated all ten captains of the watch, he still would not be allowed to join.”

  The sound of Reynald grinding his teeth sounded in the small space that separated the three men. “Don’t you understand? He just might be able to do it. Even if he won’t join, there are things we need to know. Where did he learn to fight like that? Who trained him? By the three, man, can you envision what a few squads of men with halberds could do on the field if they could fight like that?”

  Errol felt a surge in his
chest at Reynald’s words, and he caressed the polished ash wood Rale had given him. The idea of losing himself on the stretch of green in the courtyard surrounding him held a certain appeal. Were readers allowed to train in arms? Luis had never said one way or the other.

  He stepped in front of Cruk to address Reynald himself. “If my obligation allows it, Captain, I would be happy to visit the barracks and teach what I know.” He grimaced. “I’ve never taught anybody before. I may not be very good at it.”

  Some of the tension eased in Reynald’s forehead. “Don’t worry about that. The officers can watch you and teach it to the men. We just need to see you fight.”

  Errol grinned. He knew what he wanted. Once released from the compulsion, he wouldn’t be staying long in Erinon—but having the chance to best Cruk would make a delay worth it. “Would I get to fight the captains?”

  Reynald nodded.

  Errol turned his smile on Cruk. “All of them?”

  Another nod. Reynald gave a crooked smile. “For someone who doesn’t want to join the watch, you’re as ambitious as a noble’s whelp. I see Cruk is known to you.” He spread his hands. “Unfortunately, some of the captains are no longer assigned to the palace watch. They’ve been assigned to the benefices, and their whereabouts are unknown.”

  Cruk grunted over Errol’s shoulder. “Is he that good?”

  Reynald nodded. “Merodach should be able to beat him, perhaps Indurain. My sense is that the rest of us are too old.”

  Cruk’s manner grew formal. “Captain Reynald.” He bowed his departure. “Let’s go, Errol. There are people that need to talk to you.”

  “What about my horse?” Errol said. “I left him at the gate.”

  “I’ll send someone to take care of him,” Reynald said.

  Cruk didn’t speak again until they’d passed out of earshot of the rest of the watch. “I suppose you’ll want to stop for a drink on the way?”

  He shook his head. “No, not unless it’s water.”

  “How long have you been out of the barrel?” Surprise tinged the captain’s voice.