Sarai glanced to her mother and then up at Bannor. She put a hand on his arm. “Were you expecting this?”
“Uhhh, no.” This was so strange, but it did at least make sense. Dulcere and Corim wanted his help for their investigation. However, as long as the needs of the royal wedding and his lack of training absorbed his time he would be of little help.
“Before we agree to this, what proof—”
Kalindinai waved her off. “To demonstrate their ability to teach Bannor, Dulcere has promised that if we give her Bannor tomorrow morning. He will play the pipes ceremony to our satisfaction tomorrow night.”
“Learn the whole ceremony—in a single morning?” Sarai scoffed.
“Really?” he brightened. He hated practicing those silly pipes, but if he could get all the pain over with in a morning… That didn’t sound bad. Maybe Dulcere did have a magical teaching pill!
Ryelle held up her hands, “What have we got to lose?”
Sarai stared down the table at Dulcere. “Is this some kind of magic that might hurt, Bannor?”
The Kriar shook her head.
“Yesss,” Sarai drew the word out with a momentary glare at him.
He flinched.
“All right, say we’re satisfied tomorrow. What kind of help are you expecting from Bannor? That situation with those Baronians was extremely dangerous…”
“Arminwen, we want Bannor for his investigative capacity,” Corim put in. “Not his fighting. We have warriors to do that task. We need unique insights like those he provided. We can’t promise it will be totally without risk, but the rest of our inquiries will be accompanied by some formidable agents—in some cases with the Eternals themselves.”
Sarai looked at him. “I already know you like this idea.”
He nodded.
She frowned. “If he doesn’t do the pipes tomorrow perfectly—no deal.” She poked him in the shoulder, and fixed a hard violet stare on him. “Perfectly.”
Perfect pipe playing in a day.
Tomorrow promised to be interesting. Too bad the specter of the Baronians and Genemar overshadowed it all. What about Kell and Daena’s transformation, did that tie in somehow? Then the shape-changing assassin—something told him they were all related in some bizarre fashion. He’d never figure it out unless he was freed up from all those classes, and that’s the opportunity Dulcere and Corim were offering. He might as well run with it and hoped it worked out. Like Ryelle said, what did he have to lose?
He kissed Sarai on the cheek. “For you, Darling, perfectly.”
* * *
Chapter Seventeen
Unlikely Teachers
« ^ »
Because of my size and build, when people first meet me they assume I am a half-wit, the rest figure me for an ale-guzzling warrior with a thirst for blood, women, and spirits (not necessarily in that order). I did, or do, fight for a living—for no other reason than I had a talent for it. However, academics, exploration, and teaching are my true passions. Being a skilled warrior helps more in those endeavors than one would imagine…
—Corim Eric Vale,
Honorary Beta Class Protectorate Enforcer
Shortly after the Queen’s determination to let Dulcere and Corim teach him, King Jhaan T’Evagduran made his appearance. The high lord looked tired, his broad shoulders rounded down, his normally fluid steps slow and heavy. He dismissed his retinue of guards with a swing of his arm, slid the mantle of state off his burly shoulders and folded it in single motion and handed it to a waiting steward. Striding to the head of the table, he made down gestures when everyone stood to honor his entrance. Unclasping his long steel-colored hair, he tossed it back and thumped down in the chair next to his wife Kalindinai. The Queen rubbed his back with an empathetic expression.
The King made no mention of the events which had lead up to their gathering. He blessed the meal, greeting old friends and welcoming new allies and friends. He requested informal introductions and made light pleasant conversation, obviously more interested in relaxing and spending time with his wife and children than pursuing any agendas.
It was a side of King T’Evagduran that Bannor rarely saw, but he welcomed the sight. It gave him hope that he could somehow fit in with this house of royal elves. After a number of trials, he had won the support of the Queen, and while she was often stern with him it was always tempered with a shred of affection. The King was a different matter. As warriors, they had faced death together, and shared a mutual respect as soldiers—that helped, but did not define their relationship. Sarai was his youngest daughter, and Bannor a low-born human. The matter was further confused by Sarai’s pregnancy. The T’Evagdurans badly wanted an heir. It was the source that soured their rejoicing.
All during the early dinner, and into the evening Bannor’s mind was awash with recent events and pondering their meanings. The Baronians and the mysterious Genemar, he had a chilling sense of impending doom that he just couldn’t shake. Voldrax—the Baronian officer—their paths would cross again, and it would be anything but pleasant. Dealing with that army made the fight with Odin’s jury seem tiny in comparison. They had captured two of his warriors, but Bannor suspected that the captives would provide little real intelligence. Were the strange visions he’d been having and those powerful words somehow related to this weapon the Genemar? To further confuse matters, Kell’s attack on Daena… what had that been about? The incredibly powerful entity had unlocked all of the young savant’s abilities as a first one, saying that it was necessary—because she had failed. To do what? Closer to home, there was the shape changing assassin, Janai and Daena’s machinations in Coormeer, and the strange business with Sarai’s uncle. Right at his heart was the upcoming wedding and his growing concern for their unborn daughter. Still many tendays from being born and the baby possessed more magic than many adult mages Bannor had met. What challenges awaited them raising such a child?
All the nagging questions and almost no answers made him want to curl up in a corner and hide from the world. That wasn’t an option though, too many people, especially Sarai, were counting on him. It seemed a miracle that he’d come this far, but the universe kept throwing bigger and bigger obstacles in his path. How much blood would this next mountain get out of him before he finished scaling it?
Sarai shaking his shoulder startled him alert. “…Bannor?”
Drawing a breath, he rubbing his tired eyes, he looked up at her. “Yes?” Sarai was dressed in her purple bed-silks, hair let down and most of the skin powders cleaned from her face. He blinked and looked around their quarters. He didn’t even remember coming in here. Things were really getting to him.
She leaned down and put her arms around his neck. “Have you heard a word I said?”
He shook his head. He rubbed her sleek creamy-smooth arm. One thing about the pregnancy it certainly agreed with Sarai. She was tired at times, but in between she was glowing and strong. Early on when they were in Gladshiem, being with child had made her weak to the point of fainting. That was how they discovered her conception. Now, if anything, she drew strength from her condition. Her occasional moodiness and infrequent bouts of unsettled stomach were normal, or so the Queen had informed him.
Sarai rubbed his cheek. “I guess I can understand you being tired and preoccupied. Quite a strange day.” She rubbed his shoulder. “Why don’t you get ready for bed?”
He responded with a weary nod and began stripping out of his clothes. Sarai went to her dressing table and settled in to clean her face and brush her hair out before sleeping.
“My One.”
“Mmmm?”
“What did that Dulcere woman tell mother about you?”
With his shirt half way up and shrouding his h
ead, the best he could muster was, “Huh?”
“Mother said that Lady Dulcere had brought some troubling things to her attention,” Sarai repeated. “What did she mean?”
Shirt still in his hands he peered at Sarai’s face reflected in the mirror, her brow was furrowed. Obviously she was concerned it was something serious. He folded the shirt and put it aside. He would have thought Kalindinai would have told Sarai, or that Ryelle or Janai would have let it slip. That surprised him. They respected his feelings more than he thought.
“It’s nothing serious to worry about,” he offered, rubbing his chest. The scar from Odin’s spear still hurt and the flesh often itched when exposed to the air.
“So, what is it? What do they know that I don’t?”
He sighed. He went to the bed, sat down and worked at the leather straps on his breeches. “You really want to know?”
She glanced over her shoulder at him, a flash of glowing violet eyes. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”
He finished pulling off his breeches, folded them and placed them with his shirt on the dressing bench. He rubbed at the back of his neck. “They’re just flabbergasted that I don’t know how to read.”
Sarai turned on the hassock and stared at him. “What?”
“I never learned to read,” he repeated.
“How is that possible? I’ve seen you read.”
“Well, I know a few words, just not very many.”
“That doesn’t make sense. You told me what certain documents were about.”
“Yes.” He shook his head. “I thought my savant power was just something that happened after Blackwater, but I think I’ve had it since I was Daena’s age. I just didn’t realize I was doing it. I was always good at puzzling things out, seeing patterns—writing is a pattern. I could get the gist of things. When I was a ranger, I got good at getting other people to read things for me without letting on I didn’t know how…” He let out a breath. “It makes me feel stupid is what it does. It just reminds me…”
Sarai rose, came over, sat in his lap and put her arms around him. “Bannor,” she said, glowing eyes meeting his. “You are not stupid. You were smart enough that I didn’t catch on—my One, no wonder this ceremony and some of your duties have been so hard. I’ve been having scribes translate the elvish into common only to find out now—it wasn’t helping.” She sighed. “Of all the things not to tell me.” She rolled her eyes. “I’d be more upset except there have been a lot more pressing things in our lives—slavers, demons, goddesses, trials… babies.” She put her head on his shoulder. “Compared to everything else we’ve overcome this will be easy.”
He put his arms around her and pulled tight, fitting the warmth of her body to his. “I’ll try not to disappoint you.”
“Just hush and hold me,” she told him.
So he did.
Bannor had an uneventful night’s sleep waking early as he usually did. Rolling out of bed, he stood in the dim room and stared down at the still body of his wife-to-be tangled up in the bed sheets, silvery hair spilling across the pillows, chest slowly rising and falling with the breath of deep repose. Damn, she was beautiful. After everything they had been through, it still made a hitch in his chest to see her.
Dressed in his togs, hair still slicked back from washing his face, he stepped out onto the balcony and looked out into the still shadowy landscape. The barest thread of light was shading the colors on the horizon.
He wondered if Wren would be training like yesterday. Perhaps, the others were right. He needed to start taking learning more seriously—even learning to fight. He had learned a lot over the tendays since the incident at Blackwater, but it was the desperation of necessity, it was get smart or die. His savant talent had made up for his lack of discipline. Even to the point that trained warriors like Wren and Corim marveled at his skill. Even powerful Senalloy had been impressed. It never felt like he was doing anything special. Of course, that seemed always the trick. His Nola could operate in such subtle ways that he wasn’t even aware of it.
He continued to think about it as he slipped on his boots in the entry. He started to go out the door and glanced back to the rack where the belt for his axes hung. He frowned. A feeling of disquiet sent a shiver through his bones. He did a slow turn and looked into the darkened conference area and the giant banquette chamber beyond. Everything was in deep shadow except for the flickering of a few candles left to assist navigation in the quarters at night. He let his vision slip down into his thread senses.
Nothing.
He was getting jumpy. Bannor pulled the belt off the rack and cinched it around his waist. He turned to the cabinet and pulled out his mithril-headed warden’s axes and slipped them into the holsters. Jumpy or not, it made him feel more secure. He stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind him. He nodded to the night guards who stood sentry in the hall. Eyes glowing in the gloom, the two tall Elves dressed in burnished mail nodded back.
It didn’t take long to get to the courtyard where Wren had been training the day previous. After yesterday’s events, he wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t come back. Still, he was curious to see if she did.
He paused at the yard gate, noticing that torches were burning and had been for some time. Wren was indeed there, but she was not alone. Burly Corim Vale was there as well. The thick bodied man spoke in quiet voice, calling cadence as he stepped through weapon techniques, swinging his sword through sinuous motions and maneuvered in time. Wren’s movements mirrored Corim’s, duplicating each move a moment after it had been demonstrated. The blonde savant obviously had a great deal of practice in such training because she picked up the nuances so quickly.
Corim stopped. At his nod, Wren put aside her weapon and took an open-handed stance. The burly man put aside his weapon and mirrored her. Wren then executed a showy flourish of hands that finished with her fists knuckle-to-knuckle over her sternum and a deep bow. A salute.
The swordsman did the same gestures somewhat more slowly, finishing as she did. Wren then lunged into a shadow fight, hands and feet thrashing invisible opponents as she literally seemed to dance through the air. Bannor had only seen the blonde woman fight at full strength one time in the battle against Odin’s Bloodguard and it had been an impressive sight.
As complex as her techniques were, Corim stayed with her, struggling only where he didn’t have the flexibility so obviously a part of Wren’s extensive training. Wren slid to a stop, repeating the salute.
“A powerful and stylish art,” Corim remarked with a nod, wiping a few beads of sweat from his brow. “It is superior to Beia’s bare-knuckle arena training…” He paused, seeming to sense they were being observed and turned to peer into the shadows beyond the gate. “Friend Bannor, have you come to be a student as well?”
He opened the gate and stepped in. Wren watched him with hands on hips. “He was probably just planning on hiding and watching me.”
Bannor felt his face warm because in-part it was true.
Corim grinned. “It appears you’ve been found out. I admit Lady Wren is a marvel to behold.”
“Stop it,” Wren said, face coloring somewhat.
Bannor turned his head. Wren, blushing? He’d never seen that before. So, she admired Corim. He guessed the warrior must be an attractive man. The fellow seemed to have all manner of admirers. Lucky sod. Ten years of being a border warden, he never had a woman give him two glances. Then he met Sarai.
Still feeling a little chagrin, Bannor met Wren’s eyes, then swung his attention to Corim. “You know, it’s been pure luck and natural—” He choked on the word. “Talent. That’s kept me alive this long. I was thinking this morning—I—I need to learn… something.”
Wren raised an eyebrow and instead of her usual witty remark she simply smiled at him.
“Friend Bannor, don’t be afraid to acknowledge what you have as talent. You have, most enviously, a great deal of natural ability. All people come to a point where their natural skills mus
t be supplemented by discipline and knowledge.” He nodded to Wren. “No doubt Lady Wren came upon this truth early in her life. For myself, my talents have always been rather meager, the only way for me to be competitive with people such as yourself was discipline and study.”
Bannor shuffled. Extremely uncomfortable with those two staring at him. He didn’t really know what to say. He had always done his best to escape book learning and any kind of formal schooling. What little education he had was scratched in the dirt at his father’s feet—an education that stopped barely a season into his teens.
“What’s biting you, Bannor?” Wren asked, leaning her head to one side.
“I don’t know,” he answered. “I just feel stupid is all.” He drew a breath. He frowned. “You know, Corim, that thing about the pipes caught me by surprise. You and Dulcere didn’t ask me.”
Corim folded his arms. “You could have objected.”
Bannor rolled his eyes. “That would have been pretty stupid, don’t you think?”
The burly warrior smiled and shrugged. “We had a common interest and goal. It was a logical means to that end.”
He frowned. “And you can really do it?”
“Do what?”
“Teach me to play those dumb pipes!”
Corim grinned. “Perfectly, I believe was your wife-to-be’s stipulation.” He rubbed his chest and glanced at Wren. “I must say, Bannor, you are blessed to have the love of such an exquisite lady—both fiery and intelligent.”
He forestalled the other man with a hand. “You can really do that?”
“I fail to understand why you think it would be such a reach,” Corim responded with a perplexed expression. “Was it my imagination or did I not see you, with the assistance of Lady Wren and your two acquaintances annihilate that Baronian coven? The same coven that no-doubt extinguished the lives of some twenty Kriar warriors whose knowledge and skills you and I can barely even begin to appreciate, much less understand.”
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