Chapter 22
Eleanor had spent weeks arriving early at the practice hall before every projectiles class, hoping to engineer another chance to talk to Ivan, but it had proved harder than she'd expected. Though he was usually in the hall some time before the bell rang to mark the start of the lesson, several of the other students had also fallen into a pattern of going down to practise in their lunchbreaks. As the seasons shifted it wasn't uncommon for the academy's entire student population to congregate in the hall each day; there was no privacy, and there were some subjects she just couldn't broach in front of the others, so she'd eventually given up any hope of talking to him beyond the light-hearted exchange of classroom banter.
Laban's words, though, gave her a fresh confidence. She'd watched Ivan constantly during their classes, wondering whether he was still testing her, but he'd never again set her such a tricky and unexpected challenge as he had that first day. But if he was telling other people she was doing well, maybe she'd passed his first test after all.
After the next projectiles lesson she decided to try a more direct approach, and cornered him as he was about to leave. "Ivan, can I ask you something?"
"Of course." He turned expectantly to face her. "What's troubling you?"
She'd rehearsed this conversation in her head more times than she could count, guessing at his responses, and she started with the most innocuous question – one to which she was fairly certain she already knew the answer.
"Were you at Venncastle?"
"Yes, that's right."
"With Raf."
He nodded, still no change in his expression. If he was surprised at this turn of questioning, so long a time after their first meeting, he did a good job of concealing it.
"Did you know him well?"
"Fairly well, yes." He watched her as she tried to compose her next question, waiting in silence for her to form the words.
What eventually came out of her mouth was a simple statement which summed up all of her confusion: "You look like him."
She stared him, wide eyes brimming with tears, silently pleading for him to answer the questions she couldn't quite bring herself to ask. Raf would have known, she told herself in the long silence that followed. Raf would've answered her without making her force out impossible words.
"Officially, we shared a school and that was all," he said at last. "But we weren't blind. You haven't missed the resemblance and neither did we – and of course there are plenty of people at Venncastle who share a father, you expect that."
"What? How can you know that?" She struggled to make any kind of sense out of his words. "Surely that's illegal. How can you have families within a school?"
"No families. I don't know who my parents are, any more than you do – but I know they were good enough, which narrows it down."
She stared at him blankly. "What?"
"Oh, I forget how new you are – of course you wouldn't understand. A quick history lesson, then, sit down or... would you like to talk over dinner?"
She glanced towards the dining hall, her heart suddenly racing at the idea of having to have the rest of this conversation in public.
"Is something wrong?" Ivan asked.
"I was just hoping to have some privacy," she said. "But we can talk some other time, if you're hungry."
"Oh, we don't have to eat with everyone else. Come on, we'll go via the kitchen and get something sent up to my rooms."
She followed him round to a door at the back of the kitchen, where he left her waiting in the corridor while he went to negotiate with the chef. She leant against the wall, hoping none of her fellow students would come past and ask what she was doing there; she didn't want to explain, but if she'd learnt one thing from their studies in interrogation it was that she was a terrible liar. She could pull off the big deceptions, slipping into another persona without too much trouble, but she had to make herself believe in it – anything less, and she was utterly transparent.
It was only a moment, though, before Ivan emerged again.
"All sorted," he said. "They're doing roast chicken, apparently, and I've asked them to send us some pudding as well."
He led her through the courtyard, round the back of the practice hall, and into a building she hadn't been to before. A couple of corridors and a flight of stairs later, they reached his quarters. The room they came into had a sizeable fireplace, soft chairs, and a small table; it was a smaller space than Laban's high-roofed hall but felt much more welcoming, more like a home than a functional space, though there were tools and small weapons cluttering every surface. Three other doors, closed, led off in different directions.
"Sit down," Ivan suggested, waving her towards a a chair near the fire. He went to put some fresh logs into the grate, and she sat and watched in silence as he stoked up the glowing embers until the fire was roaring.
"So what do you know about Venncastle?" he asked, taking the seat next to her.
"Almost nothing, except it was Raf's school," she said, wondering if she could trust him with the strange story of her visit to the castle. But it was probably safer to keep quiet and let him tell his history.
"Well, in the days before the Empire, Venncastle used to be a real castle," he began, a nostalgic lilt to his voice. "Home to the best army in all the known lands. Do you know how it came to be called Flying Rock Island?"
She shook her head.
"Catapults and trebuchets," he said. "A technology we worked out generations before anyone else in the archipelago, meaning hostile ships would never dare enter our waters for fear of the flying rocks. Backed up by our garrison of elite young men, who'd soon see off trouble if anyone did get too close."
"It must have been a quiet life, compared to everyone else," she said, thinking back to the stories of pirates and warring factions that she'd heard when learning about how terrible life had been before the Empire.
"Indeed. We had everything Charan wanted on his side when he was looking to found the Empire, but no reason to join him unless we got something in return. So the army at Flying Rock made a deal: we'd start a school in the old castle, but unlike other schools we'd be permitted to choose which boys to take in. That was the price of our support."
"Why?" Eleanor asked, trying and failing to think of any reason why a school would find it useful to choose between babies.
"We didn't want to lose our edge as the region's elite." Ivan leaned forward and prodded the fire as he spoke. "In the early days there was some doubt over whether the Empire would survive beyond Charan's death, but with the foundation of the school we could make sure we always had a loyal body of men, ready to re-form our own army if we ever needed it. And though that doesn't look likely, it's still a useful resource – Venncastle loyalty is famous across the Empire."
"But how can it help to choose the children? How can you make any judgements on babies, and who they're going to turn out to be?"
"Oh, we make decisions based on the parents. The school is very selective about acceptable fathers, not even all of our ex-students are approved, and then there's some consideration over who the mother is, though we often won't know as much about her. And it works – Venncastle's boys often come here, as you've seen, or they take top positions in the Imperial army, or stay at Flying Rock to train the next generation."
"You make it sound so simple – just like breeding horses."
He let out a brief, snorting laugh. "Sort of, except with horses you can control the pairings, whereas humans like to make their own choices – however badly they might choose. But I know what you mean. Anyway, some of the men bring more children than others, sometimes by more than one woman, so it's not that unusual for boys to share a father, though normally you wouldn't know it. I think it's rare, though, for two kids to look as alike as Raf and I did, even five years apart."
"So you think, you and Raf..." Still she couldn't quite say the words. The idea was simply too strange, and it still felt like treachery even to think about such things.
"I'm sorry – did you mind my asking?"
"No, I understand. You knew him, and then you met me – how could you not wonder? Especially in ignorance of how our school works. And..." He hesitated for a moment, studying her face. "Well, it's good you should learn these things. If you ever have a son, it's something you should consider."
"Me?"
"Absolutely." He rested his hand on her arm and looked straight into her eyes. "You could choose any of the Association's men, and coupled with your strengths, any boy from such valuable stock would be accepted without question. Venncastle would be the best place for him to grow up with suitable encouragement, with his natural talents nurtured – that way your son would have every possible chance of following in your footsteps."
"Oh." She hadn't really thought about when she'd get around to her child-bearing duty; she'd seen pregnant women and the idea of such drastic changes to her body terrified her. She didn't want to have her movements compromised like that, and she'd always vaguely hoped that following a military career would mean she didn't have to, when there were plenty of other women to do the baby-making.
"But of course you've plenty of other things on your mind at the moment. Just remember you have that option, when the time comes for you to provide children to the Empire."
"Um, thanks." She wasn't really sure what else to say, but it was starting to make sense that so many boys from Venncastle passed through the academy. It was a strange throwback to the way the world must've been before the Empire, when children were expected to follow their parents' careers. "So... you knew Raf better than I did," she said, trying to steer the conversation back to more familiar ground. "There's no chance he could've changed his mind, is there?"
Ivan shook his head. "This is all he's ever wanted to do. Some of the lads go through phases of rebellion – times when they think they'd rather aim for something different – but not Raf."
"That's what I thought." She swallowed, struggling to fight the tears. "That means he's dead, doesn't it? If there was any way he could've been here, he definitely would be."
Ivan drew a deep breath, eyes glistening in the firelight. "I've struggled to think of another explanation," he said. "Without success."
She stifled a sob, and sank forwards to rest her head on her knees as the tears flowed. But she allowed herself only a moment of grief before wiping her eyes and straightening up again; she'd have plenty of time to cry once she was alone. "Sorry."
"Don't be – I understand." Ivan passed her a handkerchief, and she dabbed her eyes some more. "I miss him too. Would it help you to talk about the time you spent with him? You can't have had much chance."
"I'm not sure I can." She bit her lip and closed her eyes, wishing the tears would stop welling up behind her eyelids. "I'm not sure I can talk about it yet."
"Well, that's okay too."
They fell into silence for a moment, watching as the flames licked around the new logs, which fizzed a little as dampness bubbled out of the wood. Ivan picked up a twig from the kindling pile and flicked it towards the fire.
"Can I get you anything to drink?" he asked as the stick blackened in the flames. "I've got some good wine."
"Oh, I'd be fine with just water, thank you."
He disappeared through the nearest door, and Eleanor took the opportunity to pick up a tiny blow-pipe from the table; she was examining it when Ivan came back, a few moments later, with a jug of cloudy liquid.
"Apple juice," he explained. "If you're sure you don't want any wine?"
"I've never really had wine," she said, suddenly feeling a little embarassed. "But apple juice would be lovely."
"Be careful with that," he said, pouring two glasses of juice. "It's loaded. Not with anything fatal, mind you, but probably strong enough that you'd miss dinner."
"Is this another of your specialities?" she asked, lifting the pipe to her lips but resisting the urge to blow.
"That's my favourite weapon," he said. "We'll get on to pipes in class in a few weeks, but you're welcome to have a go now. Just don't aim it at me."
She angled the pipe towards the log pile and expelled one sharp puff of air; the dart bounced off the wood and onto the hearth.
"Good shot."
She dropped to her knees and picked up the fallen dart, being careful not to prick her fingers with the poisoned tip, but the end was crumpled.
"You may as well put it in the fire; it won't fly straight again after that bounce," Ivan said, and passed her a pouch full of new darts. "Here, these ones aren't drugged. Try aiming at something softer, then you won't damage the tip, and if you can get it to stick you'll be able to see precisely how well you've done."
She pushed a new dart into the pipe, and this time she aimed at one of the spare chairs; the dart sank a small way into the corner of a cushion, where it quivered gently.
"I knew you'd be good with a pipe." Ivan reached across to retrieve the dart, and handed it back to her. "It's not hard, if you've a good eye, but you can sneak one of those into places where you'd struggle to carry a knife. Can you hit the seam?"
She wasn't confident in her accuracy, but at least the seam in question was a roughly vertical line, meaning she could concentrate on her horizontal aim. She was preparing to attempt it when a knock at the door disturbed them.
"Oh, that'll be dinner – you can play more later."
Ivan went to answer the knock and Eleanor, disappointed at the break in her concentration, lined up the pipe with the seam and blew. It was close, but she missed her target by a finger's width, and was a couple of inches above where she'd actually aimed.
The servant who came in was struggling under the weight of a very large tray, and Ivan quickly led him on through another door, calling for Eleanor to follow them. She picked up her half-finished apple juice, plucked the dart from the cushion and went through, finding herself in a compact dining room. The table could have comfortably seated eight, but didn't feel uncomfortably large with just the two of them; the cosy space made a nice change from the echoing academy hall. The servant offloaded a whole roast chicken and platters of carrots, potatoes, and cabbage, then a small pie for dessert, with a jug of sweet cream.
"We'll never get through all this," Eleanor said. "This could feed half the academy."
"Don't worry, they'll think of something to make with the leftovers." He carved almost half of the chicken before selecting a couple of thick slices from the breast to put onto her plate. "You'll get chicken casserole tomorrow, I suspect."
"I missed that seam," she said as she helped herself to vegetables. "Carrots?"
"You were distracted."
"No, just inaccurate. It's not something I've done before." She took a forkful of chicken, and was pleasantly surprised by the rich mixture of herbs and mushrooms that made up the stuffing. The Association's chefs never failed to produce solid, satisfying meals, but this was a more delicate flavour than usual.
"It won't take you long, I promise, once we start studying it properly. You're such a natural thrower, and the blowpipe requires much less skill."
"Do you really think I'm a natural?" She was glad he'd used the word before she'd given in to temptation and asked about what Laban had said.
"Absolutely. Though you've clearly had practice, too – you arrived here with more skill than a lot of our students have when they graduate."
"Well, I used to train all the time in the woods near my school, any time I could get away."
"Like I said, you're a natural. It's just as well you found us, you'd have been wasted anywhere else."
She wanted to say something about Laban's guidance – it felt all wrong to accept the compliments as if she'd done it all by herself – but she'd always promised to keep quiet and this seemed the wrong time to break her silence. Though, of
course, she'd already told Raf.
"And of course in Taraska we had plenty of reasons to practise," she said, thinking back. "I taught Raf to throw stars, you know..." She smiled a little at the memory, despite the way her voice cracked as she told it. "He had terrible trouble getting them to catch."
"He always was stronger in close combat – your opposite in that respect."
"It made us a good team. We taught each other so many things, it was..." She stopped herself, and thought for a moment before continuing. "Look, I know this sounds awful, but we had fun. Not being imprisoned – but the escape, the planning, the learning. We did it all together, and until the very end we were enjoying it. Does that sound dreadful?"
"We wouldn't be in this business if we didn't enjoy the danger," Ivan said. "And the challenge. Otherwise we'd still be bored to death in some corner of the Imperial system."
"It seems wrong, though, that I can look back on it when Raf... can't..."
"You mustn't blame yourself. The risks come with the territory. It's not your fault you were lucky this time."
Eleanor turned her attention to her meal, and as she picked at her vegetables she remembered all the strange foods they'd eaten in Taraska; suddenly, it seemed, her mind was flooded with memories from around that time.
"Have you ever had to fight on a boat?" she asked, thinking back to the inconvenient pitching of the Rose. Those were safer memories, with less chance she'd suddenly start crying.
"Not yet."
"It feels like stars should be easier, if there's a lot of movement, because you don't have to be so precise – but I haven't had chance to test it. I just wondered whether you knew."
"Well." He paused for a moment's thought, fork frozen half-way to his mouth. "You could replicate it, sort of, with a balance board."
"What's that?"
"You know, where you put a plank on a log," – he rested his fork across his finger to illustrate his point – "and you have to keep your balance by shifting your weight around. Hmm... maybe we'll try that next week. Give the others chance to find out what you mean about knives being tricky – though I wouldn't guarantee stars would be easier."
"Don't tell them it's my fault if you do," she said, trying to sound like she was joking.
"I won't blame you! But it'll be fun, anyway. It's always good to have a challenge or two."
"So what else is on the plan for this year?"
"Well, you've quite a bit more to do with knives. Then darts and pipes, and then we'll do some preliminary work with the stars, though we won't get serious with those till next winter. And there'll be more knife-work next year, too."
Once they'd made the biggest dent they could manage in the chicken and vegetables, Ivan cut a couple of generous slices of the pie – which turned out to have a pear and walnut filling – and rang for someone to collect the leftovers.
"We only get pudding on our days off, usually," Eleanor said, pouring a small lake of cream into her bowl. "Not that I'm complaining."
"I had to ask for it," he said. "But maybe that's the advantage of graduating. Overnight, this place suddenly stops feeling like school – and you realise you can just ask for whatever you want."
"Are you coming down to combat practice tomorrow? Because you'll have to go easy on me after all this."
"I wasn't planning on it, but I will if you think you need an extra push." He winked at her, and she was caught off guard again by just how very much like Raf he was.
"Oh, I didn't... I mean..." She blushed, and tried again: "We get on fine without you, I just like all the extra toys you bring down."
He grinned. "Then I'll be sure to be there, with plenty of toys."
"You're the only one who lets us borrow your weapons to try out, you know."
"Well, I'm the only person who has half of these things," he said between mouthfuls of pie. "It's useful to have a few surprises up your sleeve, but as with any good idea, not everyone sees the benefit. Besides, you're only using my research collection. I wouldn't let the whole class loose on my personal weaponry."
"I'm sorry if I spoiled your evening," Eleanor said, getting to her feet to add her empty bowl to the stack of used dishes. "I just... well, there were some things I needed to understand. Anyway, I'll leave you to whatever your plans were... thank you for your time..."
"You haven't spoiled anything." He stood up, blocking her route to the door. "And you don't have to rush off – I can give you some more tips with that pipe, if you like."
"Are you sure? I don't want to trouble you more than I already have."
"It's no trouble. Honestly. Come on, let's see how quickly you get the hang of this."
"You weren't at dinner," Mikhail said as Eleanor sat down for breakfast the next morning. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." She helped herself to a couple of sausages. "Why wouldn't I be?"
Mikhail shrugged. "You've been acting odd lately."
"Maybe I just am odd." She certainly wasn't going to deny that it had been a strange few weeks. "But I'm okay."
"So where were you last night?" Sebastien asked.
"Just practising." It was almost true. "I got carried away."
"But you must eat," Daniel said, pushing the plate of sausages towards her.
She rolled her eyes and let out an exaggerated sigh. "It's not your job to tell me what I 'must' do, thanks. I'm an adult, I can do whatever I want."
As he'd promised, Ivan had laid out his collection of unusual weapons in the practice hall, though he was nowhere to be seen when the students arrived after breakfast. As she tightened the straps of her leather armour, Eleanor wondered if he'd felt as sleepy as she did this morning, after they'd talked and trained late into the night.
"I need some more practice with that hook-blade," Sebastien said, eyes scanning the floor until he spotted a similar, slightly shorter version. "Though I really don't understand why anyone would choose such an awkward primary."
"I'll take you on," Mikhail offered, hefting a small battle-axe.
Eleanor glanced at Daniel. "I suppose that leaves us, then. What're you going to try?"
"I do not see the point of this," he said, gesturing towards the spread of weapons. "I will use my usual daggers. I am not yet perfect with these basics, so why would I move to something else?"
"Suit yourself. I'm going to look for something more exciting."
"I do not understand your obsession with excitement," Daniel said, but he didn't try to stop her.
She picked her way between the different knives and axes and cudgels, waiting for something to grab her attention. After a few moments, a twin-bladed dagger caught her eye; she picked it up and gripped it as she imagined it was supposed to be held, as if the longer blade was the blade of a normal dagger. The shorter blade then pointed down from the base of the handle. Yes, she could think of times when that would be useful for a backwards thrust or an unusual counter. She spun the handle a couple of times between her fingers, wondering if the construction was balanced enough to double as a heavy kind of throwing spike.
"Have you chosen?" Daniel asked.
"Don't be so impatient, I'm coming."
He waited with his weapons held in a high guard, his long dagger in his right hand, the shorter blade in his left. Eleanor's grip tightened on her weapon as she tried to work out how she should use it to best effect. It was like having primary and secondary in one hand; there were advantages, certainly, but her empty hand felt vulnerable.
They edged around one another for a while, making occasional feints but both stopping short of a committed attack. Eleanor couldn't imagine what was holding Daniel back, but she was glad of it; for her own part, the unfamiliarity of the weapon made her hesitate.
And then, as if by some unspoken agreement, they both lunged forwards at once. Their blades locked together, then Eleanor had to twist her arm away in time to use her shorter blade to block his second thrust. Using the one weapon for twice the work felt rushed and wrong at first, but after a couple m
ore exchanges she was beginning to get the hang of it, and the movements finally started to flow. The key, she realised, was not to stop. If she overcommitted to any given direction then she was in trouble, losing valuable time to recover herself, but so long as she kept the twin blades moving smoothly from side to side, she could easily counter both of his knives.
Now, she just had to find a way to turn her parries into a successful counter-attack.
She was sure she was missing something. Daniel was certainly working harder than she was, and there had to be some way to turn it to her advantage, but she couldn't work out how to change her smooth defensive motions into anything that would get past his guard.
What she eventually did felt almost like cheating, using her dual blades to lift Daniel's knives above her head before ducking beneath his arm and tapping him with the stiletto from her wrist-sheath. Even as she relished the victory, she wondered if there was some way she could have done it without resorting to a separate knife.
"May I interrupt?" Ivan's voice disturbed them as they untangled themselves. They looked round in surprise; he must have arrived while they were both fully engrossed in the fight. "Daniel, I think it's time you tried something a bit less familiar."
Daniel shook his head. "I do not see the point."
"You need to experiment," Ivan said. "I've always said you should try to move outside your comfort zone before you're forced to."
"You have always said we could ignore you," Daniel said. "And I am doing my best, but you make it difficult."
"Okay, as you please." Ivan made no attempt to hide the exasperation in his voice. "Eleanor, I thought you might like to try this."
He held out what looked to be a pair of leather straps, with a very small knife attached.
"What is it?"
"Your new second. Give me your spare hand."
She held out her left hand, still puzzled, and watched as he pulled the straps taut across her palm, causing the flat of the blade to press hard against her skin.
"It's a palm-blade," he explained, still holding her fingers. "It won't get in your way, but when you move like this..."
He raised her arm, then twisted her hand as he brought it down again, causing the knife to slide sideways.
"I like that!"
"I thought you might. And it's perfect backup to a weapon like that harping knife you've got there which, as you've spotted, is only half-useful on its own."
She went to push the palm-blade back into its home position, but Ivan stopped her.
"No, you'll cut your fingers doing that. You just need to flick your wrist." He demonstrated with his own left hand and she copied the movement; the blade slid neatly back into place.
"Have you almost finished?" Daniel asked. "We are wasting time."
Eleanor smiled apologetically at Ivan, and turned back to Daniel. "Ready when you are," she said, and in contrast to their previous bout, she really felt ready this time.
With every exchange of blows she grew more confident with the harping knife, and even managed to touch Daniel with a couple of strikes from the primary blade, though she was pleased with the extra options which the palm-blade gave her for close-range attack.
While everyone else dumped their weapons and disappeared for lunch, Eleanor sat cross-legged on the floor, placed the harping knife by her side, and began to loosen the straps of the palm-blade.
Ivan strolled across and crouched beside her. "How did you get on with that?"
"Fantastic." She slid the straps from her fingers and held it up to him. "Next time I have to ask the smithy for something, I'm getting one of those made, too."
"Keep that one for practice, if you like."
"Really?"
"Sure," he said, pushing it back into her hand. "Well, at least until you get your own."
She smiled, wrapped the straps around the blade, and slipped it into her pocket.
"It certainly suits your style," he said. "And you were getting pretty good with that harping knife, too."
"I can't decide whether I liked it or not," she admitted, picking it up and studying it again. "There are some neat tricks, I suppose, but I think I'd rather have a normal dagger."
"Well, it's all about what you're used to – at least you're not afraid to try a few things out. But look, if you're not rushing off, let me show you how I'd use it."
"I'm not rushing anywhere." She handed him the harping knife and pulled out her own twin daggers.
Suddenly facing the harping knife from the other side, she saw what a very good defensive wall it made, and struggled to find a plausible angle of attack. Maybe that was what had slowed Daniel, even when she'd been unsure how to wield it properly. After she risked her first feint, however, she fell easily into an alternating rhythm, attacking from one side and then the other, constantly trying to slip past before Ivan could swing the next blade across to block her.
Then, he did something she hadn't anticipated.
With one fluid movement he blocked her latest thrust, spun the harping knife in a fast circle to knock her other dagger clear out of the way before she even started to move towards her next attack, and brought the short blade up beneath her chin before she could recover herself from the surprise.
"And now, I have something else to learn," she said, replaying his movements in her mind. She wondered how quickly she'd be able to replicate that sequence, and whether she could block it if she knew what was coming. "I knew there had to be some good attacks with that thing."
"The thing about hand-to-hand," Ivan said as he stepped back and started to gather up the assorted weapons from the floor, "is that whatever you're holding, you have to treat it as an extension of your body. You have to understand every way you can move your blade, with just the same confidence as you know every way you can move your wrist or your foot."
"That's what makes it so much fun trying different weapons. They don't always do what you expect."
"Just make sure you never lose that attitude," he said. "As long as you're enjoying yourself, you'll always be ahead of those who fight because they have to."
She picked up the harping knife and tried to copy the set of movements he'd performed, but it didn't feel quite right. "What am I doing wrong?" she asked, trying the sequence for a second time.
"Here, it might be easier with an actual opponent." He armed himself with a pair of short daggers and stepped across so she could try the moves against him.
"I'm still not getting it right."
"Looks pretty good to me. You just need to practise a few times."
"No." She shook her head. "It's feeling awkward. I'm copying exactly what you did – or I thought I was – but something's not quite right."
"Maybe that's where you're going wrong. You don't want to copy me too carefully."
At first she thought he was joking, but there was no laughter in his face. "What do you mean?" she asked.
"Everyone has to find their own style, but especially since you're a woman. Your body's a different shape, you shouldn't expect your joints to work exactly the same as mine. Take my ideas, by all means, but you'll have to find your own execution."
Rebellion (Chronicles of Charanthe #1) Page 22