“No apology is needed.”
Dayne stood back up. “I presume you’ll be wanting my shield, tunic, and amulet.”
The Grandmaster turned back to Dayne, raising on eyebrow. “Absolutely not!”
“But you made it quite clear there’s no chance—”
The Grandmaster’s eyes narrowed, the slightest of grins on his lips. “Even if there is no chance, what will you do?”
Dayne had been asked the question many times as an Initiate. He needed no further coaching. “Stand and hold and fight.”
The grin broke out wide. “Exactly! Candidacy lasts three years, and no man named Benedict or Parliament committee can take that from you. At least not yet. The world may change on us again. It may be in another year, the Benedicts will ease their hearts, or at least yield their seat on that committee. Hope is never futile, even if it’s the barest of embers.”
Dayne nodded. “Hold my shield in front of my chest, for I hold my heart upon it.”
The Grandmaster gave a dismissive wave, “Yes, I know you can quote doctrine. No need for more of that.”
“As you say, sir.”
The Grandmaster came back over, putting a hand on Dayne’s shoulder. “And since you have another year of Candidacy, this roof stays over your head for that time. But you should start to consider what other options the future might hold for you.”
“This is the only future I ever wanted.”
The Grandmaster nodded, patted Dayne’s shoulder, and sighed. Dayne knew not to push further, the old man was going to change the subject. “The girl who collected you, where did she go off to?”
“She wanted to get to training with Am—Madam Tyrell.”
The Grandmaster’s eyebrow went up again. “Yes, I imagine that she would. Her technique is . . . solid, and she has a lot of dedication to her physical skills. But I wonder about her heart. Do me the favor of keeping an eye on her, help her if you can. Find out if her heart is truly that of a Tarian.”
“I don’t know if I’m your man for that, sir.”
“Trust me, Dayne.” The old man put his hand on Dayne’s chest. “I can’t think of anyone whose heart is more true than yours.”
Dayne blushed, and stepped away, bowing his head. “I will see what I can do. Will that be my official duty?”
The Grandmaster shrugged. “For the time being. We are right upon Quiet Days and then Initiate Trials, so it will be a bit before we can fit you into anything official. After Trials and Advancement, there will be plenty of movement.”
“Should I not expect to stay here in Maradaine?” Dayne asked.
“No, you definitely should,” Orren said. “Honestly, I believe I made a mistake in letting Master Denbar choose a Candidate to travel with him to Lacanja. That set up . . . never mind. I will want you here, Dayne. However, for another informal duty, Master Hendron will be leaving for Lacanja shortly after Trials and Advancement.”
“Taking Master Denbar’s position there,” Dayne said.
“The chapterhouse must have a Master. But if you could write up a report—nothing formal, just your impressions—about Lacanja and the chapterhouse there, it would be useful for Master Hendron.”
“I can easily do that,” Dayne said. He would strive to be fair in his writing. In truth, he did not enjoy living in Lacanja—too warm, too humid, and terrible food—but he wouldn’t disparage it with his own opinion. The city had its many good qualities; it was simply not to Dayne’s taste.
“Good.” The Grandmaster plodded over to a small desk in the corner of the room. “How are you for money?”
“I’ve a few ticks on me,” Dayne said, not sure why the Grandmaster would ask such a question.
“Few ticks,” the Grandmaster said derisively. He came back over with a small purse. “Ten crowns here. That should be fine.”
“Fine for what, sir?”
“I’m giving you permission to be a bit selfish, son. What was the name of that little brasserie you loved so much when you were here?”
“The Nimble Rabbit?”
“The Nimble Rabbit! Yes, take those ten crowns, and take the evening to enjoy yourself at the Nimble Rabbit. In a day or two we will consider what use you will serve us here.”
“Are you sure, sir?”
“Consider it an order.” He clapped Dayne on the shoulder. “Dismissed, out of my sight.”
“As you say, sir,” Dayne said, pocketing the purse. After two years in Lacanja, he needed no further prodding to get a proper Sharain meal.
Chapter 4
JERINNE WOULD LOVE EVENING contemplation exercises if they weren’t led by Aldric and Price. The two third-year Candidates had no business being in charge of Initiates, let alone exercises of calming and reflection. Aldric was boorish and crass, and Price was a lout. How these two had made it through Initiacy was beyond Jerinne’s comprehension.
“Consider the flame in front of you,” Price droned. He said it exactly the same way every night. No sense that he believed in what he said, or even understood it. Jerinne tuned Price out and focused on the candle. “Your thoughts are one with the flame. Leaping, unstructured, chaotic.”
Aldric, in the back of the contemplation room, slammed a staff down on the ground. This would be startling, if this wasn’t the exact thing Aldric did every night at this exact point in contemplation exercises. For a process that was supposed to be about finding spiritual, restful calm amid chaos, Price and Aldric constructed a painfully ordered and predictable chaos.
None of the Initiates startled. They all sat, still and quiet, in front of their candles.
“Focus on the flame. Focus on controlling those unstructured thoughts. Focus on awareness of every breath, every beat of your heart.”
The staff slammed on the floor again.
The moment was coming, and Jerinne was in the “danger” spot for tonight’s exercise. That was fine with her. There was no agreed schedule amongst the Initiatives, but there was an underlying sense of everyone taking a fair turn. Jerinne hadn’t been in the spot for a few weeks; she was due.
“Now close your eyes, and keep the flame in your mind. Shrink your image of the flame; focus on making it as small as you can.”
Eyes closed. The moment was coming. Aldric’s quiet steps approached Jerinne’s position.
An idle thought of Dayne crossed Jerinne’s mind. Would he have known Aldric and Price in his Initiacy? Did he learn contemplation exercises with them? Would he start running them now that he was in Maradaine? Would he play the same clockwork dumb show that Aldric and Price did?
She had spent only a few minutes with the man, but her gut told her that Dayne wasn’t like that.
Aldric was right next to Jerinne. The swing was coming.
“Do not let the flame vanish. Keep it in your thoughts. Only the flame.”
This was how they did it, every night. Price in the front, droning the words of the exercise, and Aldric making his noises on cue, culminating with Aldric clocking one of the Initiates in the face. Always the Initiate in the same spot on the floor. Without fail.
Jerinne ignored everything about the flame and kept her ears on Aldric. She heard the rustle of Aldric’s tunic as the staff came up. The rushing whistle of the staff swinging down toward Jerinne’s nose.
There was no set rule about what one should do when Aldric swung his staff. Most dodged. Some blocked it. Enther usually let himself get clocked out of some philosophical point regarding the acceptance of pain. Jerinne didn’t understand that.
As the staff swung in, Jerinne threw up her left hand, catching the staff. It stung like blazes, but it was worth the pain. At the same moment she dropped back, grabbing the end of the staff with her right hand. She yanked on the end of the staff with all her might, keeping her left hand firm at the center of her lever.
Aldric hadn’t properly planted his feet, and he was wren
ched over from the force of his own swing. He flew forward and crashed against the wall of the concentration chamber.
“The blazes?” Aldric snapped, pulling himself together. “What was that, Initiate?”
“A Left-hand Wrench Throw,” Jerinne said calmly. “It’s one of the advocated defenses for a staff attack while unarmed.”
Aldric looked like he wanted to snap something, but before he could speak, another voice came from the doorway. “Advocated, but unorthodox in this setting, Initiate.” Everyone turned to see Grandmaster Orren.
“My apologies for disturbing you,” he said to the group. “I simply came to encourage you all to take the next three days—the Quiet Days, yes—with the utmost seriousness. Rest, focus, and contemplate. The Trials will be coming soon enough.” He rested a hand on Jerinne’s shoulder specifically. “You will have sufficient opportunity to prove your ability then.”
“Thank you, Grandmaster,” Price said with a small bow. Aldric bowed as well, but Jerinne noticed the slight side-eye toward her.
Quiet Days were notorious for Candidates playing tricks on Initiates. Apparently they had little better to do. As far as Jerinne was concerned, Aldric and Price were free to try.
“Good night, then. Candidates, with me.” The Grandmaster left, Aldric and Price at his heels. All the Initiates extinguished their candles and put them away.
“You’re crazy, you know,” Raila said to her at the candle nooks. “Aldric is going to wail your skull for Quiet Days.”
Jerinne shrugged. “I needed to practice that move under real conditions.” Her hand still hurt, but the last thing she wanted was to let Raila know that. Just looking at Raila—with her piercing eyes and enticing smile—was enough to eradicate any sense of calm that Jerinne had achieved in the contemplation exercise. Jerinne often found herself desperate to appear competent and nonchalant in Raila’s eyes, even though she was certain Raila saw through this.
“Where were you earlier?” Raila asked. “You showed up to Shield Drills late.”
Enther came up behind Jerinne. “She had a special assignment. From the Grandmaster.”
“Really?” Raila’s dark eyes went wide.
“Nothing all that exciting,” Jerinne said. “Just met this guy Dayne at the docks and escorted him to the chapterhouse.”
“Dayne?” Vien Reston came over. She was a third-year Initiate. “Dayne Heldrin?”
“That’s him,” Jerinne said. She noticed many eyes were on her now. “Should I have heard of him?”
“I’m shocked you haven’t,” Vien said.
“He was the top-ranked Initiate in 1213, wasn’t he?” Enther asked.
“Exactly,” Vien said. “I remember he and Ama—Madam Tyrell—were constantly at it for the top two spots.”
Top two spots. Who were the top two amongst the second-year Initiates? Rankings were only given for the third-years, as additional pressure. Jerinne knew enough to know she was not one of the top two. She wasn’t even sure if she’d be in the top ten. Enther would be one of the top ten. Raila probably as well. Jerinne watched the various Initiates filing out of the concentration center. There were twenty-seven in the second year. And sixteen slots for third-year Initiacy. In ten days, eleven of them would be leaving the chapterhouse for good.
Vien had kept talking. “Of course, that’s when they weren’t all over each other.”
“Wait.” Jerinne wanted to be sure she was understanding correctly. “You mean, like, sparring in the practice room.”
Vien almost giggled, even though she wasn’t the type of girl who was prone to giggling. “You could call it sparring, I suppose, and I imagine it happened in the practice room on occasion.”
“No!” Raila said.
Enther glanced around the concentration chamber. “Somehow every place I’ve ever been feels dirty.”
The idea finally drilled its way into Jerinne’s skull. “Really? But . . . I thought we . . . I mean, fellow Initiates weren’t supposed to.”
Raila leaned close to Jerinne, her warm breath brushing her ear as she spoke. “I believe the official policy is ‘strongly discouraged.’ Not the same as forbidden.”
Any peace or calm that Jerinne had achieved in concentration exercises was now completely gone. As were her chances of falling asleep easily tonight.
“They were both the favorites of Master Denbar,” Vien went on. “He didn’t care what they were doing, since in drills and trials they were both so focused. Really, when the two of them had their Candidacy Trial, it was like . . . watching poetry. But when Master Denbar went to Lacanja, he chose Dayne to be his specific Candidate Apprentice. Madam Tyrell stayed here, livid at being passed over.”
Except she’s now an Adept, and Dayne’s still a Candidate. Jerinne understood why Dayne was acting so strange when he mentioned Madam Tyrell.
“Enough of this,” Raila said, slapping Jerinne on the shoulder. “I’m exhausted. We should probably all stumble back to our bunks.”
“Right,” Jerinne said. She was almost—but not completely—certain that Raila meant each to their own bunks. As much as she might hope that Raila meant otherwise, she had no real way of finding out. She wouldn’t dare ask her directly. She’d far rather fight every Candidate in the chapterhouse than face that particular fear.
* * *
The Nimble Rabbit was tucked away in a small alley off Yenley Avenue, two blocks away from the chapterhouse. It was an old house, a tenth-century holdover that had managed to survive the growth and rebuild around it, with a low stone wall surrounding its yard. A canopy hung over the front yard, shading the scattered outside tables from the setting sun. Only one table had patrons, two young men and a striking woman, who talked over empty plates and freshly filled wineglasses.
Dayne took a seat at a table some distance away from the trio, looking around for the chalkboard listing the specials of the day. He had barely had a moment to get a look at the board when one of the trio called out to him.
“Friend,” the one with a full beard and muscular arms called out. “I remember you.”
Dayne had to admit there was a certain familiarity about that one. “I used to come here a lot about two years ago.”
“And you would come to lectures at the Royal College!” the man exclaimed. “You are not the sort of man that I would forget. Do not sit alone. I won’t have it.”
“You’ve already eaten,” Dayne said. “I can’t join you now.”
“I do insist,” he said. He turned to his companions. “We are having at least another bottle of wine, are we not?”
“Of course,” the woman said, her Linjari accent thick and creamy.
“You must join us, we truly insist,” the bearded man said.
Dayne crossed over, looking to the quieter man. “If you insist.”
“Apparently we do,” he said, looking at Dayne over his spectacles.
Dayne sat down with them, extending his hand to the man who initiated the invitation. “Dayne Heldrin.”
“Hemmit,” he said, taking Dayne’s hand lustily. “Hemmit Eyairin. I remember well. I think we had a few discussions about politics and history over a bottle or two of wine here.”
There had been a few people, mostly students from RCM, who Dayne had engaged with back in his Initiacy days, when he had the luxury of coming here. There had been one who was especially outspoken, particularly on matters of his own definitions of manliness—which involved truth, adventure, and wine. This Hemmit was definitely him, but something was different. “Did you not have the beard back then?”
“Students are forced to be so cleanly groomed,” Hemmit said. “I am my own man, now.”
The woman turned to Dayne, her long braid of honey-brown hair whipping behind her, and he noticed her dress—bright and short, the hem well above the knee, and her stockings ended significantly lower, exposing a fair amount of b
are flesh on her thighs. The style was typical in Yoleanne, the major city of her native archduchy of Linjar, and it would have been daring in Lacanja. In Maradaine, it was downright shocking. “Lin Shartien.”
“And that would be Maresh,” Hemmit said, pointing to the bespectacled man.
“Maresh Niol,” he said, extending his hand to Dayne.
“You are not a soldier,” Lin said, “but you’re built like one.”
“Use your eyes,” Maresh said. “He’s a Tarian knight.”
“We don’t use the word ‘knight,’” Dayne said. “Even for full members of the order. It’s always our rank, and I’m just a Candidate.”
“But a man of experience,” Hemmit said. “Oh, you are to be envied, Mister Heldrin.” He snapped over to the server to bring another glass.
“I’m not sure about that.” A glass was placed in front of Dayne, which Hemmit immediately filled. Dayne sipped at the wine, and then looked to the server. “What’s on special?”
“What are you looking for?” the server asked.
“I haven’t had lamb with crisp for two years,” Dayne said.
“Light or heavy grill?”
“Very light,” Dayne said. The server nodded and left.
“A man of simple, hearty tastes,” Lin said.
“A man who’s been living in Lacanja. You want oysters, or a fish crackle, Lacanja is the city to be in. But you can’t get lamb with crisp down there.”
“Lacanja!” Hemmit laughed deeply. “There’s a city I want to see. Is the bay as spectacular as they say? A shimmering marvel of crystal blue, dotted with sails of every size and color?”
“More clogged than dotted,” Dayne said.
Hemmit turned to his other friend, who was scribbling something with a charcoal pencil in a notebook. “I’m telling you, Maresh, we need to go down the coast. Kyst, Lacanja, Yoleanne.”
“You two couldn’t handle Yoleanne,” Lin purred. She gave a leering look over to Dayne. “And this one is so straight, Yoleanne might break him in two.”
“Travel is pointless,” Maresh muttered. “The nation pours into Maradaine, the whole world does. This is where things are happening. Look at Lin.”
The Way of the Shield Page 4