Grey-Eyed Justice - Book Two: Curse of Inhibition

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Chapter 4 - The Swordsman... Who Couldn't

“Hey…isin’t that…?” A pair of footsteps had stopped behind Rory’s back. Rory was leaning forwards, his forearms resting on the chilled stone balustrade that was the only thing stopping him from falling off the stone balcony onto the hard cobblestones of the courtyard below.

“Wow…didn’t know the rumors were true.” A low whistle. “Look at that hair, c’mon lets talk to him!”

“Are you crazy?” the first voice whispered back. “Do you know who he is?”

“What? What’s wrong?” the second girl couldn’t mask her annoyance, “He’s a slave just like us. Why shouldn’t we talk to him?”

Rory grinned broadly, knowing the two servant girls couldn’t see his face. It was like this pretty much everywhere he went in the sprawling manor. Whether he was down in the courtyard, up on the balconies, or simply walking down the labyrinth-like halls, the giant gossip machine had its all-seeing eye trained on the strange Northman. He was a celebrity sensation that everyone tried to avoid—which was yet another reason Rory was half-hanging off the balustrade trying to stifle yawns.

“But you don’t eat with my Lord at every meal now do you? They say even the little lady treats with him like her own brother!”

“They also say he can kill you with a single word, but we all know that’s a lie don’t we?” Both of their voices rang pleasantly in Rory’s ears; strange accents to go with their strange manners. A pair of footsteps made their way closer to the edge where Rory leaned. With a concentrated effort he tore his eyes away from the rhythmic clanging of the apprentices sparring in the courtyard below and straightened to speak with the daring serving girl. He turned and flashed the girl a smile, which turned genuine when he caught sight of her long blonde hair, half-hidden beneath the white cap that announced her status as a maid. She was taller than he was, and beneath the long black dress she had some pleasant bulges in all the right spots. Behind her stood another maid, shorter and plumper, who took one look at Rory, bowed and turned to retreat, the white sheet she was holding billowed sideways in her haste.

“Hi, I’m Rory…” Rory started and then stopped. His smile turned leadened as the girl paled visibly. She stared at him with her lips slightly parted, as she finally seemed to notice what he wore. He had chosen the least bright of his new and alien wardrobe: A tunic of orange and black that only magnified the reddish tint in his hair which never wanted to lie flat. The servant gasped and hastily averted her eyes, staring resolutely at the floor she curtsied.

“M…M’Lord! Forgive me!” she squeaked, and turning she lifted the hem of her skirt and ran down the balcony chasing her rapidly disappearing comrade. The echoes of their conversation reached his ears through some trick of the arches.

“I told you so! Slave indeed. You’ll get yourself killed one day if you don’t mind your tongue.”

“I thought I was to die! Such fierce eyes…like a tiger…” the voices trailed off as they rounded the corner at a brisk trot.

Rory stood for a while, the after-image of her horrified face burned into his memory. M’Lord? Rory wondered if he had heard wrong. He slumped back over the balustrade in defeat and sighed. So this was how it was to be for the rest of his life? So what if he ate at a Lord ’s Table? In the North anyone who had business with his Lord could visit his table. Rory couldn’t understand the strange Thiian obsession with class and rank. If you were suited for a certain job then what was the problem? The maids, servants and slaves were no less of a person than he was, and by the same token the Lords were no better—they were simply recognized for having a decent head on their shoulders. Thiians on the other hand had rules on top of rules atop regulation of rules and tenants for the rules of rules of regulations and…the whole civilization was mad. He felt like he was slowly being suffocated, no-one would speak to him and he felt like…he felt like…just…like…

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

Rory inhaled and bellowed as loud as he could out across the courtyard. He laced his great cry with all the bitterness and frustration that had been smothering him since he had arrived at Lord Edmund’s manor. He screamed until his lungs burned and his throat went raw. He screamed and didn’t care when all the swordsmen in the court below stopped what they were doing and looked around in alarm. He didn’t care when several started pointing up at the balcony, he didn’t care how many rules he had just broken. He wanted to scream…so he roared until he had to sit down panting from the effort and his throat burned. His head spun and stars danced playfully about the sides of his vision and he laughed. Now that had felt good!

Lord Edmund’s offices occupied a large portion of the third floor. Rory strode through the ornate double doors into the reception foyer. At his entry pale faces half-hidden beneath loose black robes rose in surprise at the curious colour riot that had suddenly entered their drab midst. The room was filled with desks of all shapes and sizes. Set roughly in a square, they all pointed towards a great black oak table set in their midst. Behind it, a familiar bony face and accusing claw-like finger rose to confront the intruder.

“You again! How many times do I have to tell you!? I have no work for a useless slave. Work is for those with uses!” His claw-like finger tried to spear him from across the table. “You cannot read, you cannot write, you are just a pathetic pebble drifting along in a current…I ask you what you can do and you tell me ‘horses’. WHAT USE HAVE I FOR A HOSTLER? NOW BEGONE!”His voice was thin and whiny; it rose and warbled, it washed over Rory in useless fury.

Rory tried to subvert his smile into a scowl with no luck. He marched up to Treasurer Lellil’s desk and planted his hands on the smooth dark wood, fixing the gnarled old number cruncher with one of his brilliant green eyes. “I want to see my Lord” was all Rory said. No matter how badly Lellil tried to treat him, Rory had taken a liking to the bitter and petty old man. Probably because he was the only person in this madhouse to speak what was actually on their mind.

Lellil’s thin dehydrated lips speared Rory with a sneer of utmost contempt. “Get out of my sight or I shall call the guards! A slave wanting something?” He lowered his cowled head and leaned over his desk to expose Rory to his rancid breath that smelled rank with olives. “Best beat it scamp, before I have you flogged.”

Rory shied away from the stench, then smiled. Lellil had threatened to have him flogged eleven times now, he was starting to sound like his grandfather’s old crow, who knew only six words and repeated them stubbornly to any who was foolish enough to listen. “So he’s not here I take it? Thanks! Make sure you tell him I’m looking for him alright?” Rory whirled and strode back up the aisle out of the room before Lellil had a chance to pull his withered jaw off of his desk. Once out into the hall and out of view of the speechless scribes—who by the looks had never seen anyone talk in such manner to their boss. Rory let his shoulders slump. If Edmund was away, that meant Disel was too. He never had anything to do unless they were around. As of late they were gone far too often, leaving to visit other estates or to visit the local magistrate’s offices. Rory’s mouth filled with a bitter flavour; for a slave that cost a million golden eagles, he sure was useless. He couldn’t read, couldn’t write…all he was good with was horses and a bow. But whoever heard of a million golden eagle horse fetcher? Rory wasn’t ashamed of what he could do, but he felt in no small part guilty that Sir Edmund had had to pay such a great sum for what the Thiian society considered mostly useless. He had never had a use for letters before…horses were most undemanding creatures. Lellil’s words came to mind then, words the old man had snarled at him the first time they met.

“You’re like a golden chalice…a chalice that someone had used to age feces in an armoire and now you’re good for nothing but just that!”

He wandered the halls for a bit, but soon tired of having servants, Lords and Ladies all do huge double takes as he walked past. Rory rubbed his head ruefully, wondering if he had sprouted horns yet. Kill with only a glance eh? Rory had just decided to return to his chambers—a mid-sized room that was thankfully in the nearly empty west-wing of the manor—when two armoured figures caught his attention, they had come out of a side corridor and started to march in front of him, and with blessed relief they had ignored him completely. One was a tall and lanky boy with thin wire-framed glasses hanging off his pointy nose, while the other was a bit shorter with a stocky build common to habitants of the western mountains. Both their heads were soaked and sweat dripped off them onto their blue tunics liberally as they laughed loudly.

“Did you see Yale’s face when I smacked his bottom with the flat of my sword? I thought he was going to wet his pants,” the tall one said.

“How much did you win?”

“Two silvers!” the first said loudly, still chuckling, “Davim didn’t think I could do it…it was almost worth it to brave Jinx’s fury” His voice dropped and he put his broad hands on his hips, “You shame the name of apprentice! No one in his right mind would try and gut a man from his arse, he said! Like I would try that in a real fight?” He lifted an imaginary sword and danced ahead, fencing with the air, abruptly he paused and cupped his ear as if listening to his opponent, “What’s that good man? Having trouble in the privy? Is it congestion? Wait a moment; I have just the move that’ll fix you up if you’ll keep your arse still!”

“Give it a good name, like Dance of the Runs, or asscracker!” the other added with a snicker.

More peals of laughter.

Rory grinned to himself as he listened and veered off at the next fork, uttering a prayer of thanks to the god of boredom—Rory wasn’t actually sure there was one, but he thought it best safe than sorry. That boy’s story was almost one worthy of the North. The thought sparked a pang of longing, duller than it had been, but it still hurt to remember everything and everyone that he missed. After a bit of thought Rory decided that the courtyard would be more entertaining than he thought after all…It couldn’t get any worse—that was certain.

With an eager trepidation that Rory himself didn’t quite understand, he made his way out into one of the manor’s many courtyards. From what Rory knew of the grounds, the main courtyard lay in an open area surrounded by the cold stone balconies he had been up on earlier, but that wasn’t where Rory headed. This time he made his way to one of the smaller courts, to the north of the grounds. Instead of cobblestones and organized rows of sparring partners, this courtyard was filled with white-kilted young men with light leather armour. Jinx had tried to explain the significance of a white kilt from a blue from a green…now Rory wished he had listened a bit closer to what he had been saying. He thought it had something to do with rank, whites were…novices he seemed to remember, the lowest on the ladder. They bore clouds of dust into the air as scattered pairs of fighters went after each other with unusual and frequently unconventional styles. The only requirement here seemed to be enthusiasm.

Rory was quick to spot Jinx, the blacksmith and sometimes swordfighter was roving between the young men with a large piece of supple birch. It was hard to miss him as he towered over most of the boys. As he stalked from pair to pair the birch stick would flicker and cause yelps of dismay.

“BEND YOUR KNEES TARYN! YOUR GUARD IS TOO HIGH! HOW WOULD YOU LIKE IT IF YOUR BALLS GOT SLICED OFF?”

Rory grinned as he watched. To get a better vantage point he wandered over to where several troughs full of fresh water had been set up in a small semi-circle. Rory planted himself on one of the benches nearby; enjoying the fact that no-one paid him the least bit of mind. His attention was quickly caught by two of the smaller swordfighters fighting nearby, one slightly shorter than the other. The pair caught his interest not because of how they fought, but because the shorter one was the only fighter who bore a blue kilt instead of a white one in the chaos filled yard. Rory strained, but the name for the blue pleated kilt eluded him. Leave it to Thiians to complicated everything. A swordsman was a swordsman in Rory’s book, and a dead one was still a dead one, no matter what his kilt said.

The two young men—well boys really, maybe a little younger than Rory, it was hard to tell with Thiians, they were all so paisley white—stood stark still, facing each other warily with the air thick between them. Rory could tell the taller one was getting edgy, his foot sneaked forwards almost unnoticed while his opponent stood much like a statue. Flexing his legs abruptly, the taller one moved in with a jump and feinted with his sword before pulling back at the last moment. The shorter boy was claimed by his apparently ultra-sharp reflexes: he jerked his wrists forwards to block the impending blow in what Rory supposed was a technically perfect cross-body block, but ended up opening his right guard and found himself over-committed. The taller one smacked him while the short boy was off-balance. Though Rory couldn’t see the shorter boy’s head past the protective leather gear, there was something wrong. His motions were tense as he took a quick step backwards and flung up his guard in challenge.

“AGAIN!” A small voice somewhere on the register between tenor and the low ranges of an alto shouted.

This time shorty was on the attack, and Rory had to give the boy credit, he had incredibly fast wrists. His blunted practice blade whirred through the air and while Rory had no trouble seeing the blade, all an untrained eye would see was a blur of flashing metal. The tall boy wove a decent defence, he slowly gave ground as he quickly found out he could not match shorty’s speed. In a desperate attempt to throw off shorty’s attack the tall slim swordsman feinted again. Rory winced as shorty raised his guard yet again in reflex, the movement was flawless…but the timing horrid. This time the tall boy’s sword sliced sideways and knocked shorty off his feet. The collision of metal on leather and the resulting dust cloud as shorty rolled to a stop several feet away gave Rory phantom pains in his own side.

“AGAIN!” the voice shouted as he jumped to his feet with untempered enthusiasm. Rory couldn’t help but think how stubborn shorty was. He wasn’t improving at all.

The tall boy jerked his mask off of his head, spilling blonde locks across his shoulders. “No! This is stupid. You always fall for the same trick even though you know its coming!”

Enthusiasm apparently didn’t count for much.

“But…” shorty started and then stopped as Jinx came sauntering up with his birch. Whap…whap! The birch caught shorty in the stomach and the back causing him to double over in pain. Those huge arms of the blacksmith were a lot faster than they looked.

“IDIOT!” The tall man roared grabbing the boy by his collar and lifting him off the ground. His bushy black beard was vibrating with the force of his words, “HOW MANY TIMES DO I TELL YOU NOT TO RAISE YOUR GUARD? ARE YOU DAFT? CLOGGED EARS?” Rory had to grin as Jinx chewed him out thoroughly, Rory was surprised shorty didn’t burst into tears—that birch had to hurt. Rory could only watch with the corner of his mouth itching as the birch found it mark again…and again until Jinx was satisfied his message had finally gotten through. Shortly after Jinx had left, shorty ripped off his headgear and threw it aside. His sword followed and he stomped angrily towards the water troughs. As he came closer Rory tried to catch his eye, but the short black-haired boy was resolutely staring at the troughs, as if steeling himself mentally.

“Hey, kid!” Rory said as the boy marched right by him, ignoring him. Rory had to turn and he watched with no small amount of interest as the boy knelt in front of the trough. He sighed once and muttered something inaudibly before he then dunked his head until even his shoulders were darkened by the lapping water.

Blub…blub…

Fascinated, Rory walked over to stand beside the boy. Bubbles of all sized broke the surface as he slowly exhaled underwater. His thick hair was tossed about his head until the bubbles finally diminished and stopped completely.

“Hey, kid? You OK?” Rory said, lowering his head down beside the boy’s back, he spoke into the water.

Pause.

Rory hesitantly prodded the kid’s tunic, which was soaked in sweat. “Kid?”

No answer except for the background lapping of water against the wooden trough as it slowly settled

“Hey, this isn’t funny shorty!” Rory said angrily and grabbed the boy by the back of his blue kilt at the waistband where his tunic had ridden up. Rory pulled, but his hand slipped off the sweat-soaked fabric, scraping his fingernails painfully. With a grunt Rory readjusted his grip with both hands this time, pulling hard. The boy was much stronger than he looked. His lithe arms strained and his fingers turned white as he gripped the side of the trough with what looked like every fibre of his being. All Rory succeeded in doing was pulling the boys legs up off of the ground; his head still buried underwater.

Rory finally lost his temper. He gritted his teeth and wrapped his arms around the boy’s waist. “Stupid stubborn giiiiit!” he roared, as he tried to wrench the boy from his perch over the trough. With a surprised burst of bubbles from the boy’s mouth and a crash, Rory pulled over both boy and trough, overturning it and dumping water all over his pants.

Once his grip on the overturned trough was lost, Rory tossed him onto the ground and looked at his pants in dismay. Mud had spattered all over the precious material, and they were soaked through to his skin. He turned to glare accusingly at the dark haired boy who lay coughing and sputtering in the suddenly muddy area.

“What the hell were you trying to do? KILL yourself?”

It took a while for the boy to answer, he was soaked through and through and he was still coughing up what looked like half of the trough’s contents. “T…that’s right!” His words cut off as he leaned over and threw up. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and his startling blue eyes flashed as he looked up at Rory “I was until you stopped me! I mean…what the HELL? MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS!” he yelled.

On the verge of retorting, Rory froze and held his tongue. It wasn’t the brat’s words that shut him up…but his eyes. There was no fear, no hesitation, only a deep malice…a hatred Rory wasn’t sure was completely directed at his would be rescuer. Before he could recover, another voice—a deep bass—joined the fray.

“What on the four mounts is going on here?” Jinx growled loudly. Rory looked up to watch the smith stalk over to them, thunder seemed to follow in his footsteps. His small sharp eyes took in the overturned trough, Rory’s soaked pants, and the boy who looked like he had just been dragged from the deep—all that was missing was the small stringy seaweed caught in the boy’s hair and his undying gratitude for being saved from suffocation.

Yea…right.

“Don’t look at me! It’s his bloody fault!” The boy said, spitting out water from his mouth and trying to wring out his hair.

“Rev…” Jinx growled, his voice deep in the register and if Rory hadn’t been listening closely, wouldn’t have been out of place coming from the snout of a bear. Rory tried his best to keep his face serious but the boy, Rev as he was named, was just too outrageous for words.

“Jinx, forget it. It really was an accident. No harm done, right?” Rory pleaded to the man with his eyes. He hoped Jinx wouldn’t overreact, he was a kind man after all, if you looked deep inside the walls of muscle he had around his heart. Jinx had been the man who removed that stupid metal bracelet from his arm after all, muttering all the while to himself about slave rights and cursing the emperor with every second breath.

“Forget it? Forget it?” Jinx turned and smacked Rev on the back with his birch, “On your feet soldier! NOW!” Jinx’s mind never seemed to rest, he whirled as Rev clamoured to his feet warily and faced the suddenly quiet practice yard. “AND WHO GAVE YOU TWIG DICKED RUNTS PERMISSION TO FUCKING TWIDDLE YOUR PENIS’ WHILE MY BACK IS TURNED EH? NEXT PAIR TO BE CAUGHT SLACKING WILL BE RUNNING LAPS AROUND THIS COURTYARD UNTIL THEIR FEET TURN INTO BLOODY STUMPS. NOW MOVE!”

Rory thought the threat entirely implausible, but the novices in the courtyard had no such notion. The clanging and battering of swords resumed with a fury and dust rose like a great pillar, shimmering in the afternoon sun as feet shuffled back and forth, parrying, running, lunging—even blue-kilted swordsmen who had just been watching the sparring suddenly had found urgent tasks that needed their full attention and the utmost haste! Somewhere far away from Jinx.

With a grunt that could have meant anything, Jinx swivelled and grabbed Rev by his shoulder and forced him over to Rory. “Now apologize apprentice.”

“What? Why should I? I didn’t do anything wrong! I told you, it was all his fault.” Rev said stubbornly, refusing to meet Rory’s eyes. Wrong answer.

Jinx grabbed a handful of Rev’s hair and forced his head to face Rory. “I’ll say this once you ignorant little brat.” The tall man growled deep in his throat. “This here is Rory, and you had best know that he is Lord Edmund’s personal slave. He’s gone through twice as much as you ever will, and could trounce your little ass back to that shithole of a shack you came from with a single word.” Jinx paused to let his words sink in. While Rev didn’t look all too surprised—in fact he looked more sullen than anything—Rory ’s eyebrows shot upwards at what he had just heard. A slave able to blacklist a free swordsman? Just what sort of madness was this? Jinx’s hand turned white with the immense pressure he looked to be exerting on Rev’s shoulder. “Well? Do you have anything you’d like to say?”

Rev shook off the giant’s hands and pursed his lips. His neck muscles tensed as he looked up at Rory and his right eye started twitching almost unnoticeably. The boy looked like he had just been made to eat an unripened fruit, its taste leaving a sour and bitter flavour on his tongue. He opened his mouth once then closed it just a quickly. He tried again, but ended up grimacing and he snapped his mouth shut once again, gritting his teeth. This was all too much for Rory who couldn’t help laughing—that definitely didn’t help matters either.

“Jinx…I mean it! Forget it. If you make him apologize to me when he doesn’t want to its worthless…right? Besides, like I said before, it was an accident.” Rory almost missed it, Rev’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, but it was quickly masked by a scowl.

Jinx eyed Rory warily for a moment, and Rory had this strange notion to check his head for horns again, but the moment passed quickly. Had that been an uncharacteristic thing for a Thiian to say? Should he be demanding twenty lashes? Two pounds of flesh? The big man shrugged and Rory had a sneaking suspicion Jinx thought he was mad, “If you say so…”

“See!?” Rev couldn’t resist taunting his mentor with that know-it-all attitude of his. Rev seemed to have a talent for saying the wrong thing at just the right time. Jinx grabbed him by his tunic with one massive hand and lifted the boy up to his eye-level.

“Don’t think you’re getting off that easy! Stable duty for two weeks! You’re banned from sparring until you learn some respect!” Jinx let Rev drop to the ground. “And take Rory to the barracks and give him some dry clothes, Lady Worchester will have my head if she catches you walking around wet like that.” The boy fell over as he landed hard on his backside but quickly scrambled to his feet, his eyes wide and protests on his lips.

“B…but the festival is in two weeks! How am I to pass if I can’t spar?”

“Apprentice!”Jinx thundered, his head had turned a nasty shade of red, as if it was building pressure. Rory was sure steam should be coming anytime soon. “I thought sparring with all the novices today would give you some humility and manners, but now I’m not sure what I should do with you. Do you really think you’ll be able to catch up to your father if you stay the way you are now? Right now you’re so far away you can’t even glimpse his shadow. Perhaps another year as apprentice will do you a world of good. No sparring.” With that, Jinx turned and stomped away, his birch already whizzing through the air threatening a pair of desperate novices who were beating each other as if their lives depended on it. “MONGREL! IF I SEE THAT KNEE OF YOURS GO PAST YOUR FOOT WHEN YOU NEXT LUNGE I WILL FIX YOUR PROBLEM BY CUTTING OFF YOUR FOOT! OR DO YOU WANT TO CRIPPLE YOUR KNEE BEFORE YOU CAN EVEN SHAVE…”

Rev stared at the ground frowning. A small muscle in the side of his jaw was working steadily as he zoned someplace far away. After a long moment of silence in which he ignored Rory completely, he turned and stalked away. “Well, come on!” he said over his shoulder, a bitter note in his voice. “You want dry clothes don’t you?” Then in a much lower voice, “I’ll show that stupid fat bear…”

Not knowing where they were going, Rory let the smaller boy guide him while he watched out of the corner of his eye. This was yet another interesting person he had met! Rory had been really afraid that there wouldn’t be others like Lellil and Jinx, men who both kept their hearts and minds separate and who spoke what they felt, but here was another…just a kid really and not quite a head shorter than Rory. His wavy black hair seemed to mirror his current mood perfectly. Curiosity got the better of him and Rory quickened his steps to catch up to Rev. His heart was inexplicably beating really fast. It was important suddenly that Rev not hate him. Who else remotely his age did he have to talk to? “You know, I was watching your sparring match.”

Rev continued to look straight ahead, but it was hard to miss the flush that suddenly turned his ears red. “Oh you did huh? Then I’m sure you had a good laugh! Did it make your day, watching me get stomped?”

That native hostility was starting to grow on Rory. He found himself liking the sharp-tongued youth even though his comments were all so far directed his way. He thought for a moment before he arrived at a decision, maybe he could help a little. With Sir Edmund gone it wasn’t as if he had any duties to attend. “I must admit I’m a little disappointed,” when Rev shot him a withering glare Rory hastily amended his words, “No, no! Not with you. I meant with Thiians in general.”

“What have Thiians got to do with my bruises exactly?” Rev asked bitterly. He was still showing a lack of interest in anything Rory had to say. Time to change that—if only a little.

“Well, nothing…and at the same time everything!” Rev’s tread stopped abruptly, but Rory ignored his lowered eyebrows and continued walking, the boy had to run to catch up again. “I mean…I had always heard stories about the great Thiian Empire is in my homeland, but most minstrel stories and songs I had always thought were comedies, even the plays had their moments. But now that I’ve been here I now believe all those stories were actually true and not farces at all.”

“Stories? Like what?”

Rory thought for a moment before he replied, “’Lady of Roses’?”

Rev gaped, “Wait, you said comedies right? You thought that one was funny? It’s supposed to be a tragedy! And she hangs herself in her flower garden at the end with a rope woven of rose stems. How is that funny?”

Rory nodded, “What about ’A penny for two pounds’?”

“Never heard of it.”

Rory blinked innocently again, filing away a new piece of Rev’s puzzle. You could tell a lot about a person’s past by what sort of stories they knew. “’Love lost’, then. That one made my sides hurt.”

Rev stopped and grabbed Rory’s arm, forcing him to halt as well. “You think two brothers poisoning each other and having Lady Felicia live out the rest of her days wasting away in loneliness, funny?”

Rory chuckled as he remembered parts of the play that had been shown in his Lord’s house. Half the fun was watching the actors lose their thread in the play as the great house filled with the booming echoes of laughter at all the wrong places. “Am I wrong? Why didn’t the two brothers simply declare their love in front of each other and their Lady? And whoever heard of poisoning your own blood? In my homeland, the two brothers would have brawled it out, and the victor would claim the Lady. Why bother making some huge complicated plot to kill your own brother when your fists can do the talking for you? I mean, they might as well be two jealous women instead of men, the way they act.”

Rev was livid, the flush of embarrassment he had felt before had been replaced by one of anger. “You missed the point completely!” he sputtered, letting go of Rory’s arm in order to prod him with a finger. “Listen, the elder brother was the one engaged to marry her, but the younger became jealous and wanted her for himself, right? It was only natural that one of them would have to die! They both couldn’t live with unrequited love! The tragedy was that both of them died and no one got the Lady while she ended up living in shadows of grief! Got it?”

The sweet taste of triumph—getting Rev to speak to him—was eclipsed as Rory felt his smile slipping away, “You think too much like a Thiian.” Rev was indeed more than he seemed.

“ ’Cause I AM a Thiian” Rev assured him. “C’mon we’re here.”

The barracks Rev had led them too was a squat two-storied building on the southern-most wall of the manor estate. The barracks looked as though it had been almost an after-thought addition, its chunky rough stone walls and harsh angles were nothing like the smooth curves and arches that dotted most of the large country estate.

Several Blue-clad young men that were lounging off-duty in the yard stood to eye the strange Northman warily, but when they caught sight of Rev’s scowl, they turned away grinning. Rory wondered in the back of his mind what sort of stories this little incident was going to provoke. Rory just hoped it didn’t make Rev’s life any more difficult than it already was. Rory didn’t need to ask, the boy’s flush told the story for him.

As they stepped through the archway into the inner courtyard, Rory couldn’t help but size up the building with a doubtful eye. “So all of Sir Edmunds troops live here? Seems like it might get a bit cramped.”

Rev again turned to stare at Rory, he shook his head as if saying ‘what? Do you live in a box or something?’

“Of course this can’t house all of his troops. This is for Novices and Apprentices. Journeymen and Swordsmen get their own building…and anyone with higher rank gets their own private room in the manor itself.” Rev turned back and continued walking, “What do you think, we each get two hands of headroom and we all get packed in single file? What a stupid question.”

Rory’s first instinct was to get angry, he felt the white hot rage build in his stomach as it sometimes did. This little brat had some nerve telling him off when he’d only just arrived last week. And here Rory was trying to figure out a good way for him to lose his mental block and become a better swordsman…and this…this kid had the nerve to tell him he was asking stupid questions? Rory bit his tongue to keep words he would regret from flooding his mouth; Rev had to be handled delicately. He took a calming breath, suppressing his emotions. Besides, the longer he thought about it…it was a sort of silly question. He had seen several large courtyards filled with men and boys training. His mood lightened and he couldn’t help grinning like an idiot…nope…there was no doubt: Rev was right. That had been a stupid question.

Rory followed the boy, who led them deeper into the dark confines of the barracks. It was dark inside, but the floors and walls, while plain, were spotless. Mess tables sat in neat row with long benches stacked one atop another. Light was pouring in from two doors, one of which must be the kitchen, from the mouth-watering aromas that tantalized the two boys, beckoning. The other door led into what Rory assumed would be the commons.

“Its just past here, you can use my room and find some extra…oh shoot.” Before Rev had completely entered the doorway, he was already pushing Rev backwards away from the doorway and pressed him urgently against the wall. He was cursing steadily under his breath now as he peeked back around the corner. “Earthfire! I didn’t know she was back already.” He turned back and pulled Rory towards the other door he had seen earlier. “We’ll have to go around…”

Rory shook his head again in wonderment. Interesting things certainly had a knack for following Rev around. “Someone else you’d get into trouble with if they caught you with soggy sandals?”

“Huh?” Rev was distracted as he kept watch for shadows entering the doorway he was rapidly retreating from. “Oh no, I…well you wouldn’t understand. Best you never meet her actually. Your life will be for the better.” Rev tried to hide his face, but Rory noted his ears reddening all the same.

Rev pulled him through into the kitchen where a man in what had once been a white apron stood directing a horde of younger boys who were busy chopping vegetables or turning skillets. At their entry the man looked up and grinned at Rev’s dripping clothing. “Ah, went for a swim did ya?” He screwed his face as he pretended to think, “Funny that, nearest river is several hours walk…” Rev ignored him and stalked past, his eyes shooting bolts at any of the boys who dared to look upon his fury. Rory shot the cook what he hoped was an apologetic shrugs which only prompted a frown from the cook. “Hey now! He’s new isn’t he? Introduce the lad, boy.”

Rev stopped and eyed the cook aggressively, “So I’m a boy am I? And he’s a lad? I hope that cleaver of yours slips and detaches your fingers permanently from your wrist. Then they can serenade us at dinner with a rousing chorus of ‘Free at last! Free at last!’”

“If I do, you’ll eat them and love it anyways boy. I’ll call you whatever I want until you graduate from them blues of yours…but my bones tell me that won’t be before I lose all me teeth!” The cook grinned broadly, showing off his crooked and yellowed teeth and sent Rev a hand gesture Rory had never seen before. From the unexpected flush on the boy’s cheeks, it hadn’t been overly flattering.

“Stupid, moth-eating, slug-roasting, pea brained…” Rev muttered under his breath turning reluctantly from the cook. Rory winced as his arm was nearly torn from its socket as Rev made a beeline out of the kitchen. The boy seemed to have enough sense not to provoke the man who cooked his meals too much. At least his anger didn’t rule him completely, he had streaks of common sense, but perhaps those only came with issues relating to his stomach…

“Up the stairs, c’mon hurry up. My legs are chaffing from this bloody wet cloth and I’m cold. Stop staring off at nothing and move those legs of yours.”

Rory decided silence was really the only way to not provoke him further, so he clamped his mouth shut. Up a winding stone staircase and several door-lined hallways later, Rev finally pulled open an unmarked door at the far end of the corridor and pulled Rory inside with a strange urgency. He insisted upon peeking around every corner and up every stairway before Rory could follow, and once inside, he peeked back out the door stealthily before shutting it with a dull clang. His breath left him with what Rory sensed was great relief.

The room wasn’t cramped exactly, but it certainly qualified as cozy. Two double bunk-beds were set against either wall, and a sole piece of hanging parchment decorated the wall at the far end, and underneath was a small chest bound with iron.

“I don’t blame you, I wouldn’t want to be seen with me either.”

Rev, in the midst of moving over to inspect the chest paused and reddened inexplicably. He grimaced and continued on to the chest, throwing it back on its hinges so the top knocked the unyielding stone behind. “You’re taller than me so my stuff will never fit, I think we’re in luck though. You can wear Klein’s spare uniform.” Rev tossed some loose bits of clothing his way before starting to strip himself. Rory followed suit and peeled off his ruined pants.

“Can I ask you a question?” Rory said, fumbling with the unfamiliar kilt. Rev plopped his wet shirt down onto the ground in a pile that joined his soaked kilt and undergarments. He grabbed a new dry kilt and turned to watch Rory fumble with the unfamiliar garment.

“Are you sure you’re going to be ok? It’s like this, fold it over and the clasp fits together like a jig-saw.” Rev demonstrated by pulling his own up and fastened it deftly with his nimble fingers. Rory just stared, there was just something about this boy…he got this warm feeling that spread out around his body whenever he watched Rev. It was like looking at a piece of undiscovered art, something that everyone else thought was useless…or stupid…but for one reason of another was special in a way that Rory wasn’t quite sure he himself could describe. Maybe it was his abilities that were acting up again, Bern’alad were mostly solitary horsemen for good reason.

Misunderstanding Rory’s silence, Rev sighed and demonstrated again how the two clasps fit together. Rory, realizing he had been staring, resumed his battle with the blue kilt as he fought to keep his cheeks from imitating his hair. “Jinx, mentioned something about your father…is he a great swordsman?”

Rory nearly fell over backwards as Rev bounded over to him, his eyes suddenly shining. “The best!” he said, grinning. “He’s a master of the ninth tier! That’s one shy of Lord Edmund,” If Rev’s smile got any bigger, it would crack his head into two pieces. Then like a brief glimpse of the sun during a storm, his expression clouded again and the muscles in his jaw started working again. The shadows had returned. “Why should you care? A Northman like you wouldn’t know anything about swordsmen.”

The kilt finally settled on his hips and remained intact. Rory tugged on it warily, wondering dubiously whether it would hold. “I may not know much. But I’m a good guesser. For instance,” Rory said as he tugged off his tunic, “I bet your father, this ninth tier swordsman is a noble, just like you. Sent away to a friend’s estate to train maybe? Or did he abandon you? He’s can’t be dead, not with the way you speak of him.” Rory’s tunic joined the wet pile developing on the floor and he decided he wouldn’t care if he never saw it again. Flashy clothes did not suit him one bit. “Probably the first one, judging by how poorly you fight.”

Rory wished he could have painted a picture just then of Rev’s expression. Icy blue eyes flared, and his fists clenched his dry tunic tightly to his chest.

One corner of Rory’s lips sneaked upwards into a rueful half-smile before he could quite stop himself. “Do you remember that stupid conversation about plays we just had?” Rory continued when Rev nodded grudgingly. “It just so happens that the two plays you knew loads about, were told to us in high English—that’s Lordly language as we call it up North. That’s not anything special I guess…I know plenty of men not nobly born who’ve read high English playwrights. But that play you had never heard of?”

Rev’s lips had pursed as Rory spoke, he seemed to shrink with every word that came out of Rory lips, blood was rapidly draining from his face. “’A Penny for Two Pounds’ was it?” Rev said and Rory beamed, it seemed he had an incredible memory as well.

“Yup, ‘A Penny for Two Pounds’. Want to make a wager where I heard that one?” he paused, but Rev remained silent. Rory shrugged, “In a tavern on the latter day of lights! Brilliantly funny, but coarse and gruff like nothing I’d ever heard before. I think I learned half of the cuss words I know in English from that Play. Do you need some more convincing?”

The silence was so complete that Rory’s sharp ears even made out a hushed conversation going on somewhere down the hall. Something was wrong…Rory had expected some surprise, maybe even some denial…but not this suddenly pale faced ghost. It was almost as if Rev had been caught with bloody murder still on his hands. Finally, Rev unfroze and took a deep breath. “No-one is supposed to know that.” He said hoarsely. “Specially not someone like you.”

“I’ll ignore that.” Rory said as he watched the boy wrestle with his feelings. Those powerful blue eyes had grown sullen, withdrawn almost. Rev’s face was also pale, which sent warning gongs ringing inside Rory’s head. There was something else he was missing. A shot in the dark…but…

“Out of curiosity…what happens if everyone finds out you’re a lord’s offspring?”

“You wouldn’t! You can’t!” he said loudly, surprising himself more than Rory. He eyed the younger boy warily, noting tensed muscles and a sporting a wild look Rory had never seen before. “He’ll kill me.”

“Whoa, calm down.” Rory said, his own anger tingeing his words. “I’d never do anything like that. And if you can be sure of anything, it’s my word—my bond. I won’t tell a soul. I’m a Northman, not a ruddy monster!”

Slightly mollified, Rev’s face darkened a bit as the shock wore off. He turned his back to continue dressing—too angry to speak—or was it fear? Sometimes the two emotions mimicked each other in the ambience. Rory decided to get rid of his original tunic after all, the orange and black clashed horribly with the sky blue of the strange swordsman kilt and swapped it for the off-white sleeveless shirt offered, for some reason after he had shucked his fancy clothes he felt at ease for the first time in a long time. Rev on the other hand, was sulking as he donned a matching garment, he eyed his soaked leather armour and then cursed under his breath. Rory took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you angry. I…well…I can help you know, at least, I think I can.” Rory amended hastily, he was starting to sound too much like old Hathworth back home. He hated that showy know-it-all.

Rev sat down on the bed and let his head fall into his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. Before they disappeared behind his hands, Rory couldn’t help but notice his eyes had lost the vivid colour and life they had held but moments ago. His heart was really reaching out for the odd and sometimes suicidal swordsman. When the boy spoke his voice was half-muffled behind his hands. “No-one can help me. Trust me, they’ve tried. I’ve been beaten, I’ve been lectured, heck I even got lessons from Sir Edmund himself. Like I said, no-one can help me. It’s all useless. I’m useless. I should’ve never tried to become something I wasn’t meant to be.”

Rory let the silence draw out. It was a strange silence, one that was uncommon in the North. It was laden with guilt and frustration, and anger—very close to what Rory had been feeling earlier up on the balconies. Similar, but different.

“Has a Northman ever tried to help you?” Rory asked absently, shattering the stillness. Rev shifted on the bed and looked up, a strange expression on his face. His mouth tightened and his eyes blinked rapidly.

“And what could a Northman do for me?”

This time Rory’s sigh was one of exasperation. He moved over to plant his feet in front of the boy, his hands on his hips and speared him with a reprimanding glare. “You said you listened to what I had to say earlier about those plays…but did you really listen? And not just with your ears, but with your mind? I wasn’t just talking for the sake of hearing my own voice.”

Rev held his gaze for a moment as he thought, but quickly dropped his eyes. “I…I’m…well, I remember what you said.” A bit of sullen anger had returned to the boy’s voice as well as a hefty chunk of indignation.

“And what was the last thing I told you? Think hard, this is important.” Rory thought Rev would need a bit more encouragement, but to his surprise, Rev’s forehead scrunched as he strained to remember.

“About the plays?”

“After.”

Rev thought some more before his muscles seemed to relax. “You told me I thought too much like a Thiian.” Rory again marvelled at the boy’s memory. This was his key…Rev’s memory. It was what made him special…his memory and his strange attitude towards his peers. Rory decided teaching Rev was going to be fun!

“Right, and that’s the root of your problem. You think like a Thiian, you’re taught by Thiians, you eat and breath all things Thiian and you know what? It doesn’t suit you at all. Fighting is not about thinking with your head, it’s about listening to what your heart has to tell you. Your mind can always be fooled, but never your heart.” He looked over at the wall as he tried to remember what his father had taught him all those years ago. “Listen, there are all sorts of people in this land: Thiians, Northmen, Geirans, Tuylmen and more! And each and every person layer upon layer in those cultures is different. Since every person is different, each and every one of them reacts to a situation in a different manner—just like how everyone fights.”

“I knew it…you’re barking. Either that or you were a really old man in another life.”

Rory chuckled and fastened his gaze on Rev’s eyes, he was pleased to note their sheen was returning somewhat, that determination and hatred was back. “Listen, when I was little my Father told me something that I think I’ll remember for the rest of my life. He told me that by looking into a person’s eyes you can tell a lot about that person. How their eyes react cannot be hidden like a voice’s false words or a man’s humble gestures. Did you know that no-one bows in the North?”

“Not like I had anyone to ask…” Rev said baiting, Rory tried to ignore him.

“No one bows because it’s just another way for a man to hide his eyes…to hide his real thoughts behind a meaningless gesture. Eyes can tell you a great deal about a person. Some have small beady eyes that flicker this way and that, others have eyes as large as owls and look like they miss nothing.” Rev’s forehead was creased and Rory knew he was fighting a losing battle. He changed his attack. “For instance, the reason I’m telling you all this is because of your eyes.” As he spoke Rory had to resist the temptation to squirm under the boy’s sharp gaze. It was powerful in ways he had never seen on anyone other than his father; Lord Edmund also had a similar gaze—Rev was a lord indeed. “You speak the words and mimic actions of Thiians, but your eyes are full of anger, hate and frustration, all of it directed mostly at yourself and none of it Thiian. Your eyes tell me one thing, your heart makes you bark at your comrades loudly, and your mind makes you fight like a dance with only two steps while your partner is whirling around you in a seventy-step turrad!”

Rev had retreated inside his shell again. Rory was sure the boy was wrestling over whether what Rory had to say. This time, instead of encouraging, Rory said nothing, he just stood there blocking Rev’s escape, waiting. Rory would wait, it was pointless if Rev didn’t have at least the courage to realize that he needed help. He needed to ask for help, and for the first time in maybe his life, rely on a complete stranger. The other choices were all cowards’ ways out. If he didn’t ask, then Rory decided he would leave the blockhead well alone. Rory hated cowards. The North hated cowards.

“Then…I mean you’ve said a lot of nothings, but you never told me how you could help! I mean, what am I doing wrong?” he asked exasperated. Rory frowned and shook his head, weary already from this short conversation. Was this what his Father had had to go through for ten years?

“You’re thinking like a Thiian again. You want ten words that are going to change your life and those are ten words that I would never give you even if I could. A problem is a problem because you’re supposed to learn something from it, getting a simple answer is not a solution, it’s a cowards escape.” Rory paused and let a hint of doubt creep into his voice. “Are you a coward?”

Rev was glaring now, his eyes flashing like they had in the courtyard. He shook his head and scowled, “Well, don’t you just have it all figured out? I bet it must be nice knowing everything and lording it over everyone else huh?” Rev bounded to his feet and pushed bodily past Rory, his scowl degenerating into a sneer. “This is stupid, I don’t need your help. I don’t need anybody’s help, specially no Northman.”

Rory was half expecting that answer, but it still hit him hard. A blow below the belt that felt like it might knock the wind out of him. The worst part was that he really couldn’t do anything about it. Although it hurt none the less knowing that he had been rejected, Rev had his own path to walk and it looked like it was a path that didn’t involve Rory.

Northman.

The word echoed pitilessly in his ears over and over. He was sick of hearing that. He was sick of Thiians. Regret that he had given his word to Sir Edmund threatened to overwhelm him. Rory held back the sigh he knew would come and quickly donned the strange pair of sandals Rev had left him; they squeezed the sides of his feet awkwardly, but they had good grip with the floor and they were meant to be light and mobile over the roughest and smoothest of fighting surfaces.

Rev hadn’t waited for him in the corridor. By the time Rory exited he had already stormed down the hallway and was just rounding the corner. Rev hurried after him, catching him in the next hallway, he didn’t try and walk beside the strange apprentice this time, he stayed several steps back wishing fervently that he had met someone a little less mule-headed. Rev, was a coward—and what was worse—the boy probably knew it.

It was at least a relief to be able to follow Rev out. If he had been left alone Rory was positive he would get himself lost. He wasn’t sure, but Rev seemed to take a different route this time, ignoring the kitchen and taking the common room route instead, whether by design or chance Rory dared not ask. The commons was filled with plain, short tables and chairs that dotted the stone room in no particular set formation. It was dark as none of the large candles along the walls were lit yet, and the four small leaded windows set high above the floor doled only a meagre source of light even though it couldn’t be that late in the afternoon.

The only two figures in the commons stood at their entry, crossing the short distance to greet Rev. They looked quite familiar and it didn’t take long to place the tall and thin fellow with the wire-rimmed glasses and his short stocky companion, they were both grinning broadly at Rev, ignoring Rory completely for the moment.

“Hey mouse, you’ll never guess who we were just talking too.” The tall one said, his voice was mocking and filled with something just short of contempt. Mouse? Rory couldn’t help thinking to himself.

Rev’s scowl, if it were possible, seemed to dim the whole room even more and filled it with a dark fog…but that was just Rory’s imagination running away from him again…Rev’s emotions couldn’t be that powerful could they? “If the answer starts with a ‘J’ and ends with ‘anna’ you can shove it up your ass.”

The thin young raised his hands warily, “Whoa, somebody’s in a bad mood, I would be too if Janna were looking for me.” Far from sounding offended, the tall thin youth had his wide mouth stretched with a grin and seemed carved in stone.

“He’s always in a bad mood.” The stocky youth proclaimed solemnly. “Jared explained it to me once. He said the air is colder near the ground after all, he read somewhere that it makes short people grumpy, something to do with sluggish blood flow to the brain. I mean, that would pretty much explain mouse here.”

“Whatever porky, go role in some mud or something.” Rev growled and tried to brush past the two, but the boy with glasses blocked his path. He opened his mouth with a sly twinkle in his eye, but he never quite got to say anything before he was interrupted.

“So he was here after all.” Rory turned to watch a new face walk briskly in from the mess. Rory couldn’t help but feel his jaw drop with awe. In all his life he had never seen such a confident swagger—especially when it was a woman…no just a girl, Rory corrected himself. She wore different coloured clothes than Rev and his two not-quite companions, green with streaks of gold adorned her kilt, and instead of being pleated like Rory’s own, it was smooth, loose enough to move around in but only came to the tops of her knees. Her hair was short and a near mirror image of Rev’s dark black hair, her eyes on the other hand were quite different: a dark green emerald that was sharp and vivid. Her eyes were narrowed on the small swordsman and she circled him like a hunter, stalking up and looking him over. When she finally looked up into his face, Rev was red and shaking silently. What a glare she had!

“Still in Apprentice blues I see. Not that I’m surprised…you always were the little slacker. What happened to your vow? What was it again?” Her mocking deep alto was visibly eating into Rev’s quick temper, it was inevitable to flare.

“Shut up! You don’t know anything.” Rev snapped angrily but shut his mouth not unexpectedly when Janna’s eyes turned frosty. She grabbed his shirt roughly and manhandled him with one arm until her nose was almost touching her own, bending over in the process.

“I’m sorry, maybe I didn’t hear that last part quite right? My ears must be full of wax because I could almost swear I heard you just mouth off to a superior. But you wouldn’t be that stupid, not my brother.”

Brother? Now that Rory looked closely, he was surprised to find he hadn’t noticed it earlier. They shared the same slender not quite thin build that must run in the family. Aside from the slight height difference, they might have been twins, if not for the different clothes and a couple of obvious lumps beneath Janna’s form fitting armour.

Rev was shaking under her firm grip, and while he could no longer see the boy’s eyes, he didn’t need too. Rory could feel the black fog of anger flowing visibly into a spectrum Rory was sure he was the only one in the room that could see. This was not good, Rev had already been near the boiling point back in his room…but getting dressed down in public again? And by his sister?

Rory, not quite sure what he was trying to accomplish, opened his mouth, but Rev beat him to it. He brushed off his sister’s hands and took a long step back and took a deep breath and held it before exhaling slowly. Unbeknownst to anyone but Rory, the clouds stayed, the breath was all for show. Rev bowed stiffly at the waist, “My apologies, you must have misheard me. I was talking to myself and got carried away.” He said, speaking more to the floor than to the green and gold kilted young woman.

Janna ignored him for the time being and turned to glare at the two other swordsmen present, both had bewildered and confused expressions as if they couldn’t quite believe what they were seeing. “And what exactly are you two staring at?” She sized them up and down quickly with her eyes, “Worm and Porky is it? Were you out sparring today with Mouse here?”

Both youths snapped to attention, their legs coming together, backs rigid, hands loose at their sides. It was the boy with glasses who responded. “No ma’am! We were sparring in the main courtyard today, Rev was told to spar in one of the outer rings on Headmaster Jinx’s orders.” She waited and after a while Worm, as Janna had named him, started squirming under her gaze, she was waiting for something apparently.

“…with the novices” Porky added almost under his breath wincing in Rev’s direction as he did. The comment caused Janna to lazily look back over her shoulder and smirk. Rev kept his head down, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as he carefully avoided her eyes. Rory felt his heart begin to reach out for Rev again, he quickly smothered the reaction. Rev deserved everything he was reaping…he was a selfish and arrogant little…

“And? What about you?” Rory looked up in surprise; those deadly green eyes seemed to explore every nook and cranny of his body with one glance, she blinked rapidly when her eyes finally and inevitably rested on his hair. “I don’t think we’ve met before Red, although I wish we had! A real live Northman in the Hand’s army? Sergeant Zexs must have had a fit when he saw you.” From the looks on their faces, Worm and Porky hadn’t noticed him at all until now. Worm was trying to catch Rev’s eye urgently while Porky just stared blankly over at his outrageous red hair. Janna took a couple of steps and closed the gap between them, almost knocking Rev over in the process. She stopped uncomfortably close and grabbed his shoulders, squeezing them gently as she felt down his arms. “Well? Do you have a name Red?”

Rev tried to step between Janna and her prey, “His name is Rory and he’s…” Rev had to stop when a blur of motion and the meaty sound of the back of Janna’s hand caught Rev across the left cheek, he was forced backwards, rubbing his cheek with wide eyes. Rory frowned at her as she turned back with a grin on weathered lips that looked like they had seen too many sunny days.

“I’m sure,” Janna said, her voice ringing sweetly, “he can speak for himself. Well?”

There was no point in trying to ignore her. Her hands were beginning to get a little too friendly with all that rubbing. “Its Rory,” he tried to say as icily as he reasonably could without insulting her outright.

“Rory is it?” she said, tasting the unfamiliar name, her eyes narrowed slightly. “I think I like Red better. So Red, tell me? How did my little brother fare against the novices today?”

Rory couldn’t resist the temptation and glanced over at Rev, whose cheek was fiery red from the backhanded slap. He avoided making eye contact though, like he didn’t care what was said. Rory knew better—every muscle in his body was taut, waiting for Rory’s answer, dreading. If he was hoping Rory would lie, he was mistaken—sadly so. Reap what you sow.

“You want a blow by blow account or the gist of it?”

“Oh my, you should be careful where and who you speak too. That accent of yours makes me tingle hearing it.” Her hands wandered a little lower. “Just the interesting parts I think.” Janna turned and winked over at Rev, who was doing his very best imitation of a beet. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere but in a room with his sister.

“Well, I can’t tell you much.” Rory said, hurriedly. “I only saw him sparring with one novice, a skinny fellow about a head taller. Rev was winning before he fell for a feint and got knocked. Pretty much the same for the second round, then Jinx came and started yelling. I can’t say I remember exactly what was said but there was a lot of hitting involved.”

“Oh, never mind that. I can guess what was said. Then?” One of her hands had stayed to his chest, it inched lower...lower still.

“Well…” Rory paused, wondering if he should tell her about the trough incident, it was bound to get out anyways. After a second of thought Rory decided it might be better if he didn’t say anything, it might take too long and her hand might end up in a place it most certainly was not supposed to be. “A bit later Jinx banned him from the courtyards and sparring with other students.” Rory finished in a hurry with one breath. “That’s all.”

Janna looked dubious for a moment, but her face relaxed into an easy grin as if satisfied with the ammunition she already had and she let her hands drop. “So much for challenging me come festival eh mouse?” she chuckled when he didn’t answer. “Ah well…there’s always next year…and the year after that…and then…who knows…” She paused and walked over to where Rev stood, his entire body a ball of knotted muscle. She took one of her fingers and placed it on his forehead, “Maybe you’ll finally figure out how useless you really are! That Rev Swordsman can’t even prove his own existence against his supposed subordinates.” She pushed hard, sending Rev’s head backwards. “Don’t bother challenging me this festival mouse. I’ll choose real iron if you do, and teach you a lesson even a dumb and cowardly mouse like you will never forget.”

Janna turned back to Rory and grinned. Rory had the sudden impression as he was forced to look into that face of white teeth that he was meeting the eyes not of another human, but some scavenger, like a hyena. She placed a hand on his shoulder suggestively, “There’s no helping it if you’re not in my squad…but if you ever need anything. Let me know!” And before Rory could properly react, she reached down and flipped up his kilt and took a quick peak and attempted a good grope. Rory fell backwards in his haste to get away, much to Janna’s amusement. He had never thought his face could get so hot that his ears felt like they might burst into flames.

The nerve…

“Word of advice though,” she told him with a leer. “Stop hanging around these losers if you ever want to become something.” And with one more wink that set his cheeks aflame anew, she left.

Rory and company just sat or stood where they were for a few precious moments, savouring the blessed quiet. Rory felt like he had just somehow escaped with his life from a raging maelstrom, somehow cheating death. If he could be any more shocked it was nothing like when Rev walked over and offered his hand. Recovering, Rory grabbed the hand and pulled himself up off the floor, brushing himself off as he did. Rev didn’t release his hand, but pulled him towards the exit.

“Rev…listen, if we had known…” Porky started then stopped when he realized Rev wouldn’t even acknowledge his presence in the room. Rory shrugged when he turned in silent appeal, he had absolutely no idea what was going on in Rev’s head. Had he snapped? Rory concentrated and touched the ambiance for a brief instant, just enough to recoil as blinding cold hatred seeped into Rory’s consciousness. He slammed a barrier down before his stomach could react and spill his lunch all over Rev.

Rory didn’t have to wait long to find out what exactly was going on. Once outside, Rory got pulled into the shadows of the pillars out of earshot of any of the lounging men. Rev’s hand was trembling and it was wet with sweat. He turned and Rory very nearly pulled his hand back. It wasn’t the pain from the boy’s iron grip, but those blue, blue eyes fastened on him in icy rage that stopped him—hot embers of a fury Rory had never seen before smouldered brightly behind them. He felt himself getting sucked into that gaze, his own will getting eclipsed by something so consuming it even touched the elemental ambiance—even though Rory had locked down his second vision it shone like a halo that wrapped and clothed the boy, visible only to one who was sensitive. But to his surprise, it wasn’t aimed at Rory. The anger wasn’t even directed at himself this time…something in Rev had changed. Rory’s eyes widened slowly.

“I…” Rev shook as he spoke, his voice trembling. He struggled for what felt like days as his voice turned hoarse and quiet. When it finally came it was forced out through gritted teeth and with a small tremulous voice that cracked painfully.

Inhale. “I…I need your help.”

Rory’s heart sang.

Chapter 1	Chapter 2	Chapter 3	Chapter 4
Chapter 5	Chapter 6	Chapter 7	Chapter 8
Chapter 9