Lynn Flewelling - The Bone Doll's Twin

Master Porion didn’t seem to mind how they were dressed.

“From the looks of your leathers, you’ve been practicing with bears and wildcats!” he said. “The others are at their shooting, so you may as well begin there.”

Korin might be lord of the mess table, but Porion was master here. At his approach all eighteen boys turned and made him a respectful salute, fist to heart. A few also raised their hands to smother smirks at the sight of Tobin and Ki’s leathers. Someone in the crowd watching the Companions laughed aloud and Tobin thought he caught a glimpse of Moriel’s pale head.

The Companions’ practice jerkins were as ornate as their banquet garb, worked with raised patterns and colors to show hunting or battle scenes. Fancy gold and silver work glittered on scabbards and quivers. Tobin felt dull as a cowbird by comparison. Even the squires were better turned out than he was.

Remember whose son you are , he thought, and squared his shoulders.

“Today you become a Royal Companion in earnest,” Porion told him. “I know I don’t have to teach you of honor; I know whose son you are. Here I charge you to add to it the Companion’s Rule: Stand together. We stand for the Prince Royal, and we stand with him for the king and Skala. We don’t fight among ourselves. If you have a grievance with one of your fellows, you bring it to the circle.” He pointed to the stone outline of the sword fighting ground. “Words are met with words and judged by me. Blows are exchanged only here. To strike another Companion is a serious offense, punishable by flogging on the Temple steps. A Companion who breaks the rule is punished by Korin, a squire by his own lord. Isn’t that so, Arius?”

One of the squires who’d smirked at Tobin’s jerkin gave the arms master a sheepish nod.

“But I don’t imagine that will be a problem with you two. Come on and let’s see how you shoot.”

As Tobin stepped up to the lists, he began to feel a little steadier. After all, these were the same sort of targets he’d trained on at home: bulls and wands and straw-filled sacks for straight shots, and clouts tossed out for arching. Tobin checked his string and the breeze as he’d been taught, then set his feet well apart and nocked one of Koni’s fine new arrows to the string. The king vanes were made from striped owl feathers he’d found in the forest one day.

A puff of wind across the field carried his first shaft wild, but the next four found their marks on the bull, all striking close inside the center ring. He shot five more at the sack, and then managed to hit three of the five wands set in the ground. He’d shot better, but when he was done the others cheered him and clapped him on the shoulders.

Ki took his place and pulled just as well.

They moved on to the sword ground next, and Tobin was paired with plump, sandy-haired Nikides, the lord chancellor’s kinsman. He was older than Lutha, but closer to Tobin in height. His steel helm was burnished like silver and had fancy bronze work around the rim and down the nasal, but there was something unsure in his stance. Tobin clapped on his own plain helmet and stepped into the circle to face him. As they saluted each other with their wooden practice blades, Tobin’s first bout with Ki came back to him. A new opponent wouldn’t catch him off guard this time.

Porion set them no slow drills or forms, just raised his own sword, then dropped it with the cry, “Have at it, boys!”

Tobin lunged forward and got past Nikides’ guard with surprising ease. He expected a swift reprisal, but Nikides proved to be clumsy and slow. Within a few minutes Tobin had driven him to the edge of the circle, knocked his sword from his hand, and scored a killing thrust to the belly.

“Well fought, Prince Tobin,” the boy mumbled, clasping hands with him. Tobin noted again how soft his palm was, compared to the warriors he’d grown up among.

“Let’s try you with someone a bit tougher,” Porion said, and called Quirion into the ring. He was fourteen, a hand taller than Nikides, and leaner built. He was left-handed, too, but Tharin had made Tobin practice with Manies and Aladar back home so this didn’t throw him. He shifted his weight to accommodate the difference and met Quirion’s opening attack solidly. This boy was a better fighter than Nikides and scored a bruising blow on Tobin’s thigh. Tobin quickly recovered and got his blade under Quirion’s, forced it up, then gutted him. Ki hooted triumphantly outside the circle.

This time Porion said nothing, just motioned Lutha into the ring. Lutha was smaller than Tobin, but he was sharp-eyed, quick, and had the advantage of having watched Tobin fight. Tobin soon found himself being pushed, and had to turn to keep from being forced past the stone perimeter. Lutha grinned as he fought, and Tobin could almost hear Tharin’s voice saying a real warrior, this little one.

Tobin rallied and beat him back, raining blows down at his head that Lutha had no choice but to fend off. Tobin was dimly aware of the cheering around them, but all he could see was the bowed figure before him, boldly facing him down. He was sure Lutha was about to fall back when his own blade shattered. Lutha sprang at him and Tobin had to dodge sideways to avoid a killing swing. Using one of the tricks Ki’s sister had shown them, he checked his own rush and took advantage of Lutha’s overbalanced stance to trip him up. Much to his surprise, it worked, and Lutha went sprawling on his belly. Leaping on the boy’s back before he could recover, Tobin got an arm around his neck and pretended to cut his throat with his broken sword.

“You can’t do that!” Caliel protested.

“You can if you know how,” said Porion.

Tobin climbed off Lutha and helped him up.

“Who taught you that move?” the boy asked, dusting himself off.

“Ki’s sister.”

The statement was met with resounding silence. Tobin saw a mix of disbelief and derision in many of the faces of the onlookers outside the circle.

“A girl?” Alben sneered.

“She’s a warrior,” Ki said, but no one seemed to hear him.

Lutha clasped hands with Tobin. “Well, it’s a good one. You’ll have to teach it to me.”

“Who’s next in the ring with our mountain wildcat?” asked Porion. “Come on, he’s whipped three of you. No, not you Zusthra. You know you’re too big for him. Same for you, Caliel. Alben, I haven’t heard much from you yet today.”

Alben was fourteen, tall, and dark, with a sulky mouth and shining blue-black hair that he wore in a long tail down his back. He made a show of knotting this up behind his neck, then ambled into the ring to face Tobin. Many of the girls in the crowd pushed forward to watch, Aliya and her friends among them.

“None of your tricks now, Prince Wildcat,” he murmured, twirling his wooden blade from hand to hand like a juggler’s stick.

Distrustful of such showy moves, Tobin took a step back and assumed the salute position. With a sly, knowing nod, Alben did the same.

When they fought, all the showiness disappeared. Alben fought like Lutha, hard and skillfully, with more height and strength behind it. Already tired from the previous bouts, Tobin was hard pressed to keep up his guard, much less press an attack. His arms ached and his leg hurt where Quirion had struck him. If he’d been at practice with Tharin, he might have given, or called truce. Instead, he thought of the sneering way this boy had spoken of Ki’s sister and threw himself into the fight.

Alben fought rough, butting him with his shoulders and head whenever he saw an opening. But Tobin was no stranger to this sort of rough-and-tumble, thanks to Ki, and responded in kind. He began to think it might be in fun after all, that he and Alben had found a way to make friends, but the look on the older boy’s face told him otherwise. He didn’t like being matched by a younger boy, or at least not by Tobin. Tobin gave rein to his own anger again. When Alben caught him in the nose with his elbow, the pain only put the strength back into him and he laughed aloud as he felt the shock of his blade against the other boy’s.