Lynn Flewelling - The Bone Doll's Twin

Sakor’s luck was still with him, or maybe the gods hated a sneerer that day, for he was able to trip up Alben with the very same trick he’d used on Lutha. Alben went down on his back with the wind knocked out of him. Tobin sprang on him and put his sword to his heart.

“Do you yield?”

Alben glared up at him but saw that he had no choice. “I yield.”

Tobin withdrew and walked out of the circle to where Korin and Ki stood with Porion.

“Our new Companion’s been bloodied,” the arms master observed.

Tobin looked at him, then at the cloth Ki was holding out to him.

“Your nose, Tobin. He scored one hit on you, anyway.”

Tobin took the cloth and wiped at his bloody nose and chin. The sight of the stained cloth brought back the fleeting fragment of a dream.

You see blood, you come here.

He shook his head as Korin and some of the others thumped his back and told him what a fine swordsman he was. This was an honorable bloodying. Why would he go running home for that? It had just been a silly dream.

“Look at you! Scarce half-grown and you’ve already taken down half the Royal Companions,” said Korin. He was clear-eyed today, and Tobin found himself basking in the older boy’s praise. “Who taught you to fight so well, coz? Not Ki’s sister, surely?”

“My father and Sir Tharin were my teachers,” he told him. “And Ki. We practice together.”

“When you’ve rested a bit, would you two fight for us?” asked Porion.

“Certainly, Arms Master.”

Ki fetched him a mug of cider from a barrel nearby, and they watched Korin and Caliel fight a practice match while Tobin rested. Lutha and Nikides joined them with their squires, Barieus and Ruan. The others kept their distance and watched the prince. After the praise from the prince and Porion, it felt awkward to be standing apart.

“Did I do something wrong?” Tobin asked Lutha.

The other boy looked down at his feet and shrugged. “Alben doesn’t like to be beaten.”

“Neither did you two.”

Lutha shrugged again.

“Lutha will beat you next time, now that he knows how you fight,” said Nikides. “Or maybe not, but he’ll have a chance and he’s always good-hearted about it. I won’t, though.”

“You might,” Tobin told him, though he guessed the boy was right.

“No, not against you,” Nikides insisted, apparently unconcerned. “But that’s no matter. Not all of us are here because we’re great warriors, Prince Tobin.”

Before Tobin could ask what Nikides meant, the older boys had finished their match and Porion was calling them into the ring.

“All right, then. Let’s give ’em a proper show,” Ki whispered happily.

Putting aside their wooden swords, they drew steel and fought, no holds barred, using elbows and knees and butting helmets. They yelled their war cries and fought until the dust rolled higher than their heads and sweat soaked through their mail and jerkins. Steel rang on steel as they battered at each other’s guards and Ki came close to smashing Tobin’s sword hand. Tobin caught him a flat-bladed smack on the helmet in return, but neither would give. For the space of the battle nothing else mattered and Tobin lost himself in the familiarity of the fight. They’d done this so often and were so well matched that they eventually fought each other to a standstill and Porion called a draw.

They stepped apart, panting and winded, and found themselves in the center of a crowd of spectators. Many of Alben’s female admirers were watching them now. Ki noticed and nearly tripped over his own feet. Aliya turned and said something to a slender blond girl beside her and they both laughed. Behind them, a brunette closer to Tobin’s age stood watching him with dark, serious eyes. He didn’t remember seeing her before. She caught him looking and disappeared into the surrounding crowd.

“By the Flame!” Korin exclaimed. “You weren’t joking when you said you did nothing else back in your mountains but fight!”

Not even proud Alben could hang back in the face of Korin’s obvious approval. The pair was allowed to rest again, but both were in demand for the rest of the afternoon among the younger Companions and squires.

But not against Prince Korin, Tobin noted. Korin fought only against Caliel and Porion, and defeated both of them most of the time. Tobin was glad not to have been paired against him. Alben had been hard enough to defeat. Of all of them, however, he’d already set Lutha as his main challenger. He was as slippery as Alben, but Tobin liked him a good deal better.

Ki was glad that there was no great feast on their second night in Ero. Instead, he began his regular duties at table in the Companion’s mess. This meal, eaten in a smaller hall, was conducted like any noble table. A few musicians entertained them, and couriers from the king read out dispatches and descriptions of the latest battles.

Each squire had his appointed role. Tanil served as carver of the meats in each course, and Caliel’s squire Mylirin as panter, with his four knives for the different breads. These were the services of highest distinction.

Garol had the alchemist’s task of butler, mixing the wines and spices with water. It could be a dangerous task; the butler must always “prove by the mouth” to test the wine’s quality and therefore was usually the first to be poisoned if someone meant to kill the host. According to Squire Ruan, Garol was more likely to kill the rest of them by mixing the wine too strong.

Orneus’ squire, a quiet, graceful boy nicknamed Lynx, was the mazer, whose task it was to keep the footed cups filled with the appropriate wines during each course. Ruan served as almoner, in charge of collecting scraps to be sent out to the beggars at the Palatine gates. Ki and the rest were sent off as ushers to carry in food from the kitchens, with Zusthra’s squire, Chylnir, as their captain. Unfortunately, this left Ki at the mercy of his least sympathetic companions in arms.

Even with friendly Squire Barieus to help him, Ki was always one step behind or forgetting something. The other ushers, Mago and Arius, were too busy looking down their long noses at him to give him any help. Chylnir had little patience with any of them.

It hurt Ki’s pride to make such a poor showing for Tobin in front of the others. He managed to upset two sauce basins that first night, and nearly dumped a steaming swan’s-neck pudding on Korin’s head when Mago bumped his elbow. He ended the evening splattered with grease and plum sauce, then had to endure the snickers and smirks of the others during the evening’s hearth entertainments. Korin passed it off graciously with a joke and Tobin was happily oblivious, clearly not feeling dishonored in the least. Ki sat outside the circle of firelight, feeling low-spirited and out of place.

Tobin guessed that something was bothering Ki, but couldn’t guess what it might be. Tobin had been proud of him at table; he’d even gotten praise from Prince Korin.

Ki’s mood didn’t seem to lighten any when Porion and the older boys began telling more tales of the palace ghosts around the hearth that night, elaborating on where the different apparitions were most likely to be found. There were weeping maids and headless lovers at every turn, if all the stories were to be believed, but the most fearsome ghost was that of Mad Agnalain herself.

“Our grandmother wanders these very halls,” Korin said, sitting close beside Tobin as he imparted the tale. “She has a golden crown on her head, and blood runs down from it into her face and over her gown—the blood of all the innocents she sent to the torture chambers and gibbet and crow cages. She has a bloody sword in her hand, and a golden girdle hung with the pricks of all the consorts and lovers she took.”