Margaret Weis - The reign of Istar

Out in the courtyard, Moran squinted at the sun. "Awfully bright, don't you think?" he asked casually. In the past month, the novices had learned to dread his casual questions.

He stared around in surprise. "No? Ah. You're young. You don't notice. Don't worry. I'll take care that you don't hurt your eyes by squinting."

He handed each boy a blindfold, told him to put it on. With some misgivings, he gave Tarli's to Saliak. The older boy tied it around Tarli's head, all but planting his foot in Tarli's back to pull the knot tight. Tarli, raising his hands to his head, made a small, startled sound.

"Something wrong?" Moran asked.

"Not really." Finally Tarli said hesitantly, "This is so tight, it hurts."

"Think of the pain as a distraction. You may have to fight in pain someday." He held the boy's shoulder, mostly to keep him still. "Now you tie on Saliak's blindfold."

Saliak flinched. He hadn't thought about that. Tarli, his skin puckering beneath his own blindfold, grinned. Saliak didn't make a sound when Tarli tightened the blindfold, but Moran saw the older boy grimace in pain.

Moran passed each blind and groping boy a dagger. Maglion yelped when he pricked his finger on the point; the rest jumped at the sound.

Moran guided each of them, stood them against one of the walls. "And now," he said calmly, "all you have to do is walk across the courtyard without being stabbed. Simple enough, I'd think."

It was. If you used your ears and remembered that defensive weapons were as important as offensive, the task wasn't hard at all. The novices began to shuffle tentatively across the courtyard.

It wasn't as dangerous as it sounded; most boys were afraid to strike at all, sure that they were exposing their hands to a blade.

Moran moved among them with a short sword, occasionally parrying a novice's thrust, more often touching a novice's back to remind him he was exposed.

Tarli, from either uncommon sense or recklessness — Moran couldn't decide which — skipped halfway across the yard before the others had gone a step. Alone in the center, he cocked his head, listening carefully and stepping around each of the approaching novices, who were tiptoeing and shying away from each other, striking at nothing and ducking from the same.

Tarli reached the opposite wall in record time and stood listening. Moran felt a burst of pride in him.

Saliak, nearly halfway across, called softly, "Here, kender. Little Kender Stew, come on, boy." He clucked his tongue. "I've got something for you." He sidestepped away from the target spot his own voice had defined.

Tarli smiled and stepped back into the courtyard. He moved behind Saliak and matched him step for step.

Saliak called in a sweet voice: "Here, kender. Don't be afraid, little fella. Do you want my surprise?"

Tarli licked one of his fingernails, then reached up and pressed it against Saliak's neck.

"Depends. What is it?" Tarli asked conversationally.

Saliak froze at the feel of what he thought was the cold point of a dagger.

Faron, hearing Tarli, shuffled toward him, dagger thrust out.

Tarli stepped back from Saliak, who all but leapt away.

Faron made a quick thrust, low enough to pierce Tarli's heart.

Tarli, his head cocked, caught the rustling of cloth. He turned and smacked Faron's wrist with the dagger's hilt. The other boy yelped, dropped his dagger, and Tarli snatched it up.

Faron fell to his hands and knees, searching for his weapon. Tarli stood beside him and called loudly, "Janeel!"

Janeel lurched toward him, fell over Faron, and lost his dagger as well. Tarli stepped between them and shouted, "Paladine help me! Steyan! Somebody! They've got my arms pinned."

A number of boys advanced on what they thought was easy prey. After the first few went down in a heap, the rest were inevitable victims.

Gradually the groans and mutterings of the defeated pile of arms and legs sank to nothing. Except for Tarli, only Saliak, feinting determinedly around the empty courtyard, was still upright.

"Dein?" Saliak sidestepped. "Faron?"

Faron and Dein, half-buried in the pile, were cursing each other and Tarli.

Saliak had wrapped his shirt around his arm in a makeshift shield and used his dagger as a probe to find someone. "Janeel?" He sounded afraid. "Anybody?"

Then he did something that impressed Moran. Saliak ran end-to-end in the courtyard, his fingers outstretched. When he touched the far wall, he spun around and ran the other way.

As luck would have it, both times he missed the pile of novices. He stood still and called out, "Is everyone all right? You sound like you're in pain. Do you need help?"

The worst among them is becoming a knight, Moran thought with satisfaction.

Saliak was now thoroughly frightened. "Answer me!" He leapt to one side, as though something he couldn't see had lunged at him. "Sire, tell me they're all right!"

Although he remained silent, Moran was moved.

Tarli tiptoed over to Saliak.

"Booga-booga-booga!" Tarli yelled and poked Saliak in the ribs with his finger.

Saliak screamed and slashed wildly. Tarli leapt back, laughing. The others, hearing the noise, struggled to stand, grunting and cursing.

Moran viewed glumly the shambles of the exercise. "All right, take off your blindfolds."

Those who could helped those who couldn't. They gaped at what they saw: themselves, unarmed, in the center of the courtyard, and Tarli, still blindfolded, standing confidently over a stack of daggers.

Most of the boys were bruised, hardly any cut. Moran supposed that the exercise might be judged a success.

Saliak tugged angrily at his blindfold. "It won't come off." Several boys tried to untie Saliak's blindfold, but every tug made the knot tighter. Finally Janeel asked Tarli for a dagger.

Tarli shrugged and tossed it, lightly and easily, without having to look, then he cut his own blindfold off, picked up his ever-present duffel and thonged stick, and walked to lunch alone, whirling the stick, listening to it hum.

Saliak, rubbing the marks out of his head, stared viciously after him. "I'll kill the little animal. I'll kill him. I'll kill him."

Moran, standing behind him, said coldly, "Saliak."

Saliak spun, reddening. "Sire."

"A word of advice: Don't attempt it blindfolded. You'll hurt yourself."

Steyan laughed aloud. Saliak shot him a nasty look. Moran thought sadly, He'll pay for that laugh. Rakiel watched the boys limp out of the courtyard. "Tarli's hearing is amazing — for a human," he commented.

"It's a common enough human talent," Moran retorted irritably. "My own hearing — " He stopped.

"You were about to say something about your hearing?" Rakiel prodded him.

"It's fairly good." He looked pointedly at the cleric, daring him to continue. Rakiel smiled, shrugged, and walked off. As soon as he was alone, Moran began sorting and counting the daggers. The count was woefully off. A trip to the barracks — and Tarli's duffel — replaced only a few of them. Tarli was vague about what had happened to the rest. A search of the manor produced no more daggers.

Moran spent the evening in more paperwork, helped by a sarcastic and skeptical Rakiel. A late-night bout of Draconniel, in which Moran lost seven footmen to Rakiel's suicide squadrons, did nothing to improve the knight's temper.

"Another expense?" Rakiel asked a week later.

Moran grunted. This one was for missing pots and pans — Tarli had used them in the nightly barracks battle, for "armor."

"Doesn't anyone ever ask you if you're overspending?" the cleric demanded.

"No." Moran gritted his teeth, then said calmly, "Knights trust one another. I write the forms, I sign and seal documents, and I hold the gold and silver in the treasury room below, not far from the novices' barracks and… Oh, Paladine!" It was the first time in twenty years that Moran had sworn aloud.