Ginn Hale - Lord of the White Hell Book One

"Come, Fedeles." Genimo caught one of Fedeles' hands and led him out of Scholar Donamillo's grip as if he were taking a dance partner. He placed one of his hands against Fedeles' back, steadying him.

"I'll send word to Scholar Habalan that you should be excused from his class this afternoon," Scholar Donamillo told Genimo.

"Thank you, sir." Genimo politely bowed to Scholar Donamillo and then led Fedeles down the hall and up the stairs. Kiram watched them go, unsure of what to think. The night before Genimo had threatened and terrified Fedeles, and now he was leading Fedeles like a doting uncle tending an invalid child.

"So, Scholar Blasio sent you?" Scholar Donamillo prompted.

"Yes." Kiram quickly turned his attention back to Scholar Donamillo's severe gaze. After two weeks of classes with the scholar, Kiram no longer found his expressions daunting. From time to time he even thought he caught glimpses of affection crossing the older man's face.

Nestor, on the other hand, was not one of Scholar Donamillo's favorite students. He bowed his head and kept his distance.

"Scholar Blasio said that we should speak to you about being excused from the additional war arts training because I'm already spending most of my free time-" Kiram would have gone on but Donamillo cut him off with a shake of his head.

"Unfortunately this morning when I put the question to Master Ignacio, he would not allow the exemption. Apparently he has already made arrangements for your training. Upperclassmen have been pulled from their free hours to tutor the two of you." Scholar Donamillo studied Kiram's cheek for a moment. "Did anyone treat that?"

"Upperclassman Javier applied a salve to it last night," Kiram replied. He wished he had known what exactly the salve was. He guessed that Scholar Donamillo did because he nodded approvingly.

"It looks clean, but if it should become red or painful come to see me." For an instant an almost sly look flickered over Scholar Donamillo's hard features. "I wouldn't want all the practice of war arts to cause you to develop a fever in the injury. That could keep you from practice for quite a while."

"Ahm. Yes, sir." Kiram wasn't quite sure of how to interpret Scholar Donamillo's words. It sounded like he was telling Kiram to pretend that his injury was worse than it was. In fact, Kiram was almost positive that was Scholar Donamillo's meaning. But it would also mean lying to Master Ignacio, the prospect of which terrified Kiram.

"You had both best report to Master Ignacio now." As Scholar Donamillo stepped back into the infirmary, Kiram caught a brief glimpse of huge iron supports curving like the ribs of a globe around a sphere of milky glass. Golden lights flickered from within the mechanism, then died away. Then the door fell closed.

"They are going to wipe the floor with us," Nestor groaned.

"What are you talking about?" Kiram asked, still thinking about the majesty of the mechanism he'd glimpsed. "Who are you talking about?"

"The upperclassmen." Nestor looked at Kiram as if there could have been no other answer. "Scholar Donamillo just said that Master Ignacio had pulled them out of their free hours just to tutor us. They are going to be furious!"

"You don't think that they'd actually hurt us, though?" Even as Kiram asked the question he realized that hurting the two of them was bound to be part of their training. No doubt the more Kiram or Nestor annoyed any given upperclassman, the more often he would seize on the opportunity to train them a little too hard.

"We are bent over a barrel," Nestor said flatly.

Kiram simply nodded. The two of them made their way from the main building to the dark low structure of the sparring house like condemned prisoners.

Like the stables, the sparring house seemed suffused with the living presence of its occupants. Here, instead of horse feed and leather, the heat and sweat of men filled the air. The pungent scent saturated the gray mats of the wrestling ring as well as the sawdust-strewn floor. Even with windows all along the length of the gallery propped open, the heat and smell of men remained.

Here and there dark spatters stained the sawdust. He had always wondered if those spatters were blood and felt afraid to touch them. Now that he had some idea of how easy it was to draw blood, he realized that the sawdust was there in the first place to catch the dribbles of gore and keep the floors beneath from becoming stained.

"At least we aren't the only ones," Nestor commented.

Master Ignacio had listed three other second-year students for intensive training. They lounged beside the wrestling ring, standing in the shafts of hard light that fell through the open windows. Kiram knew all of them by sight but not well enough to have any opinion of them as individuals. They moved among the mass of second-year students who snickered at Kiram's accent and squinted at Nestor, mocking his poor vision. They were neither instigators nor protestors, just followers.

All three possessed a blandness of appearance that made them hard to tell apart. Pale, splotchy skin, lank brown hair, long faces and bodies like marionettes with all their weight built up in their jutting joints. None of them were as slender as Kiram or as big as Nestor and all three seemed pained to see that they had been classed with the two of them.

"That's Ladislo in the middle, there." Nestor squinted at the young man, then whispered, "To be honest I can't really see why Procopio bends him. He's not much to look at, is he?"

Kiram tried not to stare at the plain young man. He seemed a little more fine-boned than the other two but otherwise there was nothing exceptional about him.

"Bland," Kiram decided.

"I guess Procopio is just too broke to buy anything better in town."

As they drew closer to the wrestling ring, Ladislo seemed to notice them. He spat into the mass of wood- shavings and sawdust on the floor.

"If I were Procopio, I'd save up." Kiram couldn't keep from making the comment. Nestor gave a soft laugh but then cleared his throat as if he could play it off for a cough.

Kiram and Nestor stopped at the edge of the wrestling ring. Nestor kicked a few wood shavings across the boundary lines painted on the floor. The other three students gazed at the two of them with studied disinterest.

"Is Master Ignacio somewhere around?" Nestor's tone was amiable as always, despite the cold looks he received from all three of the other second-year students.

"He's showing the upperclassmen where the fencing gear is stored and having them bring down medical supplies in case someone puts out his eye." Ladislo looked pointedly at Nestor.

"Did you hear which upperclassmen-" The rest of Nestor's question was interrupted by another of the second-year students-Kiram thought his name was Chilla -jamming his thumb against one nostril and blowing a huge glob a snot out of the other.

"No," Chilla said flatly.

The third boy, Ollivar, glanced uncertainly between Chilla and Nestor. Then he broke from the other two and joined them at the edge of the wrestling ring.

"I think Master Ignacio decided to use our own upperclassmen to tutor us and make sure that it sticks." Ollivar glanced briefly to Kiram, mainly to eye the red scab on his cheek.

"My brother Elezar is your upperclassman, isn't he?" Nestor gave Ollivar an easy smile and Kiram felt a brief shot of annoyance at Nestor's unflagging friendliness. He'd probably smile at a dog after it bit him.

"Yfeah," Ollivar replied. "Ybu've got Atreau Vediya, right? What's that like?"

"He's a northerner." Nestor gave a shrug. "He's never cold enough. Dead of winter and he has to have the window propped open. I don't mind, though. I don't get cold easily. None of us Grunitos do."