Robin Owens - Guardian of Honor

Bastien choked, swallowed, breathed through a couple of gasps. “A pool?” He shook his head. “Can’t be. Jerir is scarce and valuable.”

“A pool. The ritual bathing pool in the Temple, to be exact.” He closed his eyes and a shudder rippled his long frame.

Bastien leaned forward and pressed his fingers on his brother’s fisted hand. “What is it? How can I help?”

“Take the job as Chevalier Representative to the Marshalls’ Council.”

“Become the Chevalier’s Representative?” That jolted a laugh from Bastien and he leaned back against the padded wall—just the contraction of his chest hurt, by the Song. “Very funny.”

Luthan didn’t open his eyes. “I’m not joking. Listen to your last words. You want to help, to matter, to make things better.”

Letting his eyelids lower, Bastien fingered the edge of his hat. “I think you take life too seriously and want me to, also. I’m willing to help my brother.”

“And Lladrana?”

“The Marshalls believe they are Lladrana.”

Luthan opened his eyes. “They are doing the best they can.”

Bastien snorted and lifted his mug to drink again, let the smooth buttery taste of goldenale slip down his gullet. He licked his lips. “The Marshalls follow old ways. What’s worse—they keep those old ways and old spells from the rest of us, so we don’t know what they are doing, why, or what to expect. Most damning of all, they hid the knowledge that our boundaries were failing from us until we were invaded by the greater horrors.”

“Perhaps they thought they could find a remedy without involving us.”

“That’s your supposition. Meanwhile Chevalier lives were lost,” Bastien said. Including his childhood friend….

“They say the Exotique will solve the puzzle of restoring the fenceposts and boundaries. As in olden days, they Summoned one, and Tested her.”

“Did you actually see her?” Bastien lifted a brow.

“I saw a forming of her.”

His brother’s voice held an odd note. Ever fascinated with something new, Bastien scooted a little closer. “You did? Where? And what did she look like?”

“During the Marshalls’ Council this morning. She looks—odd. Exotique.”

“Hmm.” Bastien eyed his brother. “What of you? There’s something different about you. You didn’t Pair with her, did you?”

This time Luthan choked. “Merde, no!” His mouth twisted. “Mind you, I was invited. The Marshalls were displeased that no Chevaliers showed up.” His eyebrow mimicked Bastien’s.

They grinned at each other.

“It’s the jerir. I took a plunge.”

Bastien’s mug halted midair. “All of you?”

“And not just a quick dip. You know the size of the Temple pool—a nice dive and glide across to the other side to stagger out.” He shuddered again.

Drinking deeply, Bastien finished his ale. He’d never seen his brother so twitchy, not Luthan the Calm. “Better you than me.”

“No, better both of us.” Luthan’s fingers curled around Bastien’s wrist. “Bastien, the stories are true. The jerir makes a difference in a person, an obvious difference. I could tell at a glance those who’d bathed and those who hadn’t. Everyone can see the change, and I’d wager every Marshall in the Castle will be in that pool before long. It’s an advantage they can’t pass up, and neither can you.”

“Ha, as if they’d let my little toe into a sacred jerir protection pool.” Bastien withdrew his arm from Luthan’s grip. An odd vibrancy to Luthan’s fingers had set every silver hair on his nape rising. He waved to order two more ales.

Luthan’s eyes blazed. “That’s just it, Bastien. Word’s gone out.” His teeth gleamed in a grin that seemed to mock. “They’re breaking tradition. Anyone who wishes to can immerse themselves in the pool for the next month.”

“Must be desperate.” With a smile, Bastien handed a couple of pegtees to Dodu to pay for the drinks.

Shoving his empty glass aside, Luthan took a swig from the new one. “It’s a grand gesture, and a smart one. They’ll find out who’s the toughest, they’ll get better Chevaliers and soldiers from this move, and they’ll challenge the Chevaliers—the dissenters who don’t think much of them, like you—to match them.”

The ale turned sour in Bastien’s mouth. A feeling deep in his gut told him he’d be swimming in jerir. Rot.

Luthan tapped an elegant forefinger on the wooden table. “Not only the Chevaliers. I’d bet there will be some guild-folk who’ll have to bathe or swallow their pride.” He spread his hands. “We all win.”

“Huh.” Bastien took a rag from his breeches pocket and wiped his mouth. “Huh,” he said again, not at his most brilliant. He examined his brother again. “You don’t look like the stuff has helped you.”

“Not yet. I had some bruises from sword practice yesterday.” He sucked in a breath and shook his head. “Rough.”

“Everybody knows the attributes of jerir. It cleanses wounds and sets them to healing clean and fast. Wherever you were hurt becomes stronger, more protected from injury.” Bastien culled from memory.

“Everybody’s heard,” corrected Luthan. “You don’t know until you take that dive. I thought it was eating my body at those sores.” His eyes narrowed, softened. “Give yourself a week or two to heal before you bathe. I wouldn’t want to go into that pool with a real wound, and you look like you have one or two.”

More like five or six. Bastien curved his mouth in a jaunty smile.

Luthan leaned forward again. “But spread the word. Anyone who wants can go to the Castle Temple and ask to swim in the jerir for the next month. They must bathe before using it, and will get a free meal, after. A Marshall or Castle Chevalier will be on hand to verify the submersion.” He wiped his mouth with his handkerchief again and looked at the clock. “I have a courtesy meeting with the city guild Representatives to tell them of my new position. I’ll also report on the Summoning and the Marshalls’ Council. I’ll tell them of this offer.” Again his even, white teeth flashed. “That will stir them up. You spread the word to this lot.” He touched Bastien’s hand. “Think about the job of Chevalier Representative. It would be good for the Chevaliers and for you.”

Bastien forced out the question he’d wanted to ask. “Did our esteemed father bathe in the jerir?” Not that he needed the answer. Reynardus would always have to prove himself tougher, stronger, better than any other man.

“No.” Luthan’s eyes met Bastien’s own and reflected the same emotion. They would never receive the approval of their father, and they would always strive for it, consciously or not. Then Luthan’s expression lightened. “Thealia prodded him into a Song Quest and he left before dawn. He should be back soon.” Luthan unfolded himself from behind the table gingerly. “Good journeys, brother.”

“Good journeys,” Bastien said.

Luthan stared at Bastien’s hat. “You know a dip in jerir might improve it. Couldn’t hurt it any.” With an absent wave of the hand, he left the inn.

A smile on his face, Bastien considered his brother and the Marshalls’ challenge while making damp intersecting circles on the table with the bottom of his mug. Finally he gulped the last of the brew. Luthan hadn’t looked good, true, but the dive through the jerir might not be as bad as he said. Luthan tended to be conservative—one of the reasons Bastien was sure the Cloister had requested Luthan act for them. Conservative and of strong moral fibre. Hell, strong emotional and physical fibre too.

Bastien didn’t look as tough as his brother, and considered himself a flexible and genial man, but if this jerir Test must be done—and damn if he’d let his father and brother top him in this endeavor—it best be done quickly. Tonight. Just stepping up to stand on the bench hurt, but he managed. With luck, he’d have a few good souls like Marrec to watch his ass if he’d miscalculated. He scanned the room until several faces turned to him.