Gerick

The sun on my face was bright and hot. I pushed back the blanket, only to pull it right back up again when I realized I was naked. I sat up instead. The bed was huge and high off the floor, but hard, more like a table than Mama’s bed with its piles of pillows. The bedchamber was as big as Papa’s room at Comigor, though this one looked even bigger because it didn’t have much furnishing: a few tables, a giant hearth, some straight chairs of light-colored wood, and a few lamp-stands with copper oil lamps hung from them. Along one side of the room were the tall window openings where the sun shone in so fiercely.

I didn’t remember coming here. Darzid had taken me off the horse and carried me through a doorway in a rock, but that was the last thing I knew.

Clothes that looked my size were laid out on the end of the bed. As I couldn’t see any of my own things, I assumed these were meant for me. I pulled on a linen singlet and underdrawers, and then climbed out of the bed so I could look around. Some of the windows were actually doors opening onto a balcony that looked out over courtyards, lower buildings, and walls. Beyond the walls lay desert- red cliffs and dirt all the way to the horizon, smoke and dust hanging in the air. The sun that was still low on the horizon was red, too.

I had never seen true desert country. Papa had taken me to eastern Leire once to visit his favorite swordmaker. The land there was dry and flat and ugly, but Papa had said that true deserts were beautiful, with fine colors, and their own kind of odd plants and interesting animals, and mysterious water holes where everything lived together. As far as I could see, nothing grew in this place, and nothing was at all beautiful.

I turned back to the room. The bedchamber didn’t have long solid walls like the rooms at Comigor. The rooms were divided by ranks of thin pillars forming arches. Metal grill-work holding candles sat in some of the arches. Strips of woven cord hung in others, moving in the hot air coming in from the balcony. Each wall had one archway that was wider than the others and didn’t have anything else in it. These were the “doors,” I supposed.

Beyond one of the doorway arches was a room entirely filled with clothes and boots. At Comigor I had a clothes chest where my things were folded and put away, and Mama had a huge clothes chest and a carved wardrobe taller than Papa to hang her dresses in. I had never seen so many garments at once, and they were clearly for one person, as they were all the same size. Shirts and tunics were hung up one after the other from long poles. Leggings, hose, breeches, and singlets were folded on shelves that extended higher than I could reach. Short and long cloaks hung on hooks. And rows of shoes stood under the hanging shirts-riding and walking boots of every cut and soft shoes to wear indoors. The clothes were not colored silk or ruffled, embroidered things like Mama had made for me. Most seemed to be plain, sturdy shirts and breeches and tunics like Papa wore when he went to war. On one shelf was a wooden case that held buckles and belts, and some jewelry-a man’s jewelry. I didn’t touch any of it.

Through another archway I found a bathing room. The floor and outer walls were covered with painted tiles of dark blue and green, and a deep pool was built right into the floor. I touched an ivory handle and steaming water gushed out of a gold pipe that was shaped like a screaming man. I’d never seen anything like it. When I pulled my hand away, the water stopped.

Other archways led to a sitting room with more tall window openings and another hearth. In front of the hearth was a table big enough to eat on and a number of straight wood chairs. Across that room, beyond another arched opening, was a wide staircase that curved downward. I thought I’d better get some clothes on before going downstairs, so I returned to the bedchamber and put on the clothes that lay on the bed: a gray linen shirt, black breeches and tunic, gray leggings and black leather boots that reached over my calves.

Laid out right next to the clothes were a sword belt and a knife sheath. They were wonderful. The knife was polished like a looking glass, and so sharp it took a sliver of wood off the edge of the table as easy as cutting a peach. The hilt was engraved with all manner of strange beasts, and fit my hand perfectly. The sword was a real rapier, every bit as fine as the knife. Even Papa would have approved the point and the finish. Best of all, the length was perfect for my height. My fencing master at Comigor, Swordmaster Fenotte, had insisted I use wooden weapons or old brittle swords that had been cut off short, so dull and nicked and blunt that you couldn’t stick a hunk of bread with them. If the clothes were meant for me, then surely the weapons must be intended for me, too, or else they wouldn’t be next to the clothes. Just at that moment, I heard footsteps on the tile floor behind me. I spun about, dropping the sword belt with a loud clatter.

Captain Darzid walked in through the archway that led to the sitting room and the stairs. He was followed by a man wearing almost nothing. “No, no, Your Grace,” said Captain Darzid, smiling and waggling his finger at the sword belt. “The weapons are certainly yours, just as you guessed. Wear them as a young duke should. In Zhev’Na, a noble with a sworn blood debt is not treated as a child, but given his proper respect. You’ll find life here very different than in a household run by women.”

“Is Zhev’Na the name of this country?” I said. I didn’t want to tell him that I couldn’t even remember how we got here. A duke with a sworn blood oath shouldn’t be stupid enough to lose track of himself the way I had.

“This land is called Ce Uroth, which in the local language means ‘the Barrens.’” Darzid stepped to the windows.

“And it is indeed a barren land-stripped of softness and frivolous decoration, its power exposed for all to see. If he wants to accomplish his purposes, a soldier must be hard like this land, not decked out in a whore’s finery, or wallowing in weakness or sentimentality.”

He smiled then-that too-friendly smile that I didn’t like. “But more such lessons later. We’ve had a long journey, and for the moment we are safely out of the reach of your enemies.” He waved his hand in the air. “This house and everything in it are yours for as long as you stay in the fortress of Zhev’Na. It is not so large as Comigor, but finer, I think, and well suited to your situation.”

“Mine… all of this?”

“Yes. Your hosts… the Lords of this place… had the house and clothing made ready for you when they heard you were coming. Do you approve?”

I gawked at everything all over again. “It’s very fine.”

The other man had knelt down beside the doorway, bowed his head, and stretched his arms out to either side. Darzid poked at the man’s back with his boot as if he were something not quite nice lying in the road, but the man didn’t change his position. “This slave Sefaro will be your chamberlain. He will run your household and see to all your needs. He-as all Dar’Nethi slaves-must have permission before he speaks or you must cut out his tongue. Command him as you will. Kill him if he does not please you. He is very capable, but there are many more to take his place if he does not serve.”

The kneeling man didn’t look at all surprised at the captain’s terrible words. His skimpy gray tunic left his arms and legs and feet bare, and his hair was cut off very short. Wide metal bands were wrapped about his neck and his wrists. We didn’t have slaves in Leire. Prisoners were usually killed or maimed, unless they were needed in the quarries or mines. Enemies who were not soldiers were left to work and pay taxes to our king.

As I stared at the slave and thought about what it must feel like to cut out a man’s tongue, Captain Darzid went on talking. “… look in on you from time to time, but you’ll not lack for entertainment. A swordmaster will begin your training this afternoon-and he will not be a gibbering dancing master in pantaloons like Philomena hired for you. Tomorrow you will begin lessons in hand combat and to learn to ride like a soldier instead of a child. You’ve never in your life ridden such horses as we have in Zhev’Na.”

“But-”

“Is this not your wish? To become a strong and ruthless warrior like your father and grandfather?”

“Yes… yes, of course it is,” I said. I was just surprised at it happening so fast. And I wasn’t certain I ought to stay so close to Captain Darzid. Surely he would find out about my sorcery and arrest me. To think of burning to death made my stomach hurt.

All happened just as Darzid said. That afternoon I met Calador, my swordmaster. He was tall and thin. His arms looked like a thin layer of skin stretched over a bundle of ropes, and his eyes were strange, like the eyes in a statue where they forgot to put any pupils in them. He wore a plain gold earring in one ear. On that first day he made me run and jump, stretch, bend, and twist for hours until every muscle was sore. Never once did I get to pick up my new sword. When he said we were finished for the day, I guess he saw that I was disappointed.

“Soon enough, young Lord. We have a great deal of work to do before you take up a weapon.” His voice was cold. “You have decent reflexes, but you are weak and poorly disciplined.”

A whole week of sword training passed before I got to try my rapier, and then only to poke at dry leaves and shavings of wood that a slave would drop from the top of a wall. By that time I already hated Calador. He was forever taunting me and telling me how like a dainty girl I was, and how I was too stupid to know which end of the sword was sharp. When I did something wrong, he would make me squat for an hour with my hands extended in front of me, holding a brick in each one. He said he could not believe I was kin to a great swordsman and that perhaps swordsmen in my country were not of the same quality as those of Ce Uroth. All I could think of in those hours was how I had to keep getting better so I could beat Calador someday.

I rose at dawn every day, ate some fruit and cheese, and went straight to sword training for several hours. At mid-morning I ate again, only a little, for after another hour of sword practice I went straight to the wrestling ground, a small courtyard of packed sand, for training in hand combat. Two hours later, after only a brief rest and a drink, I would walk out to the stables for my riding lessons. I didn’t need to worry about sorcery. By sunset, I was so tired I could hardly stay awake to eat before I fell into the bed.