The Song of Andiene - By Elisa Blaisdell Page 0,102
herself. Still, he would not let them match against each other.
“Syresh is not skilled enough,” he said to Ilbran. “He might easily kill you through clumsiness. Our lady Andiene has only two and a half men-at-arms to fight for her, as it is, and we cannot afford to lessen that number.”
Ilbran took that judgment of his skills without complaint. He had no true desire to fight, and his body was covered with bruises to prove he had no talent for it. He still moved painfully, also. The gift of the grievers’ jaws would be with him for all his life. But that was no excuse for his awkwardness.
“Hold the sword lightly, not as though you’re trying to crush the hilt,” Kallan said.
“It will fly from my hand.”
“Not loosely, lightly,” and Kallan demonstrated two identical styles, or so it seemed to Ilbran. “You are strong enough! But when you hold it like that, the strength of your wrist alone goes into it. When you hold it more lightly, you can put the weight and power of your arm, your whole body, behind the blow.”
Ilbran tried again, and once again. At last he improved—or maybe Kallan had grown weary of teaching. Then they rested, and drank cup after cup of the stale musty-tasting water, till the cask was empty.
At the other end of the courtyard, Lenane tuned and strummed, plucking one note a score of times before she was satisfied with it. Syresh sat by her side and listened.
“I’ll get more water,” Ilbran said, glad of the chance to rest and take off the leather ring-shirt borrowed from the king’s storerooms. Sweatily hot, it was all that had saved him from worse injuries than bruises.
“He welcomed us royally, after all,” he said.
“Who, Taules Reji? He is no fool, and Andiene—our lady—was right. He fears her too much for treachery.”
Ilbran picked up the little water cask and walked away. Behind him, he heard the ring of steel on steel begin. Syresh was being reminded, once again, that he still had much to learn.
The streets were dark, lit by neither torches nor stars, but Ilbran had no fear of ambush. He wore a sword; though he could not use it well, his size alone would frighten away most would-be attackers.
He waited his turn at the well. The water was low, but blessedly cool. Some unease made him turn his head. A gray robe, waiting in the shadows; grizanes must drink, the same as any others.
But as he returned, he glanced behind him. The gray one followed. Ilbran quickened his steps, as much as he could while shouldering the heavy water cask. The grizane walked swiftly. In his gait, at least, he showed no sign of his dreadful age. His steps made no sound on the cobbled pavement. He followed relentlessly.
At last, Ilbran set the cask down and turned to wait. “What do you want?”
Silence. Even in the dark, the grizane’s eyes gleamed under his gray hood.
“Do all your kind love mysteries? I mean no harm to you or any other of Carvalon.”
“What do you know of that land?” The other took a step forward; Ilbran took a step back.
“I traveled with one of your kind, and he saw with my eyes for many days.”
“Go on.”
Ilbran told him, the escape, the archers, the dying message, his long sojourn in the forest. Grizane’s questions are difficult to ignore. The other listened intently.
“Had you learned any of this?” Ilbran asked when he was done.
“We had. Your message comes late. Do you know what it means?”
“No.”
“Go back to your princess, then, and tell her … ”
“You can tell her yourself,” Ilbran said, and the grizane followed his gaze to where Andiene came toward them. Her borrowed summersilk became her well. The fierceness of royalty was clear upon her face.
The grizane watched her; she faced him, challenges and rebuttals in their silences. Ilbran was like a deaf man. There was maneuvering here, motionless vying for position. He touched the hilt of his sword, but did not draw it. Sea-coursers fight on land, on the coldest days of winter, and it would be a madman who would step between them as they eye each other silently on the sandy beach.
“You cannot stop me.” Andiene spoke in words at last.
“We can slow you.”
“Not for long. My power is greater than yours.”
“A child playing with coals has great power too,” the grizane said. “He can set the plains aflame from the sea to the high mountains.”