Dawn of Wonder (The Wakening Book 1) (40 page)

Kian drove forward with his encased iron sword,
and sure enough, Aedan’s exhaustion caused him to fold under the attack and
stumble as he backed away.

Dun called them together. “A heavier weapon will
naturally lead you to tighten up, especially when you are swinging hard. If you
don’t force yourself to breathe you will be weakened with every heartbeat. On
the battlefield, it is often exhaustion that defeats rather than a lack of
skill. Don’t forget that.” He fixed Aedan with a stare then turned to speak to the
rest of them,

“From the reports we are getting, it looks as if
your first real battle may take place long before your training is done. I
guarantee that you will be frightened. You will find yourselves with tense
muscles and shallow breathing. Fear makes you think little and swing like a mad
logger. It will exhaust you rapidly, and on the battlefield, exhaustion is more
dangerous than disarming. If you want to survive, you need to consciously
resist these reactions.”

The attention in the class after this was
absolute.

Once he had covered the basics of technique, Dun
devoted several classes to un-teaching the bad ideas some of them had picked up
during the performances of touring adventurers, as they called themselves. They
were troubadours who would tell their stories and demonstrate their skills
against challengers. It was clear that some of the boys had these performances
in mind the way they were hopping and spinning like dancers.

Dun asked Warton to attempt a spinning swipe. As
the boy pivoted, Dun moved in and stopped Warton’s arm with the wooden blade.
“Never voluntarily show an opponent your back in a fight,” he said. “Spins like
this might help to unleash a ripping swing, and against a poor opponent they
will help you look dashing, but any decent swordsman will step in and lop off your
arm as it comes around.

“The same goes for these leaping heroic slashes. When
one foot leaves the ground, you are unable to change direction or resist force,
which is why we step quickly and deliberately. But with two feet off the ground,
you have no control whatsoever until you land and steady yourself.”

Again he demonstrated. Warton leapt into the air
and swung down. Dun stepped in, parried the blow, and rammed with his shoulder.
It threw Warton into a backward, stumbling recovery which ended when he toppled
over a sand bag. The point was made.

Dun continued to lay a solid foundation of
practical techniques suited to the mayhem of warfare rather than the controlled
arenas of performance.

Once the basics had been grasped, other trainers
were invited to build on Dun’s foundation and illustrate the techniques used by
the surrounding nations. Many of these trainers were senior marshals who had
been posted in other lands. It was during these sessions that the boys noticed
the respect shown to Dun. On several occasions, he engaged in full armoured
bouts against these men, and it became clear that Dun was not a trainer because
he was incapable of more. They found a new respect for the demanding master
whose cheery cries shattered the silence every morning.

Dun made sure that skills were not honed in
isolation and earlier practices forgotten, so every lesson ended with disarming
and hand to hand challenges.

The new exercises produced many aches as the muscles
in backs, shoulders and freshly calloused hands – right and left, for Dun insisted
they train with both – were pushed to new levels of strength. Aedan now
understood why swordsmen had fingers like owl talons.

The injuries were not plentiful, but a few
concussions, cracked ribs, broken fingers and strained muscles were to be
expected. Anyone who received an interesting injury became the topic for the
day in Mistress Gilda’s class.

Once they had gained a level of proficiency with
the sword, Dun added shields, demonstrating some crafty ways of using them as
weapons. He re-introduced quarterstaves and spears to the routine, progressing
to more advanced techniques.

In addition, several types of bows were discussed along
with a number of different methods for shooting them. The most difficult was
that intended for speed, in which the archer would hold at least three and up
to twelve arrows between the fingers of his string hand, and fire them in rapid
succession. The technique was known as the porcupine because of the resemblance
to quills. A particularly famous archer was on hand to demonstrate. The boys
gaped at his rate of fire. Out in the open, he could put eight or nine arrows
in the air before the first hit the ground. It was said that there were Lekran
archers who could do more.

With this technique there was no reaching into a
quiver for the next arrow, because they were already in his hand. Nocking only
one of the arrows and pulling the string back without dropping the others was
the challenge. It was a demanding method that required months of practice before
anything like a success could be detected. In their cluttered, clumsy fingers,
the shafts often slipped. The boys spent a lot of their time flinching and
ducking as arrows misfired and whipped around their heads, while the rest of
the shafts escaped to drip and drizzle around their feet. They had never seen Dun
laugh with such abandon.

Peashot struggled as much as everyone else, but
showed a fanatical determination. He had watched the demonstration with
trembling awe, the rapid twangs of the string clearly plucking a note that
resonated in his heart. The loss of the peashooter, for a time at least, was
forgotten. He trained constantly, skipping classes and even practicing in his
dorm, firing away against the wall until he was threatened with death and
burial, in reverse order.

–––

On the academic side, the language classes were
proving to be the most taxing as well as the most rewarding. Learning new words
and interesting expressions was the rewarding part. The rest was worse than Dun’s
circuits.

Orunean had the most muddled prepositions – you
were
at
work, but
in
home and
on
class. Tenses were not
defined by verbs, requiring constant use of adverbs of time. And then there
were the idioms – and Orunean was infested with them – that crashed heedless
through all rules of grammar with meanings that simply had to be memorised. Some
were explainable – to buy a flecked horse meant to invest in something that was
going to change, associated with the fact that grey flecks tend to diminish
with time. But often the meanings were lost. Not even Giddard knew why
switching gloves meant avoiding the question.

They now had two foreign languages – Orunean and Fenn.
The latter was considered a priority due to the current threat. Fenn, while
simpler in tenses, had come with the curse of noun genders. Peashot’s
frustration grew daily.

“It’s to do with an old division of labour,” Aedan
said, explaining what Peashot had slept through in one of the classes. “It’s
not about things being boy or girl, it’s about which gender was responsible for
them. That’s all that ‘av’ and ‘el’ show you.”

“And no,” said Liru, pre-empting the obvious
retort, “you cannot just leave them all off.”

Aedan resumed. “Fenn women do most of the cooking,
so kitchenware is mostly female, and men look after the livestock, so the
animals are mostly male. Except goats, chickens and donkeys – I’m not sure why
they are different.”

“So all cattle are male, even the females?”

“Unless you specify that it’s a cow – in that case
it’s female.”

“So then … females are cows! Maybe they aren’t so
stupid. Ouch!”

“You did not know that cows kick?” Liru said, her
face betraying not even a hint of humour.

“What bothers me more,” said Aedan, “is that the
language has no plurals. I know you work them out by the context, but imagine
the watchman: ‘Help help! The wall is being overrun by a soldier!’ That might
not get the right response.”

“It would be better,” said Liru, “than Peashot
asking a father for his youngest cow’s hand in marriage.”

Apprentices were required to learn ten new words
every day and to use the growing vocabulary in practical exercises, one of
which was mealtime conversation. Those found speaking Thirnish were denied the
next meal. Sitting in detached silence was also forbidden.

Of those who had never before used Orunean, Vayle
was learning the fastest. As he finished his midday meal, he delivered an
opinion, “
Ret ce lonti.”
Food taste pretty.

All nodded except Peashot. He wanted to voice a
counter opinion, but lacked the vocabulary.

Hadley excused himself. “
Hak ver utto
,” he
managed. Must go latrine.

Peashot caught the word and announced with
satisfaction as he pushed his plate away, “
Ret ce utto.”

The laughter was unfortunately enough to draw Matron
Rosalie’s attention and Peashot was rewarded with washing-up duty.

Another subject had been introduced. In a sense it was
another language. It was known as signal spotting, and dealt with the reading
and interpreting of clues from body language through to unintended messages
contained in people’s words. Once Giddard had covered the basics, he took the
class to a judicial hearing where they silently observed the accused and took
notes. On their return to the academy, Giddard asked for observations.

“Guilty!” they chimed.

“Perhaps,” he said. “But that’s not an
observation. Which of the patterns we discussed were you able to detect?”

Hadley went first. “He gave too much irrelevant
and untestable detail about when he arrived – sun, weather, carriages, his
personal plans for the evening.”

“That is true,” said Giddard.

“And he didn’t mention seeing the ruby even though
it would have been obvious to anyone.”

“Excellent point. So we have both aspects of an
amended testimony – padding with the irrelevant, and excluding the relevant.
The first could mean nothing, but the second is an attempt to appear ignorant
of an opportunity. What else?”

“His smile was shaky.”

“Yes, Bede, but that might be the effect of
nervousness. What more about his smile?”

“Well he wasn’t smiling with his eyes, only his
mouth.”

“Good. That is more telling. Remember how we said
that a forced smile tends to leave the skin around eyes unchanged. Eyes tell the
truth more than mouths. Malik?”

“I watched facial expressions when the attention
was not on him. His eyes were down, he was frowning, and his fingers were never
still.”

“That is a good observation. Those unguarded
expressions can betray a lot; in this case we strongly suspect guilt. Bear in
mind, though, that they are much more reliable when we consider them against a
baseline of the subject’s normal behaviour. Some people just have nervous eyes
or busy fingers. Who do we all know who …”

“Master Wildemar!” they replied as one.

Giddard grinned and put a finger to his lips
before continuing. “So don’t make final judgements using signals. None of them
can send a man to prison, but they can serve to awaken suspicions and give you
a warning of danger. Even in the middle of a fight.”

“Master Giddard,” Aedan said. “Can you give us an
example?”

“Certainly. Did you notice when the prisoner
wasn’t looking down how his eyes kept darting to a point in the Balcony above us?
Under the circumstances, it could well have indicated the presence of an ally.
During a treacherous negotiation, confrontation, or even physical conflict, an
ally’s eyes are often sought as a kind of security. It can help you know who is
backing whom. But as a more direct answer to your question, someone sneaking up
behind you is often betrayed by his ally’s eyes in front of you. I must warn
you, though, not to be gullible. There are some who will fake this darting of
eyes to turn you around. Move so as to cover both possibilities.”

“Is it something we should be able to fake?”

“Absolutely. Even to the point of tossing a dagger
to your non-existent partner – that would turn almost anyone around. In
tournaments and challenges of honour it would be considered poor form, but when
the fate of your nation is at stake, you need to make use of any means
possible, and I guarantee that the field will be even.”

The autumn trials were approaching when they would be
examined in all subjects, but there was something far more immediate, and far
more compelling, something that was spreading a feverish excitement through the
whole city – the countdown to the autumn festival had ended.

In spite of deep worries about the location, for the
festival grounds were outside the city walls, the prince made it clear that
safety would be guaranteed. Patrols would be tripled and soldiers would be
posted in a wide circle around the area. The heralds delivered Burkhart’s
assurances: There was no imminent danger and the celebrations would be better
than ever. Aedan knew Burkhart was lying on the first count, but the glimpses
he had stolen of the grounds suggested that the second part was true.

On the eve of the festival, as twilight gathered
and called the birds to roost and the crickets to song, the little group of
friends sat on top of the rise and surveyed the bright expanse beneath them. Green
fields were ringed by stalls festooned with colourful streamers and country
bunting. Labourers and stall-owners finished up their preparations and drifted
to fires where music and laughter and the smell of food rose together in irresistible
harmony to sweeten the breeze.

“This,” said Aedan, taking a deep breath, “is
going to be a festival to remember!”

“Hurry
up
! How long does it take you louts to get
ready?”

Peashot was hovering outside the room, alternately
plucking his bow, springing in the air, and pounding the door.

For once, Hadley was not out front. He was fussing
with his hair before a brass mirror – something he had taken up whenever there
was a possibility of meeting the girls. But whatever air of class he
contributed to the group was offset by Aedan and Peashot who invariably
appeared in rumpled clothes and broom-bristle hair. Eventually everyone was
ready and they rushed down the corridor and surged out of the academy.

The weeks of preparation had come to an end. Town
bells rang and trumpets blared. Children ran through the streets selling ribbons
– blue, green, red and white. All but the poorest and surliest bought. Each
colour represented a team in which were storytellers, bards, dancers, cooks,
athletes and men-at-arms. The competitions were friendly – or were intended to
be – and at the closing celebration, always held on the central field, the
winning team would dine with the prince. It was even whispered that the
princess would be there this year.

Since throwing Warton onto his back in the class
scuffle, Kian had found his dorm companions less than inviting company, so he
joined Aedan’s group.

Dun had not set aside the rule about bearing arms
at all times, so they had each chosen what they were most comfortable with. Aedan
and Lorrimer swirled quarterstaves. Hadley and Vayle carried the iron swords –
but neither was entirely confident with the mounting. Hadley used the baldric,
so his was swinging about his knees and getting tangled in the legs of those
who bustled alongside, while Vayle’s was strapped loosely and comfortably on
his back where it could be easily drawn by almost anyone but him. Kian and
Peashot had small bows slung over their backs and soft quivers of blunted
arrows. Peashot also had a sling stuffed up his sleeve. Aedan had no doubt it
would be put to use before the day was up.

They did feel more than a little foolish as they
moved through the crowd with their painfully visible training weapons. If
anything, it made them seem smaller and younger.

After falling in with the mass of people that
squeezed into a tight plug at the gate and hurried away on the other side, they
broke free and sprinted to the festival grounds, ducking and swerving between
slower groups.

Tents, tables and stands lined grassy walkways,
and in the centre of it all was the main field where the year’s most
spectacular and unforgettable events would take place. Several smaller arenas and
stages were scattered about where single combatants would wear each other down
to the delight of spectators – both the rowdy and the swooning variety – and bards
and minstrels would hold audiences in their spells and draw tears and laughter
and hopefully no vegetables.

The boys wandered between the stalls and the
growing throngs of people, but as they had little money and at least two meals
to purchase, theirs was the lot of admiring and wishing and moving on.

The main event, the feat of arms, was what they
and most others were there for. But that would only take place much later, so
they ambled around behind the tents, found a discarded barrel of spoiled apples
and began their own feat of arms.

Soon another group of boys spotted the fun. Rules
were set, teams chosen, and before long there was a small war of running boys,
exploding apples, and a fine haze that smelled vaguely of cider. The game had
reached a furious intensity when one of the festival officials detected
juvenile fun and put a stop to it. Nobody ever told who crowned the man’s
receding head with a particularly ripe apple.

After that they scattered, but Aedan, his blood stirred,
was on the lookout. The original six of them sat down on a grassy bank that
gave a fine view of the tents beneath. All but Aedan and Hadley sprawled out to
bask in the sun and grin at the memory of the official’s slimy hat.

After a while Aedan broke the spell. “That could
be something,” he said. “Look down there. See that bloke who’s trying to call
the girl behind the tent?”

They all sat up to witness the little drama unfolding.
A young man with floppy hair, wilting posture and clutching hands was stealing
glances around the edge of a stall and beckoning a younger woman. His movements,
Aedan thought, were as twitchy as one of those pygmy antelope’s.

The reason for the twitchiness soon became
apparent. The girl’s brawny father looked protective and threatening even from
this distance. He was busy setting up the shelves inside his tent, and his
daughter was torn between her duty and her heart. Soon, though, the father was
obliged to make a trip to collect something, and as soon as he was out of
sight, the girl was moving around the tent.

The boys were moving too.

Hadley was ahead, leading them in an inconspicuous
flanking path to the front of the tent. The girl and her timorous young man
were behind the rear wall, the morning sun betraying them with clear-cast
shadows on the taut fabric.

“Count of three,” Hadley mouthed. “One, two …”

On three, all six boys wrenched the cloth up and
shouted at the tops of their voices.

The tender embrace came to a sudden end. The young
man shrieked and flung the girl from him as he made good his escape. He fled
into the side of a wagon with a sharp “Oof!” and a forward flop of his plumed
hair. The hair got in his eyes but he resumed his flight nonetheless, swerving
and tottering until he had his vision back.

Peashot’s laughter was so overpowering that he
dropped to the ground hugging his belly as the spasms shook him. The others
were equally helpless. The girl, however, showed herself to be far from
helpless when she snatched up a broom and proceeded to wallop them from the
tent.

“You little pile of blatherswabs! Snogsbrollies! Grudderbungs!”

At this point the young man, realising what had happened,
made a dashing and heroic return. But now the girl wanted nothing to do with a
man who had tossed her aside in his fright. Accordingly, she applied the broom
to his twitching frame. The boys roared with laughter and that drew the
attention back to them. They stumbled away, clutching their sides while trying
to dodge the yelling assailant. By the time they reached the top of their
grassy bank, they were utterly drained, and dropped down with gasps of
contentment. Little ripples of chuckling continued to wash over them.

“Can you imagine what he would have done if it had
been at night, and lonely?” said Peashot. “He would have squeezed down a mole
tunnel to escape.”

“Or climbed a moonbeam,” said Lorrimer.

“Where’d you get that? You haven’t been reading
poetry, have you?”

“Maybe.”

“Ugh.”

“Anybody know what a snogsbrollie is?” Aedan
asked. “Is that one of your southern words?”

“Not southern,” said Hadley. “I would know if it
was from here. I think she’s from out west. She had a whole collection of
strange words. Vayle, don’t you know?”

“Those weren’t the kinds of words I tried to
learn, but I think a snogsbrollie is what ends up on your handkerchief when you
have a bad cold.”

Aedan laughed. “Good thing she was looking at
Hadley when she said it.”

“Well a grudderbung is worse, and she definitely aimed
that one at you.”

“It was worth it.”

They spent a good while longer congratulating
themselves on their little success.

Hadley was the first to recover his thoughtful
composure and he sat up to survey the grounds. “Hey, that’s the bossy official
who chased us away. What’s he doing now?”

The others looked up to see the official shaking
his head and pointing an old couple away from their prime location on the main
walkway. They had obviously arrived early and set up their little table in a
good spot, but now they were being chased off and directed to a gap in the last
tier of food stalls. The old man was waving his arms in frustration and the woman’s
face was in her hands. None of it moved the official who thrust his chin
forward in what was clearly a threatening glare as he pointed.

Another group was standing nearby with a cart full
of tables, pots, and tent materials. As the old couple began to relocate, the
official drifted across to the larger group. The movement was subtle, almost
imperceptible, but Aedan spotted the purse change hands.

“It was a bribe!” he said. “They just bribed that
pig-headed official to chase away the ones that got there first.”

“What’s a bribe?” asked Kian.

“When you give money to someone to make them do
something wrong.”

“Oh. We are calling it taking of the coin for
conscience. But aren’t officials meant to be stopping of this?”

“S’posed to.”

Aedan was watching the old couple as they
struggled to drag their table over to the indicated space. His face was going
red and it had nothing to do with the sun.

Something snapped in him and he leapt to his feet
and ran down the bank. When he reached the scene, he asked the couple if he
could help with the carrying. Before they had finished expressing their
gratitude, the other boys had gathered around. Between them they carried the
two heavy pots and several crates of ingredients. The old lady was trying to
smile but kept hiding her face. Before they were done, names had been exchanged
and the couple had introduced themselves as Coren and Enna.

“You are very kind,” Coren said when they had
finished transporting the goods. “Not many youngsters take the initiative to
help us more … uh … wise and mature ones,” he said with a wink to his wife.

She attempted a frail smile but turned away and this
time was unable to conceal the waterworks. It was clear that there was more on
her mind than a change in location.

Coren explained. “We got to that spot early
because we need to sell a lot of stew if we are to keep our little cottage.
This was our last chance. We have very wealthy in-laws, but they would sooner
throw money down a well than give it to us. They see poverty as a disease only
made worse by charity.” He looked around. “From back here we might sell half a
pot a day – nobody will notice our table among all these tents. We need to sell
at least two pots a day or we’ll be without a roof by the end of the month.”

“The official was bribed,” Aedan said.

“I expected so, but there’s nothing we can do now.
Fighting with the officials will only get us thrown out. Still, we are very
grateful for your help.”

Aedan stepped back, taking in the single table
dwarfed by the surrounding tents and banners. A thoughtful look crept over him.

“Kian,” he said. “Your father here today?”

“Of course. He is doing building on tents and
stands all over. There is lots of fixing work wanting for carpenters here.”

“Any chance you could borrow a hammer and maybe a
saw?”

“Let me ask. I’ll be back in a flush.”

“Flash,” said Vayle.

“Oh, thanks.” Kian sped away as Aedan paced and
cradled his chin. He wasn’t sure if the chin-cradling helped him think, but he
had often seen William doing it when trying to solve some problem, and it had
always looked so grand.

“Got an idea, Aedan?” asked Hadley.

Aedan emerged from his thoughts. “Remember those
scraps of material around the back where we had the apple war earlier?”

The others nodded.

“I’m sure I remember some broken crates, leftover
poles and discarded rope too. If Kian finds a hammer, we can pull nails and
rework the crates into a big table. If we get a saw, we can cut the poles to
the right lengths and put up a frame for the cloth. Maybe we can get it bigger
than the other tents here.”

“How about a banner?” said Lorrimer. “I might be
able to get some paint from my uncle. He hates bribes. If I tell him the story
he might even paint a sign properly.”

“Boys, you are very thoughtful,” said Enna, who
had been listening, “but I can’t ask you to spend your whole day working for
us. We can’t pay you, you know that.”

“But we can pay
you
,” said Hadley. “We’ve
all been given enough for two meals, and if you can promise us two full
portions at four copper huddies each, then we’ll be smiling.”

Enna looked like she didn’t know what to say.
Coren answered. “You won’t take the meals without paying will you?”

“No, sir.”

“Then all I can do is assure you that these will
be the best four-huddy meals of your life.” He smiled at Enna who blushed at
the compliment.

“Settled,” said Hadley with deep gravity, as if he
had just struck a trade agreement that would alter the fate of nations.

After a little while Kian skidded around the
corner and almost had an accident with the saw and hammer.

“Let’s go,” said Aedan. “I’ve got a couple more
ideas to make this the best fun of the day yet.”