The Trials of Lance Eliot (9 page)

Kana came to the house once or twice to inquire after my wellbeing. He admitted to feeling pleasantly surprised at my progress under Aidan and encouraged me to continue my training after my return to Terra. I didn't think it likely (Oxford is not renowned for its martial artists), but assured him I would do my best. Maia visited regularly. We became patrons of the nearest bakery, where we talked about politics, literature, culture, personal experiences—most everything, really.

I learned that Maia's parents lived in a town called Riku, which lay about twenty-five leagues northeast of Faurum. (Leagues, by the way, were the common measure of distance in Rovenia.) Maia had an older brother named Alexander who served the Resistance. The last time she had heard from him, his unit had been commissioned to guard the southern border.

I told her about my childhood in California, and how I moved with my parents to Britain when I was fourteen. They bought a house in Reading and enrolled me in a secondary school. I eventually became a student in Oxford, where I acquired a reputation as a skilled player of cards and darts.

Maia found my life interesting, and I was fascinated by her accounts of the people and places of Gea. Our mutual curiosity deepened slowly into friendship. Thus it was with a stab of pity that I returned to the house one day to find her in tears.

Aidan had spent the day teaching me defensive technique, and my mind buzzed with evasive forms and blocks as I entered the house. My thoughts were dispersed by the familiar sound of the butler's cough.

“What is it, Roddy?” I inquired.

“The young lady is waiting to see you, sir,” he said quietly. His eyes were sad beneath their bushy brows. “She is waiting on the west terrace.”

I found Maia sitting upon the terrace, clasping her knees to her bosom and watching the sun set. Although she didn't make a sound, her body shook with crying.

“Maia?”

She didn't respond.

I crossed the terrace and sat next to her. We didn't speak for a long time. Then she put her head on my shoulder and began to sob.

I like to think I have a few redeeming qualities, but sympathy is not one of them. I'm about as sensitive as a rhinoceros. Even so, I sometimes manage to do something right. I did the right thing that evening. I said nothing, put an arm round Maia and let her cry.

At last she raised her face from my shoulder (which was considerably dampened) and said, “Sorry about that.”

“Don't mention it. What happened?”

Alexander, her legionary brother, was dead. Nomen had overrun his camp, killing him and many others before they could defend themselves. A messenger had taken the sad news to Maia's parents in Riku, and she had just received a letter from them. Alexander's life was cut short and his body was lost; his family could not even give him the honor of a decent burial.

“I'm sorry,” I said. My words fell utterly flat. “Is there anything I can do?”

“There is,” said Maia. “I want to see my parents, but I can't leave the city.”

“Why not?”

“You're here.”

“What?”

“Kana won't let me leave till I've sent you safely back to Terra. He says we can't take the chance of something happening to me. If it did, you'd be stuck here forever.”

“So what can I do?”

“I begged Kana to let me see my parents. He agreed, but only if you give me your permission.”

I'm ashamed to confess I had to think about it.

After a moment I asked, “Would you be safe?” My concern was not for Maia's wellbeing, but my return to Oxford. Dash it all, writing this story is harder than I thought it would be. Before you knew me, my friend, I was a git.

“I'm sure I'd be safe,” she replied. “The Nomen have never even come close to Faurum or Riku, and there are defenses between us and them. I'd be gone only about two weeks, and when I returned I'd have enough magic to send you back to Terra.”

My friend, do you remember what I said earlier about the schemes of mice and men?

I told Maia she had my permission to go to Riku. She gave me a hug (soaking my other shoulder) and ran into the house, leaving me alone with the sunset and my own gloomy thoughts. Kana visited that evening to thank me for my gallantry toward Maia. The word
gallantry
reminded me of chivalrous heroes, and the thought lifted my heart a little.

Six days later I came to the end of a session with Aidan. “The sun is starting to go down,” I told him. “I'd best be going. See you tomorrow.”

“Not so fast, laddie. I've something in mind for you. A test of sorts.”

I gulped. Any test devised by Aidan probably involved pain. My instructor strode into the corridor and roared, “Tarkka, I need you!”

Tarkka was quick to answer the summons. Grinning like a shark, Aidan came back into the room and said, “I've asked the Corporal to have a bout with you, laddie. I'd like to see how well you fare against an active legionary.”

A corner of Tarkka's mouth turned up. “I'm ready,” he said.

“Fight!” bellowed Aidan.

As much as I would like to give a blow-by-blow account of the fight, I can hardly remember it. I was too focused on Tarkka to pay much attention to details. We exchanged blows for a couple of minutes, striking and counterstriking and blocking. At length I faltered, and he struck me in the breastbone with the heel of his hand. I staggered backward and collided with the wall.

As he sprang toward me, I pushed myself off the wall and kicked with both feet. He stumbled, clutching his stomach. I leapt at him to deliver the final blow—connected with his fist in midair—and fell to the floor with a groan. He stood over me, no longer wearing his half-smile. If anything, he looked slightly worried.

“He's fine,” said Aidan, clapping his hands. “Well fought, both of you. Tarkka, you can go. Thanks for your help.”

As I looked up at Tarkka, he did something odd: he stretched out his hand, like a gladiator hailing Caesar, and then walked away. It was the last time I ever saw him. When I think of him, the first image to come to my mind is that of him standing with his hand outstretched.

“What was that about?” I asked.

“A salute,” replied my instructor. “His way of acknowledging a fine bout, and probably the only compliment you'll ever get from that stone-faced old gargoyle. Now to business.”

“Business?”

“I said you'd get a weapon when you were ready for one. You fought decently, laddie, and you've earned it.”

My friend, I believe there is still a bit of boyish enthusiasm tucked away in the most serious and somber of men. Well, maybe not the Skeleton. The most serious and somber of men except for the Skeleton. I know there's a bit of boyish enthusiasm tucked away in me, for I can't resist playing with sharp objects. Whether a sword or a letter opener, I have a fascination for blades of any kind.

I had just picked up a glittering katana from the armory floor when Aidan said, “Put it down. You'll be using this.”

He handed me a staff.

I was appalled. “You want me to use a stick?!”

“Listen here, laddie. I've been watching you, and I don't think you've the skill to be a legionary. You've the skill to be a scout.”

“How the deuce have I not got the skill to be a legionary?”

“You're not fast enough. You're none too agile, either, and you're not aggressive.”

“What do you mean, not aggressive? Didn't you just see me belt Tarkka in the stomach?”

“I saw you defend yourself instead of attacking, striking only when your enemy had dropped his guard. Tarkka is a legionary. Did you notice how he began attacking the moment the fight began, trying to wear you down?”

“So I'm not good enough to be a legionary,” I concluded, dejected.

“That's not what I said,” growled my instructor. “You were aware of your surroundings. I've seen fighters use clever tricks before, yet even I was surprised when you launched yourself off the wall and hit him with your feet. That was resourceful! It's not that I think you wouldn't make a good legionary, laddie. It's that I think you'd make a blasted good scout.”

“Fine,” I said. “I'll take the dratted stick.”

The dratted stick was actually quite formidable. It was made of two hollowed steel rods that could be fitted together into a staff or wielded individually like a pair of clubs. I assembled the staff. “Mind how you use it,” said Aidan. “Make a mistake and you may have a broken bone to show for it. Here, these are for you.”

I had been the target of many airborne objects during our sessions, so I had no difficulty in catching the small metal case he flung in my direction. It contained about twenty shuriken. “The case is rather unwieldy,” I said. “Couldn't you have put them in a bag?”

“They lose their edge when they're jumbled together in a bag. That and they tend to slice their way out at odd moments. I knew a fellow who kept shuriken in his pocket like coins, till one cut open his leg. It took two medics to stop the bleeding.”

“I get the idea,” I said. “I'll keep the case. Now I think I'll be going.”

My instructor thumped me on the back, sending me staggering. “Take care of yourself, laddie. It's a dangerous world out there.”

“It can't be any more dangerous than it is here with you. Goodnight.”

Tamu himself met me at the door to his house. He seemed troubled. “Master Eliot,” he said, “Kana is waiting for you in the study.”

I found Kana staring out the window with his hands clasped behind his back. A pot of tea and two cups stood upon the table. “Is something wrong?” I asked.

“Ah, you have arrived. Please sit down. I have unfortunate news for you.”

“What is it? What's wrong?”

Kana sighed. “Lance Eliot, your instructor has told me how strong you have grown in these few weeks. I believe you are strong enough for the blunt truth, and I make no effort to soften it. The Nomen are marching upon Faurum.”

My heart sank until it could sink no lower. “Are we in danger?”

To my great relief, Kana laughed. “Certainly not. This city has never been taken, and it has been besieged by far more powerful enemies than this ragged band of Nomen.” His laughter died. “No, there is another problem. They will certainly lay siege to the city. No one will be able to pass in or out of Faurum for weeks, or perhaps months.”

I saw his point. “Maia won't be able to enter the city. I won't be able to leave it. I'm stuck. Drat it, I'm stuck in Rovenia!”

“There is another option.”

“What?”

“You could leave the city immediately and travel to Riku with an escort.”

Questions tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. “Would it be safe? How far is Riku? Who would be my escort?”

“It would be safe, I think. Our scouts report the enemy to be seventeen or eighteen leagues to the south. It will be at least three days before they arrive in force. You would be traveling northeast, away from the Nomen. Riku is about twenty-five leagues away. If you took hunds, you would arrive within five days. As for your escort, I have commissioned a legionary whose skill is legendary. He would protect you until your return to Terra.”

Kana bowed and added, “All along we have been guilty of abducting you, Lance Eliot. Now we must endanger your life. Please forgive us. If ever the Resistance can atone for its error, it shall be done.”

“Never mind that,” I exclaimed. “When do I leave?”

“You leave now. Can you find your way to the East Gate?”

“Yes.”

“Pack your things and go there. Your escort will meet you with hunds. Do you understand?”

I nodded. Kana drank his tea and set down his cup. “You have astounded me,” he said, smiling. “You have not faltered, though beset with trials. I pray for your safe return to Terra. May El himself go with you.”

I ran to my room and packed whatever I thought I would need: clothes, blankets, valores, soap, razor, pipes, tobacco, igniter, staff and shuriken. Deciding shoes were unsuitable for a journey, I removed them and put on boots. Hoisting the bag onto my back by its strap, I went in search of my host to say goodbye. He sat alone in the dining room, hunched over a cup of blackroot.

“Tamu,” I said, choking up. “I've got to leave. Nomen are—”

“I know. Go in peace, Master Eliot.”

“Tamu, I don't know how to thank you.”

“There is no need. I wish you well. Now go before the sun sets.”

The butler opened the front door for me. “So long, old fellow,” I said.

“Farewell,” he answered in a voice like a funeral bell.

I set down my bag on the pavement and held a coin in the air. Within moments, a rickshaw (the Rovenian equivalent of the taxicab) came to a stop on the street in front of me. “Where to, boss?” asked the runner.