Fletcher Read online

  Assuming, correctly, that he was going to improve that on his own in the future. Which he would, now that he knew it was expected. They walked backward through the door behind them, Prince Erold turning only enough to work the thing, allowed Anders to back out, still bowing, taking the tiny, rather awkward feeling steps that the courtly bowing allowed. It wasn’t fast or comfortable.

  Once the door was shut behind them, again by the Prince, the boy clapped him on the shoulder.

  “There. That worked, well enough. I figured it would be about you today, what with the contrived tea we had in there. Expect more of those, as time goes on. People will want to learn about the new Ambassador. So far, you seem to have gotten the most information about him, except possibly Aisla. No one knows if she’s allowed to share things about him, of course. She’s family to us but also to him. We need to understand how to deal with him without giving offense. Also, if possible, what kind of things he enjoys. Hunting, riding horses, plays, or songs? Music perhaps, so it won’t be in a different language for him than what he uses at home. So far, we think that he enjoys brightly colored things and fine clothing. That might simply be about impressing us.” The Prince walked down the hallway, gesturing for Anders to go with him.

  “No one is asking for you to pry too much. We don’t even know how to address the man yet. Half think we should call him Ambassador Magician Depak of Barquea each time we address him. The rest simply don’t know at all.” There was a grimace then. As if it were a large problem.

  “Depak Sona. It means craftmaster but is used in the same rough context as we use master here. It comes after though, not before. I asked about it, since we were talking on similar topics at the time anyway.” The man hadn’t mentioned exactly what it meant.

  Farad simply knew that one, from his language lessons and readings. He’d taught others how to speak Scara, after all. Several other languages as well.

  Prince Erold stopped in place, staring at him for a moment.

  “Right. This way. We have to report that. I think… Yes. This way for that kind of information.”

  Then the boy walked at just short of a jog, slowing only because Anders was clearly struggling to keep up. At the end of their trip, which was outside a large double door made of carved oak, polished and with brass work handles on it, Erold used the knocker in the middle. It made a deep booming sound that was a bit hollow. There was a wooden plate underneath the thing. The large ring was in the mouth of what looked to be a dragon. A thing which was artistic in nature, since the symbol of Istlan was the wolf, not great lizards.

  A moment later, the door opened, a now familiar face being discovered behind it.

  Prince Robarts. The sturdy looking man, who was still just as much taller than Anders was, looked down at the two boys. Then he smiled.

  “What may I help you gentlemen with today?”

  Erold pointed at him, his face bland.

  “Our man with the new Ambassador discovered something useful. The polite public form of address for him, is… What was that again, Anders?” He turned to look at him, handing the credit over with the movement, instead of announcing the simple fact on his own.

  “Depak Sona. That means craftmaster and is used in the same fashion that we use the word master.” It was repetitive of him, but the oldest Prince might need to know that kind of thing. “It’s used even for Magicians there, I think. The same is true here.” That wasn’t a thing he truly knew, except that people used it that way. Only for men. Women could and did do magic, they were just called mistress whoever. In Scara that would still be Sona, he thought. It was a remarkably gender free language that way.

  A big hand came out and clapped him on the shoulder, then did the smaller Prince in the same way.

  “Excellent, brother. Nephew. That is very helpful. Did you mention what we spoke on earlier?” He looked at his little brother then, seeming bland, instead of interested.

  That got a screwed-up face in return.

  “I did. I even mentioned to Anders that Father and Mother were attempting to set up a marriage for me. He suggests that I see that picture of her, even if it’s less than perfect. So that I won’t give her insult on our first meeting, showing disappointment in her. Then, he also took me to task for being too shallow as to consider looks before a kind soul and good heart. And here I’d been hoping that I’d find an ally against the whole thing in him. Alas, not at all. Not that he isn’t correct.”

  Instead of answering, there was a knowing look and a slap on the shoulder for his brother.

  “I’ve seen the painting… Truly, I think it’s the artist and not the subject that’s at issue. The girl in it seems fine enough, to be fair. Certainly, your own equal that way and it would be annoying to ask for more than that. The colors are off. Muted and blunted. The strokes are sharp and angular, which won’t be her visage at all, I’m willing to wager. On the nice side, they didn’t send a perfect masterpiece, to leave you wondering if she seems at all like what was put down. With this you know that won’t be the case. It really isn’t to our styles at all. Father was simply seeking to not worry you that way.”

  Which sounded kinder than Anders would have expected of the King. The man wasn’t known for being unfair. Not for being particularly kind, either. He ruled well enough. If he was different than just that, in person, it was hard to tell.

  Prince Erold bowed then, which Anders did as well. That got the oldest Prince to do the same thing back.

  “Anyway, thank you both for thinking of us with your information. If you have anything else, please come and find me? That or send a note. You… Do know how to read and write, don’t you Anders?” The man swallowed then. Going slightly pale.

  Nothing in his experience, any of it, told Anders why that would be happening.

  He nodded.

  “Letters, numbers. Some map reading skills. I’m attempting to learn Scara from Depak Sona. At least a few words. He seems willing enough to teach me. In passing, anyway. He’s probably too busy to do that sort of thing at a greater level than that.”

  That got the man, who had a clean shaved face, with no lines on it yet, not being far too old, to relax.

  “Very good then. It occurred to me that I should have seen to such. Thankfully others have. I think you should do what you can, learning from the Ambassador. As long as it isn’t a stress to him, naturally. Showing that we are eager and willing to learn his ways might help in any negotiations or treaties to come. If nothing else, having a different language can help if you ever travel.”

  Then bowing again, the man moved back and closed the door on them.

  Next to him Erold took a deep breath.

  “Well, that sounds better than I’d feared. With the painting? I should still press to see it. Master Belford was likely correct in that. It would be best to wait until things calm here a bit. I don’t wish to detract from the new arrival. To that end, it would help my cause a bit if you could find out what sorts of things he likes or enjoys. As it stands we’re about to start throwing women and then boys at him, for entertainment. Trust me, both our names came up for that last bit, if it’s needed. It would be far better if we could avoid that.”

  That sounded true. Also like broaching the subject would be difficult, if put too bluntly. The Anders side of him wanted to be afraid. As if the man would insist that he perform in the bedroom for him. The Farad side could see that wasn’t the way of the man at all. At least not toward ones as young as himself or Erold. That hadn’t been a thing toward anyone at all, so far.

  The trick would be to find out what they could placate the court with, showing events or prizes to the man that would be impressive, without being too much for them to come up with.

  “I’ll see to that, if I can? After the weapons practice. If Master Belford plans to beat me for missing, I can’t imagine what Captain Ford would do, can you? I didn’t even know they were brothers. Did you?”

  The Prince stopped then and gave him a troubled look.

&nbs
p; “I did. You… They aren’t just brothers to each other. They’re my half -brothers. Your uncles.” Then, as if that news would be troublesome for him to find out, the Prince walked away.

  Calling back gently.

  “Meet me at the weapons yard in an hour? We might as well get an early start today.”

  After that he scurried away, forestalling more questions.

  Chapter six

  The weapons work was, once again, mainly in memorization for Anders that day. Captain Ford nodded to him at the end, as a sweaty and run down looking Prince Erold stood panting, having been beaten around with a padded stick for nearly half an hour. Before that it had been thin strips of metal, unsharpened and with blunt tips to practice light dueling.

  That was, it seemed the second most likely kind of fight that a noble might find themselves in. A challenge battle, starting when someone took offense at what you’d done, or they imagined or claimed you’d done to them, in order to start the contest in the first place.

  Captain Ford had been quite firm on the point.

  “Now you, Anders… Stay out of low class inns and public houses and the only real issue for you will be going to war. No sane noble would bother to challenge someone like you. They’d just have you hung if they didn't like you.” There was a slightly bitter smile to go with the words. “You know that one, I have to imagine.”

  It was true. Farad, the historian had been exempted from many things like that, in his time. His skills were thought to be enough to make it too expensive to be worth throwing his life away. Before that, when he’d been a boy, it had always been the case that angering a high-class person could end with your death.

  Anders knew that to be true at the same time. For someone like him, the worst place to be most days was in and around the castle proper. A villager might only see a man at arms or nobleman a few times in their entire life, unless called to war. The closest they got would be the tax collector or his men.

  There, where he’d lived his entire life was a collection of people, the lowest of whom could point a finger his way and yell about some crime or another. Then his word would be worth about the same as his good name. Very, very little.

  Prince Erold on the other hand, if he ran into trouble with a count, duke or baron, might be challenged to a fight. Either to the blood, which was what they’d practiced that day, or to the death. The kind of thing that had been worked on the day before.

  Each move that had been called out by the Captain was committed to memory. A thing that he went over several times in the dark halls of his mind. Ensuring that he tried to feel the motions that would be needed. You could increase the memories of the body, it simply took different tricks than going over raw facts and words. Pictures took a separate set of skills as well, since they had to be torn down into the separate portions and then tagged with things he knew, to allow them to be found and reconstructed later.

  It didn’t lead to perfect memory, so things that needed that required great practice.

  His weakest area would be in the memories of the body. He could recite full books by heart, old tales and stories as well. It would be possible for him to draw things that he hadn’t seen in… Years before becoming part of a crystal as he lay dying. What he’d never been was any kind of student of war or fighting. His work of the last days, sitting and trying to capture all that he was viewing that way, was new to him. A thing that could be done, that had never been important to him.

  Looking at the guard, who was dressed in gray, seeming strong and well-muscled, Anders nodded.

  “I do, of course, Captain Ford. That there is danger here for someone like me is clear. I think it’s part of why there is a division between the highest and the lowest here. Until the last few days I’d never spoken to say, Prince Robarts. Even knowing his brother as a friend. Most of the highest I haven’t even been sent to carry messages to.”

  Erold didn’t seem to get what he meant. Captain Ford laughed.

  “That is the truth. Which means that, if I hear right, you need to be very careful from now on. You’re still a child, which means no one will challenge you to a duel. Not until you’re sixteen, for both of you. A Prince is immune to bullying, except from his brothers, sisters or parents. That won’t be the case for one such as you, Brolly. Your best weapon right now is being so polite and charming that anyone that might bother to come for you won’t find it worth bothering with. That also means you can’t show them fear. The strong can scent fear in the weak.”

  That got a nod. It wasn’t a thing that any part of him was certain of. At the same time, the guard Captain was probably closer to that kind of thing than Anders had ever been. So far people had largely ignored him. Too high for the lowest to attack out of malice, too low to be noticed by those who could have amused themselves that way at his expense. In a way, he probably had Prince Erold to thank for that. The one person that could have taken off after him that way would have been the noble boy himself.

  Instead he’d been kinder to Anders than Anders had been back. A foolish thing, considering their relative positions in life.

  A large hand clapped him on the shoulder. From the look of it, the thing was hard with callus and scarred on the back from hundreds of tiny cuts and scratches that had healed to leave a tracery of fine silver lines. The Prince gave a martial bow and backed away, the hand preventing Anders from doing the same thing.

  “A word, if you have a moment?” The voice was a bit gruff. Not angry though.

  “Certainly. What would you like to speak about?” That would probably be a lecture, or a request that he start working the next day on physical things. It might be possible, though he was still weak and slow. His stamina was gone as well, even if it had gotten better as the day progressed.

  “Bowyer Barkley told me that you did good work today. For a beginner. He says you should have a working starting bow in three days. You’ll need arrows after that. I’ve gotten with the fletchers. As soon as you have your bow, you’ll need one hundred practice arrows. Those will need to be lighter than the standard, since your bow won’t handle those, yet. It should take you about two weeks to make those. Less if you devote more time to it each day than you can right now. If it takes a month, then it does, as long as you do the work at best pace.” He stopped then, looking around. “The goal is to teach you a craft, in case a war comes in the next years. No one would put a boy on the front lines. That’s less likely, if he can be of use making weapons. You don’t have to do it. I have no right to give you orders.”

  The man seemed slightly embarrassed that he had. Which didn’t make a lot of sense.

  “Except for what you just said? Besides, if people will help me learn these things and I have any ability to do so, then I’d be a fool not to try my best.” He smiled then and shook his head. “Even if I’ve been a fool before, I don’t have to continue on that path.”

  There was another slap on the back. Then a bow toward him, which he returned. Recalling the parts of it and making certain to look at the other man’s hands the whole time. It was the rule and he sort of understood why. The hands were what would be using a weapon on you, if you looked at the floor instead. He backed away, the other man doing the same thing, until they were about ten feet from each other. At that point they simply walked away.

  The goal for his afternoon was to check in with Depak Sona, to see if he needed anything. Messages carried or his room cleaned. Possibly a meal or a snack being fetched. Other than that, he didn’t have the skills to figure out what a good servant would be doing, day to day.

  He didn’t need to bathe or clean himself much, having washed before going to see Master Belford, since wood shavings had collected all over him. That had been done to save a beating with a stick. It might not have come. Then again, it also might. The tutor was nearly as hard as the fighter was on Prince Erold. No doubt that would be him soon as well.

  Taking a few minutes, he walked at a nearly normal pace to the door of the correct chamber, on which he knoc
ked, softly. It seemed rude to pound with force on the door. Especially if the man was taking a nap or engrossed in a book.

  “Enter, please!” The man sounded a bit stressed, for some reason. When he got inside it was simple enough to see why. There were three ladies of the court in with him. Each sitting on the edges of a chair, batting their eyelashes and silk fans hard enough to create a breeze for the whole room.

  Anders might not have been the cleverest of boys, or most attentive, but he could tell when a man was being flirted with. In this case it was clearly being done rather aggressively. There wasn’t any tea at all, which meant that the man hadn’t erred by placing honey in his drink at the wrong time or offering to have relations with all of them.

  He bowed, going low, while still using the first courtly form. The others were sitting after all. Except that the Magician stood instantly, and bowed back, his hands going out wide to either side, palms down. That was a signal of some sort. A thing that Anders didn’t know. Farad, either. The day before, on greeting two boys in front of a castle the palms had been upright. Then again, when greeting the Heir, and his own great-granddaughter.

  This then meant something else. The problem was that he couldn’t possible guess at it. The most likely meaning would be that he didn’t wish to be disturbed. The women weren’t great lovelies, being slightly older like they all were. Not too much so and one did have a pretty smile. They were all in fine gowns and had fresh makeup applied.

  It might have been that.

  They might also have been speaking about magic, being that they were Duchess Rainly and some of her witch friends and simply not wish the room boy to interrupt. No one scowled at him yet, so they were at least bothering to be polite. The feeling from the Ambassador was strained though. What he couldn’t tell was if it was aimed at him, the ladies or something else.