There! — Ruric’s eyes sought the source-Coming from the thicket. Sounds like staves.
Quietly, Ruric dismounted, leading Flint to the trees, looping a rein over a branch.
Dok! Dok! Nok!
The warrior made his way through the saplings, coming at last to the edge of a clearing, where were tethered two mounts. Standing quietly in the coppice, Ruric watched in marvel as two younglings battled amid a fury of battering, their quarterstaves flashing in the sunlit glade.
Suddenly, one went stumbling backwards, going down hard on his rump, his staff flying through the air, lost to his grip.
“Elyn!”-the youth’s features were distorted with rage-“You did that apurpose!”
Elyn stood a moment breathing hard, perspiration running in rivulets down her face.
“Here, let me tend that.” Her voice was soft as she set aside her quarterstaff and knelt in the grass beside him, unbinding her headband and reaching forth with the cloth.
“No!” spat Elgo, jerking his head to the side, blood flowing freely from his nose. “No!” he cried again, leaping to his feet and storming off toward the horses.
Elyn watched him go, then stood and bound her hair once more. She stooped and caught up his stave and followed, a gangly nearly-eleven-year-old girl trailing behind a nearly-eleven-year-old boy.
Whuff! Again young Elgo stumbled backward, and once more would have landed on his rump except a strong hand caught him ere he went down.
“Hold, my Princeling.” Ruric’s voice was gruff, and Elgo looked up in astonishment, for in his anger the lad had not been heeding his steps, and he had jolted into the warrior concealed in the shadows at the edge of the glade.
“Armsmaster Ruric, I did not see you.” Elgo lowered his head and turned it aside, sniffing, trying to conceal his bloody nose.
But Ruric was having none of that, reaching down and taking the boy by the chin, tilting the lad’s face upward toward his own. “Here, youngling, let us tend to that leaking neb o’ yers.” And as Elyn came up: “Ye had the right of it, Princess: we shall need yer headband.”
The Armsmaster led them both to the mossy bank of a clear freshette, the sparkling water bubbling through the trees, Elgo sullen, Elyn juggling the staves as she unbound her hair, Ruric secretly smiling to himself.
“Pride, laddie, pride,” growled Ruric, kneeling beside the stream and dipping the cloth in the icy water. Bidding the boy to lay down on the soft brye, the warrior pressed the cold cloth to the back of Elgo’s neck. “ ’Tis pride that ha’ been the downfall o’ many. They be too proud to learn from their mistakes, and in the end, that be what brings about their undoing. And that’ll be yer own undoing one day, too, unless ye learn to control yer prideful temper, yer prideful ways.”
Elyn sat down amid the soft moss, with its tiny flowerettes abloom in the early spring, plucking one and gently inhaling its faint fragrance, while Ruric fished another cloth from his sleeve and wetted it, placing it over Elgo’s nose. “Snuffle through that, youngling, it’ll cool ye down and stop that trickling beak o’ yers.”
As Elgo sniffed the soothing coolth, the Armsmaster leaned back against a birch and glanced over at Elyn and smiled. Then he turned back to Elgo, the warrior’s voice taking on a gruff tone. “Again I say, pride gets in the way o’ learning. Let me ask ye, laddie, why was Elyn able to get past yer guard, get past yer stave wi’ her own? D’ye know?”
“She cheat-” Elgo began, his voice harsh, but he was whelmed into silence at the sudden roar that burst forth from the Armsmaster:
“Silence!” A glare leapt upon Ruric’s features, and he started up in anger, both Elgo and Elyn flinching back from his ire. “Ha’e ye not heard a word I’ve said? Troll bones and Dragonhide, boy, how can ye expect to be King if ye persist in such stupidity?”
Ruric glowered down at the youth, and slowly the anger seemed to ebb away. “Let’s try it again, laddie,” he said, relaxing, leaning back against the tree once more, “but this time make not the sound o’ a whining whelp; think ere ye speak. Tell me now, as a warrior, as a Vanadurin, as a Harlingar, how did Elyn get past yer guard?”
Elgo, somewhat chastened yet still sulky, peevishly considered the problem. “I don’t know,” he answered at last, his voice surly.
“Hai!” crowed Ruric, leaning forward. “That be just it, boyo, ye don’t know! And if ye storm off in a huff, ye’ll ne’er know!” The warrior’s voice took on a sharp edge. “And the next time ye’ll make the same mistake, and ye’ll take it slap in the face again. And should ye make that kind o’ mistake as a Man. . well, ye may not survive to tell o’ it.”
Once more Ruric leaned back against the birch, his voice growing softer. “Pride, laddie, pride. It’ll be yer downfall if ye let it. But the way to beat it be to learn from yer mistakes, and the best teacher be the one who defeated ye.
“Ah me, lad. I don’t mean for ye to lose yer spirit, but I do mean for ye to learn from yer betters. And in stavery, right now Elyn be yer better. ’Tis her that ye should be looking to for instruction, if she knows what it be that she did, and how she did it. E’en if ’twere but an accident, still ye should explore the which o’ it. . and learn.”
Ruric fell silent, and for long moments there was nought but the burble of the stream and the shush of a fresh breeze among the leaves to listen to. Finally, “How did you do it, Elyn?” Elgo’s voice was low, sullen, the words reluctantly forced out of his mouth.
Elyn glanced up from the tiny flower she held and looked at Ruric, and at his nod, back to her twin. “Every time you stamp back with your left foot, then forward again, you drop your right shoulder to swing up from below. I simply waited, and shot my stave over yours as you came forward.”
“Ai-oi!” exclaimed Ruric. “A Warrior Maid!”
“Yes!” cried Elyn, casting the bloom aside, scrambling to her knees, eagerly leaning forward, her face flush with a sudden rush of blood. “Yes! That’s what I would be, Armsmaster Ruric. A Warrior Maiden as of eld.”
A look of startlement and then wonder filled Ruric’s features. “Warrior Maid? — ” he began, but ere he could say aught else, Elyn plunged on.
“Aye, Armsmaster, a Warrior Maiden as of eld,” she repeated. Elyn’s clear eyes took on a bright viridian sparkle, and her words tumbled o’er one another in their rush to get out. “I’m already skilled with the sling. And Elgo has been teaching me the stave. But I need training with the bow. . and. . and the chariot, too.”
At this last, Ruric burst out in laughter. “Ho, lass, the chariot too?”
Elyn drew back from the Armsmaster, stung by his guffaws. Seeing the effect upon the young girl, Ruric suddenly grew sober. “Ach, Princess, chariots be no longer used, except for those toys raced during the midyear fest. Why, there’s not a real War chariot nearabout, and ha’ been none for hundreds o’ years. Hold, mayhap there be one gathering dust in the museum o’ the Aven King, but not a trace o’ a true chariot is to be found in Jord, lass, and Warrior Maid charioteers be a thing o’ the past.”
At these words, Elgo snorted, and once again blood began to trickle from his nose. In frustration he clapped the wet cloth back against his face, ire in his muffled voice. “See, Elyn! I told you it was stupid! I’m sorry I ever started.”
Ruric looked askance at the boy. “Dreams be not stupid, lad. Misguided, mayhap, but not stupid.”
Elgo sniffed.
Exasperated by her brother, but encouraged by Ruric’s words, Elyn spoke, fervor in her voice: “Yes, Armsmaster, I do have a dream: to be a Warrior Maid as they were in the days of Strong Harl. Charioteers. Spear hurlers. Archers. Slingsters. Wielders of the quarterstaff, and, aye, e’en at times plying swords or other blades in close combat. Scouts and messengers, too, where a maiden’s lighter weight ahorse, permits ranging wider afield, and fleet crossings of great distances.” Elyn’s voice dropped, and she settled back and peered at the ground. “That’s what I would be, Armsmaster. That’s what I would be.”