“Ah, lass, but all that ended wi’ the Great War,” responded Ruric, “for the Vanadurin Folk were devastated, nigh unto extinction I ween, Warrior Men and Maidens all. Then ’twas that the surviving Women decided that they must set aside their weapons, to give up War for hearth and home, to raise wee bairns instead o’ arms, for in no other way could the Harlingar survive. In no other way could the Harlingar recover, could we once again become a mighty nation. And that, my girl, be why there be no Warrior Maidens today.”
“But Armsmaster, that was thousands of years agone!” protested Elyn. “The Harlingar are strong once more. No longer is there a need for all Women to abide at the hearth, for all Women to suckle the young, for all Women to tend the cradle, Hence, as there were in the past, so should there be once more: it is time for Warrior Maidens to return.” Elyn thrust out her jaw, and for the first time her green eyes glared defiantly into Ruric’s blue. “And that is what I would be, Armsmaster, that is what I would be!”
“Pah!” said Elgo, sniffing disdainfully.
“Argh!” growled Ruric, provoked by the boy’s attitude, wanting to take the lad over his knee and teach him a lesson he would not forget. Instead, in his anger, the warrior turned to the Princess. “Alright, lass, ’tis a compact we’ll make: I’ll teach ye the skills o’ a Warrior Maiden, but ye must keep up wi’ the learning. Should ye fall behind or lose interest, then we be quits; but as long as ye work at it and improve, then that be how long I’ll teach.”
Ruric had the satisfaction of hearing Elgo groan and of seeing the Prince entirely cover his face with the damp cloth, trying to shut out the sight of Elyn throwing her arms about the gruff warrior’s neck. But then the Armsmaster’s delight at Elgo’s discomfiture quickly faded as he contemplated just what he had gotten himself into.
True to his word, time and again Ruric met with Elyn in the thicket by the side of the stream. And at the Armsmaster’s command, Elgo attended these sessions as well, for as Ruric knew, Elyn needed to drill against a foeman of her size, and as Ruric also knew, Elgo came not only to learn, but also to keep his sister from surpassing him. Too, Elgo’s tour on the Vanadurin training grounds would not begin till a year and two months hence, at the age of twelve; and so the Prince came eager to learn, and to test his growing skills in “battle,” though he would rather be pitted ’gainst boys of his own season. Even so, Elgo was at a disadvantage, for Elyn, just two months shy of eleven, was at that age where over the next two or three years she would be stronger, quicker, and more fleet of foot than her moments-elder twin brother, his spurt of growth into manhood yet to begin.
And so the coppice echoed with the clitter-clatter of wooden sabers, and the nok-bok of staves. And there was the strum and hiss and thock of bow hurling arrow into target and the whirr and siss and crack of sling-hurtled bullet as well. And they flung spears and grappled with “daggers” and Ruric even managed to acquire a festival chariot and teach them how to maneuver it in battle.
And the glade rang with the Armsmaster’s exhortations as time and again he set before them a new task, a new way of dealing with an attack, a new skill to learn.
And learn they did, though many a time Ruric would stop the action and give one or the other or both a good tongue-lashing:
“-Hold! Andrak’s black nails, boy, ’twas yer pride again. Will ye ne’er learn, young Prince? Hearken to me: Lady Elyn kept a cool head under yer assault, but ye became ired when she went on the attack, and yer temper got the better o’ ye and allowed her to score.”
“-Elyn, Elyn, what am I going to do wi’ ye? In this exercise, ’tis yer task to drive the chariot, and ’tis Elgo’s to hurl the spear. Stop screaming ‘Now!’ at him when ye think the lance should be hurled. That be his to do. Adon’s hammer, lass, keep yer own mind on the horses running straight and true, instead o’ careening about like drunken cobs.”
Spring became summer, and summer faded into fall, and still the lessons continued. Early on, these training sessions had become an open secret in the Court, but King Aranor did nought, for he was pleased that Elgo’s training had started so early, and only slightly disturbed by Elyn’s pursuit of arms. But Elyn’s spinster aunt, Mala, daughter of Earl Bost of the Fian Downs in Pellar, elder stepsister of the twins’ long-dead mother, Alania, was scandalized by Elyn’s behavior. After all, Mala had spent some time at the High King’s Court in Caer Pendwyr, and as Mala said, “. . no Lady of that Court would even consider learning weaponry, much less becoming a warrior.”
And Mala nagged and nagged until finally in the fall, over Ruric’s objections, Aranor bade the Armsmaster to bring Elyn to the weapons ground, where the Warrior Maid’s mettle was to be tested ’gainst some of the elder lads, so that, as Mala put it, “. . she will see the foolishness of her ways and turn to those things better suited to a genteel girl of noble breeding.”
Slowly the light crept upon the land, and the chill dawn mist enwrapped all. Down in the swales, undulant fog lay thickly, but up on the ramparts the vapor wafted frail and thin, causing halos to bloom ’round cresseted torches. Castle doors boomed open, and the King emerged along with others, while lackeys ran from the stables leading horses. With a great rattle and chatter of gears and chains and ratchets, the portcullis was raised and the gates were opened, as the entourage mounted up and clattered across the stone courtyard and out into the misty fields.
When they came to the training grounds, all dismounted and took up their respective places.
Aranor, a Man who looked to be in his middle forties, sat in the King’s pavilion, and by no deed did he show that Elyn was known to him. Yet any who gazed upon Aranor would know that Elyn and Elgo had sprung from his loins. Green eyes looked out from a handsome face, and his wide forehead was capped by a tangle of coppery hair, and in this he was like unto his seed. But it was his bearing-straight, with a grace and power-that marked him as sire to the twins, as well as a look deep within his gaze: “The look of hawks,” said some; “Nay, the look of eagles,” claimed others. But hawk or eagle, the same spirit also could be marked on both Elyn’s and Elgo’s features; and at times, the twins’ movements were filled with a fluency and ease that spoke of their sire-though if asked, Aranor would claim that it was their mother that filled the twain with her elegant grace.
At Aranor’s side sat Mala, rigid and sour, her black hair coiled into its habitual tight knot at the back of her head. It was an hour she was not accustomed to seeing, and her icy blue gaze and thin-drawn lips spoke volumes. Yet, lurking within that chill stare was anticipation of the triumph to come, for now Elyn would see just how foolish she had been, and would at last be raised as a proper Princess should be.
Elgo, embarrassed to be trapped in this debacle, squirmed on one of the ground-level pages’ benches before the pavilion. Several other youngsters sat with him.
Out on the field Elyn looked wan, as if she had not slept the night before. Yet her eyes were bright and clear.
On the field, too, an archery target was set up, a black silhouette of one of the Rutchen spawn.
Ardon, a lad of fourteen summers, stood some twenty paces from the dark profile, bow strung, waiting.
As Ruric walked out to the mark with Elyn, he spoke little. “Courage, lass. Remember: Inhale full. Exhale half and hold. Draw to yer anchor point. Fix yer aim. Loose.”