Once inside he could see that the structure was one single large room, with a mirrored wall and a carefully sanded wooden floor. There were several young people out on the floor already, ranging in apparent age from as young as eleven or twelve to as old as their early twenties. Most of them were sparring -
Vanyel was too exhausted to take much notice of what they were up to, although the pair nearest him (he saw with a sinking heart) were working out in almost exactlythe weapons style Jervis used.
“This him?”
A woman with a soft, musical contralto spoke from behind them, and Vanyel turned abruptly, dropping a vambrace.
“Yes, ma’am,” Donni said, picking the bracer up before Vanyel had a chance even to flush. “Vanyel, this is Weaponsmaster Kayla. Kayla, this stuff is all his; I guess he brought it from home. I’ve got to get going, or I’ll miss my session in the Work Room.”
“Havens forfend,” Kayla said dryly. “Savil would eat me for lunch if you were late. Don’t forget you have dagger this afternoon, girl.”
Donni nodded and slipped out the door, leaving Vanyel alone with the redoubtable Weaponsmaster.
For redoubtable she was. From the crown of her head to the soles of her feet she was nothing but sinew and muscle. Her black hair, tightly braided to her head, showed not a strand of gray, despite the age revealed by the fine net of wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. Those gray-green eyes didn’t look as if they missed much.
For the rest, Kayla’s shoulders were nearly a handspan wider than his, and her wrists as thick as his ankles. Vanyel had no doubt that she could readily wield anyof the blades in the racks along the wall, even the ones as tall or taller than she. He did notparticularly want to face this woman in anysort of combat situation. She looked like she could quite handily take on Jervis andmop the floor with his ugly face.
Vanyel remained outwardly impassive, but was inwardly quaking as she in turn studied him.
“Well, young man,” she said quietly, after a moment that was far too long for his liking. “You might as well throw that stuff over in the corner over there - “ she nodded toward the far end of the salle, and a pile of discarded equipment, “ - we’ll see what we can salvage of it. Youcertainly won’t be needing it.”
Vanyel blinked at her, wondering if he’d missed something. “Why not?” he asked, just as quietly.
“Good gods, lad, that stuff’s about as suited to you as boots on a cat!” she replied, with a certain amusement. “Whoever your last master was, he was a fool to put you in thatgear. No, young man - you see Redel and Oden over there?’’
She pointed with her chin at a pair of slender, androgynous figures involved in an intricate, and possibly deadly dance with very light, slender swords.
“I’ll make Duke Oden your instructor; he’ll be pleased to have a pupil besides young Lord Redel. That’s the kind of style suited to you, so that’swhat you’ll be doing, young Vanyel,” she told him.
His heart rose to its proper place from its former position - somewhere in the vicinity of his boots.
Kayla graced him with a momentary smile. “Mind you, lad, Oden’s no light taskmaster. You’ll find you work up as healthy a sweat and collect just as many bruises as any of the hack-and-bashers. So let’s get you suited for it, eh?”
If the morning was an unexpected pleasure - and it was; for the first time in his life he received praisefor weapons work, and preened under it - the afternoon was an unalloyed disaster.
It started when he returned with equipment that weighed a third of what he’d carried over. He racked it with care he usually didn’t grant to weaponry, and sought the central room of the suite.
Someone - probably the hitherto invisible Margret - had taken away the food left on the sideboard this morning and replaced it with meat rolls, more fruit and cheese, and a bottle of light wine.
Tylendel was sprawled on the couch, a meat roll in one hand, a book in the other, a crease of concentration between his brows. He didn’t even look up as Vanyel moved hesitantly just into the common room itself.
Once again he got that strange, half-fearful, fluttery feeling in the pit of his stomach. He cleared his throat, and Tylendel jumped, dropping his book, and looking up with his eyes widened and his hair over one eye.
“Good gods, Vanyel, make some noise,next time!” he said, bending to retrieve his book from the floor. “I didn’t know there was anyone here but me! That’s lunch over there - “
He pointed with the half-eaten roll.
“Savil says to eat and get yourself cleaned up; she’s going to present you to the Queen before the noon recess. Then you’ll be able to have dinner with the Court; the rest of us get it on the fly as our schedules permit. Savil will be back in a few minutes so you’d better move.” He tilted his head to one side, just a little, and offered, “If you need any help. ...”
Vanyel stiffened; the offer hadn’t sounded at all unfriendly, but - it could be Tylendel was looking for a way to spy on him. Savil hadn’t necessarily told the truth.
- if only -
“No,” he replied curtly, “I don’t need any help.” He paused, then added for politeness’ sake, “Thank you.”
Tylendel gave him a dubious look, then shrugged and dove back into his book.
Savil wasback in moments; Vanyel had barely time to make himself presentable before she scooped him up and herded him off to the Throne Room.
The Throne Room was a great deal smaller than he had pictured; long and narrow, and rather dark. And stuffy; there were more people crammed into this room than it had ever been intended to hold. Somewhere down at the farther end of it was the Throne itself, beneath a huge blue and silver tapestry of a rampant winged horse with broken chains on its throat and legs that took up the entire wall over the Throne. Vanyel could see the tapestry, but nothing else; everyone else in the room seemed to be at least a hand taller than he was, and all he could see were heads.
The presentation itself was a severe disappointment. Vanyel waited with Savil at his side for nearly an hour while some wrangle or other involving a pair of courtiers was ironed out. Then Savil’s name was called; the two of them (Vanyel trailing in Savil’s formidable wake) were announced by a middle-aged Herald in full Court Whites. Vanyel was escorted to the foot of the Throne by that same Herald, where Queen Elspeth (a thin, dark-haired woman who was looking very tired and somewhat preoccupied) nodded to him in a friendly manner, and said about five words in greeting. He bowed and was escorted back to Savil’s side, and that was all there was to it.
Then Savil hustled him back to change outof Court garb and into ordinary daygarb for his afternoon classes. Mardic practically flew in the door from the hallway and took him in tow. They traversed a long, dark corridor leading from Savil’s quarters, out through a double door, to a much older section of the Palace. From there they exited a side door and out into more gardens - herb gardens this time, and kitchen gardens.
Mardic didn’t seem to be the talkative type, but he could certainly move. His fast walk took them past an l-shaped granite building before Vanyel had a chance to ask what it was, and up to a square fieldstone structure. “Bardic Collegium,” Mardic said shortly, pausing just long enough for a couple of youngsters who were running to get past him, then opening the black wooden door for him.
He didn’t say another word; just left him at the door of his first class before vanishing elsewhere into the building.
He was finding it hard to believe that Savil was going so far in ignoring his father’s orders as to put him in lessoningwith the Bardic students. Nevertheless, here he was.
Inside Bardic Collegium. Actually inside the building, seated in a row of chairs with three other youngsters in a small, sunny room on the first floor.
More than that, pacing back and forth as he lectured or questioned them was a real, live Bard in full Scarlets; a tall, powerful man who was probably as much at home wielding a broadsword as a lute.