"You are supposed to be a king, not a jester."
"I wasn't jesting. Sir Gavin made me do exercises to strengthen my arms. You should too. Come here."
"But I am cold."
Achan stood. Snow fell over the tops of his boots and melted down his legs. "Come here, Sparrow. Now."
Sparrow sighed and stood. He trudged through the snow and stopped before Achan, slouching, eyes rolled in defeat.
It amused Achan how well Sparrow obeyed. "Try the leg sweep again. Knock me down."
"I cannot do the leg sweep." Sparrow's voice warbled. "You know that."
"You can, you're just afraid. The trick is to get close and push. Best if I don't see it coming."
"But you do see it coming, you are telling me to."
"Then try to get me off balance another way, use my weight against me. See that rock by the river?"
"No. I see a lump of snow."
"It's a rock covered in snow, Sparrow. Stop being difficult." Achan positioned himself in front of the rock. "If we were fighting, you could back me up to the rock and I'd trip. Maybe fall in the river. Both are to your advantage."
"Thank you for the riveting advice, but I am cold and do not want to learn at the moment. Do not forget I bested Larken to save you from marrying Jaira. If the circumstances arose, I could do it again. But I do not respond to mock lessons."
Achan grabbed Sparrow's head in one hand and pulled it against his side. He pushed the boy's face down into the snow. "Mention Jaira again and you'll wish you hadn't."
Sparrow elbowed Achan in the abdomen, then twisted the skin on the back of his hand. Achan laughed and shoved Sparrow forward. The boy sprawled head-first into the snow. He rolled over, and Achan pounced, folding his arms over the boy's chest, pinning him again. "Watch where you swing those elbows, Sparrow. You almost crippled me."
Sparrow got one hand free and pulled Achan's braid. "I meant to," he said over a grunt.
"Oh ho?" Achan snagged Sparrow's hand and pushed it back in the snow. "If you're going to fight cheaply you best be prepared for the repercussions."
"I can take anything you throw at me."
"This said by the boy immobilized in the snow. That so?"
"Yes, Your Whininess."
The contempt in Sparrow's voice deserved a lasting lesson. Achan considered something painful but not debilitating. He brought up his knee-
"Achan!" Sir Gavin called. "I need you, lad."
Achan pushed off Sparrow. "Well, Luckyfox, fate has intervened and saved you from a world of hurt."
"Now, Achan!" Sir Gavin's tone seemed almost angry.
Achan scooped two handfuls of snow over Sparrow's face and backpedaled toward the horses, laughing. Sparrow sat up and shook his head like a wet dog, snow sizzling into the fire.
Achan trudged to Sir Gavin. "You need me?"
Sir Gavin clutched a dead gowzal by the feet. "You must go easy on the lad."
"Sparrow? I was only playing with him."
"Aye, but…some are natural fighters. Others…less so."
"That's my point. Sparrow's about as far from a warrior as a maiden at a joust."
"Aye, and there's reason for that. He…well, he, uh… He has a… condition."
Achan's enthusiasm sobered. "What? Like a weak heart?"
"Something like that."
Achan looked back to Sparrow at the fire. No wonder the boy was so scrawny. "That's the secret he's keeping?"
"Uh, sort of."
"Why doesn't he say so?"
"'Tis Vrell's decision, Achan. Let it be."
"But he wants to learn to fight. He asked me."
"You can teach him. Just be…gentle." Sir Gavin stepped past Achan, toward the campfire.
"Gentle?" Gentleness and fighting were as much a match as darkness and light. What fellowship could they possibly have with one another?
Sir Gavin approached Vrell carrying a dead gowzal by the feet. "Cooking has never been my strong suit. Inko handed me this, and he and Caleb are still hunting. Can you help?"
Vrell's eyes widened. "I do not think I can stomach eating a black spirit, Sir Gavin." Plus, she knew nothing of cooking.
"The creature is merely a bird. The spirit leaves it when it dies. Eating it now is perfectly safe." He dropped the beast at her feet and whispered, "Thank you, my lady. You've saved an old man from a terrifying ordeal." He walked back to the horses.
Vrell scanned the camp for ears, heart pattering at the sound of "my lady" spoken aloud. Achan and Sir Gavin stood by the horses. The others were hunting. Still, Sir Gavin's gutsyness unhinged her. She stared at the bird, hesitant to even touch it. She removed her knife from her satchel and crouched before the dead thing. She pinched a feather and sawed it off.
There must be an easier way. People spoke of plucking birds. Vrell held the beast down, grabbed a feather, and jerked. The sound of the shaft ripping from flesh sickened her. Her body inflated with tension. Being female did not mean she knew how to cook. Was it not enough that she had the stomach to heal grievous wounds? For the first time ever, she regretted having confided in the Great Tactless Whitewolf.
She grabbed another feather, winced, and yanked it out. She gripped another.
"What are you doing?" Achan's voice came from behind.
She pulled, the feather vane slipped through her fingers, and her fist whacked Achan's leg. "Sorry. Sir Gavin asked me to cook this, this…thing for dinner."
"Do you know how?" His words were laced with laughter.
Vrell held up a feather. "How difficult can it be?"
His hand stretched over her head. "Give me the knife."
Vrell handed it over. Achan carried the bird to the large mound of snow at the water's edge. He knelt and swiped off the mound with his forearm, baring a large, flat boulder. Vrell's posture slumped. She had truly believed it to be only snow.
Achan laid the gowzal on its back. "Plucking will take too long, and there's more to it than ripping out random feathers. Besides, we've no need to be fancy, so I'll skin it."
Vrell recoiled. "Skin a bird?"
"Sure." Achan turned the gowzal on its side and straightened its head. He cut the neck again and again until he was able to pull it free. The sound of ripping tendons grated worse on Vrell's nerves than feathers ripping out.
"First the head, then the feet." Achan set down the knife and took one leg in two hands. He twisted the leg at the knee, pulled and twisted until it hung by threads, then used the knife to sever the remaining tendons.
Vrell tried not to look, wincing at every snap and crack of the beast's dead body. Achan's lips curved slightly, as if he were actually enjoying himself.
He twisted off the wings next, rotated the bird to its back, smoothed the feathers aside, and cut the belly open. He slid his fingers in and pushed back the skin, feathers and all. Vrell's stomach lurched. She closed her eyes and stifled a whimper.
"See?" Achan said. "Not too hard. It might not look pretty for a feast, but it'll taste fine. All we have left is to gut it."
Vrell did not learn how to gut the bird because her eyes were closed. She hummed a chorus to drown the sounds of tendons ripping and skin tearing. When she opened her eyes, Achan pushed a pile of feathers and bloody goo to the side. The beast did look to have nice chunks of meat on it.
Achan washed the meat in the river. "Go get your sack."
Vrell hurried away and returned with her satchel that bulged with supplies from Ressa's apothecary friend. Movement in the distance caught her eye. Sir Caleb and Inko returned carrying three more gowzals. She cringed, hoping the men would not insist she learn this horrible skill. She appreciated Mother's cook more than ever.