Cold Magics (24 page)

“All honour,” said Thomas, remembering the flames and blades that ended the two men’s lives. He shuddered.

“All honour,” said Eileen and George, their voices quiet. Around them, Thomas saw various members of the court whispering or mouthing the words, and others nodding their heads.

“All honour,” said Henry. “And rest in peace.”

They all drank, and for a time stood quiet in the midst of the music and revelry.

“Let’s get some sleep,” said Henry. “We will meet in the courtyard after breakfast.”

14

Loud knocking on Thomas’s door roused him far too early. He tried ignoring it, but whoever was on the other side had obviously been told not to go away until he answered. Thomas, still tired and slightly hung-over, dragged himself out of bed and shuffled to the door.

“Lord Henry’s regards,” said the page on the other side. “He asks that you join him this morning in the old great hall.”

“Why?” asked Thomas, glaring blearily and shivering in the cold morning air.

“Practice.”

For a moment, Thomas considered getting his rapier and running the page through, but he held off. It wasn’t the boy’s fault.

Henry, on the other hand…

He let the thought of incipient mayhem on Henry keep him warm while he washed and dressed. Throwing on his cloak for extra warmth, he followed the boy through the castle, into the family wing. The boy led him to a large door, knocked on it, and opened it for Thomas to go in.

“Good morning,” said Henry. “Welcome to the great hall.”

“The original, I take it,” said Thomas, looking at the old stonework and the high, arched ceiling. The walls had once been plastered smooth, but were now filled with nicks and gouges. There were even targets for bows and crossbows on one wall, with the expected destruction around them. Another wall had ropes and ladders for climbing, and bars to pull oneself up on. One section was marked off as a fencing floor, suitable for two swordsmen to face off in, and by the rules of fencing halls throughout the kingdom, not to be stepped on except for sparring or duelling. A mid-sized fire burned at one end, far too small for the large hall. Lawrence was tending to it, getting as much light and heat out of it as possible.

“Built as part of the first keep,” said Henry. “When they built the new one two hundred years later, they turned this into a practice hall. Perfect place to work in winter.”

“Cold,” said Thomas. He wished he’d brought a warmer jacket. “I thought we were going to a funeral this morning.”

“Memorial,” said Henry. “We are. After this.”

“All right.”

Henry sighed. “It’s war, Thomas. Nothing stops because people die.”

Thomas thought about it. “That’s terrible.”

“Aye, it is,” said Henry. “But it’s what we have.”

Thomas could think of nothing to say to that, and the two stood in silence by the fire until George and Eileen arrived.

Henry said good morning to them and led everyone to the weapon racks. He ignored the swords there, and drew his own rapier. From a box on the floor beside the racks, he pulled out a short metal sleeve and fitted it over the tip of his blade. “We keep ‘buttons’ in a variety of sizes here,” said Henry, indicating the sleeve. He reached into the box again and tossed one each to Thomas and Eileen. “Better to practise with your own weapon where possible.”

“And me leaving my stick in my room,” said George.

“Not to worry,” said Henry. “Sir Lawrence?”

“You come with me, George,” said Lawrence, heading to a rack of long, thick-bladed swords. “Time you learnt how to use a proper blade.”

For the next half hour Thomas, Eileen and Henry ran through the cuts, parries and footwork with their rapiers while Lawrence taught George the intricacies of the large battle sword. Thomas quickly tossed his cloak aside. By the time they all donned padding and masks and began sparring, he had worked up a good sweat. First, Thomas and Henry alternated with Eileen while George attempted to fight against Lawrence. Then Lawrence faced off with Thomas.

The knight was tentative against Thomas, taking longer on his attacks and retreating faster than he had against any of the others.

Wonderful. Now he’s afraid of me.

Thomas put the thought away. The magic wasn’t his fault, and he wasn’t about to let Sir Lawrence use it as an excuse. He pushed the man hard and soon defeated him. Eileen and George faced off, and George defeated his sister with a combination of brute force and speed that forced her off the fencing floor before she could get a single cut in.

“So,” said Henry to Thomas. “All out?”

Thomas smiled.

“Been a while,” he said. They stepped to the middle of the fencing floor, raised their blades in a salute, then lowered them until the steel crossed.

“Aye,” said Henry. “Ready?”

Thomas grinned. “Aye.”

They stood a moment longer, blades lightly pressing against one another. Then Henry slipped his blade away and thrust out. Thomas parried and returned the thrust, and the fight was on. Soon they were racing across the floor, blades flashing hard and fast and sweat pouring from the pair of them. Henry tried backing Thomas toward a corner and Thomas dodged out of the way, driving Henry back in his turn with a sudden twist of his wrist and a hard thrust. Henry narrowly avoided stepping off the fencing floor and reversed the flow of attack once again.

Thomas found himself grinning at Henry as the two traded blow after blow, parrying and dodging each other’s attacks as each sought an opening. They knew each other too well to trick one another, and it became a game of attrition, each attacking hard and waiting for the other to tire enough to make a mistake.

Henry was the one who made it, parrying just a little too wide and giving Thomas the chance to drop his blade below his friend’s hilt and drive his point hard under Henry’s ribs. Henry’s blade came back a hair too late, and Thomas’s blunted point struck hard into Henry’s flesh, making him grunt. Thomas jumped back and Henry did the same. They stood, staring at one another, both gasping for breath.

Henry swore, then grinned at Thomas. “Luck.”

“Skill,” Thomas countered, grinning back.

They turned to go off the floor and found the other three standing, staring with their mouths open. “That,” said Eileen, “was amazing.”

 “Opinions, Sir Lawrence?” asked Henry.

“I do believe he is better than you, my lord,” said Sir Lawrence.

“Almost as good,” said Henry.

“As good at least, my lord.”

“Be that as it may,” said Henry. “We should get going. Breakfast, change clothes, then the memorial.”

Mention of the memorial put an end to any high spirits and it was a somber group that made its way to breakfast in the great hall. If the feast had been an example of the duke’s extravagance, breakfast was the other extreme. The great hall, lit by a small fire and a few candles, looked positively dim. A thick porridge was all the servants brought to nobles and commoners alike. Thomas and his friends ate quickly, then parted to change into their winter clothes. Thomas quietly halted Henry in the hallway and asked about wearing his rapier.

“Not a bad idea,” said Henry. “I don’t know what to expect. I haven’t been here in two months.”

Henry left him, and Thomas hurried back to the room to wash and change. He strapped the rapier on over the long coat Henry had given him and, carrying his cloak on his arm, went to find George and Eileen. George was ready to go, naturally, and Thomas offered to wait for Eileen.

“All right,” said George. “If I see any of those lords, I’m coming back, though. I’m not leaving her alone around them.”

Can’t blame you
, Thomas thought as George headed off. Eileen soon joined him. She was buttoning up her coat and, like Thomas, had a thick wool cloak over her arm.

 They walked arm in arm to the great hall and reached it just in time to see the main doors swing open. The young lords staggered into the hall in various states of exhaustion and drunkenness. Lord John stumbled in last, moving slightly better than those around him, but was still unsteady on his feet.

“That looks like the end of a night’s revelry,” said Thomas, dropping his voice low.

“Not a good end,” Eileen said, doing the same.

“None of them are vomiting on the floor.”

“Half of them look like they already did.”

“Wine!” called Lord John. “Hair of the dog!”

“God, don’t call it that,” said one of the lords. “I may vomit again.”

“Told you,” said Eileen.

“Don’t do it in here,” warned Sir John. “Go outside.”

The lord muttered something and collapsed onto a chair as the servants moved into the room, bringing trays of wine. “Well, they’re lovely,” said Eileen. “Can we get out of here?”

“Only through them,” said Thomas.

“Hey! It’s the pretty redhead!”

“What?”

“Where?”

“There!” One of the lords stumbled forward slightly. “Standing with her merchant boy.”

“He’s not a merchant,” said another. “He’s a
scholar
.”

“Ooohhh,” the word was long and drawn out, and loud enough to be entirely for Thomas’s benefit. “What could be more impressive than a
scholar
?”

Snickers made their way around the more conscious members of the group.

“Hey, girl!” called the one standing. “Hey, girl! Come here!”

“Now what do we do?” asked Eileen, her voice edged with anger and fear.

“Leave,” said Thomas, his eyes on the lords. “Walk straight ahead and ignore them.”

“You can’t start a fight with them,” warned Eileen. “You’ll be hanged.”

“I won’t start anything.” Thomas offered Eileen his arm—not his swords-arm—and they began walking forward.

“Not him!” said the lord. “We just want you!”

There was more semi-drunken snickering from the other lords. The noisy lord began weaving his way towards them, shouting at a pair of his companions to join them. The three of them managed to stumble their way over to block the door. “You may go,” he said, waving in Thomas’s general direction. “We just want to talk to the girl.”

“Lord Henry expects us,” said Thomas. “I’m afraid we cannot stay.”

“Expects you to what?” demanded the second lord. “Clean his boots?”

Thomas kept his tone cool and even. “We are attending the memorial for the knights who died on our journey here. So if you will excuse us….”

“I will not!” The first young lord grabbed for Thomas’s arm. Thomas moved just enough to make the man miss and stumble. Eileen let go of Thomas’s arm, reaching for the rapier that she wasn’t wearing and cursing under her breath when she realized it wasn’t there.

The lord righted himself and stared at Thomas. He was at least two inches taller than Thomas, and wider across the shoulders. He was also stinking drunk. Thomas had no doubt that he could knock the man down with little trouble, just as he had no doubt it would be exactly the wrong thing to do.

Behind them, Lord John called out, “That’s enough, now.”

The first lord looked quite willing to ignore Lord John, but his two companions hesitated. Lord John repeated, “Enough!” in a voice loud and stern enough that even the first lord paid attention.

The drunk young lord stopped, looking disgruntled, and said to Eileen, “Fine, I’ll see you later.”

Not today, you won’t
, thought Thomas, taking Eileen’s arm and leading her to the door.
Nor any other time, if I can help it
.

***

Henry was already in the courtyard. He stood before a double column of men in gleaming armour and white cloaks. Their breastplates each bore the image of a wolf, embossed into the metal with silver. Sir Lawrence, who had managed to get into his own shining armour in an impressively short time, was in line with the others. Sir Patrick and Sir Rowland each held a sheathed sword, in addition to the one each wore on their hip. Directly behind them, another pair of knights held a shield flat, with two small, plain wooden boxes sitting on it.

The hair
, Thomas thought.
That’s why Henry wanted it. To have something for the service.

Henry was dressed in white as well, the silver wolf embroidered into his coat. Henry nodded to Thomas and his friends, then gave a quick order. As one, the group turned to the gate. Another order and Henry lead the knights out of the gate and through the streets of the city in a slow, silent march. Thomas, George and Eileen followed a short distance behind. The ground underfoot was slippery with packed snow and ice, but none of the knights stumbled. Men and women in the streets watched them pass, and some fell in behind. The silent march continued down the main thoroughfare. Just before the gates of the city, they turned onto a side street and toward a small chapel. A group of women and children—the knights’ families, Thomas realized, spotting Rose and Sir Patrick’s wife among them—stood waiting outside the chapel. As the knights approached, priests opened the double doors wide and let them march in without breaking their stride. The families entered immediately behind them, and Thomas and his friends followed.

Unlike most of the High Father’s churches, which only had a few box seats for the wealthy and standing room for the rest, the small chapel had benches lining the floor with enough seating for all. In the front of the church, the altar of the High Father gleamed in black stone. Tapestries of the Four Gods vied for space with images of knights marching into battle.

The shield- and sword-bearers carried their burdens up the aisle and laid them on the altar. The rest of the knights filed into the rows, leaving the front two empty. Henry stood at the front, looking at the shields and swords while the two families came forward to claim the front benches. Henry took the hands of the women and spoke to them in low tones that didn’t carry back to where Thomas was standing.

“Sir Michael and Sir Gareth’s families?” whispered Eileen.

“I’d say so,” George whispered back. “Glad I’m not Henry.”

The last of the mourners filtered in, and a moment later an old priest stepped out from a door concealed by one of the tapestries. He stepped in front of the altar and bowed to it, then turned to the assembled.