Magician (21 page)

They passed Roland and Gardan, and Pug
struggled to feel sympathy. Like the others, he found the situation
comical Hiding his amusement, he lowered his voice to a
conspiratorial tone and said, “I’d better get along.
Should the Swordmaster come along, he might tack on an extra day’s
marching.”

Tomas groaned at the thought. “Gods
preserve me. Get away, Pug.”

Pug whispered, “When you’re
done, join us in the ale shed if you’re able.” Pug left
Tomas’s side and rejoined Gardan and Roland. To the sergeant he
said, “Thank you, Gardan.”

“You are welcome, Pug Our young
knight-in-the-making will be fine, though he feels set upon now. He
also chafes at having an audience.”

Roland nodded. “Well, I expect
he’ll not be losing a sword again soon.”

Gardan laughed “Too true. Master
Fannon could forgive the first, but not the second. He thought it
wise to see Tomas didn’t make a habit of it. Your friend is the
finest student the Swordmaster has known since Prince Arutha, but
don’t tell Tomas that. Fannon’s always hardest on those
with the most potential. Well, good day to you both, Squires. And,
boys,”—they paused—”I won’t mention the
‘fist-boxing lesson.’ ”

They thank the sergeant for his
discretion and walked toward the ale shed, with the measured cadence
of Gardan’s voice filling the court.

Pug was well into his second mug of ale
and Roland finishing his fourth when Tomas appeared through the loose
boards. Dirty and sweating, he was rid of his armor and weapons. With
a great display of fatigue, he said, “The world must be coming
to an end; Fannon excused me from punishment early.”

“Why?” asked Pug.

Roland lazily reached over to a storage
shelf, next to where he sat upon a sack of grain soon to be used for
making ale, and got a cup from a stack. He tossed it to Tomas, who
caught it, then filled it from the hogshead of ale that Roland rested
his feet upon.

Taking a deep drink, Tomas wiped his
mouth with the back of his hand and said, “Something’s
afoot. Fannon swooped down, told me to put away my toys, and nearly
dragged Gardan off, he was in such a hurry.”

Pug said, “Maybe the Duke is
getting ready to ride east?”

Tomas said, “Maybe.” He
studied his two friends, taking note of their freshly bruised
countenances. “All right. What happened?”

Pug regarded Roland, indicating he
should explain the sad state of their appearance. Roland gave Tomas a
lopsided grin and said, “We had a practice bout in preparation
for the Duke’s fist-boxing tourney.”

Pug nearly choked on his ale, then
laughed. Tomas shook his head. “If you two don’t look a
pair. Fighting over the Princess?”

Pug and Roland exchanged glances; then
as one they leaped at Tomas and bore him to the floor under their
combined weight. Roland pinned Tomas to the floor, then, while Pug
held him in place, took a half-filled cup of ale and held it high.
With mock solemnity Roland said, “I hearby anoint thee, Tomas,
First Seer of Crydee!” So saying, he poured the contents of the
cup over the struggling boy’s face.

Pug belched, then said, “As do
I.” He poured what remained in his cup over his friend.

Tomas spat ale, laughing as he said,
“Right! I was right!” Struggling against the weight upon
him, he said, “Now get off! Or need I remind you, Roland, of
who gave you your last bloody nose?”

Roland moved off very slowly,
intoxicated dignity forcing him to move with glacial precision.
“Quite right.” Turning toward Pug, who had also rolled
off Tomas, he said, “Still, it must be made clear that at the
time, the
only reason
Tomas managed to bloody my nose is that
during our fight he had an unfair advantage.”

Pug looked at Roland through bleary
eyes and said, “What unfair advantage?”

Roland put his finger to his lips
indicating secrecy, then said, “He was winning.”

Roland collapsed back upon the grain
sack and Pug and Tomas dissolved into laughter. Pug found the remark
so funny, he couldn’t stop, and hearing Tomas’s laughter
only caused his own to redouble. At last he sat up, gasping, with his
sides hurting.

Catching his breath, Pug said, “I
missed that set-to. I was doing something else, but I don’t
remember what.”

“You were down in the village
learning to mend nets, if I remember rightly, when Roland first came
here from Tulan.”

With a crooked grin Roland said, “I
got into an argument with someone or another—do you remember
who?” Tomas shook his head no. “Anyway, I got into an
argument, and Tomas came over and tried to break it up I couldn’t
believe this skinny boy—” Tomas began to voice an
objection, but Roland cut him off, holding a finger upright and
wiggling it. “Yes, you were Very skinny I couldn’t
believe this skinny boy—skinny
common
boy—would
presume
to tell me—a newly appointed member of the
Duke’s court and
a gentleman
, I must add—the way
to behave. So I did the only thing a proper gentleman could do under
the circumstances.”

“What’“ asked Pug.

“I hit him in the mouth.”
The three laughed again.

Tomas shook his head at the
recollection, while Roland said, “Then he proceeded to give me
the worst beating I had since the last time my father caught me out
at something.

“That’s when I got serious
about fist-boxing.”

With an air of mock gravity, Tomas
said, “Well, we were younger then.”

Pug refilled the cups. Moving his jaw
in discomfort, he said, “Well, right now I feel about a hundred
years old.”

Tomas studied them both a moment.
“Seriously, what was the fight about?”

With a mixture of humor and regret,
Roland said, “Our liege lord’s daughter, a girl of
ineffable charm . . .”

“What’s ineffable?”
Tomas asked.

Roland looked at him with intoxicated
disdain “Indescribable, dolt!”

Tomas shook his head. “I don’t
think the Princess is an indescribable dolt—” He ducked
as Roland’s cup sailed through the space occupied by his head
an instant before. Pug fell over backward laughing again.

Tomas grinned as Roland, in a display
of great ceremony, fetched down another cup from the shelf. “As
I was saying,” he began, filling the cup from the hogshead,
“our lady, a girl of ineffable charms—if somewhat
questionable judgment—has taken it into her head—for
reasons only the gods may fully comprehend—to favor our young
magician here with her attentions. Why—when she could spend
time with me—I can’t imagine.” He paused to belch.
“In any event, we were discussing the proper manner in which to
accept such largess.”

Tomas looked at Pug, a huge grin on his
face. “You have my sympathy, Pug You most certainly have your
hands full.”

Pug felt himself flush. Then with a
wicked leer, he said, “Do I? And what about a certain young
apprentice soldier, well-known hereabouts, who has been seen sneaking
into the larder with a certain kitchen girl?” He leaned back
and with a look of mock concern etched upon his face added, “I’d
hate to think what would happen to him should Neala find out . . .”

Tomas’s mouth fell open. “You
wouldn’t . . . you couldn’t!”

Roland lay back, holding his sides.
“Never have I seen such a fair impersonation of a freshly
landed fish!” He sat up, crossed his eyes, and opened and shut
his mouth rapidly. All three degenerated into helpless mirth again.

Another round was poured, and Roland
held up his cup. “Gentlemen, a toast!”

Pug and Tomas held up their cups.

Roland’s voice turned serious,
and he said, “No matter what differences we have had in the
past, you are two fellows I gladly count friends.” He held his
cup higher and said, “To friendship!”

The three drained their cups and
refilled them Roland said, “Your hand upon it.”

The three boys joined hands, and Roland
said, “No matter where we go, no matter how many years pass,
never again shall we be without friends.”

Pug was stuck by the sudden solemnity
of the pledge and said, “Friends!”

Tomas echoed Pug’s words, and the
three shook hands in a gesture of affirmation.

Again the cups were drained, and the
afternoon sun quickly fled beyond the horizon as the three boys lost
time in the rosy glow of camaraderie and ale.

Pug came awake, groggy and disoriented.
The faint glow from his nearly extinguished fire pot cast the room
into halftones of rose and black. A faint but persistent knocking
sounded on his door. He slowly stood, then nearly fell, still
intoxicated from his drinking bout. He had stayed with Tomas and
Roland in the storage room all evening and into the night, missing
supper entirely. “Putting a considerable dent” in the
castle’s ale supply, as Roland had described it. They hadn’t
partaken of any great amount, but as their capacity was slight, it
seemed a heroic undertaking.

Pug drew on his trousers and wobbled
over to the door His eyelids felt gritty, and his mouth was cotton
dry. Wondering who could be demanding entrance in the middle of the
night, he threw aside the door.

A blur of motion passed him, and he
turned to find Carline standing in the room, a heavy cloak wrapped
around her. “Close the door!” she hissed. “Someone
might pass the base of the tower and see light upon the stairway.”

Pug obeyed, still disoriented. The only
thing that penetrated his numb mind was the thought that it was
unlikely the faint light from the coals would cast much brightness
down the stairwell. He shook his head, gathering his wits about him,
and crossed to the fire pot. He lit a taper from the coals and lit
his lantern. The room sprang into cheery brightness.

Pug’s thinking began to pick up a
little as Carline looked about the room, taking stock of the
disorderly pile of books and scrolls next to the pallet. She peered
into every corner of the room, then said, “Where is that dragon
thing you keep about?”

Pug’s eyes focused a little, and
marshaling his balky tongue, he said, “Fantus? He’s off
somewhere, doing whatever it is firedrakes do.”

Removing her cloak, she said, “Good.
He frightens me.” She sat on Pug’s unmade pallet and
looked sternly at him. “I want to speak with you.” Pug’s
eyes went wide, and he stared, for Carline was wearing only a light
cotton sleeping gown. While covering her from neck to ankles, it was
thin and clung to her figure with
alarming tenacity.
Pug
suddenly realized he was dressed only in trousers and hurriedly
grabbed up his tunic from where he had dropped it onto the floor and
pulled it over his head. As he struggled with the shirt, the last
shreds of alcoholic fog evaporated. “Gods!” he said, in a
pained whisper. “Should your father learn of this, he’d
have my head.”

“Not if you’ve wits enough
to keep your voice lowered,” she answered with a petulant look.

Pug crossed to the stool near his
pallet, freed of his drunken wobble by newly arrived terror. She
studied his rumpled appearance and with a note of disapproval in her
voice said, “You’ve been drinking.” When he didn’t
deny it, she added, “When you and Roland didn’t appear at
supper, I wondered where you’d gotten yourselves off to. It’s
a good thing Father also skipped the meal with the court, otherwise
he’d have sent someone to find you.”

Pug’s discomfort was growing at
an alarming rate as every tale of what horrible fate awaits lowborn
lovers of noblewomen rushed back into his memory. That Carline was an
uninvited guest and that nothing untoward had occurred were niceties
he didn’t think the Duke would find particularly mitigating.
Gulping down panic, Pug said, “Carline, you can’t stay
here. You’ll get us both into more trouble than I can imagine.”

Her expression became determined. “I’m
not leaving until I tell you what I came to say.”

Pug knew it was futile to argue. He had
seen that look too many times in the past. With a resigned sigh, he
said, “All right, then, what is it?”

Carline’s eyes widened at his
tone. “Well, if that’s how you’re going to be, I
won’t tell you!”

Pug suppressed a groan and sat back
with his eyes closed. Slowly shaking his head, he said, “Very
well. I’m sorry. Please, what do you want me to do?”

She patted the pallet next to her
“Come, sit here.”

He complied, trying to ignore the
feeling that his fate—an abruptly short life—was being
decided by this capricious girl. He landed rather than sat beside
her. She giggled at the groan he made. “You got drunk! What’s
it like?”

“At this moment, not terribly
entertaining. I feel like a used kitchen rag.”

She tried to look sympathetic, but her
blue eyes sparkled with mirth. With a theatrical pout, she said, “You
boys get to do all the interesting things, like sword work and
archery. Being a proper lady can be such a bore. Father would have a
fit if I should ever drink more than a cup of watered wine with
supper.”

With rising desperation in his voice,
Pug said, “Nothing compared to the fit he will have if you’re
found here. Carline, why did you come here?”

She ignored the question. “What
were you and Roland doing this afternoon, fighting?” He nodded.
“Over me?” she asked, a glimmer in her eyes.

Pug sighed. “Yes, over you.”
Her pleased look at the reply nettled him, and irritation crept into
his voice. “Carline, you’ve used him rather badly.”

“He’s a spineless idiot!”
she snapped back. “If I asked him to jump off the wall, he’d
do it.”

“Carline,” Pug nearly
whined, “why have—”

His question was cut off as she leaned
forward and covered his mouth with her own. The kiss was one-sided,
for Pug was too stunned to respond She quickly sat back, leaving him
agape, and she said, “Well?”

Lacking any original response, Pug
said, “What?”

Her eyes flashed. “The kiss, you
simpleton.”