Arms Training
“ . . . and this is Queen Isen, your great grandmother.”
Zachary lowered his gaze from the portrait of the forbidding queen to his son nestled so comfortably in his arms. Dav returned his gaze with solemn eyes before his attention wandered off in various directions as was the way with babies for whom everything was new.
“Bored with the family history, eh? Wait until you see my sword collection.”
As he moved on to a huge portrait of Smidhe Hillander astride his white courser and prepared to regale his tiny audience with tales of the man who won the crown for his clan, Estora approached from down the corridor, escorted by Weapons Cori and Nate. She halted and gazed in surprise at him.
He smiled. “I’m telling Dav all about his ancestry. Was your afternoon with your ladies pleasant?”
“I—” She took a moment to compose herself, then faltered. Tears appeared in her eyes.
“My lady?” He stepped toward her in concern. “What is it?”
Then she laughed even as she cried. It was very confusing.
“You. With our son.” It was all she seemed able to say.
Perplexed, he replied, “Are you wondering where Ez is? She got fussy when I talked about Duke Argosan, which is not surprising as he was an old curmudgeon and often unpleasant. He’d have made me fuss, too. Anyway, we ended up putting her down for her nap.”
If anything, Estora laughed and cried harder. He raised his eyebrows in bafflement. “My lady? Are you quite all right?” He shifted Dav to the crook of his arm and reached into his pocket for a handkerchief. She accepted it and dabbed her eyes.
She soon settled, though her eyes still glistened. “I am quite all right. Better than all right to see our son in his father’s arms.”
He glanced down at Dav, who opened his mouth wide in a yawn, then at the portraits on the wall.
There was one of his father, Amigast, nearby.
Traditionally, most noble fathers took little interest in their offspring except in the training of sons in arms and the governing of their holdings.
Daughters were of interest only as pawns in creating beneficial alliances through marriage.
Zachary, bereft of his mother, Princess Andra, who passed away shortly after birthing him, grew up without the one parent who might have provided him affection.
Amigast had paid Zachary scant attention for he’d an older son to prepare for the throne.
It was left to others to raise and train Zachary to become lord-governor of Hillander Province.
That was until Amilton proved himself an unworthy heir.
By then, Zachary was full grown, his character shaped by the stern affection of his grandmother, and by various servants and even some Weapons, and especially by Laren Mapstone.
He was determined not to follow his father’s example. His children would know not only duty, but love. Besides, he was tickled by them, the funny little creatures that they were.
But now Dav, having heard his mother’s voice, gabbled and opened and closed his fists. “Ba-ba-ba,” he said.
“I think he wants his mama.” Zachary transferred Dav into Estora’s arms.
Dav gazed up at her. “Ba-ba-ba.”
Her content expression as she returned her baby’s gaze was a pleasing scene. She, too, he knew, was determined to be present in the lives of her children instead of just passing their care off to nurses.
Zachary and Estora’s relationship was complicated, borne not out of love but political advantage.
It was a fortunate union. All the elements were there, the allegiance of the eastern lord-governors, a capable queen who had shown her strength in leading the realm during his absences, and one who was adored by her people.
She had provided him with heirs and was a doting mother.
The two of them shared interests in poetry and art, and she was an articulate conversationalist. He supposed most men would have begun with her beauty when listing her attributes and ended there.
She was indeed of pleasant countenance, but her character, to Zachary’s thinking, was by far her most alluring feature.
He thought the twins would certainly take after her in looks, much to their good fortune, and he hoped they inherited her other attributes, as well.
She’d also been a delightful bed partner though they’d not slept together since the arrival of the twins, but already various among his advisers and courtiers were pressuring him for more royal heirs, an issue which would soon have to be addressed.
They were compatible in so many ways and made a formidable couple.
He would have been content with the arrangement but for Karigan G’ladheon, who had swept unexpectedly into his life, the merchant’s daughter who had become a Green Rider and had occupied his thoughts from the moment they met.
It was she, not his golden queen, who made his heart quicken.
He heard the faint peal of the city bells. “I fear I must prepare for arms training,” he said.
“I think our prince is due for a nap after learning all about his clan’s history,” Estora said.
Zachary bent down to kiss Dav’s forehead, and saw tears well once more in Estora’s eyes before he took his leave.
· · ·
When Zachary arrived at the field house for his weapons training session, he found Arms Master Drent and nine of his trainees staring at the ceiling. Naturally he followed their gazes and discovered a battle ax was embedded in one of the cross beams.
What in the world?
Along the wall were three straw-stuffed dummies clad in various configurations of armor. Drent had been teaching his trainees in the use of the battle ax. But how had it gotten in the beam? It was not a throwing weapon, generally.
Drent shook his head. “I just don’t understand,” he muttered.
“I just don’t.” He was broad-shouldered, a barrel-chested warrior whose face seemed frozen in a scowl.
He struck fear into the hearts of many an arms student.
“How do you manage these things?” He looked about ready to tear out his short, spiky hair as he glared at one of his trainees.
The trainee in question wore green. Karigan?
“I, um...” she began. “It slipped from my hand on the upswing and, well, there it is.”
There was some sniggering from the others. Zachary fought to contain his own laughter. Oh, Karigan, he thought. She was very good at many things, but not all, and when something went awry, it tended to go really awry. He found it endearing.
“Silence!” Drent bellowed, and his students stifled their laughter. He pointed at Karigan. “You will never be an arms master. How you managed to become a swordmaster, I’ve no idea. You are a danger to others when you’ve weapons in your hands.”
“Um, isn’t that kind of the point?” she asked in a small voice.
A snicker or two escaped the trainees.
Zachary thought Drent might explode.
“To your foes, yes. But you present a danger to your comrades and it is unacceptable.” He glared at the group. “What are you lot all standing around for? Find a ladder and get that ax down before it falls on someone’s head. Now.”
The trainees practically fell over themselves to obey, hast ily bowing to Zachary as they trotted by him. Karigan’s blush deepened when she looked upon him.
“As I recall,” Zachary told Drent, “Rider G’ladheon is rather good with a staff.”
“You think so, eh? Well, then, perhaps we should see if that is still the case.”
Zachary warmed up while the trainees found a tall enough ladder to lean against the crossbeam and worked the battle ax out of it.
When they were done, Drent said, “Fighting staves, all of you.” He looked at Zachary. “You, too, boy, since you suggested it.”
Zachary was surprised—not by the use of “boy” which was something of an old joke between the two of them, but that he was going to be included in this next exercise.
In the arming room, he picked out a staff that suited him for all that it was battered, the grain of the wood smoothed and discolored by the hands of so many over the years. Nearby, Karigan picked out one for herself. When she looked his way, they exchanged fleeting smiles.
So much said in a smile, he thought. So much that could not be said aloud. Not here. Not now. If only they’d that freedom.
When they returned to the training room, Drent put them through exercises, walking among his students and correcting stances, grips, and the execution of forms. He halted before Karigan.
“Your king says you are good with a staff,” he said. “It has been a while since I have worked you on the staff. As I recall, you never flung it at anyone or anything, but we shall see what you can do. Everyone will pair up for bouts.” He jabbed his finger at her. “You will pair up with the boy.”
Her mouth opened as if she were going to object, but then clamped it shut.
Zachary recalled the first time Drent had ever ordered them to engage in a bout it was with swords and she had not wished to raise one against him.
He hadn’t wanted to hurt her, either. She hadn’t been a swordmaster back then.
Drent had been annoyed they were holding back and pushed them to engage without restraint.
As a result, Zachary had almost lopped off Karigan’s head. He grimaced at the memory.
They faced one another in one of the practice rings. He would never forgive himself if he hurt her again, for he may not have cut off her head that day, but he’d given her a concussion.
“Now we will see how you do with opponents,” Drent said.
He gave the word, and Zachary and Karigan touched staffs and circled one another.
The tension built as each awaited the other to strike first. Karigan’s expression was one of concentration, but he was distracted by the sun beaming through the windows onto her gold-brown hair, the slant of her cheekbones, the glint in her bright eye, the—
She leaped toward him, staff in motion.