King's Dragon
Page 109

“But they rarely leave the church. We all are dependent on the Grace and Mercy of Our Lady and Lord for forgiveness from our sins. A lapse may be forgiven, if one does penance. But Bernard turned his back on the church. As I understand it, he became involved with the Heresy of the Knife, and then he met Anne. To his kin, who count many holy women and men among their ancestors, he may as well have said he denied the teachings of the blessed Daisan and the Circle of Unity altogether.”
“That isn’t true!”
“It is often whispered of the mathematici, those who observe the heavens and chart their movements and their influence on the plane of this earth, that they worship not Our Lady and Lord but the daimones of the air whose knowledge is greater than ours and whose vision is keener, but who are as ancient as creation, lower than the angels, yet too proud to bow before Our Lady and Lord or to take their place within the Chamber of Light.”
“But it isn’t true of Da! That he believed any such thing. He was a good man. He prayed, as any other man might.”
“I did not say it was true. I only stated what other people often believe of those who are adept in the ancient knowledge of magic. You would do well to remember that, Liath.”
“So Da always said,” she murmured. “That people believed what they wanted to, whether it was truth or not.” She blinked back tears, wiped her nose with the back of a hand. “But I am deaf to magic, Master Wolfhere. So it does not matter what I know.”
“Does it not?” he asked softly.
“Are you not finished yet in there?” demanded Hathui from the door, peering in and turning her head to look toward the burning brand which Wolfhere had braced in an iron stand. “Poor Hanna is done for and needs to rest her bruises. Can you bring Liath out for me?”
Wolfhere rose, holding the short sword, and Liath followed him outside. She leaned the bowcase against the stone wall and took the sword, testing its balance. It was heavy, but not so heavy that she could not train herself to hold its weight.
“A good weapon,” said Hathui, coming over to examine the sword. “Forged for killing, not to be pretty for some noble lord who has others to do his fighting for him.”
“You are not of noble birth, Hathui?” Hanna asked from where she leaned against the wall of the tower. She looked tired but was clearly unwilling to sit down.
Hathui snorted. “Did you think I was? My mother is a freeholder, beholden to no lord. She and her sister and brother traveled east many years ago. That was when the younger Arnulf first offered land to those willing to cross the Eldar and build estates in heathen lands. My aunt is dead now. She was killed by Quman raiders. But my mother and uncle still work those fields. They have gotten more land under cultivation than any of the other freeholders in our valley. What is this?” Distracted, she rubbed at the blade where it was bound into the hilt. The sheen of her sweat on the iron blade made letters stand out for a moment.
“‘This good sword is the friend of Lucian, son of Livia,’” read Liath before she knew she meant to. Had this sword belonged to the same Lucian who had cut into stone his love for a red-haired woman? Then she realized the others were looking at her, surprised, all but Wolfhere. The three children who had been watching crept closer, staring at the strange sight of an exotic-looking young woman not in deacon’s gown who could read—and read such ancient words. Liath thought at once of Wolfhere’s words: “I only stated what other people often believe.”
“I did not know you were church educated,” said Manfred, so startled by this revelation that he actually spoke.
Hathui coughed abruptly and moved to chase the children farther back. “Church education won’t save your life when the heathen attack you.” She beckoned to Liath to step out into the stable yard, which Mistress Gisela kept almost as well swept as Mistress Birta kept her inn yard. “Bear in mind, girl,” Hathui added, perhaps sympathetically, “that a cherished weapon is the best kind. Now stand against me. I’ll run trials against you.”
Hathui was quicker, stronger, taller, and had by far the better reach with her broadsword, but after a few passes she announced herself satisfied that Liath would in time become proficient enough with the short sword to defend herself. Liath was breathing hard, sweating, and had a terrible bruise on her rump from a blow delivered by the flat of Hathui’s blade.
“Manfred will cut some wooden staves to the length of the weapons you’ve chosen,” added Hathui as Liath and Hanna exchanged grimaces, “and every day when we stop to rest the horses, we will practice with those.”