The High King's Tomb
Page 21
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
“It’s my pleasure to be of assistance,” he said with a bow. “If there is anything else I can do to further diminish your tears, I am at your service.” He magically produced a white rose from his sleeve.
Estora laughed in delight, and accepted it.
“See!” he said with a grin. “The sun is shining again. But now I fear I must be off for a breakfast appointment with my cousin, though I find your company more enjoyable.”
With another bow, he lightly trotted up the steps and through the kitchen entrance. She watched after him bemused, wondering if he were a kitchen servant, but despite the wear of his clothing, it was too rich for a servant and not far enough gone to be cast-off. And most servants did not leave behind fancy handkerchiefs with their initials embroidered on them.
X.P.A. Who is he? she wondered. And she brought the rose blossom to her nose, delighting in its scent.
Karigan was still shaking later that morning as she trudged toward the practice grounds for weapons training. Her confrontation with Estora left her feeling sick to her stomach, and she thought she’d lose her breakfast.
Wouldn’t Drent love that…
Severing her friendship with Estora was one of the hardest things she ever had to do, but the alternative seemed so…difficult. How could she continue a friendship with a woman who was to marry the man she…she loved? How could she pretend nothing had passed between her and King Zachary? How could she pretend not to be jealous? And worst of all, how could she bear the inevitable conversations friends shared, with all the intimate details?
Distancing herself from Estora also meant distancing herself from King Zachary. It simplified matters, kept her feelings from twisting like a knife within her. It was safe.
When Karigan arrived at the practice grounds, she found Arms Master Drent waiting for her there with his meaty fists on his hips. The glower on his gargoylelike face emanated severe disapproval.
Uh oh. Her tangled thoughts of Estora evaporated and a tremor of fear quaked through her even though she knew full well Drent used sheer physical presence to intimidate his trainees. She wondered what sort of abuse she was in for today, and why.
“I’ve been training you these past months,” he said in an icy voice that was all the more frightening because it was not his usual bellow, “even though there was no reason I had to. I did it because I thought you showed promise in the weapons arts. And yet I hear all that training was for naught.”
“W–what?”
“The museum.”
Karigan’s mouth dropped open in surprise. How had he heard? “I—”
“Silence! I will not waste my time on trainees who lack the good sense not to confront a superior opponent over a trivial scrap of parchment. And if the confrontation takes place, the trainee should have fared better in the fight. No trainee of mine makes such a poor showing.”
“But—”
“You will no longer report to me for training. I will not waste my time with you.”
Karigan could only stare at him, flabbergasted.
“Dismissed.” He turned his back on her.
She watched that broad back as he marched away toward other trainees on the practice field going through daily exercises and clattering wooden practice swords together in bouts. She knew she should be jumping up and down for joy—no more brutal sessions with Drent. Sessions that had left her spent, blistered, and bruised, her ears ringing from his abusive ranting. Yet she only felt irritated, insulted, in fact. She could have bested that swordsman yesterday if she hadn’t been wearing that blasted dress. How would Drent fare against an expert swordsman were he attired in a corset and dress?
The image made her sputter with laughter. She left the practice grounds and headed for the castle, suddenly wondering what she would do with the novelty of free time.
By the time she entered the Rider wing, however, she was filled with a sense of failure. It was an honor, so she was told, to be chosen to work with Arms Master Drent. It was he who trained swordmasters and judged if they were worthy of becoming Weapons, and she had rather liked being classed among such elite warriors, even if she hated the training sessions themselves.
Drent wouldn’t even hear her side of the story. Instead of turning her away, he should have shown her how she could have done better. That’s what a good teacher would have done.
Just then, Tegan emerged from her room, and Karigan was struck by an idea.
“Hello, Tegan, do you have a few minutes?”
“Certainly.”
When Karigan returned to the practice field, she strode right up to Drent, or at least as best she could with Tegan’s slightly too small shoes rubbing blisters into her heels. They didn’t match the dress, but this was not about wearing the perfect ensemble.
When Drent saw her, he started to bow, then he realized who she was. Oh yes, she had Tegan cinch up the corset again and arrange her hair. Remarkably Drent’s cheeks bloomed with color and he cleared his throat, glancing away and shifting his stance.
“Your training has fallen short of my needs,” she announced. Her attire inspired a tone of arrogance in her voice that pleased her. “You have trained me on equal ground with others similarly equipped and prepared to fight. Yesterday, as you can see, I was not properly equipped or prepared to face an expert swordsman, yet I did so because I felt an artifact of Sacoridia’s history worth rescuing, an artifact held priceless by some. It may have been poor judgment on my behalf, but had I been attired differently, the outcome may have proved more favorable.” The corset left her breathless, but she concluded, “I demand you to train me to fight when formally attired.”
Estora laughed in delight, and accepted it.
“See!” he said with a grin. “The sun is shining again. But now I fear I must be off for a breakfast appointment with my cousin, though I find your company more enjoyable.”
With another bow, he lightly trotted up the steps and through the kitchen entrance. She watched after him bemused, wondering if he were a kitchen servant, but despite the wear of his clothing, it was too rich for a servant and not far enough gone to be cast-off. And most servants did not leave behind fancy handkerchiefs with their initials embroidered on them.
X.P.A. Who is he? she wondered. And she brought the rose blossom to her nose, delighting in its scent.
Karigan was still shaking later that morning as she trudged toward the practice grounds for weapons training. Her confrontation with Estora left her feeling sick to her stomach, and she thought she’d lose her breakfast.
Wouldn’t Drent love that…
Severing her friendship with Estora was one of the hardest things she ever had to do, but the alternative seemed so…difficult. How could she continue a friendship with a woman who was to marry the man she…she loved? How could she pretend nothing had passed between her and King Zachary? How could she pretend not to be jealous? And worst of all, how could she bear the inevitable conversations friends shared, with all the intimate details?
Distancing herself from Estora also meant distancing herself from King Zachary. It simplified matters, kept her feelings from twisting like a knife within her. It was safe.
When Karigan arrived at the practice grounds, she found Arms Master Drent waiting for her there with his meaty fists on his hips. The glower on his gargoylelike face emanated severe disapproval.
Uh oh. Her tangled thoughts of Estora evaporated and a tremor of fear quaked through her even though she knew full well Drent used sheer physical presence to intimidate his trainees. She wondered what sort of abuse she was in for today, and why.
“I’ve been training you these past months,” he said in an icy voice that was all the more frightening because it was not his usual bellow, “even though there was no reason I had to. I did it because I thought you showed promise in the weapons arts. And yet I hear all that training was for naught.”
“W–what?”
“The museum.”
Karigan’s mouth dropped open in surprise. How had he heard? “I—”
“Silence! I will not waste my time on trainees who lack the good sense not to confront a superior opponent over a trivial scrap of parchment. And if the confrontation takes place, the trainee should have fared better in the fight. No trainee of mine makes such a poor showing.”
“But—”
“You will no longer report to me for training. I will not waste my time with you.”
Karigan could only stare at him, flabbergasted.
“Dismissed.” He turned his back on her.
She watched that broad back as he marched away toward other trainees on the practice field going through daily exercises and clattering wooden practice swords together in bouts. She knew she should be jumping up and down for joy—no more brutal sessions with Drent. Sessions that had left her spent, blistered, and bruised, her ears ringing from his abusive ranting. Yet she only felt irritated, insulted, in fact. She could have bested that swordsman yesterday if she hadn’t been wearing that blasted dress. How would Drent fare against an expert swordsman were he attired in a corset and dress?
The image made her sputter with laughter. She left the practice grounds and headed for the castle, suddenly wondering what she would do with the novelty of free time.
By the time she entered the Rider wing, however, she was filled with a sense of failure. It was an honor, so she was told, to be chosen to work with Arms Master Drent. It was he who trained swordmasters and judged if they were worthy of becoming Weapons, and she had rather liked being classed among such elite warriors, even if she hated the training sessions themselves.
Drent wouldn’t even hear her side of the story. Instead of turning her away, he should have shown her how she could have done better. That’s what a good teacher would have done.
Just then, Tegan emerged from her room, and Karigan was struck by an idea.
“Hello, Tegan, do you have a few minutes?”
“Certainly.”
When Karigan returned to the practice field, she strode right up to Drent, or at least as best she could with Tegan’s slightly too small shoes rubbing blisters into her heels. They didn’t match the dress, but this was not about wearing the perfect ensemble.
When Drent saw her, he started to bow, then he realized who she was. Oh yes, she had Tegan cinch up the corset again and arrange her hair. Remarkably Drent’s cheeks bloomed with color and he cleared his throat, glancing away and shifting his stance.
“Your training has fallen short of my needs,” she announced. Her attire inspired a tone of arrogance in her voice that pleased her. “You have trained me on equal ground with others similarly equipped and prepared to fight. Yesterday, as you can see, I was not properly equipped or prepared to face an expert swordsman, yet I did so because I felt an artifact of Sacoridia’s history worth rescuing, an artifact held priceless by some. It may have been poor judgment on my behalf, but had I been attired differently, the outcome may have proved more favorable.” The corset left her breathless, but she concluded, “I demand you to train me to fight when formally attired.”
