Amber and Ashes - Margaret Weis [56]
“In a way,” said Rhys. “Come with me to the fields. I will demonstrate.”
He made a gesture to Atta, dismissing her from duty, sending her back to join the pack. Lleu joined him and they headed for the compound. Rhys heard the soft patter of feet behind him and turned his head.
Atta was following him. Again, she had disobeyed his command.
Rhys halted. He said no word, only frowned, so that she could see by his expression that he was not pleased. He made an emphatic gesture, pointing at the pen.
Atta held her ground. Her brown eyes met his. She knew she was disobeying him. She was asking him to trust her.
Rhys recalled another instance when he and Atta had been searching for a lost sheep in the midst of a thick fog. He had ordered her to go down hill, thinking the animal would take the easiest route. Atta had refused, stubbornly insisted on going up the hill. He had trusted her and she had been right.
Lleu was laughing. “Who’s trained who?” he asked with a sly grin.
Rhys glanced at Lleu, recalled the Master’s remark. Lleu is his own shadow. Rhys still did not understand, but perhaps Atta could see more clearly through the fog than he.
Rhys made the gesture that brought the dog to heel. He reached down and touched Atta lightly on the head, letting her know all was well.
She thrust her nose into his palm, then fell back a pace, trotting along quietly at his heel.
“You wear a sword, I see,” Rhys said to his brother. “Are you skilled in its use?”
Lleu launched into an enthusiastic account of training with the Solamnic knights. Rhys watched his brother talk, observing him closely, only half-listening to his words, trying to see what the Master and Atta saw. He realized, as they walked, that he had already sensed something was wrong with Lleu. Otherwise, he would not have been taking him to the fields to show him the art of benevolent discipline. Rhys could have taken his brother to the practice yard, where the monks trained, but he’d chosen not to.
The practice yard was not a sacred place, except as all places are sacred to Majere, nor was it secret. Yet Rhys felt more at ease with his brother out in the open, away from the monastery. Shadow or not, Lleu was a disturbing influence, one that perhaps would be dissipated in the freshening breeze, beneath the clear sky.
“It is true that we do not use weapons made of steel,” Rhys explained, in answer to the earlier question. “We do use weapons, however, those that nature and Majere provide.”
“Such as?” Lleu challenged.
“This, for example.” Rhys indicated his emmide.
“A stick?” Lleu cast a scathing glance at the long, slender wooden shaft. “Against a sword? Not a chance in the Abyss!”
“Let us try,” said Rhys. He gestured to the long sword his brother wore at his side. “Draw your weapon and come at me.”
“This is hardly fair …” Lleu protested. He gestured to the two of them. “We’re the same height, but I outweigh you. I’m bigger through the shoulders, more muscular. I might hurt you.”
“I will risk it,” said Rhys.
Dark-avised, slender, he did not carry any spare flesh. He was bone and sinew and muscle, whereas he could see the tell-tale signs left on his brother by his dissipated life. Lleu’s muscle were flaccid, his face an unhealthy, pasty color.
“All right, then, brother.” Lleu grinned. “But never say I didn’t warn you—especially when I slice your arm off.”
Relaxed and confident, Lleu drew his long sword and took up a warrior’s stance, the blade in his right hand. Atta had been lying on the ground in the shade of a tree. Seeing the man about to attack her master, she growled and rose to her feet.
“Atta, sit,” Rhys commanded. “All is well,” he added in reassurance.
Atta sat, but she obviously wasn’t happy, for she did not doze, as she would have done if he’d been out here practicing fighting technique with another monk. She remained awake, alert, her gaze fixed on her master. Rhys turned his attention back to his brother. Seeing Lleu holding the sword, Rhys recollected the dog bite. He looked with concern at his brother’s hand, hoping it wasn’t giving him too