DragonKnight - Donita K. Paul [69]
Each morning, after Bardon finished the serious business of his scheduled regimen, he good-naturedly coached the boys. He even instructed some of the small ones on how to best use their weapons. He brought out his darts, and they set up a makeshift bull’s-eye.
“Are darts really a weapon?” asked Ahnek.
“Yes, they are.” Bardon hefted the slim wooden dart, then tossed it. Even with the wind and the roll of the ship, he hit the center of the target. “They won’t bring down a bisonbeck or a grawlig, but they can be used to distract the enemy. Worry them. Get them off balance.”
Bardon divided the boys into age groups and set up a tournament. They had to move their game to a hold below to avoid the wind, but the children threw their hearts into the competition. Even the girls decided to play. Again Ahnek showed the most promise.
Two of the boys took to their sea duties with a passion. Bardon figured when they reached the next port, the boys would ask permission to serve on the ship. And, according to the captain, they would be accepted as cabin boys.
Each evening, Bardon stood on the forecastle with the ship’s navigator. Most nights they could measure the progress of the Wizards’ Plume. On the nights that cloud cover obscured their view, Bardon stewed.
The navigator chided him over his impatience. “The comet will not move but a few degrees each night.”
“Each night it moves toward the death of noble knights. I cannot relax my vigil.”
Each morning, Granny Kye set up her easel. By the third day, Bardon resented the time she spent at the canvas. N’Rae looked paler than usual and haggard. The baby didn’t take to the sea or the goat’s milk. N’Rae didn’t know which. Jue Seeno offered advice, and the tea they brewed for the infant seemed to help some of the stomach distress. But the minneken also made problems for N’Rae. Mistress Seeno insisted that no one know of her existence. Consequently, Bardon had the small friend in her basket hidden in his cabin most of the time.
In the afternoons, the squire took some of the younger children by turns up to the deck. He watched them run wild with excess energy fueling their helter-skelter games. Even as they plummeted past the old emerlindian granny, she scarcely noticed. The unfinished work before her claimed all her attention. To Bardon’s untrained eye, the picture held no particular splendor, just white puffy blobs for clouds and odd, curving lines at the bottom in a muddy green hue. A mess of darkness in the middle might have been the ship. But Bardon couldn’t imagine how she could paint the vessel she was sitting on.
On the fourth afternoon, he took below the last three children he’d been watching for their hour of freedom. He didn’t bother listening to their vehement protests. He knew from previous days that a couple of crackers, a drink, and a blanket would provide enough comfort to have them snoozing in a matter of minutes. The rocking of the gentle waves provided a cradle effect.
Before he reached the temporary quarters in the cargo hold, he heard the baby’s wails. He passed into the dim light and saw N’Rae gently bouncing the little one as she paced back and forth in the restricted area. Shuddering gasps broke into the babe’s cries. Bardon knew that meant he was winding down and would soon, out of sheer exhaustion, sleep.
The squire gave the three he’d been watching a drink and the crackers. He shooed them to their own pallets and, because he had once made the mistake of singing to them, had to meet their incessant demands to do so again.
He didn’t know many lullabies or nursery songs, so he sang ballads he’d learned mostly from Sir Dar. He liked the way the bulkheads of their small quarters made his voice sound rich and more resonant. His mentor’s songs represented the best of Amaran folk tunes and also some classical music.
Bardon sang several easy melodies. With the last one he sang, he was certain that everyone except N’Rae napped, worn out from the business of being children. He studied the peaceful scene, knowing that it could be destroyed in an instant by the entrance