The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [44]
“You can’t do that to me!” Ynedd’s voice rose to a squeal. “You’re just a commoner.”
“But he can.” Coryn got up and trotted over. “He’s the captain, and you’ve got to obey him. You truly truly do.”
Ynedd’s eyes filled with tears, but he picked up the sword. After a dozen times or so, Gerran saw that his little hand shook on the heavy hilt and told him that he could stop.
“There,” Gerran said. “You’ve done somewhat you didn’t think you could do.”
Ynedd shrugged and glared at the cobblestones. Gerran sent the lads off to the stables to get their ponies for a riding lesson. As he started after them, he noticed Clae, standing and watching some paces away.
“Am I doing somewhat wrong?” Clae said.
“Not unless you’re supposed to be working,” Gerran said.
“I’m not. I just wanted to see. I wish I could learn to fight.”
“Oh, do you now? Why?”
“So I could grow up to be a rider and kill Horsekin.”
Something flat and cold in the lad’s voice caught Gerran’s attention, making him remember what had brought the lad to the dun. He knelt on one knee so he could look him in the face.
“That’s an honorable enough thing,” Gerran said. “How old are you? Do you know?”
“Eight, sir. My da always kept count. Could I ever be a rider? I’m only a scribe’s son.”
“So? Riders aren’t noble-born. But here, training is hard work. I wager you’d tire of it soon enough.”
“I wouldn’t. When I got tired, I’d just think of my uncle, and I’d hate them all over again, and I wouldn’t be tired anymore.”
Gerran had never seen such cold rage in a child’s eyes.
“I keep dreaming about our village,” Clae went on. “The Horsekin come, and I try to stop them, and they laugh at me. I hate that dream.”
“I’ll wager you do. Have you told Neb about it?”
“I haven’t. He’d only tell me I shouldn’t be dwelling on what we can’t change. You know what hurts the worst? When we were up by the waterfall watching them, I knew I couldn’t do anything to stop them. Naught!” His soft voice cracked. “I never want to feel that way again.”
Gerran considered him, a healthy child and big for his age, but it was the hatred that impressed Gerran the most. A desire for glory made most Deverry men want to be warriors, but it took harshness, that bitter streak in mind and soul, for a man to become a successful one.
“Tell you what,” Gerran said. “If your brother agrees, I’ll take you on, but I’ll warn you, it’s hard work, and even a wooden sword will hurt if you get hit with it. Fair?”
“Fair.” Clae grinned at him. “Will the tieryn let me?”
“No doubt, if I ask him, but the question is whether your brother will let you. He’s the head of your clan now. You ask him and tell him to come talk to me this afternoon.”
While he gave his noble charges their riding lesson, Gerran occasionally found himself thinking about Clae, who reminded him of himself as a child. He could remember his own burning rage that the Horsekin had killed his father. The hatred still existed, though transmuted to something cold after all these years, as clean as a new sword blade. The gods of war had given Clae just such a splendid gift.
When they returned to the dun, Gerran found Neb waiting for him. The scribe came with him to the stables and held the horse’s bridle while Gerran unsaddled him.
“I take it Clae spoke with you,” Gerran said.
“He did,” Neb said. “You know, he’s the only bloodkin I have left in the world, and it aches my heart to see him wanting to join a warband.”
“I can understand that.”
“But I can’t stand in his way either. From what everyone in the dun tells me, he’ll have the best swordsman in all Deverry to learn from.”
“Indeed?” Gerran felt himself blush at the compliment. “They exaggerate by a fair bit.”
“We’ll see.” Neb smiled, more than a little ruefully. “But if you’ll take Clae on, I’ll agree. His wyrd isn’t mine, and there’s naught I can do about that.”
“True spoken. But he’ll have to serve a sort of apprenticeship. If he doesn’t have the raw gifts he needs to make a swordsman, I’ll turn him back over to you.”
“Fair enough. I—” Neb stopped in midsentence and stared at something