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the spear, nervously. I missed.
    He shook his head. “By the sun and the wind, not like that! Hold the spear straight, may the Morrigan take you—not that a war-goddess would want someone who throws like that!”
    I cringed, threw another spear. It, too, missed.
    Agravain snorted. “You can’t see what I mean. Here, let me show you.” He stooped over, picked up my other spears and hurled them. All three hit the target squarely and cleanly. “That’s the way. Now you try.”
    We went and fetched the spears. I stood, and Agravain corrected my stance. “Try again now,” he told me.
    I looked at the spear in my hand, heavy, shafted with wood from the dark hills of Pictland, headed with dull iron. The weight of it in my hand was suddenly very great.
    â€œGo on, Gwalchmai,” Agravain said impatiently. “You said that you were better. Show me! Or are you afraid of your own spear again? Not much of a hawk if you are.” Morgawse still called me “her falcon.” Hawk of May. It was such a fine, warrior-like name. It was what I wanted for myself.
    I threw the spear, and it flew crooked. Agravain snorted and slapped his thigh. “You may have learned to throw better when you stand like a farmer plowing, but you had better learn to throw standing like a warrior if you want to be one. Or do you want to be a bard? A druid? A horse tamer?”
    â€œNo,” I whispered. “Agravain...”
    â€œI’d wager you still spend most of your day on horseback,” he continued, oblivious. “But that’s no use. Horses are a luxury, and no more than that: the real fighting is always done on foot. Horses are like gold brooches and fine clothes, excellent for a warrior to own to show others that he is rich and important, but dispensable to the real business. For that you have to throw spears properly. Try again.”
    â€œAgravain…” I repeated, gathering my courage.
    â€œWhat’s the matter now? Are you afraid to throw? Stop being foolish.”
    I felt foolish. I clutched the spear desperately. I would throw it standing my way. It was not the usual stance, but it did not leave me vulnerable, either. I put my left leg forward, dropped my left arm. I really am good, I told myself. I can hit the target this way. I have to now. I must.
    I threw and missed.
    Agravain nodded reasonably. “Now will you do it my way? If you want to be a man and a warrior you must listen to…”
    â€œStop it!” I shouted, furious.
    Agravain stopped, astounded.
    â€œYou are not helping me. You aren’t trying to help, though you may think you are…”
    â€œI am trying to help you. Are you calling me a liar?”
    â€œNo! But I don’t want your help. If I’m no warrior, let me fail in my own way, and don’t bother me with right ways and wrong ways. If I’m not a warrior, perhaps I will be a bard or a druid. Mother is teaching me to read so…”
    â€œShe is doing what?” demanded Agravain, aghast.
    â€œTeaching me to read. She’s been doing it all summer, while you were gone…”
    â€œDo you want to be a sorcerer?” Agravain’s eyes blazed and his bright hair glittered like the sun.
    â€œNo…I just want to read…” I was confused.
    He slapped me across the face, so hard that I fell backwards. His face had gone red with anger. “You want to be better than us! Morgawse is a witch, everyone knows that, and you want to learn from her because you’re such a poor warrior. A word in the dark instead of a sword in the sunlight, that’s what you want. Power, the sort of power fit only for cowards, for traitors and kin-wrecked men and women and clan-murderers…”
    â€œAgravain! I don’t! I only…”
    â€œStop lying to me!”
    I scrambled to my feet, facing my brother. I felt a blind fury descend on me, cold as ice, cold as Morgawse’s eyes.