that guitar if you must, but riding with the guards is not suitable. Not at all. I am not pleased."
Creslin shivers, not at the words but at the unconscious tone of command that already pervades his sister's voice, beyond and beneath the imitation of their mother.
"She's never pleased. She wasn't pleased when I sneaked out and went on the first winter field trials with the junior guards. But I did better than most of them. At least she let me go on the later trials."
"That's not what Aemris told her."
"Aemris wouldn't cross her if the Roof of the World fell."
They both laugh, but furtively, as their feet carry them into the main entry way of the castle.
"How is the blade-work going with Heldra?" Llyse asks as they reach the bottom of the stairs.
"I get pretty sore. She doesn't care how much she hurts either my pride or my body."
Llyse whistles softly. "You must be getting good. That's what all the senior guards say."
Creslin shakes his head. "I've improved, but probably not a lot."
A pair of guards flanks the archway to the main hallway. The one on the left Creslin recognizes and nods to briefly, but she does not move a muscle.
"Creslin ..." reproaches Llyse. "That's not fair. Fiera's on duty."
Creslin knows his informal greeting was not fair. He shifts his glance to the far end of the great hall. The table upon the dais is vacant, except for Aemris, unlike the tables flanking the granite paving stones upon which the Marshalle and consort walk. At the lower-level tables have gathered most of the castle personnel, the guards, and their consorts. The children are seated to the rear with their guardians, near the doorway through which Creslin and Llyse have approached.
Creslin concentrates on walking toward the dais, knowing he will hear too much as he nears the forward tables of the guards, the tables frequented by those yet unattached. "My, we are grim today," prods Llyse. "You aren't the one they examine like a prized stud," he murmurs between barely moving lips.
"You might as well enjoy it," comes back her calm reply. "You don't have much choice. Besides, it's honest admiration."
In the beginning,it might have been, when he insisted on joining the sub-guard exercise groups and on learning blades, and when he stole rides on the battle ponies. He knew, because he could not spend as much time at it, with all the demands for writing and logic placed on him by the Marshall, while he had the strength and basic skills, most of the guards he once held his own against could probably outride him in the field. Only with the blade could he continue to hold his own. Even Llyse, now, was receiving that concentrated field training he envied.
He almost shrugged. Then again, that was the point of it. The guards of Westwind could outride, outendure and outfight virtually anyone. They were why his mother the Marshall ruled the Roof of the World and controlled the trade routes connecting the east and west of Candar. "... still a handsome boy."
"... sharp like a blade. Cut your heart and leave it bleeding."
"... not soft enough for me, thanks."
Creslin can tell that Llyse is having trouble in refraining from smiling at his discomfort, and he tightens his lips.
"I'd still try him ..."
"The Marshall would have your guts for breakfast."
As they step up to the dais, Aemris rises from her seat at the far right end of the table. Four places are set.
"Your graces ..." The guard commander's voice is low and hard.
"Be seated, please," indicates Llyse. Creslin only nods, since any words from him are merely decorative.
Llyse raises her eyebrows. Neither she nor Aemris will seat themselves until he does. Then everyone will rise when the Marshall arrives. Creslin could keep all three of them standing. He has done it before, but tonight it is not worth the effort.
He sits at the end opposite Aemris, and Llyse lets out her breath slowly, in turn sitting next to her brother but in one of the two chairs facing the hall and the tables
Creslin shivers, not at the words but at the unconscious tone of command that already pervades his sister's voice, beyond and beneath the imitation of their mother.
"She's never pleased. She wasn't pleased when I sneaked out and went on the first winter field trials with the junior guards. But I did better than most of them. At least she let me go on the later trials."
"That's not what Aemris told her."
"Aemris wouldn't cross her if the Roof of the World fell."
They both laugh, but furtively, as their feet carry them into the main entry way of the castle.
"How is the blade-work going with Heldra?" Llyse asks as they reach the bottom of the stairs.
"I get pretty sore. She doesn't care how much she hurts either my pride or my body."
Llyse whistles softly. "You must be getting good. That's what all the senior guards say."
Creslin shakes his head. "I've improved, but probably not a lot."
A pair of guards flanks the archway to the main hallway. The one on the left Creslin recognizes and nods to briefly, but she does not move a muscle.
"Creslin ..." reproaches Llyse. "That's not fair. Fiera's on duty."
Creslin knows his informal greeting was not fair. He shifts his glance to the far end of the great hall. The table upon the dais is vacant, except for Aemris, unlike the tables flanking the granite paving stones upon which the Marshalle and consort walk. At the lower-level tables have gathered most of the castle personnel, the guards, and their consorts. The children are seated to the rear with their guardians, near the doorway through which Creslin and Llyse have approached.
Creslin concentrates on walking toward the dais, knowing he will hear too much as he nears the forward tables of the guards, the tables frequented by those yet unattached. "My, we are grim today," prods Llyse. "You aren't the one they examine like a prized stud," he murmurs between barely moving lips.
"You might as well enjoy it," comes back her calm reply. "You don't have much choice. Besides, it's honest admiration."
In the beginning,it might have been, when he insisted on joining the sub-guard exercise groups and on learning blades, and when he stole rides on the battle ponies. He knew, because he could not spend as much time at it, with all the demands for writing and logic placed on him by the Marshall, while he had the strength and basic skills, most of the guards he once held his own against could probably outride him in the field. Only with the blade could he continue to hold his own. Even Llyse, now, was receiving that concentrated field training he envied.
He almost shrugged. Then again, that was the point of it. The guards of Westwind could outride, outendure and outfight virtually anyone. They were why his mother the Marshall ruled the Roof of the World and controlled the trade routes connecting the east and west of Candar. "... still a handsome boy."
"... sharp like a blade. Cut your heart and leave it bleeding."
"... not soft enough for me, thanks."
Creslin can tell that Llyse is having trouble in refraining from smiling at his discomfort, and he tightens his lips.
"I'd still try him ..."
"The Marshall would have your guts for breakfast."
As they step up to the dais, Aemris rises from her seat at the far right end of the table. Four places are set.
"Your graces ..." The guard commander's voice is low and hard.
"Be seated, please," indicates Llyse. Creslin only nods, since any words from him are merely decorative.
Llyse raises her eyebrows. Neither she nor Aemris will seat themselves until he does. Then everyone will rise when the Marshall arrives. Creslin could keep all three of them standing. He has done it before, but tonight it is not worth the effort.
He sits at the end opposite Aemris, and Llyse lets out her breath slowly, in turn sitting next to her brother but in one of the two chairs facing the hall and the tables
Similar Books
Why Now?
Carey Heywood
The Heir of Night
Helen Lowe
City of Hawks
Gary Gygax
A Lie Unraveled
Constance Masters
The Map of Chaos
Félix J. Palma
Knight Errant
Rue Allyn
Reason
Allyson Young
Crows
Charles Dickinson
Orphan's Blade
Aubrie Dionne