Dimwater's Dragon (11 page)

“That is easier said than done,” Janik said. “Do I need to remind you that no one has seen you since that day fourteen years ago? They might find it a bit strange if you show up now.”

Cyrus waved a hand dismissively. “Nonsense. Tell them that you helped me escape the lair, but that I traveled across the sea. Make something up, anything. Tell them I wanted to retire, or that I was hunting some demon. It doesn’t matter what you say.”

Janik sighed and shook his head. “They will ask how I knew where you were.”

Cyrus nodded and folded his arms for a moment while he contemplated the point. Finally he smiled. “Tell them that I traveled to the Eastern Wilds. Say that I stayed in contact with you because you pulled me out after the lair caved in. When they ask what I was doing, tell them that I was studying the Tarthuns and exploring the abandoned roads of the Sand Elves. Then say that as a favor to you, because you had to pay for the substitute, that I was willing to help out an old friend. Leave it at that.”

Janik nodded and then he found himself sitting alone in the dining hall again, with no magical orb around him or sign of the wizard. He dug another piece of wood out of the table before slapping the hard wood and standing to leave.

Monday morning Kyra woke early and hurried to dress before slipping out and to the library. She wanted to get in a bit more reading before anyone returned for their classes in a couple of hours. She buried herself in a book about the great dragon riders of the north countries, their wars and conquests and how they lived in harmony with the dragons.

She lost herself in thought, wondering what life would be like if she could fly on the back of this new dragon she had found and escape not only her betrothal, but from the entire Middle Kingdom. She could leave it all behind, if only she could protect the dragon long enough for it to mature.

She moved to the nearest window that overlooked the courtyard, staring up into the clouds above and smiling as she imagined her dragon swooping down from the heavens to carry her away from here. The wizards would be too scared to interfere and her betrothed would be helpless in the face of a dragon. No one would dare tell her how she was to live her life again.

A commotion down on the ground caught her attention. A circle of young apprentices, third and fourth-years by the looks of them, were gathering around a single apprentice. At first it looked as though they were going to tease him, or perhaps push him around. Kyra had experienced enough of that to know how cruel the others could be. She prepared a simple spell to throw a few smaller fireballs as a distraction in case the one in the middle needed help.

Just then, the young apprentice looked up, directly at her. His dark hair waved slightly in the wind, and he smiled confidently at her as he shook his head and drew a waster, a wooden long sword, from his belt.

“Are you ready then?” the boy shouted as he turned his attention to the circle around him.

Kyra held the spell, wondering whether the boy had lost his senses.

That was when she saw one of the instructors approach the circle. He was a large man, wearing a tan tunic and black trousers. Over his shoulder he held a leather bag filled with additional wasters.

“Alright, Kathair,” the instructor called out. “I do hope you are half as skilled as you claim, otherwise this week is going to be cut short for you.”

The students in the circle laughed and jeered.

The instructor swung the bag around, moving to each third and fourth-year in the circle and letting them draw a weapon. When the bag was empty, he motioned for them all to put on their helmets. It was only then that Kyra realized all of the young men were wearing the padded leather armor underneath their oversized tunics. The young apprentice in the middle, however, wore neither helmet nor armor. The instructor dropped the empty bag and pushed his way into the circle.

“A knight must learn that his word is his bond. We are not the barbarians of the north who live by mead and boasting. Every word we speak, we must be able to fulfill.”

“I meant what I said,” the boy asserted clearly.

The others in the circle laughed.

Kyra shook her head as she counted roughly thirty apprentices. If this was going to be a fight, it was going to be very short. She almost turned away, but the young man’s next words held her in place.

“I am Kathair Lepkin, born in the Northlands and raised by the elves of Tualdern, and I will beat each and every one of you.”

The others in the circle grew angry, spitting on the ground and shouting at him. The instructor moved in and whispered something into Kathair’s ear. The young boy pushed him away and held his waster at the ready.

“You are only a first-year, Kathair, come now have some sense,” the instructor implored.

The boy shook his head and pointed his waster at one of the others in the circle. “That boy insulted my mother, and for that I challenged him to a duel. It is only his cowardice that brings the others into this.”

A tall, wide-shouldered boy stepped into the middle of the circle. “
You
said that I was unfit to hold a sword, and that even if I had all of my friends with me, you would teach me a lesson. So I brought them.”

“Culliver is right,” the instructor said. “You boasted, declaring a direct challenge. That might be something you could get away with in the Northlands, but pride is not a trait we foster here, and today you shall be humbled.” The instructor walked to the edge of the circle. “The rules are simple, knock Kathair to the ground, or make him drop his waster, and do try to be gentle on him lads.”

Those in the circle sniggered and laughed.

Kathair
twirled his sword and jerked his head to the side. Even from the window, Kyra heard the popping joints in the boy’s neck.

“Are you ready?” the instructor asked.

Kathair bowed his head and held his sword out to the side. “After I have put you on your back, you will apologize for what you said.”

The boy the instructor had identified as Culliver stepped in closer. “I ain’t apologizing for nothing!”

Two boys rushed in from behind. Kathair jumped back through the air with the grace of a valley deer. His waster came down hard, connecting with the side of one of the boys’ heads and dropping the apprentice to the ground. The second apprentice swung his waster, but Kathair sailed over it effortlessly before chopping down on the apprentice’s right shoulder. The boy cried out and slumped to the right. Kathair landed on his feet and whirled around with a great swing, crashing into the apprentice’s ribs and sending him flying a couple yards away to land on the ground.

Three more rushed in, yelling and calling Kathair the ‘son of a trout-sucker’ and a few other insults that Kyra didn’t quite understand. The wooden swords clacked and smacked, and within seconds two of the three were down on the ground, rolling slowly and moaning. The third took a straight thrust to the abdomen, followed by a kick to the groin and then a left handed punch that knocked him to his back.

None of them had scored a hit on Kathair.

Three more rushed in. Kathair charged them. A moment later he was in the air again, leaping over the apprentice in the middle and clearing him by a foot. Kathair sent his waster down as the dumbfounded apprentice looked up, catching him in the face and sending him crashing to the ground. The other two ended up hitting each other as they swung at Kathair. They each grunted and hobbled away, making easy targets for Kathair as he whirled first to the right, bowling the apprentice over by rushing into him and dropping his shoulder into the boy’s chest, and then spinning to the other apprentice with a savage chop that shattered the apprentice’s waster and swept the boy from his feet upon impact.

Two more stepped in, but this time they weren’t rushing. They circled around Kathair in opposite directions, trying to divide his attention.

“What’s the matter, Culliver, not man enough to do your own fighting, is that it?” Kathair taunted.

The apprentice behind Kathair moved in. Kathair instinctively threw his sword up over his back and stopped the incoming chop. The apprentice from the front rushed in. Kathair seized the apprentice behind him with his left hand gripping the back of the boy’s neck and lifted himself up to stick his boot squarely into the oncoming apprentice’s face. Then Kathair reversed directions, planting his feet on the ground and crunching with his torso to pull and flip the other apprentice over his back. The flailing boy smacked into the other apprentice and both hit the ground.

Kathair moved toward Culliver then, beckoning for him to come forward with his left hand.

A mob of apprentices rushed in to protect their friend. Kathair moved like a ghost. He dodged thrusts and chops, letting them sail into his opponents instead as he ducked and whirled around his foes. With each and every strike Kathair either deflected a blow meant for him, or dropped an apprentice. Within seconds there were twelve more boys lying on the ground.

“I’m coming for you, Culliver,” Kathair promised as he pointed at the tall, wide-shouldered boy. Seven more apprentices rushed toward Kathair. Kyra stood there astonished, for not only was he winning, but Kathair didn’t seem to slow or tire either. He ducked and spun under a heavy-handed chop only to rise and pummel an apprentice with four savage blows to the chest. The next took a hit to the side of the head, sending him into a forced cart-wheel before he collapsed on the grass. The third blocked two of Kathair’s strikes, but then over corrected when Kathair feinted at his face and then reversed the strike to sweep the apprentice’s legs out from under him. A fourth took a savage kick to the jaw followed by a driving thrust in the stomach that sent him to the ground in a heap. The fifth and sixth went down under the force of one swing when Kathair’s sword drove the head of the fifth and sixth apprentices together. The seventh apprentice wisely threw his sword to the ground and held his hands up while taking a knee.

“I yield!” the boy shouted.

Kathair turned to regard Culliver. “You’re next,” Kathair said dryly.

“Kathair, that’s enough!” the instructor called out. “That’s enough!”

The boy turned to the window once more and saw Kyra watching him. This time she saw the rage and strength in his reddened face. He didn’t smile at her. He just locked eyes with her and took a few quick breaths. Then he whirled around and threw his sword. The wooden training sword whirled end over end until the pommel smacked dead center into Culliver’s nose. Culliver emitted a strange sound half-way between a gasp and a cry for help. Even from the window Kyra could see the strings of blood stretching out from the boy’s face.

“Kathair!” the instructor shouted.

Kathair didn’t stop. He ran toward Culliver and pounced upon him, driving his fist into the boy’s head twice before grabbing him by the collar and shouting at him.

“Take the words back!” Kathair shouted.

The instructor was there in an instant, grappling Kathair and ripping him off of Culliver. That was a mistake. Kathair slipped his arms under the instructor’s and then reached up to grip the instructor’s forearms as he pulled himself up and over the instructor’s shoulder. Kathair seized his instructor around the neck with his arms as he dropped to the ground behind his instructor, pulling the adult down and dropping them both to the ground.

Kyra watched wide-eyed from the window as Kathair walked away from the field. The instructor must have had the wind knocked out of him, for he rolled along on the ground gasping and clutching at his throat and chest. Kyra was almost certain she would never see the young boy again, for if she had to buy her way out of being expelled she couldn’t imagine there being enough gold in the world to excuse what this young apprentice had just done.

*****

After lunch when Kyra went to the class Lady Priscilla had been teaching last week, she was surprised to see a tall thin man with a long gray beard sitting behind the desk. None of the other students were present in the class. It was just the two of them.

The old man narrowed his blue eyes on Kyra and studied her from head to toe without saying a word. He didn’t smile, but he wasn’t frowning or grimacing either. His expression was one of contemplation, as if he was trying to discern what kind of person she was. After a moment he motioned to the desk immediately opposite his and gestured for her to sit. Kyra went to the desk she was offered and set her book down on top, not breaking eye contact with the new instructor.

She couldn’t place it, but there was something familiar about the way this man looked, as if she had met him before. She tried to think of any place she might have seen him, but her mind couldn’t clearly recall any memory with him in it.

“My name is Cyrus, and I will be filling in for Lady Priscilla.”

The name sounded familiar as well. Where had she heard that name before?

“Are you ready to begin?” Cyrus asked.

Kyra looked around the room and then back to the teacher. “What of the other students?”

“The headmaster thought it best if perhaps I were to take over your instruction. The other students have been reassigned to other instructors.”

Kyra leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. “So I’m not allowed to have classmates. Am I so dangerous?”

Cyrus nodded his head. “It is not a permanent arrangement, but it is settled this way for the next several months. Lady Priscilla was pregnant, did you know that?”

Kyra’s mouth opened in horror. She quickly glanced to the floor, too ashamed to look at the man anymore.

“That is what I thought,” Cyrus noted. The old man rose from his chair, walked around the desk and came to sit in a student’s chair next to Kyra. “That is one of the reasons I am to be your instructor. You see, neither the headmaster nor I assumed you had any knowledge of Lady Priscilla’s condition, but in the future we would like you to maintain control over your abilities. You should know that Lady Priscilla is fine and it is expected that her child will be born in due time without any harm from the incident last week.”

Kyra nodded thankfully. “I had no idea.”

Cyrus offered a gentle smile and patted her on the back. “So tell me Kyra, where did Lady Priscilla leave off in her last lesson that you attempted?”

Kyra reached down into her bag and pulled a brown leather journal out. She opened the first several pages, flipping through roughly a third of the book before finally coming to the page she was looking for. “In class we were practicing lesser wards.”