Flight of the Nighthawks (13 page)

“What about supper?”

“Are you hungry?”

“Not really,” said Tad.

“Good. Then teach me to swim and let me wash the stink off.”

With an audible protest, Tad forced himself upward and said, “Get clean clothes, at least.”

Both boys did and headed out the door of the room, Tad saying, “Grab a bar of soap at the bathhouse.”

They reached the bathhouse and found it empty as they expected this close to the evening meal. It was a three-chambered structure with a room of very hot, warm, and cold water. There was some ritual of bathing Nakor had explained to them, but both boys just washed off in a bucket and then soaked in the hot tub when they cleaned themselves off.

They looked at one another, and Zane said, “The lake can wait until tomorrow.”

They quickly stripped off their clothing, filled buckets with warm water, and washed off the grime of the day. When done, they both stepped into the hot water and with audible sighs of relief let the heat sink into their tired muscles. The water was kept hot, as the center room—the
tepidarium
—was kept warm by running water pipes through the kitchen, where fires burned day and night as cooking was a constant undertaking for the population of Sorcerer's Isle.

Within minutes both boys dozed off.

Abruptly Zane came awake to see a beautiful face inches from his own. Eyes that looked white in the distance, but this close revealed pale green flecks, set in a darker green face lit up with delight as an exotic voice whispered, “There you are. I was looking for you.”

Zane ran his hand over his face and said, “I must have fallen asleep.” His eyes widened as the girl's hand ran down his chest and stomach and she leaned in to kiss him.

Over her shoulder he could see one of her sisters—he had no idea which one—and saw she was likewise giving Tad what could only be called loving attention. Closing his eyes, as he started enjoying sensations that were new and wonderful to him, he thought,
I hope this is Zadrina and not one of her sisters.

 

For weeks their training followed no pattern that was clear to them, save it often seemed arbitrary, pointless, and exhausting. After two weeks of making the daily run to the rock and finally doing it without slowing the entire way, Tilenbrook sent them back a second time, and then demanded they run up the ridge and back to the villa.

Zane was forced to admit it was getting easier to do and also found he was sleeping better at night. Tad complained he had to find someone to take in the waist of his trousers.

The only happy aspect of their lives were the sisters—Zane with Zadrina and Tad with the one named Kalinda. After the night in the bathhouse, Tad now claimed he had no trouble telling them apart.

Still, most of their day was taken up with running, and while
they were getting better at it, they saw little purpose to the constant exercise.

Three weeks after the daily running began, they were returning from a run that had to be more than five miles each way, to an outcropping of rocks Tilenbrook had described to them, and found their instructor waiting for them, along with another man. As the now only slightly out-of-breath youths slowed and walked the last few yards, Tilenbrook opened a bundle and threw two swords to them. “Defend yourselves!” he shouted.

Tad grabbed his sword out of the air but Zane missed his. The second man came at him like an onrushing bull, holding a wicked-looking curved sword. Before he could react, Tad was knocked over by the man's shoulder, while Zane was slapped across the side of the head with the flat of the blade, a blow that sent him to his knees.

“Your enemy will not care if you are tired,” said the bearded man as he grabbed Zane by the tunic, jerked him upright, and put his sword to his throat. With a flick of his wrist, he slapped Tad on the shoulder, hard, with the blade's flat, and said, “You both are now dead.”

Tilenbrook said, “This is Bolden. He will be your instructor for a while. My work is done now that you two are no longer a pair of slugs.”

“Get to your feet!”

The boys did so as Tilenbrook walked back toward the path to the villa. “Do you know what separates the living and the dead most times in battle?” asked Bolden.

Zane put a hand to the side of his head, where his sore ear was still ringing from the blow. “No,” he said, rubbing his cheek.

“Purpose,” said the heavy-shouldered man. His dark eyes regarded the boys. “A warrior is little more than a man with a sword and a purpose. And no hesitation. You both are dead because you hesitated. If I had attacked two experienced warriors, I would now be the one with the sore heads—or I'd be dead.”

He motioned to the two swords that lay on the sand. “Pick them up.”

They did and suddenly he was attacking again. Once more they were quickly disarmed. “You are both dead, again!”

He motioned for the boys to once again pick up their weapons and said, “Do you know why a few armed men can control much larger groups?”

Tad said, “Purpose?”

Bolden nodded. “The frightened man runs, tries to hide, or just surrenders. Most men are frightened.” He motioned for them to follow as he turned and started walking back to the villa. “Other men attempt to reason and are dead before they can make their argument. A half-dozen bandits can destroy a village of twoscore people, or more, because they have purpose and the villagers are frightened or try to reason.

“If the villagers had purpose, if they acted without thought, the six bandits would be dead men.”

Reaching the base of the trail up the ridge, he said, “Hold your sword and keep it with you, no matter what else. If I see either one of you anywhere in the villa without that sword, I will beat you. Understood?”

“Yes,” said the boys.

They walked back to the villa in silence.

 

Bolden, a man of his word, had thrashed Zane once and Tad twice in the following weeks. The last had been the most humiliating, as he had been found swimming in the lake with Kalinda, the sword lying on the shore next to their clothing.

The weapons study proved difficult, due more to Bolden's demands on how they act and think than on any physical requirements. Any hesitation, any lack of certainty in responding to his orders brought punishment, from sitting alone all night on a rock overlooking the sea, to being beaten with a stick.

And for days on end they saw nothing of Caleb.

The other tasks set to them seemed a little more reasonable, but not much. Both boys learned to handle the bow with some skill and were taught the rudiments of tracking game and recognizing signs in
the woods, learning from a man named Lear. They used their prior experience to good effect helping with the gardening, farming crops on the far side of the island, and tending to the animals.

But some of the things they did made no sense to them. When they helped in the kitchen, they were forced to endure long lectures on how dishes were prepared, and when they were given household duty, they were expected to master every aspect of tasks from bed making to cleaning out bedpans. Both boys thought of these things as “woman's work” and grumbled, until Zane said something to one of the girl students, a fetching redhead named Brunella, who promptly smacked him across the back of the head and walked off.

Today the boys were wondering aloud what gods they had offended lately, as they hauled stones up the path from the beach to a place designated by a dour man named Nasur. He was squat, had powerful shoulders, and a mass of thick, black hair and a beard to match. He had appeared that morning after the first meal and informed them he would be overseeing their training for a while.

He had taken them over the ridge and pointed to a crumbling rock wall that flanked the path leading to the castle, then to where piles of them rested at the bottom of the hill. “They've been washing down the slope for years and Pug thinks we ought to dress up the wall. So be a couple of good lads and hie yourselves down there and fetch the stones back up here. Find a way to place them back so the thing doesn't fall down again come the next rain. Any idiot can use mortar; it takes a good eye to place them so they hold together because of weight and size. I'll be back with something for you to eat come midday. So, get yourself about it.

“Better strip off your tunics so you don't tear them,” he said. They did so, then started with the smaller, more manageable rocks and were now forced to lug larger stones up the hill. The sun was high in the sky and they were certain Nasur had forgotten about them, but as they set the rock gently into place with the others they had lugged upward, he hove to over the ridge.

He carried a large sack and a covered pail. The boys sat down, drenched in their own perspiration, and waited until he reached them.
He handed the pail to Tad, who lifted the lid and said, “Ale!” He took a long pull while Zane opened the bag.

“Food!” said the dark-haired boy. He reached in and pulled out something wrapped in a cloth.

“Called a fist meal,” said Nasur. “Put some cheese and meat or whatever else you got between two slabs of bread and you can eat without a plate or knife.”

Zane handed one to Tad, pulled out a second, and saw there was a third, which he handed to Nasur. “These are some chicken and cheese with little slices of cucumber and tomato on 'em,” Nasur said before he took a large bite. “I put some mustard-grain paste on it for spice.” He looked thoroughly pleased with himself. Then he reached for the beer pail, which Tad handed him.

After he drank, he handed the pail to Zane, who took a long pull. “Go easy, boys,” he said, “wouldn't do for you to get too light-headed. You've still got the best part of a day's work ahead of you.”

Zane rolled his shoulders as if he could ease the ache by stretching them. “Why the sudden desire to restore this wall, Nasur?”

The bearded man shrugged as he gulped down a mouthful of his meal. “I don't know. Just something to do, I expect. Keep you two busy and build some muscle on you. Bolden says you're as good as you're going to get with the sword, so no more point in banging you two about. But he said you could be stronger, so I guess that is why you're doing this.”

Tad said nothing while Zane was thoughtful for a moment, then he said, “Does anyone know what they're going to do with us?”

Nasur said, “Pug, for certain. Probably Caleb, Miranda, Nakor, and Magnus, too. They're the ones who make decisions around here. Me, I'm just a ward maker. I fashion little trinkets to keep little bad things away. They're used to dealing with big bad things.” He stood up. “Listen, around here it's wise not to ask questions, in case you don't like the answers. And, you can't tell what you don't know. They'll tell you what's what in time. But know this much: everything they teach you, even if you don't quite know why now, will help someday to keep you alive.” He pointed to the rocks. “Now, you've got a bit of work to do and you'll do it until the sun vanishes below
the western sea, then come back to the villa, clean up and get ready for supper. Right?”

They said “right” and he vanished over the hill. They finished their meal and looked at the stones at the bottom of the hill and finally Tad said, “Well, they won't roll up here by themselves, will they?”

“Not unless you've suddenly become a magician,” said Zane as he stood and began to walk down the path.

 

After they finished the wall, they spent a week clearing a cove of storm debris, and then they were put to the task of painting the villa itself. That took nearly a month, and when they were done, they were sent to the opposite side of the island, where an isolated hut rested on a bluff overlooking the ocean, and they were told to clean it out and repaint it. Zane managed to come crashing through the weather-weakened roof of sticks and thatch, earning himself a new scar in the process, a cut down his left upper arm. Tad daubed at it and said, “Get someone to look at it when we get back. It's not bleeding much.”

Zane nodded. Both boys were now sunburned brown and sporting a variety of small scars from scrapes well earned over the last few months. But both had also put on a good deal of muscle—Tad was no longer the whipcord-thin boy from Stardock, and Zane was no longer the stocky lad. They were now both fit and broad of shoulder, with flat stomachs and possessing more arm-strength than they had ever known. They could run far and fast and still arrive ready to fight, and if it came to that, they knew they would act with purpose.

When they were done with the hut, they were turned back over to the care of Tilenbrook, who had recently returned from whatever mysterious mission he had been on.

Their first morning with the slender man, he bade them meet him in an open stretch of grass near the lake, and said, “It's time for you to learn a bit about fighting.”

Seeing no weapons, Tad said, “You mean like brawling?”

“A bit more than that, but basically, yes.” He looked at the two boys and said, “Which one of you lads wishes to be first?”

Tad and Zane glanced at one another, then Tad said, “You're always the first one to throw a punch. Go ahead.”

Zane smiled and raised his fist, circling to his left, his left fist up beside his head. “Very good,” said Tilenbrook, moving forward like a dancer. “The position of your left hand protects your head.” Then suddenly he was driving his left fist under Zane's elbow, knocking the wind out of him and making his knees wobble.

“Of course,” said Tilenbrook, “you need to learn how to protect your side when you do that.”

He stepped forward to Zane and steadied him, saying, “Watch me.” He showed the boys how to draw their elbows into their sides and bend slightly to take the blow on the arm or hipbone. “Make your opponent tire himself out flailing at your arms, shoulders, and hips. You'll be sore and covered with bruises the next day, but you'll be alive. Your opponent, however, will be heavy of arm and huffing for breath. Because of all your running, you will still have your wind, and even if he's a better fighter than you by nature, you should be able to win the brawl.”