'You lost a brother and sister you never knew, but I lost children I loved as dearly as I love you and Caleb.'

  Magnus stood with his arms crossed and stared down at him, and for an instant Pug saw his wife in his son, both in his stance and expression. At last Magnus sighed. He looked Pug in the eye and said, 'I'm sorry, Father.'

  'Don't be,' said Pug, gripping his arm. 'I appreciate your frustration. There isn't a day that goes by when I don't recall my own as I grew into my power, and I will remind you that your growth has been far more easy than my own.'

  Magnus smiled warmly. 'I realize that.' He knew that his father had struggled while training under his original mentor, the old Lesser Path magician Kulgan, because at that stage in his life, Pug had been a natural adept of the Greater Path, a distinction which was no longer significant, but had very much been so when he was a boy. And after that came four years spent as a slave, then another four training with the Assembly of Magicians on Kelewan. By comparison, Magnus's training had been positively idyllic.

  'Still,' continued Pug, 'it remains to be seen exactly how we are going to survive the coming journey.'

  A voice from behind, speaking unaccented Keshian, said, 'Exactly the question you should be asking.'

  Pug and Magnus had not noticed the speaker approach, so they both reacted quickly, assuming positions that could be only called defensive: weight distributed evenly, knees slightly bent, and hands near the daggers in their belts. Neither felt competent enough to attempt a magical defence yet.

  'Be at ease. If I wished you dead, you would both already be dead,' said the speaker, a tall Ipiliac with the most human-looking face either had seen so far, made so in part by deep-set eyes and a heavy brow of bushy black hair. He wore his hair down to his shoulders, another unusual feature among these people as most men trimmed theirs at the nape or higher. His face was lined, suggesting his age to be past his prime, but his eyes were alert, his gaze scrutinizing, and his bearing and clothing could only be called a warrior's: quilted gambeson jacket, a crossed leather harness bearing several weapons, and breeches and boots, suggesting he was a rider.

  'I am Martuch,' he said calmly. 'I am your guide. I am of the Dasati.'

  • CHAPTER TWELVE •

  Enemies

  Miranda threw a vase.

  Exasperation overcame self-control and she needed to vent her frustration. Instantly regretting the act - she liked the simple but sturdy pottery - she reached out with her mind and stopped the ceramic vessel scant inches before it reached the opposite wall, preventing it from shattering. She willed it back to her hand and replaced it on the table where it had stood a moment earlier.

  Caleb entered just in time to witness the display. 'Father?' he asked.

  Miranda nodded. 'I miss him, and it makes me ...'

  Caleb grinned, and for a moment she saw her husband's smile. 'Impatient?' he offered.

  'A wise choice of words,' she said. 'Is there news?'

  'No, not from Father or Magnus, nor do I expect any soon. But we do have a message from the Assembly requesting your appearance at your earliest convenience.'

  Miranda did a rough calculation in her head and realized it was mid-morning on both worlds, for the uneven days caused long periods where mid-afternoon on one would be the middle of the night on the other. 'I'll go now,' she told Caleb. 'You're in charge until I return.'

  Caleb held up his hands. 'You know many of the—'

  'Magicians don't like it when you're in charge,' she finished. 'I know. And I don't care. This is your father's and my island, and that makes it your island when we're not around. Besides Rosenvar is still in Novindus with the Talnoy, Nakor and your brother are with your father, so that means you will just have to cope with any petty annoyance that comes along. If a dispute arises, settle it, or at least postpone resolution until one of us is back.

  'Beside, my son, I may not be long on Kelewan.'

  'I can only hope,' said Caleb.

  As his mother walked away, she turned and said, 'Any word from the boys?'

  Caleb shrugged. 'They don't have the ability to communicate quickly, Mother. I've asked a couple of our agents in Roldem to keep a watch when they can, but how much trouble can they be in surrounded by an entire university of La-Timsan monks?'

  * * *

  'You are in so much trouble,' said Zane.

  'So much,' echoed Tad.

  Jommy shot them both black looks as he stepped out onto the practice floor. The students were training with swords, and while Jommy knew how to club a man with the hilt, cut his throat after kicking him in the groin, and every other dirty trick Caleb had been able to teach him, this was tournament sword fighting, with rules, a Master of the Sword to observe they were followed, and his opponent was Godfrey, Servan's closest ally, and from the way he held his weapon, he was no stranger to the practice floor.

  Jommy tugged at the tight collar of his jacket as the Master of the Sword motioned for the two opponents to come together at the centre of the floor. The rest of the class watched quietly, all of them under the supervision of half a dozen monks.

  The Master of the Sword spoke just loudly enough for his voice to carry over the muttering of the boys without yelling. 'This practice is to demonstrate the counter-strike.' He turned to Jommy and said, 'As Godfrey is the more experienced with a sword, you shall launch an attack. You may choose any line, high, middle, or low, but light or no contact only. Is that clear?'

  Jommy nodded and returned to where his two foster-brothers stood. Tad handed him the helmet, a basket face-mask sewn to a cloth back. He lowered it over his head and took the starting position.

  'Start!' commanded the Master, and Jommy hesitated, then launched a high blow, attempting as best he could within the rules to take Godfrey's head off.

  Godfrey easily beat aside the strike, extended his arm, and delivered a hard touch to Jommy's chest; then as he withdrew his sword, with a flick he struck the only exposed part of Jommy's body, the back of his hand.

  'Ow!' Jommy shouted, dropping his sword, to the obvious delight of the other students who laughed loudly.

  'Pick up your sword,' the Master said.

  'He did that on purpose,' Jommy said accusingly as he knelt to pick up his weapon.

  Godfrey removed his helm and grinned at Jommy with contempt.

  With disdain, the Master of the Sword said, 'It's a poor swordsman who accuses an opponent as a means of disguising his own shortcomings.'

  Jommy stared for a long moment at the Master of the Sword, then said, 'Right. Let's do it again.'

  He removed his own helm, walked to Zane and handed it to him, ran his hand through his damp hair, then nodded once as he retrieved his headgear. Putting the helm back on, he turned to face Godfrey.

  Tad said, 'I don't like that look.'

  'Remember what happened the last time we saw it?'

  'That tavern in Kesh?"

  'Yes, where that soldier said that thing to the girl—'

  'The one Jommy had taken a liking to?' Tad finished.

  'That's the one.'

  'That wasn't good.'

  'No, it wasn't,' agreed Zane.

  'This can't be good,' said Tad.

  'No, it can't,' agreed Zane.

  Jommy walked to the centre. The Master said, 'Again,' and directed the two combatants to their position. 'On the last pass,' he said to the observing students, 'this lad—' he pointed at Jommy,'—over-extended his attack, putting himself off balance, off-line, and leaving himself open to a simple beat from his opponent's sword, which put him further off-line and left him open for the counter-blow.' He glanced at the two opponents and said, 'Begin!'

  Jommy came in, exactly has he had last time, repeating every move until the moment when Godfrey beat aside his blade. Rather than extend his arm fully, Jommy circled his blade around Godfrey's so his hilt was inside the other boy's, forcing Godfrey to try his own circling move, attempting to catch Jommy's blade, and again force it to the outside.

  But instead of making another circle, Jommy raised his blade as if saluting, an unexpected move that caused Godfrey to falter. That was all the time Jommy needed. But instead of retreating a step to give himself room and re-establish his right-of-way, required before a touch could be claimed, Jommy just cocked his elbow and drove his sword hilt into Godfrey's face with as much force as possible.

  The practice helms were designed to ward off a sword's tip or edge, not withstand a full-on blow from an angry youth of considerable size and strength.

  The face-mesh folded and Godfrey went to his knees, blood flowing from under the mask. 'Foul!' cried the Master of Swords.

  'Probably,' said Jommy. 'But I've seen worse in a fight than that.'

  The Master of Swords looked at the senior monk in attendance, Brother Samuel, who managed to control any impulse to laugh that visited him. A soldier in the Army of Roldem before receiving the call to La-Timsa's service, Samuel was in charge of the students' martial training. Jommy, Tad and Zane had taken an instant liking to the man, and he seemed to enjoy their rough-edged approach to the subject. While the three boys might be far behind the others in matters of history, literature, philosophy and the arts, it was clear their previous 'education' had included a fair amount of hand-to-hand combat and swordplay. They might not be duellists, but they were fair brawlers. Brother Samuel tilted his head and arched his eyebrows, as if to say to the Master of Swords, 'you're in charge: you deal with it.'

  'This is the Masters' Court!' he said, as if that explained everything. 'These lessons are to perfect the art of swordsmanship.'

  'Then I won,' said Jommy.

  'What?' The look on the Master of Swords' face was one of incredulity.

  'Certainly,' said Jommy, putting his own helmet under his right arm so he could gesture with his left hand.

  'That's outrageous!' shouted Servan.

  Jommy took a deep breath, and in a tone used by those talking to little children or very stupid adults he said, 'I knew you wouldn't understand, Servan.'

  To the Master of Swords he said, 'My opponent was trying to establish a line of attack that would make me step back while trying to disengage his blade, correct?'

  The Master of Swords could only nod.

  'So, if I did that, he'd have pushed my blade to the outside and lunged, and unless I was a lot faster than him - which I'm not - he would have touched me and I'd have lost. Or he would have beaten it to the inside, made a quick follow to re-establish his line and probably get right-of-way before me, and another touch. One more touch, he wins the bout.

  'On the other hand, it I punch him in the face, and he can't win off a foul, we have to start again, and maybe this time I win.'

  'This is ...' words seem to fail the Master of Swords.

  Jommy looked around the room and said, 'What? Isn't that the way it's supposed to work after a foul?'

  The Master of Swords shook his head. 'The bout is finished. I declare Godfrey the victor.'

  Still nursing his bloody nose, Godfrey hardly looked the winner. He glared at Jommy who merely smiled at him and shrugged.

  Brother Samuel instructed the boys to change back into their uniforms: today's lesson was over. Servan whispered something into Godfrey's ear while the injured boy glared at Jommy.

  Brother Samuel walked past each boy in the class in turn, offering an observation or two on their fighting styles and when he got to the three boys from Sorcerer's Island, he said, 'Tad, well done. Quickness is a good advantage. But be a little more cautious in trying to anticipate your opponent's next move.' He looked at Zane and said, 'You need to anticipate more. You're too cautious.'

  Then he looked at Jommy and said, 'I'd never take you to a tournament, boy, but you can stand on my left at the wall, any time.' He winked and walked away.

  Jommy smiled at his foster-brothers and said, 'Well, it's nice to know someone appreciates my better qualities.'

  Zane looked past Jommy to Servan and Godfrey. 'He may be the only one.' He dropped his voice. 'You're on your way to having a couple of very powerful enemies, Jommy. We're not always going to be at university and a relative of the King may have a very long reach.'

  Jommy sighed. 'You're right, but I can't help myself. It's like those Bakers' Boys down in Kesh - bullies just make me want to start cracking heads. Probably comes from being the smallest lad in my family.'

  Tad's eyes widened. 'You were the smallest?'

  'Downright puny,' said Jommy as he pulled his uniform tunic on over his head. 'My older brothers, they were big: strapping fellows.'

  Zane looked at Tad. 'It boggles the mind.'

  'Come on,' said Jommy as he finished dressing. 'We need to get back to the others.'

  The students followed Brother Samuel back to the university, where they returned to their other classes. For the three boys from Sorcerer's Island, that meant returning to the modest study room put aside for them in which to meet their tutor, Brother Jeremy, who was attempting to give them a fundamental grounding in mathematics. Zane took to it naturally and couldn't understand why Jommy and Tad seemed to have such difficulty with something he found surprisingly simple.

  After two hours of maths tutoring, it was time for the evening meal, a meal that was conducted in silence, as the students dined with the monks, and occasionally one of the priests of La-Timsa. Breaking fast and the midday meal were noisy and as lively as a hall full of boys could be, but the only sounds to be heard during the evening meal were the clatter of dishes being moved around the table, and the sound of knives and spoons against crockery.

  Jommy couldn't speak, but nothing prevented him from nudging Zane, who in turn nudged Tad. Jommy indicated with a slight tilt of his head that someone special was sitting at the head table. The man was a tall, older cleric: from his robes a priest of some important rank. His eyes seemed fixed on the three boys from Sorcerer's Isle. The cleric's stare made Jommy very uncomfortable and he quickly dropped his gaze to his plate.

  At the end of the meal, the students had specific duties until their free hour before they turned in, but rather than go to the kitchen where they were required this week, the three boys were approached by Brother Stephen. 'Come with me,' he said, turning his back and walking away without waiting to see if they followed.

  The boys followed the Proctor until they reached his office. Entering it, they found the cleric who had sat at the head table, waiting. He motioned for them to shut the door; then he sat behind Brother Stephen's desk. He inspected each boy in turn, then finally said, 'I am Father Elias. I am the abbot here at the university. While it may not appear such, this school is, in fact, an abbey.

  'You three have managed to somehow get on the wrong side of some very powerful people. I've been fielding many enquiries about you, including one from a deputy to the King himself, regarding the reasons why you're here, why a Keshian noble of considerable influence with the Emperor and his brother would sponsor you, and a host of other, difficult and awkward questions. Suffice it to say I've had some very annoying exchanges of messages over the few weeks since you've arrived.'

  Jommy looked about to speak, then remembered he wasn't permitted to without permission. The abbot saw this and said, 'You have something to say?'

  'Yes, Father.' He felt silent.

  'Then say it, boy.'

  'Oh, well, then ...' Jommy began. 'Father, we didn't come here looking for trouble. It was waiting for us when we got here. I don't know if it's just one of those things, or if someone decided it was fair game to start in on us before we'd even set foot inside this building, but the truth is we'd have rather walked in, made ourselves known to Brother Kynan, and obeyed the rules as best we could.

  'But Servan has decided that it's his life's work to make our every day miserable, and while I'm inclined to be easy-going, I just don't see how I can ignore this for ... however long it is we're supposed to be here.'

  'How long you remain here is one of the things we're going to talk about.' The abbot's dark eyes narrowed slightly as he studied each face. 'Tell me what you were told to expect here?' he asked, directing the question at Jommy.

  Jommy said, 'Father, truth is, we weren't told very much, just that we were to come here from—'

  'I know you came from Olasko, that colourful tale about the caravan from the Vale of Dreams notwithstanding. I also know you didn't come by ship.'

  '—from Olasko,' Jommy continued. 'We were just told to get ready, come here, and learn whatever it was we were taught.'

  The abbot was silent for a minute, drumming his fingers on the table in an absent-minded gesture that set Jommy's teeth on edge. Finally, Father Elias said, 'We have a special relationship with your ... mentors.' Again he studied their faces. 'While we don't entirely accept that all their aims are in concert with our own, we do accept that they are an agency for good, and as such are to be given the widest possible latitude in matters of trust.' He sat back and stopped drumming, for which Jommy was grateful. 'I suspect if I were to mention a man named Pug, you boys would never have heard of him.'

  Tad shook his head as did Zane, while Jommy said, 'Can't say I have, Father.'

  The abbot smiled. 'Very well. We'll continue with the charade, but like so many things involving the man you've never heard of - whom I believe to be your adopted or foster grandfather if I have the story right - we'll continue to let things remain shrouded in shadow.

  'But here is what he should have told you, or at least Turhan Bey should have told you: this is the finest institution of its kind in the world, in many ways unique, and here we train the sons of Roldem, and the rest of the world, to be leaders. Most of our young men enter the navy - we are an island people - but some enter service in our army or in other capacities. We do not discriminate against boys who are not from Roldem. Some of the finest minds serving nations who at one time or another were our enemies have studied here. We teach them because people do not fear things they are familiar with. We are certain that over the years powerful men have been sympathetic to Roldem because of the time they spent here, and that has tipped the balance in our favour against war, or simply made them more prepared to listen to us.

 

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