Venzene Duchy of Kovalun
County Jižní Pochod
Barony of Hartscross–Jižní Lov
٤ Korunasykli: ٢١ Days after the Red Storm at Westsong
Vlk made an “oof” sound as Andrej thumped into him from behind. They were both laughing, both out of breath from their run. Andrej threw his arm around the back of Vlk’s neck, both leaning on and preventing him from falling. Both boys grinned up as the Lady Kastan approached.
“Well,” said she. “I see you managed to find him, Andrej.”
Vlk found he was mildly frustrated that Andrej was the one she’d addressed. He understood it, given the taller boy actually slept in this encampment. More than that. She sent him off to find me and bring me here. All the same, as Andrej spoke his reply, Vlk wished he had something he could say to drag her attention toward him… without making an ass of himself.
“Aye, Lady. I told him we have enough practice swords, though I doubt we’ll use them today. So we came straightway here.” Andrej’s breath seemed to be back under his control.
Wait… There was something he could say. Moreover, it was something he’d been told to say when he saw the Lady Kastan. Fighting the impulse to grin—why did he feel as if he’d somehow beaten Andrej at some game or other?—he cleared his throat, bowed as formally as he could, and spoke.
“My Lady? My master, Milan Němá-noha, vishes me to give you a message.” He hadn’t meant to draw out the drama of the exchange, but he’d managed to do it, nonetheless. Thinking on it, he found he wasn’t a bit sorry. As he righted himself, he noted Lady Kastan was smiling rather warmly at him.
“And what, valiant Vlk, does your master wish you to tell me?”
Havoc’s Horn, her voice was so musical! Again, Vlk felt that tingle overtake him from his crown to the calluses on his feet. He wasn’t blushing, was he? No! No, of course not. Why would he be blushing?
All at once he realized he was letting far too much time pass without answering her. He shook his head, cleared his throat, and opened his mouth to speak… and nothing came out.
Vhat vas it Milan vanted me to tell her? He shook his head, adding an awkward little laugh for good measure. The action seemed to have knocked something loose, for he suddenly recalled both the message and its subtext.
“Ah, forgive me, Lady. My master said to tell you that he vould be happy to lend me to you vhenever you like.”
She lifted one corner of her mouth in a shrewd little smile. “And what, valiant Vlk, did he actually mean, do you think?”
Vlk gave an open-mouthed grin at that. He felt laughter trying to fight its way out of him, though he had no idea why. What she’d said had been worth a smile, but laughter? That was confusing. It took an effort to keep his voice steady.
“Vell, I expect he hopes you’ll fill his pockets now or later. If it’s now, he’ll be pleased. He vouldn’t trust a random guest of the Count’s to make good on a favor.”
“Because they may not return.” She nodded.
“Aye. But you vill return. You come into camp at least once a year. He vould trust to your good vill for longer than most, I think.”
She was eyeing him—appraising him. It was strange. In one sense, her attention was everything he’d wanted. Yet her gaze was somehow terrible, full of force and, he supposed, nobility. He felt as if he were playing Haunted Forest. She’s it. She’s the haunt, and I’m almost sure she’s seen vhere I’m hiding. Then again, she might just be looking in my direction. If I run, she’ll chase me. If she catches me, I’m dead and have to haunt the forest vith her. If I stay very, very still, I might be safe. She may just pass me by.
“You’re very clever, Vlk. That can be dangerous in certain circles.” She seemed to sense his sudden dread at that statement, for she shook her head, voice returning to the warmth it’d worn moments ago. “Nye, Vlk. Some circles, but not this circle. Here, we reward cleverness.”
He relaxed but nearly jumped as she turned her attention back to Andrej. He’d almost forgotten the other boy was beside him.
“Two buckets each, Andrej. Show Vlk how and where, and perhaps more important, tell him why.”
“Yes, Lady.” Andrej batted Vlk’s bright shoulder. “C’mon. Let’s get the boring work done and over.”
Vlk nodded, shrugging, then followed the taller boy toward the back of the encampment. He hadn’t made it a dozen paces when he stopped short, turning back to regard Lady Kastan.
“Did she say … nye?”
Andrej’s footfalls ceased. “What?”
“Lady Kastan said … nye, not ne. I’d svear to it.”
Andrej came up beside him. “So?”
Vlk shook his head. “I’ve only ever heard Lakkrid say this—Lakkrid and his father’s men.” He shrugged, then turned back toward the task at hand. “Vhat must ve do?”
They resumed their walk toward the back end of the encampment, passing a family-sized marquee tent. Surely that belongs to the Lady Kastan. A moment later, as the wind dropped, he saw he’d guessed rightly. A heater-shaped banner bearing the Percoy arms—a dancing golden charger on a green field—untwisted itself, looking like a freshly painted shop shingle. He’d seen such signs on the one occasion he’d been to Hartscross township.
“Here,” said Andrej from some distance ahead.
Vlk turned his head to look, picking up the pace. His mind was too easily distracted today. He’d no idea why.
Andrej stood in a clearing behind Lady Kastan’s tent. He held what looked like a quarterstaff against each shoulder, the butt ends against the ground. As Vlk closed the distance, he caught sight of four wooden buckets to Andrej’s right. It looked like they were full of stones, large and small. He thought the smallest might be the size of his closed fist. What was this?
Andrej grinned as if he knew Vlk’s thoughts. He tossed him the stave from his dim hand. Vlk caught it easily enough, then closed the remaining few feet between them.
“Hrmmm,” Andrej wore a serious look as if he were cross with someone—possibly himself.
“Vhat’s vrong?”
“Have you ever driven stakes into the ground? Yes, of course, you have. You must’ve done when you and your otec rode to Hartscross, yes? Or did you two sleep raw?”
“My ohhh-tetsss?” Vlk laughed. “Such respect you show to Liška, Andrej. Do you vant to trade fathers? I vill if you vill.” He brightened, turning his voice into an absurdly childish sing-song. He sounded as if he were five, perhaps six. “I’ll vager if you put on your best little-boy smile, tatínek might even let you rub his feet after supper!”
He dissolved into laughter, rolling his eyes. Hells, only grandsires and grand-dames or the smallest of smalls still use Old Kovalunth like that… Usually vhen they’re barking at us beside the lyst field. “Your otec vould be ashamed of you,” or “Vhen I tell your tatínek vhat filth comes out of your mouth…” And if the toothless tattlers were traders from abroad? Then it’s “Who’s your father, boy?” or “Vhen I find your daddy, I’ll see that he beats you!”
He drew in a breath, laughter still within easy reach, but something struck him as odd. Vhy isn’t he laughing? He sought Andrej’s eyes. When he found them, they were sad and more than a little distant.
“Your father’s stiff-necked and thick-headed, but he’s still your father.”
Vlk blinked, all traces of laughter gone. “My father thought I vas telling lies vhen I vas leaving to come here today, Andrej. He told me I vasn’t to spend time vith Lakkrid—that I vasn’t to be his friend! Don’t speak of him as if he vere vorthy.” He was scowling now, bordering on true anger. “Ve veren’t all so fortunate as you or Lakkrid. Ve don’t all have good fathers.”
Andrej was quiet for a long moment. He simply looked at Vlk. Finally, when Vlk could take no more—would take no more—he spoke with a sharpness he regretted almost at once.
“Vhat, damn you? Vhy don’t you speak? You vant to say something, so say it and have done!”
Andrej shook his head. “I don’t live there. I’ve never spoken with your father. He works to put food in your belly, teaches you how to do things, and thinks the same small, mean madness most of the nobles—hells, most of Kovalun does about the Eodenth and the gnoerks. But from all you’ve told me, it isn’t him that beats you. It isn’t your father that sent you to bed without supper on the day we met.”
That was true, but still… how dare Andrej tell him how to view his fool of a father? Liška complained endlessly about how unfair the world was, yet out of petty lunacy he’d refused fair and willing repayment for Vlk’s standing up for Lakkrid and Maksu! Then both of his parents spoke in anger about how unfair it was that a Eoalunth man and his pet orcs soiled Count Edmund’s reputation by spilling blood! This? This was the man Andrej wanted Vlk to treat with respect?
Andrej’s voice shook Vlk out of his raging reverie.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m to show you the buckets. Best … get back to that.”
Vlk nodded, albeit slowly. Andrej had taken on a distant, all-business air that Vlk didn’t much care for. Vhy do I feel like I’ve done something vrong?
“You don’t use your foot or your backside to drive a stake into the ground. You don’t hit it with a full water skin either.”
“Vhat? Oh. No, of course not.” Vlk was glad to have another topic to seize upon. “You use a hammer or an axe handle.”
Andrej nodded. “Why?”
Vlk blinked, shaking his head. “Be… because those are the right tools?”
“Aye, but why? What do they do that those other things don’t?”
“I don’t… I don’t understand.”
Andrej’s face still bore that distant, all-business look. “They let you control your strength better.”
Vlk tried not to show how idiotic he felt. I keep getting striped by you, so I know you’re not a fool. I just don’t know vhat you’re trying to get me to say or see.
Andrej must’ve seen something of Vlk’s incomprehension. The taller boy was smiling. While even this looked to be a surface reaction, at least the smile looked good-natured, rather than born out of pity.
“You don’t hunt. You don’t know bows.”
“Do I need to?” As soon as the words had left his mouth, Vlk realized that he sounded affronted. Vell? Vhat do bows have to do vith buckets?
Andrej shook his head. “It just makes more sense to me thinking of hunting with a bow than hammering in a tent stake.”
“Vhat vas the difference?”
“It takes strength to draw back a bow and have a steady aim. It takes more out of you if you run up and tackle the animal you’re hunting and punch it to death. Sure, the animal’s still dead and ready to dress, skin, and cook, but you wasted time and trouble. One arrow could’ve brought him down and had done.”
Vlk brightened. “That makes sense.”
“I should have started there.” He shook his head, offering a rueful chuckle. “Right, the buckets are full of rocks. We use the pole to carry a full bucket over our shoulder, or across our back, and move it from one side of this field to the other. We put the bucket down or pick it up only with the pole. If we spill any rocks, we have to start that trip again.”
Vlk understood the what and how, but… “Vhy?”
“It’s supposed to teach us about prz… perz… precise use of our strength.” Andrej looked relieved to have gotten that strange sounding word out. “It isn’t as easy as it sounds. Getting the balance is one thing, but when you walk, the bucket wants to swing on its handle.”
Vlk made a slow nod of acceptance, though he had his doubts.
“Right, stand over here.” Andrej walked to a space some six or seven paces away from the buckets. “I’ll walk my first bucket over with my dim arm keeping the balance. Once I’ve put it down at your feet, you pick it up and walk it back to the others with your own.”
“Vhy only our dim arms?”
“Second bucket’s for our brights. You train the same for each side, in case you wind up having to fight with your dim hand or block with your bright one.”
Vlk nodded, taking up position where Andrej had indicated, and looked on as the taller boy crossed the field. He watched him dip his blond head down, cocking it to the side as if studying the bucket. Then he seemed to grin, pleased with himself.
Andrej dropped his staff to hip level, then poked one end around the back of the bucket, hooking the wooden handle. He lifted it and threaded perhaps a third of the stave’s length through the gap. That done, he crouched, ducked his head beneath the long side of the stave, and stood. The pole now ran behind his neck, the bucket dangling beside his bright shoulder.
Vlk again tried and failed to meet the taller boy’s eye. After settling the weight across his shoulders, Andrej dropped his bright arm to his side and began to walk. Vlk couldn’t work out if Andrej were attempting to show off, or simply make the task more difficult. Foolish, either vay. He watched several small stones shift and skitter toward the pail’s edge as it swayed. Admittedly, it never overbalanced. Andrej kept an even, measured pace. In the end, he made a business of lowering slowly to one knee, leaning toward his right, and gently placing the bucket down.
“That vas…” Vlk closed his mouth before he could make things worse between them. He was still angry. He thought he had every right to be, given what Andrej said. Yet for all that, he liked Andrej. He didn’t want today to be the end of their friendship.
“Slow?” Andrej stood, smirking. “Slow hurts, but it means I have to do it fewer times. One stone spills, and—”
“I know, I know. You have to do it again.” Enough was enough. Vlk just wanted to get this over with. He lifted saddles, sloshing pails of water, and pitchforks full of dung two dozen times a day. This would be nothing special.
“You have to finish the trip, then refill what spilled, then take it again.”
This drew him up short. Vhy don’t ve just stop, put the dropped stones in, and start over? He shook his head. No matter. He copied what Andrej had done to seat the bucket and settle the weight, then stood.
See? The veight vas nothing! He shook his head and started to walk. He hadn’t taken his second step before Andrej held up a hand, shaking his head. Vlk looked at him, then at the patch of ground where he pointed. Sure enough, there were four stones behind him in the dirt and grass. He was about to turn his head back to Andrej when another rock struck the grass beside him.
Vlk rolled his eyes. He started to reach for it, then remembered what he’d been told and left them there. Several more fell as he crossed the remaining distance.
He tried twice more in stubborn silence. Each time he walked, dropped stones, and had to finish crossing the short span. Only then could he recover his fallen freight, settle the bucket across his back, and try again. Impossibly, the field seemed to keep getting longer and longer. Finally, out of pure, sore frustration, he asked Andrej to show him again. It took him three more attempts, but eventually he managed it.
“Fiiiinally!” Vlk stood, rubbing his dim-side bicep. “Alright, now vhat?”
Andrej had been smiling, looking genuinely happy for him. At this question, however, his face fell, then grew serious. “You’re only half done, Vlk.”
Vlk groaned. “Hells. Yeah, ajo.” (right.) “Bright arm.” He shook his head. No point complaining. Had he actually been excited about coming here today?
He tightened his grip on the stave, reminding himself that he had, indeed. Vhat vas I thinking? And you do this every day? You’ve been doing this since that day? He didn’t know whether to pity Andrej or be jealous of him. After watching him walk the bucket back across the field with maddening ease, he still wasn’t sure how he felt. Vell, nothing for it. Shrugging—and smarting for it—he made ready to lift.