Hawkmistress! (40 page)

It seemed to Romilly that every day she learned something new about Jandria. So she had laran too? Laran of that curious kind which could link to send messages over the trackless miles? She felt shy and confused again - could Janni read what she was thinking, know all her rebellion, her fears? She kept her mind away from the implications of that.

“If I am to break horses here,” she said, “I suppose I should go at once to the stables and begin.”

Jandria laughed. “I think there will be time to have breakfast first,” she said, “The Housemother told me to sleep as long as I could after the long ride; and I think we have slept long enough that we can find someplace to eat in the dining-room without kicking the sleepers off tables. That was the only reason I did not want to sleep on the floor there - I knew the cooks and servers for this tenday would come in and rouse us at daybreak so they could get to their breakfast kettles!”

And indeed by the time they were dressed, the dining-room was empty, with only a few old women lingering over cups of hot milk and bread soaked in them. They helped themselves to porridge from the kettle and ate, after which Betta came in search of them.

“You are to go to the Housemother, Lady Jandria,” she said, “And Mistress Romilly to the stables.”

Jandria chuckled good-naturedly and said, “Just Jandria or Janni. Have you forgotten the rule of the Sisterhood?”

“Janni, then,” Betta replied, but she still spoke with residual deference. “Practice in unarmed combat is at noon in the grass-court; swordplay at the fourth hour after. I will see you there.”

In the stables and paddock, Romilly found a number of horses; black horses from the Kilghard Hills, the finest she had ever seen. It would be, she thought, a pleasure and a privilege to train these to the saddle.

“They are needed by the Army, in as much haste as possible,” said Tina, who had brought her here, “And they must be trained to the saddle, to a steady pace, and to stand against loud noises. I can get you as many helpers as you need, but we have no expert, and Lady Jandria told us that you have the MacAran Gift. So you will be in charge of the work of training them.”

Romilly looked at the horses; there were a good two dozen of them. She asked, “Have any of them been trained to pacing on a lunge-line?”

“About a dozen,” Tina said, and Romilly nodded.

“Good; then find a dozen women who can try their paces, and take them out in the paddock,” she said, “and I will begin getting to know the others.”

When the women came she noticed that Betta was among them, and greeted her with a nod and smile. She sent them out to work for a few minutes at running the horses in circles on the lunge-lines, steadying their paces, and went into the stable to choose the horse which she would herself work with.

She decided to give each horse into the charge of the woman who had exercised it today; it was easier if they formed a close tie with the horse.

“For then the animal will trust you,” she told them, “and will do things to please you. But it cannot be a one-way connection,” she warned, “Even as the horse loves and trusts you, you must love him - or, if it is a mare, love her - and be completely trustworthy, so that the horse can read in your mind that you love; you cannot pretend, for he will read a lie in moments. You must be open to the horse’s feelings, too. Another thing-” she gestured to the short training-whips which were in their hands, “You can snap the whips if you like, to get their attention. But if you hit any horse enough to mark it, you are no trainer; if I see a whip in serious use, you can go and practice your swordplay instead!”

She sent them to work and listened for a moment to the chattering as they went out.

“Not to use our whips? What are they for, then?”

“I don’t understand this woman. Where is she from, the far mountains? Her speech is so strange. …”

Romilly would have thought it was their speech which was strange, slow and thoughtful, as if they chewed every word a dozen times before speaking; while it seemed to her that she talked naturally. Still, after she had heard a dozen women say they they could not understand her, she tried to slow her own speech and speak with what seemed to her an affected, unnatural slowness.

If they were at Falconsward, everyone would think their speech silly, foreign, affected. I suppose it is a matter of what they are used to.

She turned to the horses with definite relief. At least, with them, she could be herself and they, at any rate, would not be critical of her speech or manners.

The horses, at least, speak my language, she thought with pleasure.

There were so many of them, and of all kinds, from sturdy shaggy mountain ponies like the one she had killed on the way here, to sleek blacks such as her own father bred. She went into the loose-box among them (to the distinct horror of Betta, who seemed as troubled as if she had gone into a cage full of carnivorous mountain-cats) and moved through them, trying to find the right horse to begin with. She must do a splendid job of training, because she knew that there was some grumbling - she looked so young, they said, and they would be quick to spot any mistakes.

I am not so young, and I have been working among horses since I was nine years old. But they do not know that.

As she moved through the box, one horse backed up against the wooden rails and began kicking; Romilly noticed the wide rolling eyes, the lips drawn back over the teeth.

“Come out and away from that one, Romilly, he’s a killer - we are thinking of returning him to the Army, who can turn him out to pasture for stud; no one will be able to ride that one - he’s too old for breaking to saddle!” Tina called it anxiously, but Romilly, lost and intent, shook her head.

He is frightened almost to death, no more. But he won’t hurt me.

“Bring me a lead-rope and bridle, Tina. No, you needn’t come into the box if you are afraid, just hand it to me across the rails,” she said. Tina handed it through, her face pale with apprehension, but Romilly, rope in hand, had her eyes only on the black horse.

Well, you beauty, you, do you think we can make friends, then?

The horse backed nervously, but he had stopped kicking. What fool put him into this crowded box, anyhow? Softly, softly, Blackie, 1 won’t hurt you; do you want to go out in the sunshine? She formed a clear image of what she meant to do, and the horse, snorting uneasily, let him pull her head down and slip bridle and lead-rope over it. She heard Tina catch her breath, amazed, but she was so deeply entwined now with the horse that she had no thought to spare for the woman.

“Open the gate,” she said abstractedly, keeping close contact with the mind of the stallion. “That’s wide enough. Come along now, you beautiful black thing… . See, if you handle them right, no horse is vicious; they are only afraid, and don’t know what’s expected of them.”

“But you have laran,” said one of the watchers, grudgingly, “We don’t; how can we do what you do?”

“Laran or no,” Romilly said, “if your whole body and every thought in it is stiff with fear, do you expect the horse not to know it, to smell it on you, even? Act as if you trusted the animal, talk to him, make a clear picture in your mind of what you want to do - who knows, they may have some land of laran of their own. And above all, let him know absolutely that you won’t hurt him. He will see and feel it in every movement you make, every breath, if you are afraid of him or if you wish him ill.” She turned her attention back to the horse. “So, now, lovely fellow, we’re going into the sunshine in the paddock … come along, now … no, not that way, silly, you don’t want to go back in the stable,” she said half aloud, with a little tug on the ropes. In the paddock half a dozen women were running horses in circles on the long lunge-lines, calling to them, and in general keeping the pace smooth. Romilly made a quick check of what was going on - none of them were doing really badly, but then no doubt they had chosen the more docile animals for training first - and found a relatively isolated place of paddock; one or more of the mares might be in season and she did not want him distracted. She backed away on the lunge-line and clucked to him.

He was strong, a big, heavy horse, and for a moment Romilly was almost jerked off her feet as he began to lope, found the line confining him, then explored its limits and began to run in a circle at its limit. She pulled hard and he slowed to a steady walk, around and around. After a little, when she was sure he had the idea, she began to let him move a little faster.

His paces are beautiful; a horse fit for Carolin’s self. Oh, you glorious thing, you!

She let him run for almost an hour, accustoming him to the feeling of the bridle, then called for a bit. He fought it a little, in surprise - Romilly half sympathized with him; she did not much blame him, she did not think she would care to have a cold metal thing forced into her mouth, either.

But that’s the way it is, beauty, you’ll get used to it, and then you can ride with your master… .

At noon she led him back, suggesting to one of the women they put her more docile horse into the loose-box and leave her own small stall for the black stallion. Already, it seemed, she could see the nebulous figure of King Carolin riding into Hali on this splendid horse.

From this work, which she found easy - well, not exactly easy, but familiar and pleasant - she was sent to practice unarmed combat. She did not especially mind having to learn to fall without hurting herself - she had, after all, fallen from a horse more times than she could remember while she was learning to ride, and she supposed the skill was similar - but the series of holds, thrusts, jabs and throws seemed endlessly complex, and it seemed that every woman there, including the beginners with whom she was set to practice basic movements, knew more of it than she did. One of the older women, watching her for a moment, finally motioned her away, signalled to the others to go on, and said, “How long have you been pledged to the Sisterhood, my girl?”

Romilly tried to remember. Things had been happening so swiftly in the last few moons that she really had no notion. She shrugged helplessly. “I am not sure. Some tendays-“

“And you do not see much cause for this kind of training, do you?”

She said, carefully trying to be tactful, “I am sure there must be some reason for it, if it is taught in every hostel of the Sisterhood.”

“Where were you brought up - what’s your name?”

“Romilly. Or I’m called Romy sometimes. And I was brought up in the foothills of the Hellers, near Falconsward.”

The woman nodded. “I would have guessed that much from your speech; but you grew up in outland country, then, not near to a big city, where you never met a stranger?”

“That’s true.”

“Well, then. Suppose you are walking down a city street, one of the more crowded and dirty sections.” She beckoned and the girl who had sat next to Romilly at supper last night, Betta, came and joined them.

“You are walking along a duty street where thieves cluster and men think all women like the doxies of the taverns,” the older woman said. Betta shrugged, began to walk along the wall and the older woman suddenly leaped at her with a strangling grip. Romilly gasped as Betta twisted her upper body, jerked the woman forward and flung her to her knees, her arm immobilized behind her back.

“Ow! Betta, you are a little rough, but I think Romy sees what is meant. Now, come at me with a knife.”

Betta took up a small wooden stick, about the size of a clasp-knife, and came at the woman with ‘knife’ lowered to stab. So rapidly that Romilly could not see what happened, the ‘knife’ was in the other woman’s hands and Betta lying on her back on the floor, where the older woman pretended to kick her.

“Careful, Clea,” Betta warned, laughing and moving out of the way, then suddenly jerked at the woman’s foot and pulled her down.

Laughing in her turn, Clea scrambled up. She said to Romilly, “Now do you see what good this might be to you? Particularly in a city like this, where we are at the edge of the Drylands, and there are likely to be men who think of women as possessions to be chained and imprisoned? But even in a civilized city like Thendara, you are likely to meet with those who will have neither respect nor courtesy for man or woman. Every women taken into the Sisterhood must learn to protect herself, and-” her laughing face suddenly turned deadly serious, “When you are life-pledged to the Sisterhood, like myself, you will wear this.” She laid her hand on the dagger at her throat “I am pledged to kill rather than let myself be taken by force; to kill the man if I can, myself if I cannot.”

A shiver ran down Romilly’s back. She did not know whether she would be able to do that or not. She had been prepared to injure Rory seriously, if she must. But to kill him? Would that not make her as bad as he was?

I shall face that if, and when, I am sworn for life to the Sisterhood, should that day ever come. By then, maybe, I will know what I can do and what I cannot.

Clea saw her troubled look and patted her shoulder. “Never mind, you will learn. Now get over there and practice. Betta, take her and show her the first practice moves so she won’t be so confused; time enough later to throw her into a group of beginners.”

Now that somebody had bothered to inform Romilly what they were doing and why, it went better. She began to realize, then and in the days that followed, that when she faced another woman in these sessions, she could read, by following tiny body and eye movements, precisely what the other was going to do, and take advantage of it. But knowing was not enough; she also had to learn the precise movements and holds, jabs and thrusts and throws, the right force to use without actually damaging anyone.