Songreaver (19 page)

"Line up!" she shouted.

The novices tightened and coalesced into a
mostly straight line.

The woman turned to face the temple, her head
slightly bowed. "Oh, Dweller Beneath," she cried, "She Who Gives
Life from Death! I give you my thanks for trusting me with this
wretched lot of mealworms and beg from you the blessing of
patience, lest I crush them all in the manner which they
deserve!"

One of the taller boys, standing on the other
side of Banden from Garrett, snorted with laughter.

The woman spun and hurled one of the wooden
staves with sudden and violent force. A loud
conk
resounded
through the courtyard, followed by the disrespectful boy's howls of
pain as he collapsed to the ground, clutching his bleeding
forehead.

One of the other boys hurried to retrieve the
projectile that lay a short distance away.

"Did I tell you to get out of line?" the
woman shouted, raising another stick in her free hand.

The boy's face went pale and he ran to take
his place back in line.

"Lesson One," the woman shouted, "Never
interrupt a priestess at prayer!"

The boy on the ground moaned and tried to get
to his feet, but he swayed and fell again.

"Lesson Two," she shouted, "Guard your head!"
she tapped the stave in her hand against her own forehead. "One
solid blow, even through a helmet, and you're as useless as this
little grub here." She waved the point of her stick at the bloodied
boy who was still struggling to rise.

Banden stooped to help him, but the Matron
screamed again.

"Hands off!"

Banden jerked back, terrified of the woman's
wrath.

The woman started to walk toward Banden, a
scowl on her face, when she suddenly noticed Garrett, and her eyes
went wide. She dumped most of her armload of staves with a clatter
atop the one she had thrown earlier. She kept one stick in her
right hand as she walked toward Garrett.

"What in the twelve hells is that thing on
your head?" she hissed.

Garrett recoiled in terror as she bore down
on him but dared not step out of line.

"What are you wearing, little worm?" she
demanded.

Garrett's hand went to his hood. "Miss
Serepheni said..." he began.

The point of a stave drove up into his belly
with a force that knocked the breath from his chest. Garrett
doubled over, gasping.

"Stand up!" the woman shouted.

Garrett sucked in a breath and blinked.

"Stand up!"

She lifted his chin with the point of her
club.

Garrett stood up as straight as he was able,
his hands crossed over his bruised stomach.

"I asked you what you are wearing on your
head," the hawk-faced woman whispered.

Garrett's eyes went toward the temple doors
where Miss Serepheni had gone.

"Look at me!" the woman shouted, so loudly
that Garrett's ears hurt.

"I'm sorry," Garrett rasped.

"What is that thing on your head?" she
demanded again.

"A h... hood," Garrett gasped.

She looked down either side of the line and
shook her head. "Do you see anyone else here wearing a
h...
hood
?" she asked.

"No, Ma'am," he said.

"
No, Matron
," she corrected him.

"No, Matron," Garrett said.

"Then why are
you
wearing it?" she
hissed.

Garrett swallowed hard and dragged the hood
off his head. He saw the flash of horror in Banden's eyes beside
him.

"
Gods!
" another boy gasped.

The Matron wheeled to face the other boy, and
leveled her staff at his face. "What is the punishment for
blasphemy?" she shouted.

The boy's face twisted in fear. "I'm sorry,
Matron," he said, "I didn't mean..."

"Shut your mouth before I stuff it full of
hot coals!" she said.

The boy started to apologize and then clamped
his hand over his lips, blushing red.

The Matron turned her attention back to
Garrett. "You must be that grave-robber kid they sent me to punish
me for all my hard years of service," she said.

Garrett hung his head and said nothing.

"Don't worry," she laughed, "the Goddess
doesn't care how ugly you are." She stepped back and spread her
arms wide. "Not one of you here has a face too pretty to hit with a
stick."

The boy with the bloody face had finally got
to his feet again and stood, wobbling a little, at Banden's
shoulder.

"You will call me Matron Brix," she said, "At
least that is what you will call me to my face. Anything else...
well, you'd better make sure I don't hear it." She grinned,
revealing a dark gap where she was missing one of her front
teeth.

Matron Brix turned and tossed her stave onto
the pile of sticks in the center of the courtyard. She then backed
away and gestured toward the pile.

"Break line and take a club, one for each of
you," she said, "We're going to find out who knows how to fight...
and who doesn't."

The boys scrambled forward to pull sticks
from the pile. Garrett held back letting the others go before him.
He fought the urge to pull the hood back over his head and tried to
keep from looking at anyone else.

Banden stepped forward and picked the last
stave up from the ground and looked around. "Did someone take two?"
he asked.

Garrett looked around as well. There weren't
enough staves for everyone.

"You can have this one," Banden said,
offering it to Garrett.

"No," Garrett said, "You keep it. I'm not
very good at fighting anyway. I'll sit this one out."

Matron Brix laughed.

Garrett looked up at her.

"You don't get to
sit this one out
,"
she said.

"But there aren't enough sticks," he
protested.

"Then maybe you'll get to the pile a little
quicker next time," she said.

Garrett's chest tingled with suppressed rage,
and he felt his cheeks flush with shame. He balled his gloved hands
into fists and took a breath.

Brix smiled and nodded. "Begin," she
said.

The boys looked at each other in confusion,
waving their staves warily.

"Begin!" Matron Brix shouted.

One of the larger boys stepped in and whipped
his stave hard into Garrett's upper arm. Garrett staggered back,
roaring in pain.

Banden was there, suddenly, parrying the
other boy's next blow with his own staff in Garrett's defense.

Garrett had to duck to avoid the wild swing
of a gangly boy who had just aimed for his head. Garrett drove his
fist up into the boy's ribs, earning a satisfying grunt of pain in
response.

Another boy took the gangly boy's side, and
Garrett abandoned all hope of offence in a frantic defense, taking
blow after blow from their staves on his forearms and legs.

A groan and the sound of someone falling down
came from Garrett's left, and Banden leapt from his downed opponent
to Garrett's side.

"Get his staff!" Banden yelled, interposing
himself between Garrett and his attackers.

Garrett glanced down to see the boy who had
originally attacked him now writhing on the ground with one arm
shielding his battered face. Garrett stooped and wrenched the stave
from the stunned boy's fingers.

A sharp rap across Garrett's back announced
the arrival of another attacker, and Garrett came up, swinging
hard. The larger boy shrugged off Garrett's strike to his chest and
landed a stinging blow on Garrett's weapon arm.

Garrett hissed and struggled to maintain his
grip on the stick. He crouched low and tried to parry the boy's
next swing. He managed to deflect most of the force of the blow,
but the glancing hit stung his thigh.

Nearby, one of the boys cried out as Banden
neatly disarmed him and then bloodied his nose with a lightning
quick riposte. Others took notice of Banden's skill, and soon every
other boy still standing had joined forces against Garrett and his
friend.

Banden did his best to hold against the
circle of fighters surrounding them as he fought back-to-back with
Garrett against the others. Garrett did not fare as well.

As Garrett reeled from a stinging blow to his
ear, one of his attackers reached in and wrested the stave from his
grasp. After that, all he could do was to tuck in and try to
protect his head as the other boys rained blows down on his
shoulders and arms. A blow to his gut drove him to his knees, and
he felt Banden throw his body on top of him in a desperate attempt
to protect him from the beating.

"Stop!" Matron Brix yelled.

At once the others withdrew, standing back in
a sweating, panting, bruised wordless after-rage.

Banden helped Garrett to his feet. A little
trickle of blood ran down from Banden's eyebrow, and the side of
his face was starting to swell, but he looked ready to continue the
fight.

"Thanks," Garrett whispered. His whole body
hurt.

Banden nodded, still trying to catch his
breath.

"So you see," Matron Brix said, waving the
boys back into line, "even a skilled foe may be brought down
through teamwork."

She looked at Banden with a critical eye.
"Where did you learn to fight?" she asked.

"My sister taught me, Matron Brix," Banden
panted.

Brix nodded. "You, at least show some
promise," she said.

She looked at Garrett and shook her head.
"You fight like a toddler," she said, "Do you know how to
read?"

"Yes, Matron Brix," Garrett answered.

"Good," she said, "The librarians have been
asking for some help. You'll report there tomorrow. You're useless
to me."

****

Garrett touched a fingertip to the swollen
spot on his lip and immediately wished he hadn't. He grimaced. Even
that hurt. He tasted blood on the tip of his tongue. The cold stone
of the bathhouse floor felt good against the soles of his bare feet
as he walked, stiffly, to where he had left his boots in the outer
hall. He wore a green neophyte's tunic with his medallion tucked
safely beneath against his skin. His own clothes now lay in a
sweaty heap beside his boots. A damp towel hung, cool and heavy,
draped over his head as a sort of makeshift hood. At least he was
clean again, and most of the bleeding had stopped.

The sound of chimes drifted in through the
high windows of the bathhouse, and the distant voices of girls
talking as they walked by on their way to somewhere else. Garrett
slumped against the smooth stone wall and slid down into a sitting
position beside his boots. He dragged the towel off his head to dry
his feet. Max would understand if he didn't come back.

He tugged on one boot with some difficulty.
The leather kept sticking to the clammy skin of his leg, and his
feet felt swollen. His heel finally seated into the base of his
boot and he paused to catch his breath before moving on to the
other foot. If Max wanted a necromancer in the temple so badly,
maybe
he
should come down here and get the sense beaten out
of
him
. No, Max would have figured some clever way to avoid
the whole thing... probably by tricking someone else into doing it
for him.

Garrett fumed, imagining a dozen ways to tell
Max off the next time they met.

"Garrett?" Serepheni's voice called out from
beyond the bathhouse doorway, "Are you in there?"

"Yeah," Garrett answered. He started to get
to his feet, but then decided against it. Sitting down felt really
good... well, at least less bad.

"May I come in?" she asked.

"Oh... yeah," he said. He thought about
quickly throwing the towel back over his head, but he pushed the
thought, and the towel, away.

Serepheni walked around the corner, smiling
tensely. She carried a small malachite jar in her hands. She winced
when she saw his face, from the sight of his bruises, he hoped.

"May I sit with you?" she asked.

Garrett looked down at the puddled floor and
then up at her green silk habit, and scrambled to his feet. "How
about over there?" he said, indicating a long wooden bench
nearby.

Serepheni followed him to the bench and sat
down beside him, opening the lid of the jar. A minty aroma wafted
from the lime-colored cream inside. "I thought you might need some
of this," she said, dragging her fingertip across the surface of
the cream.

Garrett flinched but did not pull away as
Serepheni massaged the tingling cream into the bruised skin of his
cheek. She worked it down along the line of his lip, dabbing gently
against the cut. Garrett breathed in sharply when he felt the
balm's sting, but he quickly resumed his stony expression.

Serepheni brushed her thumb across his chin
and grinned. "It looks as if you need a shave," she said.

"Huh?" Garrett said.

"You've grown a bit bristly," She said, "Do
you intend to grow a beard?"

"Oh, no," Garrett said.

"Good," Serepheni said, leaning back to study
him, "I think you look very nice without a beard."

"Thanks," Garrett said.

"All right," she said, "shirt off."

"What?" Garrett said, his eyes bulging a
little.

"I need to tend the rest of your bruises,"
Serepheni said, "Take your shirt off and let me see them."

Garrett shook his head. "No, I'm good,
really," he said, "Just the face really, thanks."

"Don't be such a baby," she said, "I'm a
trained healer."

Garrett jumped to his feet and swung his arms
at his sides. "No, I'm really all right," he insisted, "I feel much
better already."

Serepheni laughed. "All right," she said,
"but I'll leave this with you... in case you need it later." She
sat the little jar of salve down on the bench beside her.

"Thanks," he said.

Serepheni nodded. "Thank you," she said.

"For what?"

"For...
enduring
this for me," she
said, "I know it wasn't easy."