11 Train Well, Little One

The receiving chamber of Gilead gave off a feeling of agelessness. Perhaps it had stood for fifty years, perhaps a thousand. It was a simple enough room, low wooden benches leading down an aisle to a raised dais upon which sat an ancient-looking carved chair. Although the design reminded one of a courtroom, or perhaps a throne room, there was some indefinable quality about the whole thing that gave off a feeling of trust and fellowship.

Steven, Ganelon and I made small talk as we sat on one of the benches that gave a breathtaking view of the setting sun. Watching it, I could understand just why the lord of the land enjoyed meeting in this building.

After about half an hour, two serving lads entered carrying a wooden table between them. They shortly returned baring great covered dishes, pitchers, cups, and cutlery. Once they were gone, our host was not long in inviting us to sup. We enjoyed a great meal of steaks, slightly burnt on the outside, rich and juicy on the inside. There was grilled corn and mixed greens to go along with it, as well as thickly sliced bread. To cap off what was one of the best meals I had enjoyed in quite some time, there was a thick, wheat beer, wonderfully chilled and foamy.

Once dinner was finished and our appreciation of the beer well expressed, Steven's demeanor became serious once more.

"Corwin, it really has been great to catch up with you. It is not often these days that I get the chance to simply relax with dinner and an old friend. These are difficult times." He let out a long breath.

"Now what can I do for you, for I doubt that you stopped in after all this time just for a social visit?"

"You are right, of course," I said. "I need your help in training the boy. Through circumstances which I will not go in to now, he is my son, and I wish him to be trained in the ways of the warrior. I want him trained in the ways of the sword, body, mind, and gun. I would guess that your boy and his friends are starting their training to be gunslingers already?"

He looked at me thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded. I was sure he had many questions about my earlier statement about how Harry was my son through circumstances.

"At this time, you ask much of me, old friend," he finally said. There was no smile on his face now, and I could not recall the last time I had seen someone so careworn. "Things are not well in the Baronies, these days."

"How so," I asked.

He glanced around nervously as if to make sure that no one was listening in at the open windows. Then, he motioned me to lean closer. On his other side, Ganelon moved in also.

"It started a couple of hundred years ago, as you know, in the land of Delain. No one really knows why, for sure. Some believe that the king of the land got greedy, and kept demanding more and more tribute from his subjects. It is believed that the revolt started there, when the head of Peter of Delain was removed by one of his trusted advisers and put on a pike just outside of Delain's court.

"Regardless of what happened there, it was like a slow moving wave. Slowly, since the fall of Delain's last king, other kingdoms are suffering similar fates. it starts as general unrest and eventually results in the death of those in charge."

Another deep breath.

"The pace has begun accelerating over the past few years. Right now, the Inner Baronies still hold strong. Yet, I fear before Roland's world is many years older strife and dissent will find its way even into New Canaan and perhaps to noble Gilead herself. Our court magician, Marten Broadcloak, believes that he can work some spells to hold back the darkness for a while, but even he is doubtful for how long this will work.

"And," he added even softer. "I'm not sure that Marten himself is immune from the tide of anarchy and bloodshed that is running rampant through IN World." When he next spoke, I had to strain to hear him.

"Some say the Dark Tower is on the verge of falling, and that is the root of all of our trouble."

Before I could ask him just what the hell the Dark Tower was, he straightened up and resumed his former posture. It was obvious that that particular subject was closed. He looked at me steadily then, gauging my reaction to what he had told me. Finally, he continued.

"I have not forgotten what I owe to you, Corwin. It is partially out of concern for your welfare and that of yours that I tell you so much. You need to think carefully about whether you are sure you want your boy going through the training with Roland, Alain, Cuthbert, and the rest of the other boys. My own training was rough enough, but with things as I have described them to you, we have told Cort to hold nothing back in their discipline and training."

"The plan is for me to start with Harry's conditioning and training," Ganelon said, inserting himself into the conversation for the first time. "You probably saw that he was not in any shape for any kind of physical schooling at this time. I intend to get him ready for training with plenty of nutritional food and light exercises. I also think that seeing the training that your lads are undertaking will encourage him to catch up quickly out of pride and a desire to please his father."

Steven smiled grimly.

"And just what qualifications do you have to decide what is appropriate training, Master Ganelon? I think that perhaps we will determine that for ourselves upon the morrow. Yes, I think it would be fitting for you to face Cort in the morning to demonstrate your ability to teach."

Steven Deschain looked quickly at me before turning his attention to my companion.

"Should you best Cort, then I would indeed welcome you to stay here and train the boy until he is ready to work with Cort. Depending upon your skills, I might even ask you to lend a hand in certain aspects of the other boys' education. Should you fail, however, then you all must depart from here as soon as possible. I am only giving you this chance because I owe it to Corwin. And by the way, Corwin, where will you be if Harry is trained here?"

"I have errands that I must run elsewhere, places where Harry is not yet ready to go." It was an answer that said absolutely nothing, but the gunslinger in front of me accepted it at face value, as I knew he would.

Finally, he spoke again. "Very well. If Cort is defeated tomorrow, then you shall have training and lodgings with us as long as you need it, or until circumstances decree otherwise. Be advised, that you are permitted one weapon of your choice upon the morrow. Cort will use the same weapon he has always used, the staff."

He rose then, indicating that the meeting was over.

"A good evening to you both. Someone will be by presently to show you to your sleeping quarters. We shall meet again in the morning."

I looked across our host at Ganelon. I was more than a little angry by Steven's decision and I'm sure my displeasure showed on my face. Ganelon, on the other hand, was as cool and calm as if Steven had invited him to throw darts instead. He caught my eye and winked, an expression I'm sure our companion also noticed. Not much escaped that man's attention. It was one of the things that had impressed me most about him, his attention to detail.

Finally, I looked back at Steven and gave the only answer I could.

"Tell Cort to get all the rest he can tonight." I think my response pleased the gunslinger.

&-&-&-&-

The yard that faced the hall of the Gunslingers was not really a yard at all. It was more like a corridor lined with trees, leafy arches foremost on either end of the walk. Spectators were permitted only beyond these arches, for the interior was designed exclusively for the use of the combatants. Traditionally, this area was the place set aside for the tests that passed a boy from childhood to manhood. Only those who defeated their teacher in a fair fight were permitted to complete their apprenticeships and go on to become gunslingers. Many others failed to complete this step, usually ending up broken and bleeding. These were sent from the west gate, the gate they had entered from as boys. They were never again to be given the test, never again allowed to attempt to claim the guns that had been their birthrights. These were exiled from Gilead, never again to be welcomed in the houses of their parents.

Apparently, word of the impending battle had been leaked out to the occupants of the castle. The east side was thronged with people of all ages in preparation for the show to come. Grim-faced gunslingers with Steven among them, and some of them escorting their women, wide-eyed prentices, those who had passed their trials and now trained to become full fledged gunslingers, and the younger boys, bursting with excitement at the thought of seeing their teacher battle, all were there. I had been permitted to take my seat near that of my friend, and sat with the others waiting for the show to begin. I had decided that if Ganelon failed to pass this test, it would be prudent of us to move on at once; therefore, I had Star and Firedrake saddled and ready to go as soon as the event was over.

Harry did not sit with me. Steven had insisted, rightfully so I judged, that Harry should sit with the other boys in training. After all, if Ganelon won here, Harry would eventually be included with them in their lessons. As I looked over the crowd, I could see him sitting next to the Johns boy. The two appeared to be talking softly together, and I could only guess that Alain Johns was telling Harry about the traditional use of the lawn in front of us. This idea was enforced by the mixture of curiosity and awe that kept switching back and forth on my son's face. I had spoken with Harry earlier on, just after we breakfasted, and I knew that he was both excited and nervous about the fight to come. He had also told me that he was somewhat frightened by the descriptions of the training that the other boys were undergoing which had been told to him by his new acquaintances. I could not tell if he was rooting for Ganelon to win or lose, however. I'm sure he thought that if Ganelon lost, then I would be forced to take him with me back to deal with his affairs in the wizarding world. Of course, what he didn't yet understand was that there were plenty of other shadows where I could go to get him trained up. This one, or so I believed, had the best chance of making him in to the best overall warrior and person that he could be.

The talking died down as Ganelon exited the main keep and strode confidently towards the western end of the yard. He wore only a light weight shirt that he had acquired from somewhere, khaki pants, and a pair of black boots that, I guessed, he had again borrowed. Even as he stepped through the earthy arch, Cort appeared from the other end of the corridor. He wore attire nearly identical to that of my friend's, and carried in his hand a finely crafted ironwood stick. One end, I saw, was sharp and jagged , while the other was fat and blunt, the better for bludgeoning. Both men drew to a stop just inside the arena, sizing each other up and deciding upon opening moves.

It was then that Steven stood up. Any murmuring that had been going on stopped as if a plug had been pulled. Complete silence reigned. Finally, the lord of Gilead spoke.

"Fellow Gunslingers, noble women, young ones, all heed my words. A battle is to be fought here today. Cort, our great teacher, is shortly to meet in battle one Ganelon, traveling companion of my friend Corwin, son of Oberon. For those who are unaware, Corwin once saved my life many years ago. At that time, I promised him the granting of a favor should he ever need it. Now, he comes before us claiming his favor. He requests that we allow his son, Harry, to join in the training which we afford to our own kababbies.

"I have made the defeat of Cort by Ganelon the price for said training. If Ganelon defeats Cort, then he will stay here with young Harry and assist in his training, and perhaps that of the rest of our youngsters."

He stopped there and pointed at Cort.

"Cort, son of Fardo, what weapon do you choose to wield in your noble endeavor?"

The man looked up, scowling. "I choose the stick, as you know well, Lord."

"Even so," Steven replied, lips twitching just the slightest. He then looked at Ganelon.

"And you Ganelon, son of Jethro? What weapon will you choose to wield in your noble endeavor?"

Ganelon reached down to his side and raised a plain wooden stick in a jaunty salute. "This, Lord."

"Very well," Steven drew in breath. "Let the battle begin."

He then sat down.

Not much happened at first. The two warriors stepped forward in slow, measured steps, continuing to size each other up. Ganelon held his stick steadily, while Cort tossed his nonchalantly from hand to hand. Upon neither countenance was there to be seen the slightest sign of fear or worry.

The yard was not overly large, perhaps fifty yards long. In what appeared to be the exact center of it, a line had been drawn in the dirt. Upon either side of the line is where the two finally came to a stop.

"It is not often that I have had the pleasure of taking on one surely in the prime of manhood," Cort said just loud enough to be heard in the silence that still held. "Let us see if you remember the face of your father, maggot."

"Well, that sounds like no fun at all," Ganelon replied, a slight sneer of contempt making its way to his mouth. "Besides, for all I know, you and I have the same father. I'd ask my mother, but I really can't remember what her face looks like either."

I think Cort was surprised by this rejoinder, but Ganelon did not give him time to retort. His stick dove down in a graceful arc towards the top of Cort's head. The other man moved to block the blow, then returned with a sweeping down stroke towards Ganelon's crotch. That worthy gentleman danced nimbly out of the way, then returned with a vicious backhanded swipe that was also blocked. No more words were exchanged. Instead, the pair began circling, exchanging stupendous blows that I knew would do some serious damage if they connected. All that could be heard were the grunts of the two as they continued to exert themselves. I was frankly surprised. I had actually expected Ganelon to take the match very soon. I think that perhaps Ganelon was also surprised. Cort had a fierce demeanor, but I had not expected him to be able to keep up strength-wise with Ganelon. Obviously, I had been wrong. I only hoped that my friend was not going to be bested by this little man.

For over forty minutes, it continued. The stamina of both was astounding. Staffs continued to slam together as each man sought for dominance in their dance of destruction. Then, the unexpected and unwelcome happened.

Cort had aimed a short jab at Ganelon's upper torso, which the latter moved to block. However, Cort then drew back, feinted towards Ganelon's head, and swung in a slicing arc towards his unprotected knees. Somehow, and I don't think I will ever know how, Ganelon was able to get his stick down in time to block the blow that surely would have pulverized at least one of his knee caps. The stick he was carrying, however, wasn't as fortunate as its barer. It did succeed in blocking the crippling blow, but when the two weapons came together, it was Ganelon's weapon that broke asunder. He was left holding a short little piece of wood, while the rest was sent spinning off to the side, well out of reach. Cort grunted happily and swung his stick once more, aiming for my friend's unprotected neck. The slow smirk that had begun to blossom on his face was wiped away as Ganelon reached out with amazing reflexes and caught the stick, using Cort's own momentum to yank it from his grip and sending it flying in to the distance. At the same time, his right hand shot forward and delivered a chop right to the little man's bulging gut. I think it was at that time that Ganelon and I both grew to respect Cort a bit more. The blow connected, and I think it would have perhaps ruptured a lesser man's innards or crushed his sternum in the least. Cort only grunted and wheezed slightly, showing that the pot of his belly was as solid as iron.

Ganelon's surprise cost him. Seeing the slight opening as Ganelon paused to regroup was all the chance that Cort needed. His left arm shot forward and delivered its own blow to Ganelon's stomach. Ganelon staggered from the blow, and his stumble led him right in to the path of Cort's right cross. Ganelon flew backward and landed with an audible grunt as air was forced from his lungs upon impact.

Cort gave him no time to recover. Foregoing the search for his dropped weapon, he rushed forward and fell upon Ganelon, hands outstretched, reaching for the throat of his opponent. I had no doubts that the fight was over, then. Therefore, I was not the only one who gasped when Ganelon brought up his knees and launched his feet upward, connecting with Cort's descending chest. Cort was propelled backward and hit the ground hard. He was up fairly quickly, but Ganelon was faster. Cort had barely straightened when there was a flat CRACK, and Cort's head rocked to the side with the force of the blow. He staggered slightly, and was just in the correct spot for the toe of Ganelon's boot to connect in a roundhouse kick to Cort's temple. He sagged. Ganelon wasn't finished, however. He rushed in to close quarters, blocking Cort's feeble counterattack with one hand and delivering a crushing right fisted hammer blow to the other side of Cort's skull. Once, twice, three times he connected, each accompanied by a groan from the crowd. Then, he stepped back.

Cort lay unmoving upon the greenery of the grassy area. I was able to see that his chest still rose and fell, and I was glad that he was still alive. I was shocked at his skill, and I also wondered how in the name of the Unicorn any mere teenager was ever able to best him. Yes, I found myself glad that Cort would be involved in the teaching of my boy.

"Friends," Steven Deschain's voice rose to a shout. "Ganelon, son of Jethro is the winner."

A thunderous applause broke out amongst the spectators. I was surprised when I looked over to where the boys sat. Harry was applauding, but only half-heartedly. He looked excited, but also apprehensive. I thought I knew why, and I decided to speak to him about it before I took my leave. I was also surprised to see the look of loathing that was settled on Cuthbert's face as he stared at Cort's inert form, now being carried off the field by a couple of gunslinger prentices. I shrugged. Whatever the boy's dislike of Cort, it was not my problem.

I felt a firm hand on my shoulder and looked around to see Steven Deschain studying me carefully.

"Your man is a good fighter. I hope that he will consent to working with the babbies along with Cort."

"That will be up to him."

"I have a feeling that there is more to young Harry than you are letting on, my friend."

"If so, it will be up to him to tell you if he so wishes."

"As long as neither he nor Ganelon tend harm to Gilead and its citizens, there is no problem," Steven said, and I noticed that his hand was on the butt of one of the sandalwood revolvers that hung by his side.

I looked steadily in to his eyes though and did not flinch. "You will have no problems with them," was all I said.

He looked at me for another moment as if searching for something, then abruptly nodded.

"All is well, then."

&-&-&-&-

Star welcomed me as I strolled up to the magnificent horse. Harry and Ganelon were with me. Ganelon was there to give Firedrake a rub down since he would no longer be needed for riding duty right away. He limped slightly, and there was a bandage on his right hand. Apparently, not just Cort's belly was banded steel.

"You will be okay here," I asked him.

"Yes. Nothing has changed since yesterday, except the bruising on my body," he said, attempting a week joke.

"Very good, then."

I looked at Harry.

"Harry, give the trump I gave you to Ganelon."

Hesitantly, almost rebelliously, the little boy reached in his pocket and fished out the tarot card. He thrust it at Ganelon who took it, also with a questioning look on his face.

"Harry, you will have this as a reward once you have mastered the mental disciplines that Ganelon will show you. I will be looking forward to talking with you."

Ganelon and I exchanged a few more words before he took his leave, heading off to tend to Firedrake.

Once Harry and I were left alone, I squatted down to put myself at Harry's eye level.

"It's going to be tough here, little one, but I know you'll do fine."

His bottom lip was trembling, and I had the feeling he was on the verge of tears.

"Last night, Alain and the others were telling me what their training was like," Harry finally said. "They told me how any mis-step they made or anytime they failed to live up to expectations, Cort smacks them around. I don't want to be smacked around anymore. I got enough of that from Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia and Dudley."

I put a hand on his shoulder to offer what comfort I could.

"Harry, I know how it sounds. But there is a very big difference between the Dursleys and Cort and Steven. The Dursleys beat you because they were afraid of you and could care less what happened to you. Here, there is every likelihood that you will be hit again. However, it is to correct you and to help make you in to the warrior that you will need to be in order to avenge your parents as well as to get you ready for walking the Pattern and navigating shadows. Cort will hit you, yes, but it is because he knows that you will be capable of what he asks of you. This is a very high honor you are being accorded, even if it doesn't seem like it right now. According to what Steven told me after the fight earlier, you will be the first not born in Gilead who will be allowed to undertake the gunslinger training."

Seeing that he was still not convinced, I decided to say one more thing on the subject.

"Harry, if you complete this training and then the training that I intend to give you, I seriously think that you will surpass me as a warrior, no mean feat I assure you."

Harry nodded, and while the fear was not completely gone from him, I could see that he now stood a little straighter, his face set with determination. I felt my heart glow with pride for a moment.

"Learn well, Harry. Make me proud, son."

That comment earned me a huge smile, as I had known it would.

"And, don't forget. Once you have sufficiently learned meditation and the mind disciplines of a true warrior which Ganelon will teach you, you'll be able to speak to me whenever you wish."

"Yes, sir," he said, and his voice was now firm with resolve. I leaned even farther forward then and brushed my lips over his scar.

"Take care, my son. I will not say farewell, only so long. And when we meet again, perhaps I will have more people for you to meet. More wizards, even."

I left my son then, one little boy standing alone in a strange land except for Ganelon, a fellow he had known only for a couple of days.

I mounted Star and kicked him in to a gallop, riding hard through the city of Gilead, trying to outdistance the strange feeling of sorrow that kept pace with me as I rode. Once, I thought I felt eyes on the back of my neck, and turning my head, saw the shortest glimpse of a man wearing a cloak of forest green. I felt that there was something familiar about him, but when I glanced back again, he was gone. Thus, I saw for the first time, the bastard known as Marten Broadcloak.

Soon, I was far from Gilead, far from the shadow of the gunslingers, headed back towards the shadow earth, and back to try and possibly free an innocent man from prison.

A/N: Thanks for the amazing number of reviews for the last chapter. I think I counted zero. Once I get a reviewer who can tell me what crossover this portion of the story involves, I will write the disclaimer for it.