Chapter One: Suspicious Strangers
Lord Padraig haMinch had no inkling of the thoughts that rambled through the head of the boy that stood before him. He saw a meek, well-mannered boy, too small for his age, with brass curls and blue eyes, and the gray-and-gold badge of Stone Mountain fastening his cloak. The training master knew that Stone Mountain was a Book of Silver family, conservatives like himself, and that their son, Joren, had been convicted of a property crime against a fellow noble during his squirehood. And, of course, he knew how the boy died.
For Lord Padraig, a boy who'd lost his brother to the knighthood was the best kind of page. Loyal, driven, possessed of an infallible role-model… exemplary. He had high hopes for young Luno, for all his mousiness.
"Sit," he commanded.
"Yes, milord," answered the boy, and sat straight-backed in the offered chair, his eyes level, lips sealed and hands on his thighs.
"You've come to begin your page's training," began the training master. "As of now, you are my responsibility. A knight's work is hard and demanding, and to prepare for it you must complete equally hard and demanding training as a page, and then as a squire. If you want your shield, you will trust in the wisdom of your elders and follow our nation's time-honored traditions, as dictated to you by myself. I am the absolute authority over you for the next four years. This is a great commitment, and now is your last chance to refuse it."
The boy was unjarred, his eyes bright and meeting those of his elder.
"Do you accept the responsibility that is your birthright?" asked the training master.
Luno did not hesitate for a moment. "Yes."
Satisfied that his assessment of the boy's determination was accurate, Lord Padraig sat back. "Dismissed."
"Yes, milord." The boy rose, bowed, and left, shutting the door after him quietly.
Luno settled into his room quickly; he hadn't brought much. Lord Burchard had promised all sorts of rewards if his son was diligent in his training, but for the moment, most of what was in his room had been there when the pages' housekeeper let him in. He'd limited his packing to the most necessary clothing and his absolute favorite books, and now his room seemed as pristine as a monk's. He remembered visiting Joren with his mother and being unsurprised that his page's quarters were as messy as his chamber at home still was.
There was some comfort in washing his face and choosing his favorite clothes to face imminent judgement in. He had no idea what his fellow pages would be like, but he'd been warned to be wary of their ways, from teasing to hazing to other things. Out there in the hallway was a world both alien and dangerous, one that might turn him any which way, even if he didn't really want to change. Luno took a deep, shuddering breath and opened the door.
He stood as straight and solemn as he knew in front of his door, not even looking sideways to see the other first-years. His room was the first in the hallway, he noted with panic a second before the training master approached him, and behind him a small crowd of boys. He didn't even have time to assess their numbers before Lord Padraig asked the crowd. "Who of you elder pages will sponsor Luno of Stone Mountain?"
There was a silence. "Volunteers!" demanded the training master, and about half the boys raised their hands hesitantly. "Dero of Azanth," Lord Padraig declared. Luno examined the boy who pulled away from his fellows and walked toward him. Dero looked about fourteen, with the build of a warrior but the suggestion of lazy indifference in his movements. Not even his very closely-cropped hair and long nose that appeared very recently broken detracted from the casual air he carried.
Lord Padraig moved away, and Luno was free to silently survey his fellows from beneath thick lashes. His sponsor didn't seem inclined to talk to him, but just stuck his long hands in the pockets of his breeches and gazed about him nonchalantly. A quick head count revealed to Luno that, apart from the solemn and stocky Lord Padraig, there were roughly twenty boys in the pack before him, all ranging from about eleven to about sixteen. Some stood out and were easy to spot: a very tall boy with freckles, two Bhazir, one in wholly northern dress and the other boasting a burnoose looped around his neck, two boys who chattered and fidgeted constantly, and a girl.
There were only four other first-year pages who needed sponsors. Two of them looked just as terrified as Luno felt, and the third bore a happy-go-lucky attitude that reminded Luno of his sponsor, just a little. The last boy in the row was almost definitely a Yamani. When the training master asked who would sponsor the boy, one hand immediately shot up with unlikely enthusiasm. "Rose of Sellend." Lord Padraig sounded vaguely bored as he watched the volunteer stride up to her charge with large, energetic steps.
"Sponsors, you know what to do," said the training master. "Dismissed." With that lacking introduction, he left.
The boys who had not been chosen as sponsors dispersed, mostly in one general direction. The other first-years were conferring with their elders. Luno turned to the boy who stood beside him, not knowing how to start.
The older page spared him the trouble. "Don't call me Dero," he said firmly. "I'm Trick, and I've been around long enough to earn the name, so don't go thinking you can ignore that. What do you call yourself?"
"Just Luno," replied Luno.
"As a first-year, you're gonna get a lot of flack," Trick went on, "that's just how we do things in the pages' wing. I'm not your mommy or your older brother, and it's not my job to protect you from that. You'll earn your way just like anyone else, are we clear?"
"Yes." Luno didn't expect any favors from this fellow.
"Now, I'm on my fourth year, which means next year I won't be around anymore," added Trick.
"Of course," agreed Luno.
"That means you gotta learn to get along here before then. And pretty soon none of us will have enough free time to count our stockings, so I won't be coddling you forever," said Trick. "A lot of first-years come here thinking their sponsor is someone they can go to whenever they have a problem. I don't know what other sponsors are like, but as far as I'm concerned, once you can find your way to the armory, the classrooms, the practice courts and the mess, you're on your own. I won't help you with your homework, I won't let you cry on my shoulder when you're homesick and I won't fight your fights. You fend for yourself here, Luno."
"I understand," replied Luno.
"Good." Trick smiled. "Now, come on. First thing I show you is the mess. It's dinnertime."
In the mess-hall, Trick pointed out the other pages to Luno by name, stating his opinion of each one. They sat with Trick's friends, a lively group that included the two chatterers Luno had noticed before. Trick's friends often had something of their own to add about each of the pages.
"Kevoll haMinch, Master's nephew," Trick pointed out a dark-haired, light-eyed boy.
"Wishes Uncle played favorites a little more, on my money," added Petro.
Trick made a face. "Shame Master hates everyone equally." He pointed to another, younger boy. "Manser of Thule. You can't miss that beak -- his brother had it."
"He was new the year before last, finished his first year, went home for the harvest and that was that," told Isak.
"Hasn't shown his face in the palace since," drawled Trick. "It's a wonder his brother would."
Just then Jo, who sat across from Trick, winked at him and nudged Petro and Rydrian. Trick seemed to take the sign, since he casually but for no visible reason slid his chair back at an angle, so he could see whatever Jo had seen. A crooked smile spread on his face.
"Rose of Sellend," mouthed Jo to Luno, with another wink.
"The belle of the pages' wing," Trick said from the corner of his mouth. Isak dared roll his eyes and received a slap to the shoulder for his troubles. "Shut up," growled Trick softly, although his friend had not said a word.
The page looked to be about a year younger than Trick. Her movements were confident and suggestive of a , almost consuming energy within. A braid in myriad earthy shades wound around her head. Not exactly a belle, thought Luno. They probably only think that because she's the only girl. For himself, he had more important judgements to make of a page than her looks.
But time for judgements was scarce. Luno spent his first morning of page's training fighting his best just to keep up. The noon bell heralded a struggle to be ready for lunch on time, lunch was a battle against the urge not to eat at all and just to fall asleep instead. When the afternoon studies came, Luno was awash with relief. He may be young and green, but there were a few things he did know how to do.
While Luno celebrated his first few achievements, the other pages threatened to nod off. Penalties for sleeping through class were high, so most of the veterans had developed elaborate schemes to help themselves and their friends keep awake until dinner. Trick's friends held lively discussions throughout the first three classes, but were forced to separate for the fourth, when Trick himself left, reluctantly joining the small group of Gifted boys who had a more active lesson in magic awaiting him.
"But being Gifted is a good thing," whispered Luno to Rydrian in class, baffled. "Why does he make it look like a chore?"
"Whilst we burden our heads with the very complicated task of knowing our enemies," explained Rydrian, "he gets to be buffeted with magical exercises by Long Lankin, the maddest wizard in the Eastern Lands."
Surely the teachers for Gifted pages weren't that bad, thought Luno, but kept the thought to himself. Their teacher of the moment seemed to have fixed his reptilian eyes on Trick's gang, and it was far too soon to start gathering penalties for interrupting class. Glad to distract his thoughts from his own, saddening Giftlessness, the boy listened absorbedly, ignoring Jo's muttered tease about young dimwits who worked harder than they had to at academic unnecessaries. There were next to no immortals in Fief Stone Mountain, so all this was new to Luno.
On his second day of training, Luno was held back after class by the teacher of law and history. The tubby old man scrutinized him, then spoke.
"Luno of Stone Mountain, isn't it?" said the knight.
"Yes, Sir Myles," replied Luno automatically.
"I'd like to have a word with you, if you don't mind," asked Sir Myles. "Oh, not now, you have lessons yet today. Come to my chambers after dinner, please. The other boys can show you where that is."
"Yes, Sir Myles." Luno bowed, and went on to his etiquette class, baffled. Well, there was nothing doing about it now, he decided. We'll just see what Sir Myles wants later. He shook his head, hoping the eccentric tutor's idea of a talk didn't take too much time away from his evening work.
"Your brother was a page here, six years ago, was he not?"
Luno nodded. "Yes, sir." He wasn't sure what Sir Myles was getting at, but he was suspicious of his mentioning Joren.
Sir Myles scratched his beard thoughtfully. "Wyldon's great failure, the one who perished," he said, half-seeming to be talking to himself. "And you, a boy like you… Tell me, Luno, do you find that the physical training is very hard on you? Harder than most other pages?"
He did not want to answer, he knew that, but something compelled him to. The words spilled from his mouth before he knew it, far more than he ought to have said, far more than was safe. "Sometimes," he admitted. "Often. The other boys are bigger than me, and have had more training. No one ever thought I'd come here, especially not after milord said my brother was so promising."
"And yet, you came," said the knight gently. "It must be hard on you, especially with your brother's reputation looming so."
Luno nodded mutely. "When…" his throat caught on the unlikely confessional. "When you're little, like me, you either outdo the big people, or get trampled. I had to come."
"But your brother's reputation is flawed," Sir Myles pointed out.
"It depends who you ask," replied Luno wryly, and stopped just short of telling this kind adult how his father had treated Joren's second most famous scandal.
Sir Myles smiled knowingly. To Luno's now-critical eyes he seemed to know a great deal about mixed reputations. At least, he thinks he does, retorted a part in him more guarded and cynical than his eleven years warranted. He thinks he knows all about me. Who does he think he is? Luno shook his head just as Sir Myles spoke again, causing the aging knight to quirk an eyebrow.
"Well, young Luno, I'll leave you to your own work," he said with a smile, "and go back to my own. I wish you luck in your education, and I hope you can come to me with any trouble, big or small, while you are here at the palace."
Dismissed, Luno rose, bowed and left, his mind in a turmoil over what had just passed. Why was Sir Myles taking an interest in him? Yes, he was a teacher of law, and as such would have followed Squire Joren's trial and been well-versed in its details, but what was that to do with his skinny, weakling little brother? He was scratching his hair in confusion all the way to his room, and from there to the library with his books and papers. Between long division problems and blotchy lines of penmanship exercises, he continued to scratch his hair. Kind as the portly old knight had been, Luno wasn't sure he was interested in so much personal attention.
All the while, that selfsame personal attention was being granted to another young page, a third-year. She, at least, was accustomed to her teacher's odd mannerisms. She was at her ease, sitting in his book-lined, map-walled office. She spoke her mind freely, knowing it was far safer here than in the offices of the Mithran teachers or Lord Padraig.
"What compelled you to take him under your wing?" asked Myles thoughtfully.
Rose shrugged. "I think it's obvious," she said. "I like to do what I can, for those I can help. Mostly, the boys could do just as good as me, or better. But this is different."
"It does seem, somewhat, that you are the most fitting for this task," admitted Myles. "We all knew it would come, sooner or later. Even those who cried woe at it knew it was just a matter of time. One quarter of the Own are Bhazir, and we have three Bhazir knights already."
"There's also the queen," added Rose.
Myles shook his head. "That is only somewhat similar," he objected. "Whatever certain noble houses and rich merchants say, intermarrying among the royal or ruling families of kingdoms has been a custom in the Eastern Lands far longer than honoring one's most loyal vassals by taking their daughters into one's family."
"Are you saying Queen Thayet is more aligned with tradition than Queen Lianne, rest her soul, had been?" asked Rose suspiciously.
Myles chuckled. "In a way, although that may be taking the lesson a bit too far."
Rose shook her head, confused.
"The queen has done much that does not align with tradition, Page Rose," explained Myles. "And yet, marrying the daughter of Sarrain's warlord makes better political sense than marrying the younger sister of your best friend."
"Well, if you put it that way…" Rose seemed resigned.
"There are still flaws," Myles went on. "Sarrain is neither a close neighbor nor a close ally. Nor a powerful enemy."
"Are you saying marrying the Copper Isles princess would have made the most political sense?" asked Rose.
"Political marriages forge or cement alliances, Page Rose," answered Myles, shaking his head. "An alliance with the royal house of the Isles is too fragile to be called tenuous, and that on a good day."
"A Scanran queen, then," decided Rose.
"Perhaps," conceded the knight. "But Scanra is not a kingdom as we think of it. Far more is it a landmass ridden with dozens of tiny nations, all bearing similar customs, religion and law."
"Like the Isles, too unstable," concluded Rose.
"For a time, I believe it will be," Myles said.
"Maren, Tyra and Galla are already our allies, though," said Rose, "so what need have we to intermarry with them?"
"As I said," answered Myles, "alliances need cementing, now and then. But we were speaking of our newest with the Yamani, and how it has affected your own life, for example."
"We were talking about Takeo," said Rose. "Well, I had to be his sponsor, really. Mithros only knows what he'd be put through, otherwise."
Myles smiled.
"You know, he's different," she went on, "and that he's lived here for two years only helps so much. He has a hard time getting used to things, I know. Although the teachers love him, and my lord has seen no trouble from him, the other boys are bound to think he's a teacher's pet or an intruder or whatnot."
"Has he had trouble with the boys yet?" inquired Myles lightly.
Rose hesitated. "They don't accept him, I think," she answered carefully. "It's hard for them that he's so different."
"His stance is closer to them than the prince's wife, certainly," agreed he.
"But I think they know their limits," concluded the girl. "Takeo will be fine. At least, if they ever bother to learn to pronounce his name." She made a face.
Myles chuckled. "That cannot be much fun for him," he said, "having to explain things that seem so obvious, and to so many people."
"But…" Rose was saying.
"There's another thing?" Myles asked.
"Another one," said Rose. "One of the new boys. My lord called him Stone Mountain, and I can't help but think…"
"You know the name," he remarked. Over the last two years he'd learned how well acquainted Rose of Sellend was with the public affairs of her predecessors. Just what the name Stone Mountain meant to her was a question; it was a name of many meanings in Tortall.
"The boy who died," she replied. "And another thing."
"We discussed the relations of nobles and commoners in class, Page Rose," prompted Sir Myles, once more the teacher.
"He tried to interfere with her," said she, "the one who came before me. Mindelan."
The knight nodded his satisfaction.
"He was tried…?" she tried.
"He confessed," Myles completed the picture for her.
"What is he to the new boy?" she asked suspiciously.
Myles frowned. "Luno has not spoken of it?"
"I don't think I've ever spoken to him at all," replied Rose with a shrug, "but it's only been a week or so he's here."
She watched as her teacher tapped his desk thoughtfully, a familiar gesture. She watched, knowing better than to disrupt his chain of thought. At last he regarded her again, with something like a smile, yet not exactly one.
"I don't think I will be speaking to him much," she added, "if he's to do with that other boy. It's beside that it's a crime, and beside that he was hurting people, too. He was tainted. The Chamber knew it, so it must be so."
Was that a sigh she heard coming from her teacher's lips? "You take the code of chivalry very seriously, Page Rose, do you not?" he asked.
She bristled. "Of course!"
A wry smile took over the portly knight's face. "As ever, it was a delight speaking with you," he said warmly. "We will chat again soon, I hope."
"I hope," agreed Rose.
"Dismissed, Page Rose."
She left.