The Angry Boy

by Tantris

Heralds are not perfect human beings. They are people with flaws and failings like all of us. They have their gifts but they must also have courage and determination in order that their flaws may be turned to facets of what makes them Heralds. They may not do Great Things, but they may rise to greatness by what they do. As always, the Valdemar Universe belongs to Mercedes Lackey.

2. Chapter 2

Angry Boy Chapter 2

Bredin returned to his home in the mid-afternoon. His parents were not home, so Bredin went looking for his friends. He found Tagan and Rhys near the Temple of the Iron God, where they were watching the monks drill.

The Temple of the Iron God housed a militant order of warrior monks. In addition to their rituals of prayer, the monks drilled in combat for most of every day. The monks pledged themselves to defend the just and weak against the strong and wicked. In times of war, they provided companies to the King for the defense of Valdemar. Only once had they ever refused to help the King of Valdemar in war: When King Pelinor had sent troops over the border in pursuit of a fleeing army, the monks had downed their weapons en masse and immediately marched home to their temples. The monks were defenders and refused to be aggressors.

If there were bandits known to be in the area, the monks would also patrol the roads and escort travellers.

The boys went to school at the temple every morning except Rest Day. Valdemaran law demanded that all children between five and twelve years attend school every day to learn to read and do basic sums. Most students were taught in the temples of their towns. For the Kase boys, that meant the school at the Temple of the Iron God. Girls in their neighborhood went to the Masran Temple.

Bredin told his friends about meeting Herald Ylsa. Tag and Rhys stared at him in disbelief.

"You actually got to pet a Companion?" Tag said. "You lucky dog!"

"What did she say?" Rhys asked.

"Herald Ylsa just said hello and asked me my name. She was really nice." Bredin decided he wouldn't say anything about what Ylsa had said about Kensie Poldara. He'd promised he wouldn't, hadn't he? He forgot his own speechlessness.

"Did she say anything else, Bred?" Tag asked.

"She said she thought we'd meet again. I guess she figured I often watch for Heralds on the road and would see her when she was going by. She said she carried messages for the King."

"She must be a Herald-Courier." Rhys said with a knowing air. Rhys claimed that a second cousin of his named Beltren was a Herald. Among his friends, Rhys deemed himself the authority on all things about Heralds. "Did you notice a silver arrow on her sleeve? Herald Couriers wear silver arrows."

Bredin admitted he had not noticed.

"Kernos, Bredin! Don't you notice anything?" Rhys rolled his eyes at his friend's inattention.

"He certainly doesn't notice how to behave before his betters." Kensie Poldara said from behind Bredin.

All three boys jumped at the unwelcome appearance of the young lord.

"What did I do?" Bredin said. He flushed, knowing that Kensie meant some insult.

"You insulted Lord Orthallen." Kensie accused. "Next to the King, he is the most important man in the kingdom."

Bredin felt his anger starting to rise. "I did not!" He contradicted. "I touched my cap and answered his question politely."

"Keep a civil tongue in your head, sirrah!" Kensie said. "You were about to say something insulting to Lord Orthallen's back when I stopped you."

"He said Companions were horses!" Bredin said.

"And what was wrong with that?" Kensie's voice had a tone of amused contempt.

"Companions are not horses!" Bredin's voice was rising.

Kensie sneered at Bredin. He turned ostentatiously to his friends, who were enjoying the spectacle as the young lord baited Bredin. "He says 'Companions are not horses'! They look like horses. They have manes and tails like horses. They eat like horses." He sniffed ostentatiously. "They smell like horses."

His friends laughed as Kensie taunted the younger boy.

"So what are they if they are not horses?" Kensie grinned at Bredin.

"They are Companions!" Bredin was shouting now.

"Oooh! They are Compaannionnss!" Kensie drew out the word to goad Bredin further. "That tells me so much." He turned to his friends. "Do you think Companion-horses shit like other horses?"

Kensie's friends laughed again. "Maybe they shit rainbows." Kensie's younger sister Naril said, provoking further laughter.

"Felara said they are not horses." Bredin was screaming now.

"Who is Felara?" Kensie asked.

"Felara is the Companion I saw today!" Bredin shouted.

Kensie laughed. "Oh, you are talking to horses, now. What's next, cats and dogs?"

"She didn't talk to me! Herald Ylsa told me what she said!" Bredin shouted again.

"How convenient! The Herald said her Companion said that the Companion was not a horse. You are so gullible, twerp." Kensie was laughing as he spoke.

"And you are stupid…" That was as far as Bredin got before Kensie smashed him with a fist.

Bredin fell to the ground and Kensie kicked him. "Keep a civil tongue in your head, you lowborn brat." The young lord spat.

Bredin tried to get up, but Kensie knocked him down again, then kicked him once more.

As Bredin struggled to rise once more, a strong arm grabbed him and dragged him to his feet.

"What is going on here?" Father Toma demanded.

Father Toma was Patriarch of the Temple. He was tall and imposing. His face was lean and bore scars from fighting bandits and border raiders. His lithe, powerful frame bore witness to his decades of constant practice. His dark hair was peppered with a few strands of grey showing his forty five years. He was clearly accustomed to giving orders and being obeyed.

Kensie Poldara spoke first. "This peasant insulted me, Father."

Father Toma barely blinked. "He did? Very well, My Lord, I will see that he is disciplined."

Outraged, Bredin spoke up. "He said…"

He got no further. Father Toma shook his arm roughly. "Shut up, boy."

Turning back to Kensie, he added in a whisper, "My Lord, it is probably best for your good name if you allow me to handle this." He rolled his eyes significantly at the people gathered around.

Kensie grinned. "Ah, I see what you mean."

Kensie started to turn away, but Father Toma stayed him for a moment. Turning back to Bredin, the Patriarch said sternly. "Bredin, you will apologize to Lord Kensie."

Bredin looked at Father Toma in surprise. He could not believe that the priest would take Lord Kensie's word without even asking him for his side. He opened his mouth to protest, but the priest shook him by his arm.

"Apologise!" The priest insisted.

Bredin stared at the priest, who stared back implacably. Bredin knew the priest would not be dissuaded and would hold Bredin until he complied. Sullenly, Bredin looked at Lord Kensie's boots. "I am sorry I insulted you, Lord Kensie." Bredin whispered.

"I can't hear you." Father Toma said. "And face Lord Kensie when you speak to him."

With a gulp, Bredin looked up at Kensie's smirk. "I am sorry I insulted you, Lord Kensie." Bredin spoke a little louder.

Kensie looked down his nose at Bredin. "I should have made allowances for your birth. Your apology is accepted, boy." Every word dripped with condescension.

The young nobleman turned away, followed by his coterie. Bredin clenched his fists, but said nothing to their retreating backs.

Father Toma pulled on Bredin's arm. "Come with me, Bredin."

"Excuse me, Father." A young boy, one of the ones who had been with Lord Kensie, spoke up. He looked a year or two younger than Bredin. Blond haired and blue eyed, the boy was stunningly handsome.

Father Toma stopped. "Yes, young Master?"

Pointing at Bredin, the young noble said "He didn't insult my cousin. My cousin was picking on him, making fun of him and trying to make him mad. It wasn't his fault." The youngster looked anxiously in the direction his cousin had gone. "Please don't tell Kensie I told you that."

Father Toma contemplated the boy for a moment. "Thank you for telling me that, lad. What is your name?"

"I am Kris Peregrine, Father." The boy said with a graceful bow. He looked anxiously after Lord Kensie. "I must be off before they miss me."

"Thank you, Master Kris." The priest said. "You'd better get going."

As Kris turned to run after Lord Kensie, Bredin spoke up. "My thanks as well, Lord Kris." He said with a bow that was nowhere near as graceful as the young noble's.

Kris smiled back a golden, friendly smile that cheered Bredin up. "You're welcome." He called back as he ran after his cousin.

"Come along, Bredin." Father Toma pulled him by the arm.

Bredin fought against Father Toma, but the priest's grip was too strong. "You heard him!" Bredin protested. "You heard Lord Kris say it was Kensie's fault."

The priest did not loosen his grip. "I said 'Come along', Bredin. Now move!" He pulled Bredin towards the temple.

Yielding to the inevitable, Bredin walked with Father Toma. As Bredin cooperated, Father Toma softened his hold, but did not release it. Father Toma marched Bredin into the temple and took him to his cramped office. He closed the door. Releasing Bredin, he pointed to a chair. Bredin sat down, frowning and feeling very aggrieved.

Father Toma turned to a cupboard and pulled out a basin. He picked up a pitcher and poured water into the basin.

After putting the basin on the floor beside Bredin's chair, the priest knelt beside the boy. He dipped a cloth in the water and began cleaning the bruises on Bredin's face.

With a sigh, the priest said "Bredin, when will you learn not to rise to Kensie Poldara's taunts?"

Bredin endured the sting of the water on his scraped skin. He looked at the priest in bewilderment. "You knew?" He asked. "Why did you make me apologise?"

The priest lowered the cloth for a moment. He looked Bredin in the eyes. "What do you think Lord Kensie thought when I made you apologise?"

Bredin thought a moment. "He thought you believed him?" He said tentatively.

The priest nodded, urging Bredin to go on. "He thought he'd won!" Bredin felt a little of the anger creeping back into his voice.

"And?" The priest prompted.

"He thought you were going to punish me?" Bredin said uncertainly.

"So?" Father Toma said, arching his eyebrows.

"He stopped kicking me!" Remembering that the priest had already stopped the beating at that point. Bredin changed it to "He didn't want to hit me anymore!" As he got the point, Bredin grinned.

The priest nodded again. He resumed cleaning Bredin's bruises and scrapes. "Suppose I had scolded Lord Kensie for bullying you? Suppose I had told him to apologise?"

The notion of Kensie Poldara apologising to anyone was impossible. "He wouldn't have apologised. He would have got mad at you for telling him to."

"That's right, Bredin. He would have. What do you think he would have done after I went back to the temple?"

The answer to that was easy. "He would have started beating me again." Bredin said.

"Exactly so." Father Toma agreed. "Now back to my question: Why do you always rise to his bait?"

"But he keeps bugging me!" Bredin complained.

"Why does he bother you?"

"He wants to make me mad." Bredin said. It appeared obvious to him.

"What happens when you get mad?" Father Toma continued.

"I shout at him." Bredin said softly.

The priest raised an eyebrow. "When you shout at him, do you say nice things?"

"No." Bredin's voice was almost a whisper.

"Do you say things that are insulting or rude?"

Bredin looked down, shamefaced. "Yes." He said, still whispering.

"What happens then?" When the boy was silent, the priest went on. "Bredin, look at me. What happens when you say rude or insulting things to Lord Kensie?"

Obediently, Bredin looked at Father Toma. "He beats me up."

"He beats you because you gave him an excuse to beat you. Which is what he was after all along." The priest said flatly. Bredin's eyes widened as he realized that the priest was fully aware of what went on between Lord Kensie and Bredin.

"Bredin, Kensie Poldara is a cruel bully. You are not the only person he torments, but you are one of his favorite targets. He knows he can prod you into saying something that will give him an excuse to beat you. He aims his words to hurt you, too.

"So I return to what I asked: Why do you rise to his bait? Why do you give him the excuse he wants?"

"But he picks on me," Bredin protested, "why does he pick on me?"

"I just told you why." Father Toma said. "You fall into his trap every time. Learn not to."

"How?" Bredin demanded. "He uses everything I say as an excuse."

"Say nothing." The priest said.

This puzzled Bredin. "But if I say nothing, he'll say I'm ignoring him. Or I'm stupid. He beats me for being stupid."

"Try to say nothing in a way that sounds like you are saying something." The priest advised.

Bredin stared at the priest. This made no sense at all. Father Toma took the opportunity to wash Bredin's face with the cloth.

Seeing Bredin's confusion, the priest suggested. "Apologize no matter what he accuses you of. Say 'I am sorry if I offended My Lord' even if the accusation is false."

"Why?" Bredin said. "Why should I apologize if I've done nothing wrong?" It seemed completely unfair to the boy.

The priest wrung out the cloth over the basin. Picking up the basin, he stood. "Because it will keep you from being beaten." He said with a sigh. "Or, at least, reduce the number of times he beats you."

Bredin stared up at the priest, trying to grasp what he'd said. "But it's not right!" He said finally.

Father Toma sighed again. "No, it isn't right. But he is a lord and you and I are commoners. Unless he breaks the law in a serious way, there is nothing you or I can do to touch him. The best we can do is try to avoid him and hope he leaves us alone."

He pointed at Bredin. "As long as you keep rising to his bait, Kensie Poldara will not leave you alone."

Bredin slumped. He didn't know how he could do what the priest suggested. It seemed impossible. Nevertheless, he said. "I'll try, Father Toma."

The priest gave Bredin a measuring look. He knew he was asking the boy for more maturity than could be expected from an eight year old. It didn't help that the boy was naturally hot-tempered and that his brothers – one younger, one older – teamed up to tease him. But the boy had so much promise in other ways and had a good heart at bottom. Father Toma hoped he could help Bredin avoid becoming like his father Enro – hot tempered, prone to rages and lashing out with blind fury.

The thought of Enro reminded Father Toma of the supposed reason he had brought Bredin to his office. He went behind his desk and picked up a switch. The boy's eyes widened with fear.

"Bredin. Everyone thinks I brought you here to punish you, so I have to make them think I did. I want you to yell like you are being switched every time I hit the cushion. Can you do that?"

Bredin's expression changed to a smile as soon as he realized what the priest planned.

Father Toma put a finger to his lips, then drew tear lines down his cheeks. Bredin nodded.

The priest raised the switch and brought it down hard on the cushion. Bredin screamed as though he'd been hit. The priest hit the cushion and Bredin screamed once more. The priest mimed crying to Bredin, who began to sob and wail. The priest hit the cushion three more times and Bredin cried out every time.

"I hope you've learned your lesson." The priest said loudly. He signalled Bredin to keep crying.

Bredin wanted to laugh, but he did as the priest wanted. Father Toma put the switch away and make a show of walking with a sore backside. Bredin nodded and continued to 'weep'.

Father Toma took Bredin by the arm and assumed a stern, angry face once more. He opened the door and brought Bredin out while the boy made a show of weeping and favoring his backside.

Those in the hallway looked pointedly away from Bredin and Father Toma, trying to appear unaware, though one or two boys made shaming fingers at Bredin when they thought Father Toma could not see it.

As they came out into the temple yard, Bredin's parents entered from the street. Zelar looked worried while Enro appeared angry. The two of them hurried up to the priest.

Father Toma shoved Bredin towards his parents. "I'll not have Nobles offended in this Temple." He said.

Enro glared at his son. "I heard about it. Lord Kensie came along just as his father finished giving me an important commission. Fortunately, Count Poldara is a tolerant man, but I could have lost it because of you. I outta give you a hiding." He shook Bredin's shoulder.

"I have seen to it that Bredin had a discussion with the switch." Father Toma. "I find a quick application to the backside is the true seat of learning for some."

Bredin fought hard to keep looking doleful at the priest's deceptive comment.

Enro shook his son again. "I guess the good Father has saved my arm a workout. I thankee Father." He nodded at the priest and led Bredin away, followed anxiously by Zelar.

Father Toma watched stone-faced as they walked away. As the people around him turned their attention to other matters, he sighed and started back to the temple, nearly bumping into Father Milo, his predecessor as Chief Priest.

"I beg your pardon, Father." Father Toma said. "I was thinking of other matters and not watching where I went."

"I thought I trained you better than that." The old man said. "A priest and a warrior must always be aware of where he goes."

Father Toma laughed. "Still my master, after all these years." Father Milo had been Chief Priest when Toma had entered the Temple as an acolyte over thirty years before. Father Milo had seen potential and personally instructed young Toma in both the martial and religious disciplines of the worshippers of the Iron God.

"Hmph. I hope you have added to what I taught you." Milo said.

One of the central commandments of the Iron God was that each generation of his followers should add to the knowledge accumulated by their predecessors. 'Know what is behind you, look for what is ahead' went the proverb.

"I try, Father." Toma said. "I have prepared a new thesis on testing boys to match them with the right weapon."

Father Milo shrugged. "We have always done that."

"By trial and error." Father Toma replied. "We say, 'Here, Dik, work with this sword. Maybe a sabre will suit you' or 'Jan, try the mace, your shoulders are broad and strong,' but we never have built a system of testing and measuring our acolytes before we put a weapon in their hands."

Milo quirked a shaggy eyebrow at his successor. "An intriguing concept, especially as so many choose their weapon before they begin their training."

"And most must begin anew when they find they lack the build or co-ordination to master their chosen weapon." A touch of exasperation showed in Father Toma's voice. "We could save our monks and ourselves much time and grief if we followed the natural bent from the start."

"With patience and training, any boy can learn to use a weapon properly." The elder priest said tartly.

"Learn to use it? Yes." Father Toma said. "But to truly master a weapon? Very few reach mastery. Nor does mastery of, say, archery make one a master of the sword."

"Many of our best have mastery of several weapons." Milo said. "You, for instance."

"I will concede that natural co-ordination and ability to learn can be applied across many disciplines, but for most we can only expect superiority in one or two of the Arts." Father Toma was well aware of his own abilities and did not dissemble to garner praise.

Milo shook his head. "Well, I do not know if what you suggest is possible. You have chosen a worthy study. At worst, you will learn that what you seek is beyond our abilities."

Father Toma laughed. "To know what cannot be is still more than knowing nothing." He quoted another proverb of the Iron God.

"Isn't that what you were just teaching young Bredin?" Milo said. "That he cannot always expect things to be just and right?"

Father Toma's face fell. "I see such promise in the boy. Intelligence and a burning desire to be right; a willingness to be diligent and work hard to be the very best he can be. I just hope his temper and impatience don't destroy all of that promise before it can be fulfilled."

"Well, you can't beat it into him." Father Milo said. When Toma turned to look at him, Milo added softly "I know the difference in the sound made by a switch hitting a cushion and one hitting a boy's backside."

Father Toma looked around quickly to ensure no one was near enough to overhear. As he opened his mouth to ask Milo how he had known, the older priest went on "You aren't the first Patriarch to think of that, you know. Never tried that one on you, but you figured it out on your own." Milo grinned.

Toma grinned back. "I thought I was being original. Now I find I am just following another hidden tradition." He sobered again. "Bredin will learn from his own good sense. Beating him will just drive the good sense out of him. Beat him too much and he will be a man like his father: Brilliant at what he does and loving by his own lights, but with demonic rage always burning just under the surface."

Milo sighed. "I agree. We must save the boy from his temper. What do you think of the other?"

Toma knew that Milo referred to Kensie Poldara. "Already lost, I am afraid. Full of pride based on nothing but his rank. Intelligent enough to succeed his father if he were given discipline and direction, but so over-indulged that he does not realize his limits. I fear he will end badly. I hope he does not take too many others with him."

"A harsh judgment on a boy not yet twelve years old." Milo said.

"Do you disagree?" Father Toma said.

Milo sighed again. "No, not unless his parents take serious steps to curb him and teach him responsibility. He needs to know his rank is a duty not a privilege."

"Do you see any sign of that?" Toma asked.

"Certainly not between now and his twelfth birthday." Milo shook his head.

"Aye." Toma agreed. The High Priest of the Twain had told him a sennight before that Count Wyeth Poldara had decided to name Kensie as Baron of Bransat. The Heir of Poldara traditionally was the Baron of Bransat from the age of majority to whenever he succeeded to the County. Many in the County quietly disapproved of Kensie being granted Baronial Arms six years before he was normally entitled to them. It was yet another indulgence for an already pampered young man.

As if the granting of the title were not sufficient, Wyeth was presenting his son with an Ashkevron war stallion as a birthday gift. Like all young noblemen, Kensie had been riding since he could sit up, but Father Toma doubted the young man had the experience, patience or skill to handle such a beast.

"Maybe there will be a miraculous change." Father Toma said.

"The Iron God tells us that miracles begin within ourselves, not from On High." Milo reminded him.

Now it was Father Toma who shook his head. "That lies with the boy. Just as Bredin's fate lies within himself. I worry that Bredin's rages may injure both himself and others."

Toma's words had a feeling of baleful prophecy. The two priests shivered and made the sign against evil.