Assassin's Apprentice

"As finished as I'm likely to be for a while. Well, don't look so startled, Fitz. Did you think the King was not a man of his word? Wipe your mouth and be on your way. Hod is a sterner master than I am; tardiness will not be tolerated on the weapons court. Hurry along with Brant, now."

I obeyed him with a sinking heart. As I followed the boy from the hall I tried to imagine a master stricter than Burrich. It was a frightening idea.

Once outside the hall, the boy quickly dropped his fine manners. "What's your name?" he demanded as he led me down the graveled pathway to the armory and the practice courts that fronted it.

I shrugged and glanced aside, pretending a sudden interest in the shrubbery that bordered the path.

Brant snorted knowingly. "Well, they got to call you something. What's old game-leg Burrich call you?"

The boy's obvious disdain for Burrich so surprised me that I blurted out, "Fitz. He calls me Fitz."

"Fitz?" He snickered. "Yeah, he would. Direct spoken is the old gimper."

"A boar savaged his leg," I explained. This boy spoke as if Burrich's limp were something foolish he did for show. For some reason, I felt stung by his mockery.

"I know that!" He snorted disdainfully. "Ripped him right down to the bone. Big old tusker, was going to take Chiv down, until Burrich got in the way. Got Burrich instead, and half a dozen of the hounds, is what I hear." We went through an opening in an ivy-covered wall, and the exercise courts suddenly spread out before us. "Chiv had gone in thinking he just had to finish the pig, when up it jumped and came after him. Snapped the Prince's lance turning on him, too, is what I hear."

I'd been following at the boy's heels, hanging on his words, when he suddenly rounded on me. I was so startled I all but fell, scrambling backward. The older boy laughed at me. "Guess it must have been Burrich's year for taking on Chivalry's fortunes, hey? That's what I hear the men saying. That Burrich took Chivalry's death and changed it into a lame leg for himself, and that he took on Chiv's bastard, and made a pet of him. What I'd like to know is, how come you're to have arms training all of a sudden? Yes, and a horse, too, from what I hear?"

There was something more than jealousy in his tone. I have since come to know that many men always see another's good fortune as a slight to themselves. I felt his rising hostility as if I'd entered a dog's territory unannounced. But a dog I could have touched minds with and reassured of my intentions. With Brant there was only the hostility, like a storm rising. I wondered if he was going to hit me, and if he expected me to fight back or retreat. I had nearly decided to run when a portly figure dressed all in gray appeared behind Brant and took a firm grip on the back of his neck.

"I hear the King said he was to have training, yes, and a horse to learn horsemanship on. And that is enough for me, and it should be more than enough for you, Brant. And from what I hear, you were told to fetch him here, and then to report to Master Tullume, who has errands for you. Isn't that what you heard?"

"Yes, ma'am." Brant's pugnaciousness was suddenly transformed into bobbing agreement.

"And while you're 'hearing' all this vital gossip, I might point out to you that no wise man tells all he knows. And that he who carries tales has little else in his head. Do you understand me, Brant?"

"I think so, ma'am."

"You think so? Then I shall be plainer. Stop being a nosy little gossip and attend to your chores. Be diligent and willing, and perhaps folk will start gossiping that you are my 'pet.' I could see that you are kept too busy for gossip."

"Yes, ma'am."

"You, boy." Brant was already hurrying up the path as she rounded on me. "Follow me."

The old woman didn't wait to see if I obeyed or not. She simply set out at a businesslike walk across the open practice fields that had me trotting to keep up. The packed earth of the field was baked hard and the sun beat down on my shoulders. Almost instantly, I was sweating. But the woman appeared to find no discomfort in her rapid pace.

She was dressed all in gray: a long dark gray overtunic, lighter gray leggings, and over all a gray apron of leather that came nearly to her knees. A gardener of some sort, I surmised, though I wondered at the soft gray boots she wore.

"I've been sent for lessons ... with Hod," I managed to pant out.

She nodded curtly. We reached the shade of the armory and my eyes widened gratefully after the glare of the open courts.

"I'm to be taught arms and weaponry," I told her, just in case she had mistaken my original words.