Guardian of Honor Page 28

  Reynardus stood alone in his opinion, and Bastien experienced another flash of understanding. His father had been on his own and against the Marshalls most of the time lately. No wonder the man was so irritable—precious control was being stripped from him.

  With a thump, a large Lorebook landed on the table in front of Faith, along with a sheet of parchment that looked like a list, and a box that rattled.

  "Any objections to the Testing of Bastien Vauxveau for Marshall?" asked Thealia.

  21

  All the Marshalls in the Council Room stared at Bastien. Silence for ten heartbeats increased his tension and caused Alexa to rise from dozing.

  Finally, Reynardus sat.

  "I will be Notator for the Tests," Faith said.

  No one disagreed.

  "There are several different procedures for Testing an applicant," Faith continued, looking at Bastien, "and you may choose which process you want us to follow. The first way of Testing is for you to choose three character Test tokens from the box at random—your choice of Tests is seen as indications from the Song."

  She looked at him.

  He figured the Song had meddled in his life enough and more roughly than he'd liked. He rocked on his heels and smiled. "No, thank you."

  "We have a standard Testing combination we vary from applicant to applicant." She flipped a page in the Lorebook. "We last used combination six, so we would use combination seven."

  Seven had never been a lucky number for him. He'd lost many dice games throwing seven. Still smiling, he shook his head. "Can't we make it up as we go along?"

  Thealia blew out an audible breath. "The Vauxveaus are ever contrary, every one of them."

  "Thank you." Bastien nodded at her.

  "A possibility," Faith said, "but the last resort. So unstructured."

  "And the Marshalls are ever structured," Bastien said.

  Faith plowed on. "Since you are already Paired with a Sword, you can take the same Tests as she, or opposite—"

  "Yes." That rang true. Struck the right chord inside him.

  Faith raised her brows. "Which?"

  "The same as Alexa," Bastien said.

  "Any objections?" asked Faith.

  Silence.

  Now Reynardus smiled faintly, and something fluttered in Bastien's gut. If he thought fast, maybe he could direct this process. He recalled Alexa had bested—killed—Defau Disparu. "The late Swordmarshall Disparu Tested Alexa's fighting ability. I stand ready to be Tested that way."

  More quiet. The Marshalls exchanged unhappy glances.

  "I've proven myself in the field. I am every bit the warrior my Lady Swordmarshall is," Bastien said coolly. "I match Alexa—isn't that what Pairs do? Match?"

  Bastien's use of her name brought her back from dozing to her dream. Fighting. Field. Warriors. He was talking about her? Alexa Fitzwalter? As a warrior? She took a moment in her odd dream to ponder this. Was she? She'd fought all her life to get what shewanted. She'd waged civilized war through law school and had planned on tough but bloodless fighting throughout her life—as an attorney. She'd believed in her old career. Visions of renders and soul-suckers and slayers and the dreeth curdled her guts. But she imagined them all too well invading the village on her land, setting fire to her home, and a hard, fierce burning flared in her core. She would never allow it. She would fight to the last drop of her blood to stop that. To keep her home safe. To keep Bastien safe.

  In her dream, she missed a remark from Reynardus, but knew it had been snide.

  Bastien laughed shortly. "Then I will balance her inexperience. I am a seasoned warrior." A lightness lit the tone of his mind. He began to strip, turning a sly gaze to Faith, the historian. "I believe I heard once that one Marshall Test of field experience was counting the number of scars. I have a goodly number of scars." He threw his shirt on the table, pointed to a small white knot at the side of the ring finger of his left hand. "We'll call this 'one.'" He frowned. "I've had it for several years—I think I got it when my childhood friend and I fought two armored snippers."

  It was all before her in those scars—the recollection of the quick, nasty fight with "lesser monsters over the years," the cheerful, male competition with his lost friend—a loss that still echoed grief in his thoughts. Her mind whirled, trying to grasp the new information. Then her dream eyes focused on his body, his beautiful, muscular frame under dreadfully scarred skin, and she whimpered. Her resolve flamed white-blue-jade-green hot and was imprinted on her soul. She would never let him be hurt again, not if she could stop it.

  His laugh rippled a tune in her head. He'd never let her stand in front of him if he could prevent it. They'd fly into the field together. They'd battle together. They'd triumph together.

  "Oh, put your shirt back on, Bastien. I'm sure you have a hundred battle scars," Thealia said irritably. She glanced at Faith. "That was the accepted figure, was it not?"

  Faith cleared her throat, turned a page of the Lorebook. "Actually, it was a mere fifty."

  Bastien chuckled and pulled his shirt on. "So much for the fighting experience Test." He struck a pose. "What's next?"

  "Power," breathed Partis.

  Bastien's face altered subtly. He'd had Power all his life. Fragmented Power as a black-and-white.

  Everyone looked at his streaked hair.

  No wonder his father smirked. Bastien had had problems controlling his Power, especially in new situations. He didn't know what Alexa's Test of Power had been, but reasoned it must have been very difficult. Bastien swallowed. Alexa was stronger than them all in Power. He set his jaw. But he was whole now—the flaw that had fragmented and blew his inherent magic wild in all directions had been mended by Alexa. He should be able to handle anything the Marshalls could dream up.

  Reynardus steepled his fingers, tapped them together, smiled a renderlike smile. "An atomball," he said softly. "Make us an atomball."

  Merde! It could drain him for days. It would take days.

  That's not right. Alexa's sleepy voice was querulous in his mind.

  Shh, rest, he said, pulling his thoughts from her.

  "I've never made an atomball." Hadn't known anyone who had, hadn't known the Marshalls had. He gestured to Faith. "If the Lorebook has instructions, I'd like to glance at them."

  Sinafin! Alexa's call echoed in his mind.

  The pages of the book riffled themselves, then stopped. Bastien stepped up to scan it. Essentially it came down to gatheringhis Power, compressing it, separating it from himself and making it into a visible sphere, viable as a weapon. He had a nasty idea how the Marshalls had used it in Testing Alexa. He took the anger at the thought to make the core of the ball, white hot. No one would ever do such things to her again. Not while he lived.

  "There is no way a single person could make an atomball of the small size and great Power that our Circle did. Let us set a size and amplitude for this Test," Thealia said.

  "Agreed," said Mace. "The size to fit in my large shooting-star?"

  Bastien concentrated on his task, gathering his Power. The size of a shooting-star, the round, spiked weapon at the end of a chain linked to a club, should be within his reach. Just.

  "Fine," Reynardus said, and Bastien added to his ball the spurt of anger he felt at the smug tone.

  Reynardus didn't think he could do it. Probably thought Bastien had already lost, since he was unnaturally quiet. The core was coming along nicely, though.

  "Strength?" asked Partis. "What if it lifts Mace's shooting-star to the table?"

  Bastien set his teeth against a groan, added more Power.

  "To the ceiling," Reynardus said silkily.

  "Midway the length of the windows," Thealia countered.

  "Done!" Reynardus said with satisfaction.

  Heat gathered in Bastien as he raised his energy level and poured all his Power into the forming atomball. He should have sweated, but he used that bit of energy from his pores to go inward to the construct.

  The doorharp s
ounded a scale—with notes above and below what were set by the strings. Ping! A weight settled on his shoulder, but he kept steadily layering the ball. From the corner of his eye he saw a warhawk with bright pink eyes. The shapeshifter. Sinafin. For a moment he lost the slippery ball, but Sinafin snagged it with ease.

  Let's put it outside you. Any more time inside you and it could do damage, the shapeshifter said in a sensible tone he'd never heard from her.

  He shut his eyes and visualized sending the ball outside himself in a flow of energy. He shuddered as the last bit pulled away. When he opened his eyes the ball was a misty yellow nimbus the size of the huge gong in the Temple, around a white core the size of his fist. The center glowed near his gut. He gritted his teeth. This was going to be hard.

  She broadcast her next words to the Marshalls. You all had each other's help in making the atomball, as well as the ritual that brought in Power from the Song. The Song sent me to help Bastien at this time.

  Bastien sent his laughter flashing into the ball—who was going to challenge her? And what would happen if anyone did? He'd been reckless enough to dare anything and yet he wouldn't think of challenging the feycoocu.

  No one spoke.

  He panted now, compressing the sphere, sending the heat of his body to it, all the Power he could easily access.

  All his strength, all his physical reactions from the trembling of his muscles to the sweat that should have beaded on his forehead went to the sphere. The task demanded a forced concentration from him that he'd never used, never could have mastered when he was a true black-and-white. Increment by increment, the sun-yellow globe shrank. How could he succeed at this Test?

  How could he fail? If he failed, he'd prove to the Marshalls, to his father, that he was weak and useless, confirm the opinion many had of him... That wash of humiliation shrank the ball a good four inches. He sought to relax, to make sure any tension of his muscles went into the effort. Soon he swayed on his feet, felt his balance going.

  Sinafin's claws pricked his skin as she steadied him. I will link to your woman.

  No! She is drained enough from battling the dreeth.

  The Song blessed her. Power gathers around her even as she sleeps. With every breath she inhales energy motes and they live in her skin, merge with her cells. You will help her master and wield her Power, but now you need her.

  A trickle of energy, sweet energy buzzing from his lover, came to him on a threnody. The additional strength had him push the sphere tighter. From the corner of his eye, he saw several Marshalls holding their breaths. All attention was fixed on him. With slow wit, he located Mace's shooting-star. It had been moved to within an inch of his toes, but he hadn't noticed how or when.

  Slowly he let the ball descend from belt-buckle level—this was more of a releasing, a deliberate relaxation of his own energy, again siphoning to the atomball. Soon the yellow was almost in the round, spiked iron, but a definite rim of white-yellow showed. Bastien tried everything, visualizing himself packing a snowball between his hands, sending more Alexa-Power to it with fierce will, incipient despair—any emotion that flitted to his mind. Yet a slight glow remained.

  The strain was too much, he couldn't hold it, couldn't force it into the weapon, no matter how hard he tried. He had nothing left.

  Sinafin's claws pierced his skin. He jerked, and his shout and his pain sped into the ball. The hawk lifted her bloody foot and flicked droplets of deep red with unerring aim to the last shine of white.

  The atomball vanished into the spiked iron. It broke its chain, flew up, hit the ceiling, rained plaster, fell to the table, hitting the wood and embedding with a thud.

  When the glaze of exhaustion faded from his eyes, Bastien saw no one in the room. He blinked, then noticed people huddlingunder the table. Humor returned. The Marshalls always had fast reflexes.

  "Playing with atomballs is ever an interesting experience," Partis said, his voice echoing from under the table.

  Go free it from the table, Sinafin said.

  Bastien grinned weakly; he wasn't sure he could take the two steps to the table. Let them do it themselves.

  Sinafin stretched out a wing and batted him around the head. He got a mouthful of feathers.

  I'm going, I'm going! Taking one long stride, he fell against the table. The shooting-star had made a big dent and was implanted a good inch into the table. With spread fingers, he set both hands on the weapon and arched as energy sizzled back into him, setting his hair on end, top to toe. Merde!

  The leftover energy, Sinafin said smugly.

  As he pulled the shooting-star from the table, the Marshalls once again took their seats, all gazes now on the weapon. Not a bit of energy leaked from it. No glow. But it hummed very low, nearly below the hearing threshold.

  Faith's pen scritched on the parchment. "Bastien Vauxveau passed his second Test. One of Power. It is the first time in the annals of the Lorebook that an applicant has made an atomball. The Marshalls will be lucky to have him with us," she muttered.

  Bastien stretched, shook out his arms and legs, smiled at Mace, who was eyeing the chain and stick of the shooting-star on the floor and the round spiked ball on the table. "Want your weapon of choice back?" asked Bastien.

  "I don't think so," Mace said.

  Shrugging, Bastien said, "You Marshalls can decide what to do with a spiked iron shooting-star that contains an atomball. It was your idea, after all."

  Sinafin cackled.

  When Faith finished writing, she looked at Bastien. "The next Test is of compassion."

  "Compassion," he snorted. "As if you Marshalls, who think and strategize big, are any to speak of compassion."

  "How dare you criticize us!" thundered Reynardus, standing.

  "Easily. You manipulated my lady. Even after she passed your Tests and became a Marshall, you forced her by your mistrust and your actions to leave the Castle—she a stranger, an alien with no money, and no knowledge of our land. And that is just the latest of your exploits that show true compassion," he mocked.

  Thealia's face pinched white, and most of the others gave some indication of discomfort. Good. Bastien wasn't feeling charitable.

  "That mistake will haunt us forever. Collectively as Marshalls and individually," Thealia sighed.

  "As it should," Partis said. He met Bastien's gaze. "We regret our actions. We have no excuses."

  "We are not the ones being Tested here," Reynardus said. He looked to the windows where the sunlight slanted in low. "Evening comes. Let's continue with this."

  Thealia rose and sailed gracefully around the table, passed Bastien and stood by the door. "According to tradition, when the applicant appears and chooses the Tests, word is spread of his name and the Tests, and a spellsong is placed on the Castle information board. I have been informed that we have a witness who will testify to Bastien Vauxveau's compassion."

  Reynardus scowled. "Fast work by someone." He scraped back his chair and sat, frowning at the atomball.

  "By several someones, no doubt," Partis said. "Bastien is well-liked."

  Thealia opened the door latch and looked out. "You may enter now."

  Urvey marched into the room, a roll of papers in his fist. Hewore Bastien's colors, midnight blue and silver. From the worn look of the clothes, they'd been altered from some of Bastien's castoffs. The teenager appeared neat, clean and nervous.

  Faith gestured to a chair. "You may sit here."

  Urvey thrust the rolls at Faith. "Statements by Chevaliers regarding Bastien's compassion."

  From where he stood, Bastien could smell the smoke and liquor on the papers. No doubt they'd been passed around the Nom de Nom. He wondered what they said and if any of it was true.

  "You're going to trust those? Trust him?" asked Reynardus.

  Flipping through the pages, Faith glanced at him. "They've been sworn, witnessed and all sealed by Lady Hallard, Representative of the Chevaliers to us." Faith plucked out a sheet. "She has included testimony of her own, as has
her flier, Marrec."

  Bastien couldn't remember any good deeds he'd done for thosetwo. Maybe he'd been drunk at the time. But on the whole he never consciously thought of doing good deeds.

  "As for this youngster," Partis said, "have we become so superior that we won't listen to what an honest lad says?"

  "Yes," said Reynardus.

  Thealia sighed.

  "Your name and station?" asked Faith, ready with her feather pen.

  "Urvey Novins. I'm Bastien's squire."

  "I remember you, and I think we have all seen you around the Castle. Tell your story, boy," said Mace.

  Urvey shifted in his seat, then haltingly explained his position as stable boy at the Nom de Nom, talked about minor kindnesses Bastien didn't recall, and continued to the night Bastien had announced that the jerir at the Castle was available to anyone who cared to avail themselves of it.

  "He came and he helped me in the jerir pool and he made me his squire," Urvey finished.

  "But he left you here, at the Castle, when he went back to the Field, left you to fend for yourself," Faith said gently.

  "He let me stay in his apartment in Horseshoe Hall, and he gave me money. Since his return, he's taught me squirely things."

  "He left you," Thealia repeated.

  "He gave me status. Just by allowing me to dip in the jerir with him. Just being in his rooms made me important enough for others to pay attention to me." Urvey sat straighter in his chair. "A squire shows initiative." His chin jutted. "Maybe he was just Testing me like you are Testing him!"

  Mace turned a chuckle into a cough.

  Urvey met Bastien's gaze. "He gave me more and believed in me more than anyone else in my life." Urvey's chest swelled with pride. "Here I am talking to the Marshalls of the Castle. I have clothes. I have good food—I ate sweetcheese just last night. I have a horse of my own. Soon I will have flying lessons and a volaran. Which of you would have done that for me? Which of you would have listened to me before this day?"

  His hair stuck out at uneven angles. He looked no more thanwhat he'd been, a stable boy at a rough tavern. And he looked very, very young. Bastien sighed inwardly. He didn't know why he'd taken responsibility for Urvey, but now that he had, the boy needed a decent haircut.