MASTER RENDLE

They entered a rotunda lined with busts and statuary of deans and scholars and Guardians, their bronze and marble gazes falling coldly upon the Riders. The rotunda no doubt impressed wealthy parents into sending their children here for their education. It also intimidated the students. As one who was not particularly serious about her studies in her early years, and one who had also managed to get into her share of trouble, Karigan ended up having to cross this rotunda several times to face the assistant dean for her transgressions. She loathed the rotunda and the stern faces encountered here.

When she had returned for her final year, she applied herself to her studies and did not have to make this walk even once. Still, despite all she had seen and done since, the rotunda held its power over her.

She lifted her chin and walked across the marble floor resolutely. Even if she felt intimidated, she did not have to show it.

A student, dressed in the maroon of languages with a white apprentice knot affixed to his shoulder, sat at the clerk’s desk across the rotunda studying a book. When he saw them approach, he set his book aside and stood. “May I help you?”

“We’ve a message from the king for the Golden Guardian.”

“I am sorry, but he is away from the city. He may be back very soon but…it is often hard to know.”

Karigan nodded. She expected as much. “Dean Crosley?” she inquired.

The young man frowned. “I fear he is unavailable.”

Karigan placed her hand on her satchel and, thinking the apprentice was simply trying to prevent her from disturbing his master, said, “This is a message penned by the king himself. It would not please him for its delivery to be delayed.”

“I’m sorry, Rider, but—but Dean Crosley is in the House of Mending.”

“What?” Karigan stepped backward. “Is he all right?”

“He lives,” the apprentice said, “but I don’t know the particulars. He interrupted a burglary and was beaten. His heart is not strong either.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” she said. Unlike his predecessor, Dean Crosley was a practical and fair-minded administrator. “I suppose the assistant dean has his hands full then.”

The apprentice nodded. “Master Howard is helping to sort out the mess with the archivists and trying to figure out what was stolen, if anything.”

“The burglary occurred in the archives?” Karigan asked in disbelief.

“Yes, Rider. We think it very odd. There are precious documents down there to be sure, but none of those are missing, or even disturbed.”

“Strange,” she murmured. Then she faced Fergal. “Looks like we’ll be doing some waiting.”

Fergal nodded, and Karigan could not tell whether or not he was pleased by this development.

“You could leave your message with one of the masters or trustees,” the apprentice suggested.

“Thank you, but my message is for the Golden Guardian or the dean alone. I am hesitant to leave it even with Master Howard.”

“I’m afraid I can be of no service then. May I at least lead you to the Guesting House?”

“No, thank you. I am familiar with campus.”

As they retreated across the rotunda, Fergal asked, “What are we going to do now? Just wait around until the Guardian shows up?”

“I’m afraid so. That, or until the dean is well enough to receive the message. You might as well enjoy it—there’s much of interest going on here.”

Karigan gave Fergal a tour of the campus so he might become familiar with its layout. She pointed out the library, various academic buildings, and the dining hall. When the campus bell rang they got caught in the middle of a colorful swarm as buildings emptied and students hurried to their next class. Karigan remembered herself burdened with books, rushing and dodging to reach her next class before the bell rang again for lessons to begin. In her early days, she had often been late or had not attended at all.

Almost as quickly as the courtyard filled, it emptied, punctuated by another ring of the bell. Fergal looked stymied, as if some magical spell had been cast to make the students vanish. Karigan smiled and led him across campus to the athletics field, hoping to find a certain master at work there.

When they arrived at the arms practice area beside the field house, they found Arms Master Rendle instructing first-year students in basic defensive moves with wooden swords. Karigan and Fergal watched over the fence as the arms master and his apprentice walked among the students, assisting them in finding the correct stances and technique. Some were intent on just swatting one another and smacking knuckles, their voices shrill. All through it, the arms master remained calm, never raising his voice. It struck Karigan as such a complete contrast to Drent’s “teaching style,” that she felt jealous of the students getting to work with Rendle. Drent, she thought, being the monster he was, would eat these youngsters as an appetizer before breakfast.

Rendle looked up just then, and smiled when he spied them.

“Now class, I’m going to show you what real swordplay looks like.” He waved Karigan and Fergal over.

They stepped through the fence rails and the students hushed, regarding the Riders with curiosity.

“These are Green Riders,” he told them. “Messengers of King Zachary.”

The youngsters gazed at them with even more interest. Riders were a rare sight, especially off main roads and deep in the countryside. A Sacoridian could live an entire lifetime without ever seeing a Rider, or even knowing they existed. Hands darted up and so many questions poured out that Rendle and Karigan could barely keep up with them.

“Why do you wear green?”

“Do you know the king?”

“How old are you?”

“Are those swords real?”

To the last, Karigan answered by sliding her saber from the sheath just enough to give them a hint of the steel that remained hidden. The children clustered around her to touch pommel and hilt.

“That’s nothing,” one loud boy said. “My father has a jeweled sword used in the Clan Wars. I get to touch it anytime I want.”

“Shut up, Garen,” the other students said.

When an argument threatened to arise, Rendle raised his hands and commanded, “Enough.” Silence fell immediately. “I am sure that the sword of Garen’s father is a fine and storied weapon. But these are weapons, and their purpose is not glory or decoration, but use in combat. I have no doubt that this Rider saber has seen a good deal of service.”

Garen was red faced and looked displeased.

“Have you killed lotsa people?” a girl asked Karigan.

“Um…”

Rendle sighed. “That is not an appropriate question for our guest, Nance.”

“Sorry, Master Rendle.”

He nodded. “Now, if Rider G’ladheon is willing, we shall demonstrate some true swordplay at a level that, if you practice hard enough, you may one day attain. This all right with you?” he asked Karigan.

Karigan felt she could hardly decline after that buildup, but she didn’t mind anyway. She passed the message satchel and her swordbelt into Fergal’s keeping and picked through a pile of wooden practice swords till she found one that suited her. She and Rendle then moved to a worn ring on the practice field where bouts were conducted. She swept the blade through the air to get the feel of it and loosen her muscles. The apprentice moved the students a safe distance from the ring. If either Rendle or Karigan stepped outside of it, the bout was lost.

They touched swords and initially went easy, each gauging the other. Then they worked through basic moves, the clack-clack-clack of their wooden blades the only sound on the field.

As Rendle got a feel for her ability, he increased the speed and difficulty of his technique. Karigan met him blow for blow, enjoying the effort, both physical and mental. The work cleared the presence of the students from her mind, her world now only Rendle and the rhythm of their blades.

Rendle accelerated again and Karigan whirled to block his blow, responding with an undercut that would have disemboweled a lesser opponent. He attempted to hook her sword out of her hands, but anticipating this, she pushed him away. They circled the ring, breathing hard, evaluating, waiting for the other to make the next move.

“You’ve been training,” Rendle said. “Good.”

Karigan responded with an advanced sequence that took Rendle by surprise and nearly caused him to stumble out of the ring, but he was a swordmaster and not only saved himself, but reversed Karigan’s momentum and put her on the defensive. He scored a touch on her shoulder.

Karigan tightened her defenses. To her it was a dance, movement flowing naturally from repeated practice. They settled into a level of swordsmanship bordering on mastery in which more was achieved with less—more power, more finesse, more sustained action. It was the stealth and stillness of hunting cats that placed swordmasters above all others.

Karigan was unaware of how far she stretched her ability, for there were only the swords, and they brought to her a sense of peace. Until, quite suddenly, Rendle’s sword pressed into her gut.

“Kill point,” he said, his voice soft.

Karigan could only stare at his sword as though it had really passed through her belly. Where did it come from? What move had he used?

“I see you haven’t learned everything yet.” Rendle grinned and withdrew the wooden blade. “Who’ve you been training with? Has Gresia been teaching you this advanced stuff?”

“I…” Karigan was still trying to sort out what he had done. “Drent,” she said in a distracted way.

“Drent?”

Karigan remembered where she was and looked around. Rendle’s class had been joined by dozens of other students of various ages, all watching her and Rendle.

Rendle cleared his throat and turned to the students. “Now this was swordplay. Swordplay of a very high order.”

The onlookers applauded, a much different reaction than what Karigan normally received when she trained with Drent on castle grounds. Drent and his other trainees greeted her efforts with derision, though she believed her skills superior to at least a few of theirs.

Rendle dismissed the students and when some of them lingered to ask questions, he shooed them away. “There will be time for questions tomorrow,” he told them. “Go on now.” To Karigan he said, “Would you like to see where you went wrong with that last move?”

Karigan did, and they worked it out till dusk, with only Fergal watching. It reminded Karigan of many such sessions when she was Rendle’s pupil, his method of teaching supporting her abilities rather than tearing them to pieces as Drent’s did. His teaching inspired her to pay attention to her studies as well, and she thought it interesting how far a little encouragement from one whom she respected could go.

When Rendle taught Karigan the intricacies of the technique to his satisfaction, he said, “Try that one on Drent.”

Karigan grinned. “I will.”

Rendle then became very still. “Has he made an initiate of you yet?”

“A what?”

“A swordmaster initiate?”

“Uh, no,” Karigan replied, surprised by the question.

Rendle drew his dark eyebrows together. “If you were still my student, I would.”

“Really?”

Rendle nodded. “Your level of swordplay today was borderline swordmastery.”

“It was?” Karigan knew her skills had improved dramatically with Drent’s tutelage, but she never dreamed of being on that level.

Rendle grinned. “I’ve been softened by working with beginners all the time, but I know skill when I’m up against it. You’ve had a natural talent all along, and now you’ve built upon it.”

“I did? I have?”

Still grinning, he patted her on the shoulder. “Felt good to work at such a level. Now why don’t you help me clear up this equipment and we’ll catch up over some supper.”

Fergal, apparently hungry, helped them carry armloads of practice swords to the field house.

“Would you teach me, sir?” he asked.

Rendle halted in the doorway. “Pardon my manners, Rider, but we’ve not even been properly introduced!”

Karigan remedied the matter and added, “He’s trained some with Arms Master Gresia, and I’ve been working with him during our travels. It seems we’ll be on campus for a little while, and if it’s no burden, well, we’d both benefit from some training, and be honored by it.”

Rendle stepped inside and dumped the practice swords into their storage chest. “I will do so, and schedule you for my advanced class time. You will inspire the students to work harder.”

Karigan was pleased, not only for herself, but for Fergal. Maybe Rendle’s mild manner would prove an encouraging influence on Fergal, as he had on her.