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Luthan tapped an elegant forefinger on the wooden table. “Not only the Chevaliers. I’d bet there will be some guild-folk who’ll have to bathe or swallow their pride.” He spread his hands. “We all win.”
“Huh.” Bastien took a rag from his breeches pocket and wiped his mouth. “Huh,” he said again, not at his most brilliant. He examined his brother again. “You don’t look like the stuff has helped you.”
“Not yet. I had some bruises from sword practice yesterday.” He sucked in a breath and shook his head. “Rough.”
“Everybody knows the attributes of jerir. It cleanses wounds and sets them to healing clean and fast. Wherever you were hurt becomes stronger, more protected from injury.” Bastien culled from memory.
“Everybody’s heard,” corrected Luthan. “You don’t know until you take that dive. I thought it was eating my body at those sores.” His eyes narrowed, softened. “Give yourself a week or two to heal before you bathe. I wouldn’t want to go into that pool with a real wound, and you look like you have one or two.”
More like five or six. Bastien curved his mouth in a jaunty smile.
Luthan leaned forward again. “But spread the word. Anyone who wants can go to the Castle Temple and ask to swim in the jerir for the next month. They must bathe before using it, and will get a free meal, after. A Marshall or Castle Chevalier will be on hand to verify the submersion.” He wiped his mouth with his handkerchief again and looked at the clock. “I have a courtesy meeting with the city guild Representatives to tell them of my new position. I’ll also report on the Summoning and the Marshalls’ Council. I’ll tell them of this offer.” Again his even, white teeth flashed. “That will stir them up. You spread the word to this lot.” He touched Bastien’s hand. “Think about the job of Chevalier Representative. It would be good for the Chevaliers and for you.”
Bastien forced out the question he’d wanted to ask. “Did our esteemed father bathe in the jerir?” Not that he needed the answer. Reynardus would always have to prove himself tougher, stronger, better than any other man.
“No.” Luthan’s eyes met Bastien’s own and reflected the same emotion. They would never receive the approval of their father, and they would always strive for it, consciously or not. Then Luthan’s expression lightened. “Thealia prodded him into a Song Quest and he left before dawn. He should be back soon.” Luthan unfolded himself from behind the table gingerly. “Good journeys, brother.”
“Good journeys,” Bastien said.
Luthan stared at Bastien’s hat. “You know a dip in jerir might improve it. Couldn’t hurt it any.” With an absent wave of the hand, he left the inn.
A smile on his face, Bastien considered his brother and the Marshalls’ challenge while making damp intersecting circles on the table with the bottom of his mug. Finally he gulped the last of the brew. Luthan hadn’t looked good, true, but the dive through the jerir might not be as bad as he said. Luthan tended to be conservative—one of the reasons Bastien was sure the Cloister had requested Luthan act for them. Conservative and of strong moral fibre. Hell, strong emotional and physical fibre too.
Bastien didn’t look as tough as his brother, and considered himself a flexible and genial man, but if this jerir Test must be done—and damn if he’d let his father and brother top him in this endeavor—it best be done quickly. Tonight. Just stepping up to stand on the bench hurt, but he managed. With luck, he’d have a few good souls like Marrec to watch his ass if he’d miscalculated. He scanned the room until several faces turned to him.
“Attencion!”
Though about thirty patrons of the Nom de Nom started up the winding road to the Marshalls’ Castle, there were only two by the time they reached the drawbridge gate—Bastien and a reedy teenaged stableboy named Urvey.
Bastien glanced at the slight youth from the corner of his eye. “You don’t have to do this, Urvey,” he said gently. “No one will think less of you.”
The boy’s jaws set. “No one will think more of me either.” He met Bastien’s gaze. “This is my chance. If I do this, I can rise in the world, be more than a stable hand. I could even maybe be a squire.” His eyes sharpened. “Do you have a squire, Lord Bastien?”
“I’m a very minor lord, Urvey, with one small parcel of land.” He shrugged.
Urvey pulled hard on the gate chain. A gong sounded behind the first curtain wall. “But you have three volarans. You could Test to be a Marshall, couldn’t you?”
Bastien’s lips twisted. “The last thing I want to be is a hidebound, tight-assed, nose-in-the-air Marshall.”
“Huh. Well, you have the chance. I don’t.” He straightened his shoulders. “Not ’til now. If I became a squire, maybe in a few years I could even get a horse, maybe a volaran, then become a Chevalier. You really do need a squire, Lord Bastien. I saw how hard it was for you to groom your volaran. If you had a squire and were in a fight, he would groom your volaran for you. Please, Lord Bastien?”
Bastien had no intention of becoming responsible for another person.
The peephole darkened, then the gate opened. The Castle guards scrutinized Bastien and Urvey and then waved them into the lower bailey.
Without further conversation, they crossed the lowest courtyard to the second gate to Temple Ward. When they reached the door, Urvey used the iron ring to alert the Marshall guards that they wanted entrance.
Holding a lantern, Swordmarshall Mace ushered them through the thick gateway. “Welcome, Bastien. Thought I’d see you tonight.”
“Good eventide, Mace.” The man had been one of Bastien’s instructors in years past. Squinting in the darkness, Bastien noted Mace had more vigor than the last time Bastien had seen him. If Bastien used his Power and tranced in, he could pinpoint the differences. “You’ve dunked in the jerir pool of protection.” He made it a statement.
Mace nodded. “Right you are. It’s evident, isn’t it. That will help our cause by bringing others to dip in the jerir. My wife Shieldmarshall and I took the plunge together last night.”
“Ah, the time difference. Luthan didn’t look as well as you.”
After locking the door behind Bastien and Urvey, Mace turned to them and smiled. “Still a bit white around the mouth, was he? He dunked late this morning.” Mace frowned. “Didn’t stay for the Exotique’s Choosing and Pairing.”
Bastien laughed. “Who’d want to be bound for life with a woman you just laid eyes on? None of the Chevaliers I know are that stupid.”
Mace’s gaze fired. “The Choosing is an ancient tradition. And it works. The ritual will match a man and woman who can love and bond forever.”
Unobtrusively Bastien shifted from foot to foot. Sitting at the Nom de Nom with all his injuries had been rough, but the two-mile walk up to the Castle had caused sweat to sting in his wounds. Just being upright was a strain. “If you say the Choosing magic works, I won’t deny you,” he placated.
“I don’t think you ever knew that my lady and I found each other through a Choosing,” Mace said quietly.
That surprised Bastien. “No, I didn’t.” He would have liked to have swept Mace a bow in apology, but only half inclined his torso.
“It was a long time ago.” He sent Bastien a pointed look. “But my love for my Shield grows every day. You Chevaliers should have attended the Choosing.”
Bastien lifted and dropped his good shoulder. “For myself, I was traveling here by volaran at the time. So who did the Exotique pick?” He sidestepped a pace or two to the gateway’s thick door wall and leaned against it insouciantly, exhaling in relief as the old stones supported him.
“No one.” Mace’s face grimmed. “No one. There wasn’t a good choice for the new Marshall of the Jade Baton. Now we have a ‘situation’ on our hands. Who knows if she will go or stay? And we need her, by the Song!”
Bastien almost slid down the wall. “The Jade Baton of Honor? She wields the Jade Baton?” The stuff of legends. He’d never even seen the stick.
“She was Tested. There are more Choosing ceremonies than the one for a mate. I myself laid all the batons before her and she Chose the Jade Baton. She carries it well. It flames in her hands.”
“Urgh” was all Bastien managed to say.
Urvey gulped too, opened and shut his mouth, then squeaked. “Lladrana really has a new Marshall? An Exotique? Not just rumor?”
Mace jerked a nod. “That’s right. You might want to stay, Bastien, and Test for Marshall after you dip.”
A half smile formed on Bastien’s lips, he swooped his hand. “A dive and glide is what Luthan said.”
Mace gave a crack of laughter. “Yes. It’s all very well for you unmated athletic Chevaliers. My lady and I just dunked together.” His brows lowered. “You could test for Marshall tomorrow.”
“No. I thought the full complement of Marshalls was filled.”
Mace grunted. “We will be expanding the ranks of Marshalls to defend Lladrana.” Brows still drawn, he glanced at the hulk of the towered Keep.
“We already have one Marshall Pair vacancy—we wish to prevent another.”
This startled Bastien. “Who died? And how? I thought you were all here in the Castle, none of you on the Field.”
Mace grunted. “The Summoning wasn’t easy. Who knew how many of us would die in the attempt?”
Urvey’s eyes rounded. He gulped.
“Someone died during the Summoning?” Bastien blinked.
“Not exactly.” Mace stared at Bastien. “Defau Disparu let his passions get the best of him while he was in a fight.”
Bastien knew the sentence was directed as a reminder to him.
“Disparu attacked the Exotique.”
Urvey gasped. “Attacked our savior!”
Mace ran an eye up and down the boy. “That’s right. He died. She has much Power, that one.”
An atonal chant drifted from a low Tower window. Mace shifted his feet, looked up. “Swordmarshall Albertus and his wife and Shield used the jerir. She was weak to begin with, but she insisted on accompanying her Sword. She barely lives. If she can survive the shock of the next few hours, her health will be much improved. She’s a wily Shield, we’d hate to lose her.”
“Two Pair,” Bastien murmured. From only six Marshall Pairs, it was a cause for concern—for them. “You wouldn’t be at such a pass if you’d opened your ranks much earlier, as the Chevaliers advised. Too many of you wanted to keep your status and Power to a small group.” Bastien jutted his chin.
Mace eyed him, but said nothing in defense. He shrugged. “That’s past. No reason to ask why you are here. It’s my watch to verify any who wish to use the pool of protection. Not that anyone has taken us up on our offer.”
“I’m here!” Urvey said.
“So you are, boy. You want to dunk?”
“Yes, My Lord Marshall.”
“Luthan’s meeting with town guild members tonight. Tomorrow you should have some Chevaliers and townies,” Bastien said.
“Good,” Mace said. He cast a glance at Bastien then one at the window streaming yellow light where the chant was coming from. “You vouch for this lad, Bastien?”
“I’m his squire!” Urvey announced.
Bastien grimaced but didn’t deny it.
“Huh,” Mace said. “It’s about time you showed a little ambition and responsibility, Bastien.” He nodded shortly. “Good thing you took on a squire. Looks like he’ll need some training—that will be good for the both of you. Staunch lad, to brave the jerir.”
Urvey’s thin chest expanded with the compliment. Bastien knew there’d be no dissuading him from the pool now.
Lifting a lantern, Mace scrutinized Bastien. “Stupid-looking hat.”
“Soul-sucker hide.” Bastien tilted his head so Mace could get a better look.
Mace grunted. “Seems like the soul-sucker laid a couple of tentacles on you, too.” He gazed at Bastien’s scratched hands. “Huh,” he said again, still studying Bastien. “You appear a bit peaked—might want to delay your dipping in the jerir.”
Angling his chin, Bastien said, “No.” He grinned. “A dive and glide, said Luthan.”
“That boy always understates the matter. It’s a hell of a lot more. It’s bad, especially if you have any aches or pains, any wounds or injuries. What’s with you, boy?” Mace narrowed his eyes at Urvey. “You fit?”
“I have a coupla scratches. A flea bite or two. Maybe a bruise from a horse that butted me day before last.”
“You’ll do,” Mace said. He stared at Bastien. “If you have any injuries that aren’t showing, you better not try the pool of protection. Wait a day or two. I’d hate to haul you up to that sickroom too.” He waved to the Tower window.
Bastien winced inwardly, thinking of the puncture, the rips, the sucker rounds…Ignoring the pain, he shrugged and grinned, tilted his hat to an even more rakish angle. “I can do it.”
“You always had more mettle than sense. Your squire will watch out for you. Boy!” Mace called Urvey’s wandering attention back to them. “You got any questions?”
Urvey gulped. His eyes gleamed. “I heard we get a meal—a feast afterward.”
“That’s right.”
The chant faltered. Mace frowned, then nodded in the direction of the Temple. “I trust you, Bastien. Go take your swim and watch the boy. I need to get back to the healing.”
“Fine,” Bastien said.
With one last nod, Mace hurried up the right path to the Tower. Urvey started after him, until Bastien halted him with a tug on his sleeve.
“To the left for the shortest route to the Temple.”
Urvey grinned but it looked more like the rictus of fear and anticipation than cheer. “A coupla Marshalls were down at the Nom de Nom for a short noonday meal and I saw them. They looked wrung. Musta taken the dip, I guess.”
“Probably.” Bastien recalled the pallor under Luthan’s skin. He set his shoulders. It couldn’t be that bad, could it? A whisper of the healing chant touched the nape of his neck and slithered down his spine like fear. He was pretty battered, but he was in fine health, strong, and had more stamina than was apparent. And he was a black-and-white; he had wild magic too. Usually under control.
Their boot-steps echoed hollowly before and behind them as they strode along the cobblestone path close to the buildings, passing the nobles lodgings and walking around the bulge of the Temple.
Urvey shivered. “I’ve never been up here in Temple Ward.”
Bastien grunted.
The boy craned his neck, trying to see everything. “It’s wonderful.”
“It’s a Castle bailey,” Bastien said, but the large, round Temple, white stone instead of gray, loomed before them. He looked at it with new eyes—the building did seem to pulse with magic.
Finally they reached the great, pointed oaken door and Bastien swung it open. “After you,” he said.
In an alcove separated from the main Temple by a carved wooden screen, Bastien and Urvey bathed. The usual cleansing pool was the one now filled with jerir.
Urvey wrapped a towel around boney hips as Bastien donned a robe. He’d convinced Urvey to dip first. Bastien wanted to have all his current strength to pull the youth from the pool, if necessary.
Without his baggy garments, the teen was even skinnier. Bastien surveyed him, noting a few minor scratches and the bruise the boy had spoken of. Urvey flushed a little.
“Just seeing how badly you might be hurt,” Bastien said.
A quick grin flashed from the boy. He straightened. “I’m well enough.”
“Looks like you could use the feast they promised us, though,” Bastien said.
Urvey’s grin widened. “I can always eat.”
Bastien believed that.
They walked from the seat-ledge that held their clothes, to the pool. Bastien kept to deep shadows so Urvey couldn’t see the extent of his wounds.
