Knowing Blade

Chapter 4

When Noras saw Daynar the next morning, he nearly tripped on his own feet. When they'd parted for the night, Daynar had been sober as water, but now he looked pale and ill. His eyes were bloodshot, with dark shadows underneath, and his posture was oddly stiff.

"What's wrong with you?" Noras asked, alarmed.

"Nothing." Even the voice was subdued.

"Don't give me that, I have eyes in my head!" Noras barked. "You look like death warmed over! Are you ill?"

"Just didn't sleep too well, that's — shit, don't!"

Noras' hand stopped just before it clasped the lad's shoulder, but Daynar had already flinched away. Noras shook his head with a frown.

"Didn't sleep well?" he echoed. "And what where you trying to sleep on — rocks? Come on, what's the matter?"

"Nothing, I told you."

"And I told you I don't believe you! You don't look like you ought to be doing the drills today."

"Nothing wrong with me," Daynar said stubbornly.

"Yeah, right."

Noras looked once more at the tight face covered by a sheen of sweat, and decided to keep an eye on the kid. Daynar was going to ignore it, whatever the problem was, but Noras was willing to bet that his composure wouldn't hold through the day.

It was pair drills again. Of course they weren't paired with each other, but Noras had barely started with his pair before he let his sword sink and gestured to his opponent to wait. He simply couldn't concentrate right now.

Daynar was definitely in trouble. Face distorted with effort, he seemed barely able to raise his sword in a parry, let alone launch an attack. Noras wanted to yell out a warning, to stop him, and then he didn't need to do that any more.

Daynar's opponent had swiftly taken in the situation and was going to take advantage of the boy's erratic movements. Somehow Daynar got his blade up to parry the overhead stroke, metal crashed against metal, and a longsword clattered to the ground.

While everything ground to a halt around them, Noras' feet were already moving. He crouched down next to the lad who'd collapsed on his knees on the ground, clutching his right shoulder.

"Daynar?"

Even completely dazed, mouth twisted with pain, the damn kid still fought back.

"It's nothing," he squeezed out.

"The fuck it's nothing!" Noras exploded. "What the hell is wrong? Are you ill?"

Something dark towered above them and Noras snapped his mouth shut. The Swordmaster looked down at them with a deep frown.

"What is the matter, Daynar?"

That voice seemed to jolt the boy out of his stupor. He struggled up and straightened himself with difficulty, pale as a whitewashed wall, swaying on his feet.

"I apologize, sir. I have hurt my shoulder, and it seems to be more sore than I thought."

"In that case you should be resting it," the man said sternly, "not risking further injury by participating in the drills. Have you seen the surgeon?"

"No, sir." Daynar licked his lips. "I'm sure it'll be just fine in —"

"You will go there now," the Swordmaster cut in.

Noras saw something in the corner of his eye, something that caught his attention. All action on the training grounds had stopped while everyone was gathered around them, faces registering everything from puzzlement and curiosity to interest, even sympathy. Everyone, that was, except for three boys whom he knew to be from Daynar's lot. These three were standing there with the rest, but they were whispering among themselves and snickering.

Noras' eyes narrowed and he turned to the Swordmaster.

"Sir, I believe I was the last to see Daynar yesterday," he said audibly. "We parted just outside our sleeping quarters, I saw him go in right thereafter, and I swear there was nothing wrong with him then."

The Swordmaster raised an eyebrow and shot a questioning look at Daynar, who in turn glanced at Noras and pressed his lips tighter.

"I — stumbled in the dark and hit it against the wall."

"Stumbled?" Now the Swordmaster was thoroughly suspicious. "Are you sure that nobody helped you?"

A dead hush fell over the group, and more than one of Noras' friends looked sharply around. The Swordmaster turned to Noras.

"You take him to the surgeon," he ordered. "After that I want a full, truthful account of what happened last night. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," Daynar said through clenched teeth.

"Come," Noras said, careful not to nudge the boy. "Off we go now."

He walked Daynar to the surgeon's quarters, but instead of just pushing him in he went inside as well. He was going to make sure that the stubborn boy wouldn't try to play hero and make up some stupid excuse just to avoid being examined!

Upon hearing of the shoulder injury, the surgeon told Daynar to strip his upper body bare. The lad had no choice but to obey, but the operation seemed far from easy. When he'd managed to get out of his doublet and was gingerly removing his shirt, both Noras and the surgeon gasped.

"Who the fuck did this? What were they thinking, trying to kill you?"

There were deep, dark bruises all over Daynar's upper body, and clear fingerprints on both arms testified that he hadn't taken them with good grace. The culprits had even been careful enough to avoid the face and hands, no doubt to keep the injuries invisible when he was fully clothed. Noras gritted his teeth, blood boiling. The bastards...

The right shoulder looked particularly painful, and Daynar's breath caught when the surgeon touched it.

"Not dislocated, no...Now, stand up. I want you to take off all your clothes, so that I can see all your injuries."

Daynar, jaw tightening, did as he was told. The surgeon clacked his tongue as new bruises were revealed underneath, gently prodded and felt them with knowing fingers, shook his head. After a good number of questions he finally pursed his lips and sighed.

"You are one lucky lad indeed. If your answers are truthful, it seems that nothing's been broken inside you, and that's a little miracle, if you ask me! Now you need a lot of rest. All your bones and joints will be all right again, but that swelling must go down first. You must not push yourself while you are healing. Now, sit down, I'll put some ointment on these and bandage that shoulder for support."

"I'll wait outside," Noras said curtly and spun around on his heels, too furious to stay in one place any longer.

Outside the door he gave the stone wall a couple of kicks and then just stood there, growling. Hadn't he thought that sometimes like this might well happen at some point? People who stood out of the crowd had been violently brought back to line before, that was nothing unheard of, even though it was severely disapproved by the people in charge of the trainees. And Daynar was a prime candidate for a beating: skilled, hard-working, handsome, and friending people several steps above him in the ranks.

The door opened and the tall youngster stepped out, one sleeve of the doublet hanging loose over his right shoulder. Noras blocked his way, hands on hips.

"Who was it?" he demanded savagely. "By Geyrell's blades, when the Lord hears about this he'll have them hanged by the balls!"

"I don't know who they were," Daynar said stubbornly.

"Don't you even try," Noras snorted. "They saw well enough to leave your face untouched, so it can't have been too dark to see. And I'm sure they didn't do it all silently, did they?"

Silence was all the reply he got, and he sighed.

"Listen, lad," he said. "I know you're a proud one. You don't want anyone to think that you'd be telling on others even if they'd deserve it. You don't want anyone to think that you run behind anybody's back for cover. You're thinking that somehow or other, you'll get back at them yet. I can understand that, but there's something you should be thinking about. What's that? Any guesses?"

Still no reply, just a tightening of the lips.

"Right, let me tell you: the problem is that those jealous morons and you are all here, and you're being trained for the same thing. One day you'll have to fight on the same side, maybe shoulder to shoulder. When you're out there, you want to trust the men by your side. Would you trust them?"

"I wouldn't," put in a voice behind him. Noras glanced over his shoulder and saw two of their friends approaching. "Noras is right, boy. So, you were beaten? How many were they?"

"I'd say three or four," Noras said. "At least two to hold him down, one to do the actual beating. That's what his body looks like."

"Right. That's three or four men I don't want to have next to me when the battle is at hand." The red-haired young man nodded for emphasis. "No worries, lad, I think the Master already has a pretty good idea who they were."

The statement was accompanied by a meaningful glance at the group of trainees milling nervously under the slim man's cold stare.

"That's right, the rest of your mates are about to pee themselves by now," said the third man. "Somebody must've heard or seen something, and when the Master threatens the lot of them with some punishment if the guilty ones cannot be found, they'll be all over themselves to speak. Most likely you won't have to say a word."

The Swordmaster had noticed them, and Noras squared his shoulders. "Now, mates, let's go. The Master said he wanted to hear how you are, we'd better not make him wait."