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| wChapter 11: In which Madrul draws his sword: Sunday, November 27, 2005 | |
Chapter 11 He reached the bottom of the mountain and picked his way clumsily amongst the grassy boulders until he reached the stream. Then he filled the bucket and made his way back to the path, trying not to trip and spill the water in the darkness. When he had almost reached the cave he realized he had made the journey almost without needing to see where he was going and grinned slightly. He was getting used to this lifestyle, though his blistered feet screamed in agony as he climbed. It would be a long day tomorrow if he couldn’t move better than he was now. There was a woosh that pressed him against the far side of the path, up towards where the mountain climbed away from him. He strained to keep himself upright and then stared as the dragon landed, wings flailing air from beneath him, on the ledge, his talons biting in deeply as he settled, his wings slowly falling against his back. Madrul started climbing again as soon as he could stand straight. Drademar disappeared into the cave. Madrul wondered about that. Hadn’t the dragon been worried earlier about who was waiting for him? But perhaps Madrul’s own reaction had reassured him. The boy had not seen anything dangerous in the group of people and had acted as such; in fact he had ignored them. Now he wondered. Perhaps he had caused his master trouble. He could feel the length of the sheath lying against his leg. It was a powerful feeling but Drademar was right; he did not even know how to use it yet, and he wondered if he would have time to teach himself. He had not put a serious dent in the pile of books that the dragon had given him yet, and there were the chores to do, and now that he had his tools he would probably be down at the pool of magma that served as a forge learning how to be a smith. He did not know what he looked forward to more, learning the sword, or the forging, or the magic. But he was excited regardless. He reached the ledge and turned into the cave. Drademar was folded up onto the floor and the three people were seated. Drademar spared him a glance but did not introduce him, and Madrul took that as a sign to continue about his business without interrupting. He went to the barrel, limping a little more than he would like, and emptied the bucket. Then he folded himself down into the corner and tried to remain inconspicuous as he opened up the book he had been reading earlier. “As I said,” Drademar went on while Madrul was getting settled. “You are welcome here.” “We thank you,” said the man. He was sitting crosslegged before where the torches had been thrust into the wall, so that the area was fairly illuminated. His wife sat next to him and the boy was slightly further to the right, almost apart from them. “I must admit that your presence is unexpected, or I would have been here to greet you.” Drademar stretched one wing slightly, casting shadows across the rest of the cavern. “I trust you were not waiting long?” “We have only been here since sunset,” the man said. “We were not sure when you would return and your servant did not seem over willing to tell us.” Madrul almost stood up to object before he remembered himself. It was not his place to state his status. That was Drademar’s responsibility and if he did not speak up there was nothing Madrul could do. The man went on before Drademar had the chance to say anything, regardless. “The wait, however, is not important. We have come because we heard of your request and we wish to offer a contract to you.” Madrul sucked in his breath as quietly as he could through his teeth. He had never seen a formal contracting situation before--usually they were not attended by any other than those dealing with the contract. Spectators were not welcome, and most masters would refuse entrance to those who came. But more than that, he was nervous. What if he had not been doing well enough to satisfy the dragon? It was true, they did not yet have a formal written contract yet, and their verbal contract was relatively tenuous. If he had not been doing as he should have been doing, Drademar might be unhappy enough with him to send him on his way. The man turned to his wife and she bent her head and opened a bag that she had carried with her and withdrew a piece of parchment. The man took it from her a bit impatiently and put it on the ground in front of his crossed legs. Then he gestured to his right, and the boy unfolded his crossed legs and pushed himself a half foot or so forward onto his knees. “This is my son, Xivodo,” said the man. “He is fourteen years of age, strong, and has never been contracted before. He is tenacious and willing to learn all that you might have to offer him. A contract would be beneficial to both of our houses. I ask you to consider our terms." Drademar’s eyes had narrowed during the speech. When at last the man had finished speaking he shifted slightly and then settled. “I appreciate your long travel,” he said again. “And a pleasure to meet the fine son of such an honorable man, but there is no reason for me to have two apprentices.” “Two...?” The man looked startled. “Madrul,” said Drademar, and Madrul got to his feet, crossed to where they had gathered, and bowed slightly to the guests, “Is my apprentice.” Madrul, mid-bow, felt the gaze of the man and the woman turn smoldering. The boy’s gaze was focused on the floor but he could see his eyelashes flickering slightly. The man got to his feet and approached Madrul as he straightened. Madrul almost took a step backwards but managed to hold his ground, focusing his eyes on the man’s chest with which he was even. The man reached out and seized him by the chin, forcing his eyes to meet his own. Madrul’s gaze went flat with anger but again he did not react. One thing at least he had learned from his weeks of working with Drademar was the ability to hold onto his temper when he felt it would be bad to lose it. Now was one of those times; he forced himself not to move as the man turned his face this way and that. The man’s eyes were sharp above the high cheekbones, glittering behind the dark, heavy lashes. Madrul could feel the man’s fingers--they were smooth and clean, far different from the rope scarred and sunburned hands of his own father. “Such a dirty boy,” said the man under his breath, and then he spoke louder. “Why would such a boy be acceptable in the place of my own son?” He let Madrul’s face go and turned back towards Drademar. Madrul let his eyes turn to where the man’s son still sat on his knees. The two exchanged glances; the other boy’s gaze was unreadable, and shortly he let his eyes slide away and focus on his own father. Madrul debated whether or not to be insulted by that, but decided it was neither worth the effort nor necessarily construed, so he too turned his gaze to where the man stood before Drademar. “You do not know of my son’s abilities,” he was saying. “You do not know what an excellent apprentice he would be for you. Far better than this... commoner brat.” He waved a dismissive hand at Madrul who finally let himself bristle slightly. Drademar’s tail, snaking behind where he sat, gently touched Madrul’s shoulder, restraining the boy, as the man continued to talk. “I am of the house of Takanor,” said the man, almost viciously. “A son of the house of Takanor would bring honor under your roof, as opposed to the son of an unknown country idler who will do you no good.” “If the actions of the father are any indications of those of the son, I have no desire to have such a boy as my apprentice.” Drademar’s tone was low but the delivery of the insult made the entire cave tremble slightly. The man’s head snapped back quickly, and the boy got to his feet. For a moment the man looked as if he might say or do something violent; then he took a deep breath through his nostrils and said, “I might construe your words as an insult, sir.” “And I might take your insult to my apprentice as an insult to myself.” The man drew himself up. “I am offering you a contact with the house of Takanor,” he hissed. “I did not think you would be so foolish as to refuse such a connection. Takanor has great power in Sevaye, and—“ He did not get a chance to finish because Madrul took another step forward. His hand went under his toga, found the hilt of the sword, and with a steely rasp drew it from the sheath. He was very careful in doing so and he leveled it at the man with both hands on the hilt. The man stopped and shrunk away from the blade as Madrul said in a low tone, “Withdraw your insult.” The man stopped and then grinned slightly as the woman rose and put her arms around her son. “So you can speak. And it took you this long to realize I insulted you? You are—“ “I do not care a whit for your insult to me. Your words mean nothing for or against me. But I will not stand your insult to my master. Withdraw it immediately.” The tip of the blade lifted and the man shrank back again. “This is not permissible,” he sputtered. “Drademar, your--“ The blade lifted again and the man took a step backwards. Then he took a deep breath. “I apologize for insulting you, Drademar,” he growled quietly. “And I apologize for the behavior of my apprentice,” said Drademar smoothly. Madrul flushed. “His protection is overzealous. Regardless, I cannot accept a contract when I am already under one.” “There are masters in the city who take two or three apprentices at a time,” said the woman, her voice lilting. “There are indeed,” said Drademar. “But they usually have journeymen under them. I am merely one master, and it is my choice here.” The man’s dark eyes flashed. “Then we must accept your decision as a master. I only wish I could change your mind.” He nodded sharply, then turned back and waved a hand at the woman, who bent and picked up the scroll that had been on the ground. Without another word the man turned and strode from the cave and the woman hurriedly followed him. The boy bowed deeply to Drademar, and then turned and trotted after his family members. It was still dark out, and Madrul hurried to where the torches were thrust in the floor, yanked one out, and ran out the cave after them, calling, “Wait!” The man was still striding down the slope and did not turn back; perhaps he did not here. The woman hesitated and the boy almost ran into her; then he turned, and at an unheard word and gesture he ran back up the hill. “It is many hours before dawn,” Madrul said to him, and thrust the torch in his general direction. The boy’s glance was grateful as he took the flaming brand and hurried wordlessly away. Madrul watched the light wind its way down the hill until it disappeared around a curve, and remained outside in the darkness near the flickering light from the brand that remained in the curve for a long time. At last Drademar came out behind him, the great half spread wings blocking the torchlight and casting the ledge into darkness. “Madrul?” “Master...” Madrul turned at last and only then realized that he still held the sword. Drademar sighed. Then he reached out with one taloned claw and pulled the blade from Madrul’s grip. “For shame, boy,” he said quietly. “I did not make that for you to threaten people with.” He moved inside the cave. Madrul flushed deeply and followed him in. “I am sorry, Master, but—“ “There is no reason for you to object. You threatened a guest. That is completely uncalled for.” “But he threatened you first, Master—“ “He did not threaten me. When did he draw his sword?” “He did not threaten with a sword but with words, master. Throwing around his heritage and his connections, as if they would make you obey. The house of Takanor this, the house of Takanor over there. He did not respect you—“ “Madrul!” The dragon’s tone was sharp and Madrul at last bit his tongue, realizing that perhaps he had spoken too much. He lowered his head. “I think you over speak yourself, Madrul,” Drademar said gently. “But moreover--whatever your pride is, you do not use the threat of a sword against a man who is a guest in your household, and who does not draw first, no matter what words he speaks. Let him draw first, and provide the first insult, the first provocation. I am unhappy with you, Madrul.” Madrul flushed unhappily himself. “I do not say that I disagree with your explanation. The man was overbearing. But,” and now the dragon sat back on his heels and pushed himself to as full of a height as he could achieve in the cave, spreading his wings slightly, “But when he is a guest, and a guest in my house, then you will not treat him in such a way. Do I make myself clear?” “Master Drademar,” started Madrul. The dragon’s eyes narrowed. “Madrul,” he said carefully. “Do I make myself clear?” Madrul knew that tone--his father had only used it twice in all the time he had spent with his family. He lowered his head. “Yes, sir,” he said quietly. The dragon lowered himself and let his wings fall against his back again. Madrul did not allow himself to fully look at him--he felt his cheeks were flaming with embarrassment. Without another word the dragon turned and slunk down the tunnel, disappearing into the distant red glow of the magma. Madrul watched him go out of the corner of his eye. As soon as the dragon’s tail had disappeared from view he lifted a fist and scrubbed at the hot tears that had accumulated in the corners of his eyes, wiping them away viciously. At last he went to the torch in the floor, pulled it out, and thrust it into the highest crevice in the wall that he could reach. Er, oops. No he doesn’t. Because it’s already in the wall. Then he stumbled over to his bed mat and collapsed. He waited only long enough to pull the sandals from his aching feet and drop them next to the boots and pull the cloth around him to keep away the wind’s chill before the exhaustion dragged his eyes shut. He woke late in the evening, when the torch had already gone out, and lay for a moment with his eyes closed, feeling the salty remnants of tears on them. Of course, of course Drademar had been right. But how could he explain to the dragon that he could not stand to see such an insult put to Drademar? The man had called him foolish only because he had refused to take his son into contract. That was just plain rude, and inconsiderate. And the way the man had treated Madrul himself... the boy scowled deeply. He had so very rarely been worried about rank and prestige and image that having finally encountered one of those merchant princes from the Siqan Drema’s stories, he hardly knew how to handle himself. The man had acted like a pig, but what stung Madrul most was his callous disregard of Madrul himself, as well as of Drademar’s opinion. He had wanted to force the dragon into accepting the contract. Madrul’s calling out of the insult had only complicated matters. He forced himself to go back to sleep. The next day Drademar assigned him to scrubbing the barrel of ashes he kept in the lava cavern, for burned out tools or the few failed attempts at weapons. It was a disgustingly messy job that required so many trips up and down the hill that Madrul’s blistered and agonized feet and legs almost gave out from under him. The boy was sure that this was punishment for what he had done yesterday, especially since Drademar had spoken to him cheerfully when he had assigned him the task. Madrul decided to stick it out and not complain about it--at least not to the dragon. When he was making his eighth trip down the hill, limping from the pain of his right foot, he tripped and rolled for a few meters, raising a cloud of dust, and so when he finally reached the stream he took the time to splash some water over his toga and across his sweating face. “What is this?” said a voice He looked up, startled, from washing his face, and turned around. It was the nobleman’s son, leaning on a rock nearby. “What are you up to?” the boy queried gently as he straightened and approached. His toga was more dust-stained than it had been the night before. Madrul straightened himself and watched the other warily. “Cleaning a barrel of ashes,” he said at last. “Punishment for threatening your father last night, I believe.” “You were not told?” “Not precisely. I read it in his attitude.” Madrul jerked his chin in the general direction of the cave up the side of the volcano. “What are you doing here?” The boy scrubbed a booted toe at the grass, a bit nervously. “What is your name?” “Madrul.” Madrul wondered why the boy had not remembered him from the night before. “And yours?” “Xivodo. It was said last night but in all the...the mess...” “Ah,” Madrul said himself, and then slowly offered his hand to the other. Xivodo stared at him a moment, and then a smile flitted across his pretty face and he took Madrul’s hand in his own firmly. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I... I wanted to apologize for... for my father’s actions last night.” Madrul flushed. “I—“ “No, no, I do not blame you for drawing your sword at him.” Xivodo laughed and ran his hand through his dark hair, pushing it back from his eyes. “If I were in your place I cannot say that I would have had your same patience when he dealt with you such. He is... a very confident man. Perhaps... over arrogant.” He sighed. “He really had no right to treat you in such a way. Again, I... I am very sorry for him.” Madrul nodded slowly. The knot that had formed in the pit of his stomach from the moment the man had begun to offer the contract started to loosen and fade a little. “Nevertheless, I had no right to threaten a guest in my master’s home.” Xivodo touched his hair again, a little self consciously. “Your master certainly knows how to deliver an insult. Subtle enough that my father could hardly react to it without being labeled the provoker of the fight, and yet so bright and stinging, he could hardly resist.” Madrul grunted. “It was a rather good comment,” he said with a grin as he bent to scrub out the ash filled buckets, turning the stream from clear to dark grey as the water pulled the nasty mess away. Xivodo stepped forward. “Let me help you,” he said, and there was a fumbled moment when the two were uncoordinated until they managed to gauge each others’ strength. Then they both bent to the task and worked to scrub out the two buckets. Xivodo managed to get splashed with ashy water, putting a lovely dark grey stain on his fancily embroidered tunic, but he did not complain. He followed behind Madrul as he turned and made his way back to the path; they continued talking. When they reached the path Madrul saw that the boy was preparing to follow him up. “Look,” he said. “What are you doing here? You could not have just come to apologize.”
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