Dragon Harper (6 page)

“Good,” Mikal said as he lowered his blade after their last bout. “We’ll get some water and food. When we start back, we’ll use a dummy.”

After a quick bite to eat and a gulp of water, Mikal brought Kindan over to a hastily built figure. It was dressed in Mikal’s old clothes, a stick forced into the ground with a crosspiece tied to it at shoulder height representing arms. The clothes were filled out with old straw, so that the overall effect was that of a scarecrow. However, Mikal had rigged ropes to the “hands” so that he could pivot the scarecrow around the upright pole. The scarecrow’s head was a gourd with two large holes in it where eyes would be. In the holes Mikal had placed two ripe tomatoes.

He handed Kindan a steel blade and walked back to grab the ropes behind the scarecrow.

“Now go for the eyes,” he ordered. Kindan lunged, but Mikal pulled the scarecrow around so that Kindan’s stroke hit the side of the gourd. He pulled his blade free and prepared to strike again.

In twenty minutes he scored ten times, none of them on the eyes.

“We should take a break,” Mikal said.

“No,” Kindan replied, his sides heaving, “let’s continue.”

Again he thrust and missed. And again. And then—“Excellent!” One of the tomatoes was skewered and remained stuck on the end of Kindan’s blade. Kindan looked at it and his triumphant smile died on his lips as he grew pale and turned away from one-eyed scarecrow. He pivoted swiftly and moved his blade just enough to get it out of the way as he heaved his guts.

Some time later, Mikal handed him a flask of water and Kindan realized that the ex-dragonrider had dropped his ropes and was kneeling behind him, gently rubbing his shoulders.

“Drink and spit it out—it’ll clear out the aftertaste,” Mikal told him softly. Kindan obeyed, his insides still shaking. After a while, he felt better. “Are you able to stand?”

Kindan nodded and stood up. He was glad to get away from the stench of his own vomit. As he stood, he caught sight of his blade once more, with the tomato neatly skewered at the end. It was just a tomato.

“Kindan,” Mikal called softly. Kindan turned to him. “Now you understand what you’re doing, don’t you?”

Kindan nodded mutely.

“And you understand what Vaxoram will do?”

“He’ll kill me,” Kindan answered. “But that’s stupid.”

A trace of a smile crossed the old man’s lips. “So don’t let him.” He gestured for Kindan to pick up his blade and return to the exercise.

Gingerly, Kindan retrieved the blade, flicked it so that the tomato flew off, and moved toward the dummy. He noticed that it once more had two tomato eyes.

Mikal moved behind the dummy and grabbed the control ropes once more.

“Now,” he called, “go for the eyes!”

They practiced for another three hours, by which time Kindan had exhausted Mikal’s store of tomatoes.

“Maybe we should stop,” the ex-dragonrider suggested.

Kindan shook his head. “No, I’ve an idea. Let’s see if I can score just below the eye.”

“Why?”

“I want to convince Vaxoram that I can have his eyes anytime I want,” Kindan replied. “If he understands that, perhaps he’ll surrender.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then he’ll lose an eye,” Kindan replied staunchly, his stomach in a tight knot.

“And if he doesn’t stop then?” Mikal persisted.

Kindan heaved a deep sigh. “Then I’ll blind him and leave him fighting his own shadows.”

Mikal locked eyes with him over the distance and then nodded in acknowledgment of Kindan’s conviction. “If he
knows
that you won’t stop, he’ll surrender.” He tugged on the ropes once more. “Very well, let’s begin.”

Kindan worked for two more hours, fighting with both his natural right and his newly trained left hand.

As the sun set, Mikal called a halt.

“Tomorrow you’ll practice with Jaythen, then Aleesa,” Mikal told him.

Kindan looked surprised at his mention of the elderly wherhandler.

“She fights dirty,” Mikal told him with a wink.

Kindan was just as tired that night, but instead of going to bed exhausted, he found himself led to his quarters by Arella, Aleesa’s daughter.

“Strip, and lie down there on your stomach,” she ordered, pointing to a raised platform. “Put your head in the hole.”

All feeble concerns Kindan had over nudity were completely banished by her next words: “Mikal has asked me to give you a massage.”

As with all harpers, Kindan had received some training in healing and so, from that, he already had some training in massage and understood its benefits to not only muscle tone and skeletal alignment but also just peace of mind. His nostrils pricked as he recognized the smell of warmed, scented oil.

The head hole was well padded with furs and let Kindan relax completely on his stomach without tilting his head to one side or the other. He let out a deep sigh as he settled in, aware only of the cold air on his back. That was soon relieved by a soft fur bundled over his butt and legs. The sounds of Arella pouring and rubbing oil on her hands alerted Kindan to the start of the massage. She first got his back well covered with the oil, then started on his muscles, massaging shoulders and neck first, and then moving down to the base of his spine. In moments Kindan was lost in the luxurious feeling of having the kinks in his muscles all worked out.

Kindan awoke on his sixth day at the wherhold to the smell of fresh
klah.
He looked up to see Mikal holding a mug nearby.

“Bathe and then join us,” the old ex-dragonrider instructed him.

After a quick—and welcome—bath, Kindan dressed carefully, aware of the parts of his body that were still sore. Outside the wherhold he found Master Aleesa, Jaythen, and Mikal waiting for him. Arella hovered nearby.

“What sort of fighter is Vaxoram?” Aleesa asked as he approached.

“Answer her
now,
” Mikal barked.

“Don’t think!” Jaythen yelled.

“He likes to overwhelm,” Kindan shot back.

Mikal nodded. “Good, then what must you do?”

Kindan started to think, but Jaythen barked at him, “Answer!”

“Talk!” Aleesa added.

“Overwhelm!” Kindan shouted in frustration.

“Good,” Mikal said. He smiled at Kindan. “You spoke from your gut, which is the best judge of a fighter’s character. Why?”

This time they gave him the time to think through his response. “Because fighters fight from their gut,” he said at last.

Mikal nodded.

“So this morning we will practice overwhelming,” Mikal told him. “The three of us will try to overwhelm you.”

Kindan swallowed hard. Three? How could he fight three at once?

“Not with swords, just with glances,” Mikal told him. “You must make us look away, all three.”

“How do I do that?” Kindan asked despairingly. “You’re all older than I am. And bigger.”

“So is your opponent,” Mikal replied. “He will be expecting to see you afraid, to see you glance away from him, to see you admit your defeat before he ever raises his blade.”

“If you keep your eyes on his, meet his willpower, then
he
will be afraid,” Jaythen added.

“It is the test of wills that decides the fight,” Aleesa said.

“You must make us back down,” Mikal said. “Use your mind, your willpower.”

“When you get it, when you use your willpower, we’ll feel it and back down,” Jaythen added.

“Arella will help,” Mikal added, nodding toward the younger wherhandler. “She’ll be your coach, shouting encouragement from behind you.” He paused a moment. Then: “Ready? Begin!”

Arella put her hands soothingly on Kindan’s shoulders and told him, “You can do it, Kindan. You can do it.”

Mikal darted toward Kindan, his brows furrowed, an angry look on his face. Beside him, Aleesa and Jaythen also rushed forward, their gazes intent, focused, angry.

“Go on, Kindan, you can do it,” Arella’s voice sounded in his ear, but he didn’t notice it, didn’t feel her hands. Instead, he locked eyes with Aleesa, then looked away, frightened by the expression on the tough old woman’s face. He glanced to Jaythen and saw the fighter’s strength and raw power. He turned his gaze almost imploringly to Mikal, but he knew the old dragonrider had far too much strength for him.

He almost broke down, almost backed away, but then he thought of Nonala and Kelsa.

“You can do it, Kindan,” Arella’s voice sounded in his ear, her hands kneading his shoulders encouragingly.

I will not lose,
he swore to himself. He raised his eyes to Jaythen and locked onto him. Jaythen’s age and fierceness melted out of Kindan’s sight. He felt his own heart leap, his breath coming in slow deep lungfuls, and he remembered his bond with Kisk, his watch-wher. If he could manage her, he could manage this man. His eyes widened, not in fear but in release of power. And then—Jaythen blinked, looked away.

“Go on, Kindan, you can do it!”

Kindan immediately changed his focus to Mikal. He locked eyes on him.
I will win,
he thought to himself. Again he felt the strength within himself, the support and power of Kelsa and Nonala, and he realized that no matter how old, how skilled Mikal was, he would never win against Kindan because Kindan was supported by so many friends. Mikal’s eyes widened, then broke off.

“One more, Kindan, and she’s just an old hag!” Arella shouted behind him.

When Kindan turned his attention to Aleesa, she had already lost.

“Such power!” she exclaimed, glancing to Mikal. “Did you expect this?”

“Yes,” Mikal responded. “He wants to win.” He smiled at Kindan. “Now, we’re going to up the stakes. We’re going to shout at you, try to defeat you with our voices. You have to shout back and defeat us with yours. If you can defeat the three of us, you’ll have no trouble overpowering Vaxoram.”

“And you won’t have me to help this time,” Arella added, taking a step away from him.

Kindan nodded and beckoned for them to begin.

It was much harder this time, with the roar of three voices coming at him, but he never doubted the outcome for an instant. First Mikal, then Aleesa, then Jaythen were all subdued, dropping their eyes from Kindan’s stare. Kindan’s throat was raw and hoarse, but he was exhilarated, feeling he could fly without even a dragon. He had done it!

“Now it is time to rest and reflect,” Mikal told him, his own voice raspy from overuse. “Don’t say another word today. Make certain that you have everything you need without using your voice.”

Kindan nodded. Suddenly Aleesa, Jaythen, and Mikal rushed forward and sandwiched him in a giant hug. When they finally broke up, Aleesa leaned down and hugged him to her. “I am glad you had a watch-wher: you are worthy.”

Kindan nodded in thanks, his eyes bright with tears. At the side, Arella stood, smiling at him.

“You fight well,” Jaythen said, hugging him in a tight bear hug that reminded Kindan of his dead father, Danil. “You will win.”

Mikal hugged him last. “Remember that you have friends here now. You earned them.”

Tears rolled down Kindan’s cheeks. He stood for a long moment while the others departed. After a while, realizing that he was alone, Kindan sat down on the grass.

His glance dropped to the soil beside him. He saw the blades of grass, the dark, rich soil, small rocks on the surface and finer grains of dirt. He drew a deep, full breath and exhaled slowly. One pebble caught his eye and he reached for it. It was smooth, rounded, and black. He rolled it between his thumb and forefinger, savoring the sense of the smooth and cool stone.

Stone. Kindan remembered his earlier conversations with Mikal about stones, rocks, and crystals. He recalled that Mikal had decided to stay in the wherhold because he liked the stones and crystals to be found in the area. Kindan knew that crystals had healing powers, and could also be used for meditation, to focus thoughts. Perhaps if he could find the right crystal, he could use its steadying influence in his fight with Vaxoram.

Kindan stood up resolutely. The best place to look for crystals would be in Aleesk’s cave; he recalled that from his foray Turns earlier to get his green watch-wher egg. He wondered if watch-whers found crystals as soothing as some humans did. He walked back to the wherhold’s entrance and searched inside for a glowbasket. He took one small glow-covered rock and headed toward Aleesk’s cave.

It was daytime, so he knew the watch-wher would be sleeping. He walked in as quietly as he could, so as not to disturb her slumber. Holding the dim glow close, he turned to the nearest wall and ran his hands slowly over it.

He felt it before he saw it—a small stone half-buried in the wall. It came out of the wall easily and he held it in his hand. It felt special, full of power. Satisfied, he went out of the room, returned the glow to its basket, and left the wherhold, heading toward the nearby stream.

In the stream he bathed his find and carefully chipped out a small piece of quartz crystal from the main mass. It was just big enough to hold, but it seemed to vibrate with power as he pinched it between his thumb and forefinger. This will be me, he thought to himself, small and powerful.

Intrigued now, Kindan scanned the streambed and the banks looking for any other rock or pebble that called to him. He was not surprised to find a nice sliver of yellow citrine, which he cleaned and pocketed. He had learned from Mikal during one of the ex-dragonrider’s days at the Harper Hall that citrine helped to keep one cheerful and manifest goals, just as white quartz was good at manifesting power and concentrating intentions. Armed with these, Kindan felt he could not lose.