Saga of Menyoral: The Service (14 page)

Knightsvalley

Longday

Dingus stood among the trees. It might have been any time of day; he was in a deep, twilit spot, and alone. Soft currents of cool air stroked over him, like fingers in his hair, caresses on his chest, and dry needles cushioned his bare feet. When he breathed, the forest scent came flooding in: pine, damp earth, fungus, animals. His pulse throbbed in his ears, timing out the birdsong. He pressed his palm over his sternum and felt his blood rush hot out to every inch of him. When he slid his hand lower, he let out a shuddering sigh, feeling it on every hair.

He pushed his fingers in under the bone. It didn’t hurt, even when he curled his hand around his heart. It beat hard in his palm, and heat trickled down his arm, down his front into his pants: his own dark blood. He drew his hand out, yanking at the resistance of arteries, raised the heart to his lips, and bit in. Hot copper spilled over his tongue. He groaned at the taste of it: better than any other taste, better than the best thing he’d ever eaten. With a shake of his head, he tore a chunk loose and chewed, slow, savoring it, and after he swallowed, he went back for more, and more yet. 

He woke in the middle of licking his fingers clean. They were actually in his mouth, and he had a raging hard-on. He pulled them out, trembling with fear and more than a little loss.
This can’t be right
, he thought, lying there on his stomach, feeling the press of bedroll against groin and trying not to utter a sound. He didn’t want to wake anyone—but Vandis’s eyes were open, reflecting the starlight at him. What Vandis must be thinking, he could pretty well imagine, and he rolled to his side, putting his back to his teacher, and pulled his blanket over his head. He couldn’t fall asleep again, and when dawn started to lighten the sky—hours later, it had to be—he was glad to get up and start the beans and johnnycake for breakfast.

Vandis didn’t say a word about whatever he
’d seen last night. It was the same as any other morning after Dingus had had that dream—just about any other morning for the past couple of months, come to think. He was used to it. That idea landed on his shoulders with everything else and weighed him down, so that when Vandis explained he needed to go over a few last-minute details with the other Masters, and at the third hour sharp he’d read out the results of the oral exams, Dingus just stared into his coffee. “You won’t want to miss it,” Vandis said.

“Yes, Vandis,” he said dully.

“Dingus—” But Vandis stopped.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. Just—don’t be late.”

“I won’t.”

Vandis nodded once, then left.

A
fter Kessa was up and dressed, the two of them went down to the fairground. In all there were thirty-seven Squires standing, and their Masters, seventy-three people at least—plus whoever decided to come watch.

Plenty of people to see me flunk something,
Dingus thought, dreading the whole thing, so deep in the funk he’d been nursing since last night that Kessa’s excited chatter barely dented his ears. “You’ll see!” she kept saying. “You’ll see! I bet you did great. Your stories were great every time you told them to me, just you wait,” and on and on and on.

“Kessa,” he said finally
, interrupting. “Please, shut up.”

She shoved him, and a shove from Kessa was nothing to sneeze at. He stumbled.

“Why the hell’d you do that?”

“You’re a jackass, that’s why,” she huffed, and once they got to the square in front of Assembly Hall, she disappeared. Dingus claimed a spot at the back. The Masters had already come out, and Vandis stood near the door; Dingus could see the top of his head, and a little of his face. He and Santo were talking, excited. Then he bent to climb up on something and his head rose higher. Everyone started to quiet down.

“Well, it’s a pretty good year,” Vandis projected. “We had fewer candidates than usual, that’s true, but here’s the thing: not one of you disqualified. I think the Masters who didn’t have a Squire in can speak to the testing standards, and they’ll tell you we didn’t relax them one bit—so well done, and we’ll see you tomorrow night for the start of the Practical.”

The square exploded. Dingus’s shoulders rose and fell in a silent sigh.
I passed.

Vandis
waited for the cheer to die down. “I’ll read off the names in order of scoring. Storytelling first.” He made a show of unrolling the parchment. “Everybody ready?”

“Get on with it!” som
ebody yelled, and Vandis smiled. He’d been waiting for that; Dingus read satisfaction on his face.

“Top scorer is: Scalietti, Antonio G., for ‘The Boss’s Magic Carpet’ and ‘Akeere and Vard Try Love’. Nice job, Tony.” Near the front of the crowd, Tony lifted his clasped hands while Santo pounded on his back. In spite of his nerves, Dingus grinned.

“Second-place scorers—we have a tie: MacNair, Wallace, for ‘The Enchanted Anvil’ and ‘The Lady’s Oak Staff’; and Xavier, Dingus P., for ‘Eagle Eye and the Worm of Shirith’ and ‘Why the Moon Bleeds’. Third: Markov, Arkady T., for…” Dingus, giddy, didn’t hear anything after that. He’d thought he would have to wait forever to hear his name, but second! And he’d beaten Arkady out, too—even better. He stood there with the morning sun on his neck, his jaw hanging, while incomprehensible noise lapped at his awareness like the tiny lake waves on the shore. Eventually, he managed to shut his mouth, but he didn’t pay much attention to the rest of the names.

The square in front of the Assembly Hall slowly quieted again, and Dingus looked around for a couple of heartbeats before Vandis said, “Ahem,” and, with the snap of another parchment roll, drew his attention back.

“Now the results for the Quiz. For the ones not in the know: those standing the Trial have been divided into classes, depending on the number of correct responses, both to the forty questions and the twenty extra-credit questions. A correct response to an extra-credit question replaces an incorrect response to a regular question.” Vandis cleared his throat. “The first class, with twenty out of twenty in addition to forty out of forty, this year consists of: Xavier, Dingus P. Well done,” he added, with a face-splitting grin. “The second class, with nineteen out of twenty in addition to forty out of forty, this year consists of: Aaron, Francine J.; al-Rum, Tariq; Kalt, Lukas J.; and Smith, Bruno…”

Dingus stood on rubbery legs.
I did it,
he thought, over and over, and then:
I did good!
Vandis had said “well done,” and in public. All the miserable heaviness slid right off his shoulders, and he felt light as a bag of feathers. After he didn’t know how long, people started to filter out of the square, congratulating Squires, back-slapping, laughing. A lot of them didn’t know who he was, but more than a few Masters he hadn’t met congratulated him, too, told him they were impressed and he was the one to watch, the one to beat.

It chilled him, but it didn’t half matter, either; he just wanted to see Vandis. “I told you,” Kessa snapped at him as she passed, and she was gone before he could say he was sorry for telling her to shut up.
Whatever,
he thought, refusing to let her take the shine off his mood. People still surrounded Vandis, who nailed the lists to a board already half-full of old nails, and Dingus went up behind them all to admire the way his name looked at the very top of the Quiz list, and almost at the top of the Storytelling list. Seemed like everybody wanted to talk to Vandis, though, and Dingus could only admire his own name for so long. He stuck his hands in his pockets, awaiting a moment or two with his Master.

“It was an excellent story, Wallace,” Vandis said, and Wallace beamed.

“It’s my favorite Bearded story,” he said. “Pap used to tell it to me all the time.”

“Going to be ready for that Practical?”

“Aye!” Wallace’s chest puffed up. “You couldn’t keep me away with hot pokers!” he said, and then Vandis saw Dingus. His face, shaved clean again for the occasion, lit up and he raised one finger: just a minute, but after he finished up with Wallace, someone else jumped right in.

“Vandis, I want to discuss—”

“Hold on to it, Ryan. There’s something important I have to do.” He excuse-me’d his way out and put his hand on Dingus’s shoulder. “Walk with me.”

“I could’ve waited,” Dingus said.

“They’ll have me here half the day.” Vandis gave his back to the crowd and together they walked away across the uneven cobbles with the moss between them torn by dozens of feet. “Maybe you could wait that long, but I couldn’t.”

Dingus flashed him a grin. “I didn’t say I wanted to wait. I just said I could.” 

“Well. I am not disappointed.” He took a deep breath and added, “I am delighted.”

The flush went
all the way out to the very tips of Dingus’s ears.

“You knocked everyone’s stockings off. Including mine. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not surprised you did well, but the Quiz, you were—words fail me, Dingus, just—damn. And you didn’t get the same exam as everyone else, by the way, since I ask everyone else’s, and Reed asked yours. They were vicious, but you showed him.”

“It’s not usually that hard?”

“Hell no, it’s not. People were not happy with him—but you got every last one, and plenty of that was stuff we’d only expect Seniors to know, when they sit the Master
ship exams. I’ve been, ah, bragging on you. Enough that people were giving me shit about it. After that, they shut up.”

Dingus couldn’t muster
a word. His face flamed.

Vandis
took a deep breath. They stopped. “Okay. There’s another thing—but I don’t want you to go spouting it, even to your friends. Can you keep it under wraps?”

Dingus lifted his eyebrows.

“Look who I’m asking.” His Master laughed. “The Storytelling. The only reason you didn’t tie Tony was that some people didn’t care for your thing with the candles. Too much flimflam in your preaching, apparently. I was not one of them. I liked it, but it’s not all up to me.”

“I’m just glad I passed,” he admitted.

“You didn’t just pass,” Vandis said, grinning again. “You did it with banners flying, and don’t worry about the Practical—you’ll get the details on that tomorrow night, and it’s definitely your kind of thing. Anyway, I’d better go see what Ryan wants. I’ll see you later at the Promotion Ceremony.”

“
Thanks, Vandis.”

“Just giving you what’s due.” He squeezed Dingus’s shoulder and went back to the group. Dingus stayed at the edge of the square with every nerve buzzing. He wasn’t worried about the Practical, not
really. He just hadn’t been sure he’d make it there in the first place. Now, though
—“Words fail me”? How the hell am I supposed to top that one?

“Is it bad if I say I didn’t think you’d beat me?” Francine said.

He shook himself—he hadn’t even heard her come up. “No,” he told her. “Probably nobody thought I’d beat anybody. I sure didn’t.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure Vandis did.” Wry or not, it still weirded him out every time she gave him a smile. “I should’ve let you help me study after all
… but I guess if anybody had to beat me, I’m glad it was you.” In a flash, before he could back off, she put one hand on his shoulder, rose to her toes, and pecked his opposite cheek.

He stared at her.

“And here I was thinking you loved me,” Wallace said, fists on hips, but he was smiling too. “What are you doing with this tree-kissing elf?”

“Better than a rock-humping dwarf,” Dingus said.

Francine turned. “I do what I want, Wallace MacNair,” she snipped, but Dingus could see she really did have a thing for Wallace: she stuck out her chest and flipped her braids. “You don’t have rights over me.”

“Oh, don’t I, then?” He grabbed her and dipped her over one arm. Nothing could make a guy feel quite so unwelcome as two friends tongue-wrestling each other. Dingus looked awa
y, but before he could leave, they’d finished up. “Shall we go and do something before the Promotions? We might try a hand at that ring-toss game, what are we thinking?”

“I want to find Lukas first,” Francine said, looking around. “There he is. Lukas!” she shouted, waving.

Lukas said good-bye to his Master, Kirsten—she was also his aunt—and started over. Dingus had met Lukas last summer at Elwin’s Ford. He was a real nice guy, but Dingus couldn’t lay eyes on his perfect face without lifting a hand to feel the off-kilter set of his own nose. Lukas had offered, when they first met, to break it again and set it straight. He almost wished he’d said yes, but in a thousand years he’d never look like Lukas, no matter how straight his nose was. Lukas’s hair, dark as chocolate, never seemed to get messed up, and here at the Moot he’d put on a long, fancy dragon earring that held an egg-shaped white jewel in its claws, which never got caught on anything the way it surely would’ve if it’d been in Dingus’s ear. He even walked handsome. If he’d been even an ounce less nice, Dingus would’ve hated his guts.

As he was, though—well, he beamed a white, happy smile at the three of them and said, “Congratulations!”

“You, too,” said Francine, and Dingus and Wallace both nodded agreement while she hugged Lukas.

“Thanks!” Lukas beamed even wider a
nd said, “Dingus, you did terrific. You’ve got at least half the Masters going.”