The Apprentice Read online

  Rowan parried the next several blows and made several strikes of his own. His first two blows landed clean, but they had little strength behind them. Byron blocked the rest. Rowan allowed the fight to continue in this manner, dodging and parrying while matching Byron blow for blow. They continued their exchange. Byron eventually landed a blow and a second was close to follow, each one hitting him like a war hammer.

  But Rowan pressed on, unyielding and determined as he fought.

  Byron was slower than Rowan, and Rowan used this to his advantage. He gave Byron a false opening and when Byron made a hasty lunge, Rowan seized the opportunity to strike at the neck where the armor was weak.

  Byron stumbled forward, almost dropping his blade as he fell. Rowan watched as his opponent scrambled in the dirt to get up, allowing the bully to do so. There was no honor in striking an opponent’s back while he was down. He could practically hear the words coming from his master, and he could feel Baird’s gaze from where he stood in the stands. So he allowed Byron to regain his feet, though it was an undeserved courtesy.

  The duel resumed and it was at this point that Rowan noticed the look in Byron’s eyes. They were filled with a burning fire that betrayed the boy’s bloodlust. Rowan had seen that look on Byron many times before, most recently in the fight with Erik. He suddenly realized that this was no competitive duel. Byron was out for blood.

  Each strike became a threat. The tourney blades were meant to prevent killing or maiming, but they could break bones and cause serious harm if used with enough force. It would not take much effort for a boy of Byron’s build to shatter Rowan’s leg, or to break an arm, or crack a rib.

  Rowan understood now how Byron was able to beat Andrew, and why Andrew had walked away from that fight with a limp. Knowing that an opponent meant to harm you and that they were not holding back, it was a frightening mindset. Fear infected your actions and the tension doubled.

  He parried a blow and struck back, landing a clean hit that knocked the breath from his opponent.

  This fight is getting dangerous, Rowan thought. He pressed forward, hoping to end it quickly, but he took a blow to the head that somehow drew blood. The force of it threw him sideways and he hit the ground hard, his vision blurred and his mind reeling. He lay momentarily dazed before he felt a jarring pain and knew that Byron had struck him while he was down.

  There was a shout from Darius, but he couldn’t understand what was said. Thankfully no second blow came and Rowan was slowly able to regain his wits and his feet. The wound to his head was shallow but the blood flowed down his brow and over his left eye, threatening to obscure his vision.

  He wiped away the blood and sweat and adopted a ready stance. Darius was standing between him and Byron. The head trainer would not, or could not, intervene unless the fight had ended or one of them had given up. Still, he was glad that Darius had stepped in while he was down.

  Once Darius saw that Rowan was up, he moved aside to let them continue. As Rowan expected, Byron immediately lunged forward to press his advantage.

  Baird’s words flashed through Rowan’s mind. His master had told him that an opponent can be stronger and faster, but skill was the most important factor in a fight. Skill is what gives one man an advantage over another, and it goes beyond simply knowing how to wield a blade, Baird had said. True skill is knowing how to read your opponent’s moves, how to know what he is going to do before he does it. If you can read your opponent, then you can anticipate and you can manipulate the flow of the match and throw him off balance.

  Knowing that Byron was going to press the attack, Rowan had adopted a more defensive stance and was ready when the blow came. He blocked and he parried, retreating backwards while leading Byron forwards in a deadly dance around the ring. Byron’s anger and his bloodlust made him dangerous, but it was also making him easy to predict and manipulate.

  He continued to lead Byron on, blocking and dodging every attack.

  Several hits landed but Rowan ignored them, pushing past the pain and focusing on maintaining his defense and his footing. If he were to fall, then everything would end very quickly.

  The crowd hooted and cheered as he continued to defend himself. He heard the voices of his comrades as they shouted encouragement from the sidelines. He also heard shouts of derision and cries for him to stand and fight, taunts that called him weak, but he ignored them all. A true warrior would not be goaded so easily. He would attack when he was ready, not before.

  As the thought came, an opening appeared. Byron overstepped for an attack, leaving him off balance when Rowan blocked it. It was the moment that Rowan had been waiting for.

  Swift as the wind, Rowan advanced and struck a hard blow to Bryon’s chest. Even with the armor, he knew that the blow would leave a painful bruise. The crowd cheered as the action picked up, but Rowan wasted no concentration on those surrounding him. He continued his assault without letting up or offering a chance for submission. He had watched what had happened to Erik. He was better than Byron, but he would not give his enemy the chance to back out. Not that Byron would take it anyway, Rowan thought.

  He landed a flurry of well aimed blows to weak or unarmored areas and he finished with a smack across the face. The steel of his blade struck Byron’s helm and caught the boy’s nose with a sickening crunch as it swung sideways. Byron fell and Rowan knew that the match was over.

  The crowd, stunned into silence as one of the champions fell, erupted into a frenzy. Rowan heard his name chanted and he felt elated in a very detached sort of way. It began to dawn on him that he had just won the swordsmanship competition. He had known that he would do well, but he had not expected to win. It was not that he did not have faith in himself, he just hadn’t thought of victory.

  Rowan could feel a goofy grin on his face and he gave a wordless cry of victory. He felt hands clasping him and slapping him on the back.

  “You did it!”

  “You won.”

  “Congratulations.”

  The other boys had taken to the field and surrounded him, congratulating him. Erik gave him a punch on the arm that almost knocked Rowan down. From the sidelines, Andrew caught his gaze and gave him a slight bow of the head.

  At some point, Darius made his way through the throng of boys and paraded Rowan back to the center of the ring to declare him the victor of the match. Rowan’s arm was held up and his head was held high. A small part of him wondered where Byron had gone but Rowan pushed the query to the back of his mind. This was his moment of glory and Byron had no place in it. Once more he tilted his head back and gave a cry of victory.

  Chapter 31

  Rowan’s elation at his earlier victory had not subsided in the slightest. He now walked with the weight of his medal hanging from his neck. The sun had fallen and the daylight was fading as it sunk beneath the horizon. The nightly feast was already well underway, with the king leading the festivities and the sound of instruments and singers filling the streets.

  As had become his nightly ritual, Rowan had left the festivities early to wander on his own. He enjoyed his solitude, particularly after having been the focus of so much attention since his victory. He had been seated at a place of honor near the head of the table, where he could speak with Baird and the king and the other victors for that day. Princess Eliza had been present as well, but Rowan had avoided speaking with her. After what had happened earlier, he did not know what to say.

  Immediately following Rowan’s match, even before Darius could officially declare him the winner, he had been congratulated by his friends. Baird congratulated him later on, bringing Princess Eliza with him. The young princess had also congratulated him, but she could not keep herself from giggling and she had a devious expression plastered on her face. Rowan asked but she refused to let him in on the joke and Baird had little to offer.

  Rowan discovered her plan later in the day. The day’s events were coming to an end and the king was holding the daily awards ceremony during which the victors were bro
ught on-stage and honored. The king went through them one by one, parading them out for the crowd and presenting each boy with a medallion to commemorate his victory.

  When it was Rowan’s turn, the princess chose to favor him by stepping forward and quickly touching her lips to his brow and kissing him once on each cheek. They were no more than pecks, but Rowan had never felt the brush of a woman’s lips before and he blushed fiercely. The crowd loved it and the roar afterwards was deafening.

  The thought of Eliza brought a tingling sensation to his brow, which he promptly rubbed away. He shook her from his thoughts and continued to make his way down the deserted, dimly lit streets. He was taking the long way around towards the woods so that he would have more time to savor his solitude.

  Rowan walked, enjoying the bliss of being alone on such a perfect night. He gazed up at the stars, the night sky unmarred by clouds. He was so inwardly focused that he did not hear the footsteps coming from the alleyway behind him.

  * * *

  Byron raced away, dashing madly through the night. His ears roared, his blood rushed, and his heart pounded in his chest. Though he knew he was alone and the streets deserted, everyone else off attending the nightly celebrations, he could not shake the fear that he was being followed. The sound of his own footsteps echoed and came back to him, fueling his paranoia.

  He glanced over his shoulder again to make sure he was not being pursued. He had to get back to the festivities before he was missed, before someone took note of his absence.

  He stumbled over litter left lying in the streets. Cobblestones threatened to trip him as he ran, rising up from the paved street as if to grab at his feet. Sweat dampened his back. Byron forced himself onwards until he staggered, struggling for breath.

  The street lights of the festivities appeared in the distance, casting a glow upon the empty market square up ahead. He ran towards it. The lights danced, calming him.

  He would make it.

  There were no raised voices, no shouts or cries. No one had been there when he ambushed Rowan, and no one had seen him leave. He was sure.

  Byron stopped running just short of the square and steadied himself using a vacant windowsill for support, gasping for breath as he did.

  “Did you not work yourself hard enough in today’s competition? If you had extra energy, you might have won your duel.”

  The lord commander Gannon stood in the shadows of an alleyway, calmly watching him. Fear gripped Byron. He tried his best to slow his breathing and calm his lungs so he might appear as though he was in control.

  “What’s wrong? Did you overexert yourself? Perhaps your evening walks should be just that, walks. It is unseemly to appear overexerted. It makes you weak.” The lord commander paused. “Or is it that something is bothering you? Perhaps you are running from something.” Gannon took a few steps toward him.

  Byron struggled to hide his fear. The lord commander knew where Byron had gone and what he had done. He was sure of it. Gannon was a hard man, not one to show leniency. Trainer Darius would be against him too, and Byron could think of no way to escape. He would be brought to justice for what he had done. Sweat marked his brow and his face grew hot. He panted helplessly.

  “I should go,” Byron said. “I will be missed.”

  “No.”

  Byron stood rooted to the spot. A cold fear gripped him now, the knowledge of his guilt weighing heavily on him. Gannon now stood uncomfortably close, preventing Byron from running.

  “I must—”

  “You will come with me. It would not do for you to be seen returning alone.

  A strong grip steadied him.

  They walked across the deserted square and towards the celebrations. Gannon led him through the crowds to an empty sitting area. Everyone around them was still celebrating the day’s events, laughing, singing, and dancing. All talk was of the competition. No one appeared to have noticed their absence, just as no one took note of their arrival.

  “This was a hot day, and you have exhausted yourself. Allow me to pour you a drink.”

  Gannon dipped a ladle and filled a cup with wine. He handed the drink to Byron, who took a hesitant sip.

  “I have watched you compete.” The lord commander said calmly. “You did well to win the wrestling competition. Your match in the swordsmanship competition the previous day was amusing, though you lost today.”

  Byron kept silent. He did not know how to react. Was he in trouble? What did the lord commander want from him?

  “You are nearly ready to face the Trials and take the examinations required for you to become a proper soldier, are you not?”

  Byron nodded, not trusting himself to speak. His nervousness was beginning to fade.

  “That’s good. I could find many uses for one such as yourself.” The commander gave Byron a look and at that moment, Byron knew. He knew that the commander could see right through him, that he knew exactly what Byron had been up to, and that he did not care.

  Chapter 32

  The streets were deserted as Eliza made her way back to the castle. She had left Baird and her guards back at the festivities, where they were no doubt still searching for her. Baird was probably in a foul mood, as he usually was whenever she managed to go missing.

  Baird had been much more irritable as of late, Eliza thought. He was stressed about something that he refused to discuss. She had taken to spying on Baird, but her efforts never seemed to gain her anything but trouble. Baird was a very hard man to follow and he always knew when he was being watched.

  Eliza was particularly good at sneaking, a skill that she prided herself on very much, particularly since it was often Baird that she was able to give the slip to. Baird was very observant, difficult to fool. He always caught her eventually, though, which was more than she could say of the rest of the servants. A princess is not meant to wander around without a guardian or a caretaker, Eliza had been told. Yet Eliza hated to be watched over all of the time, so she did not care for or listen to such rules of courtly etiquette. She was no child, she was a princess. She could handle herself.

  On this night, Eliza had been able to slip away using the cover of the crowd and the excuse of having to attend to herself. Eliza had learned that every guard, no matter how well trained, would avoid anything involving the toilet. So naturally it had become one of her favorite ways to excuse herself when she wanted to sneak, and she took much pleasure in making some of the men uncomfortable.

  Baird was one of the few men that excuse would not work on. He had nearly bumped into her as she made her escape, crawling through the crowd to avoid being seen. But at the last moment something else had caught his attention and she had been able to get away. She smiled to herself. Today had been a good day for fun. She had embarrassed Rowan in front of his friends and most of the city, and now she had fooled Baird. She probably ought to feel bad or guilty, but she was having too much fun to care. Perhaps tomorrow she would feel her conscience. She was a princess, so she was entitled to do as she pleased. Tonight would be for her pleasure.

  In truth, Eliza had little knowledge of where she was or where she was going. Like most of her endeavors, her escape had not been well planned. Rather, it was a decision made on impulse, as so many of her decisions tended to be.

  She strode through the streets, keeping her path in the relative direction of the castle, taking her time as she went. She knew the castle and its grounds well, but she was not often allowed to explore the city, and never on her own. Her restrictions annoyed her.

  She walked along, paying little attention to her surroundings. When she heard the moaning, her imagination took over and she stiffened, suddenly aware of how dark the night was and how far she had wandered from the celebrations. If she screamed, would she be heard?

  She took a hesitant step backwards, ready to flee, when the sound came again. She twisted towards the darkness of an alleyway to her right. It sounded like a person.

  Her curiosity overpowering her fear, Eliza stepped forward. Her
whole body shook as she leaned forward and peered into the darkness, ready to run if necessary. There was only the light of the moon to see by, which was little help. She could make out a lumpy form on the ground. She gasped as she realized who it was.

  Laying face down in the dirt was Rowan. Eliza rushed to his side and rolled him over. He was bloodied and slightly bruised, some wounds fresh while others were probably from earlier during the competition. Rowan moaned something that Eliza could make no sense of.

  “What?”

  Another moan, this one beginning to resemble speech. He stirred, propping himself up with his arm and waving away Eliza’s steadying grasp. He promptly fell over.

  With difficulty, Eliza managed to drag Rowan to the side of the alley where he could steady himself against the wall. He sat there for several moments with his eyes closed, breathing heavily.

  The left side of his face was bloodied, but much of it was dried. It did not seem to be badly injured. Eliza was glad for that. She would never admit it, but Rowan had a decent face, with skin that was unmarred by scars or pockmarks from disease. It was pretty, though by no means extraordinary. She took out a kerchief and began to dab at him, trying to wipe away some of the blood and make him more presentable.

  “Ouch.” Rowan flinched away from Eliza’s ministrations. His eyes were now open and he appeared to be in a good deal of pain.

  “What happened? Who did this to you?” Eliza asked. When Rowan did not answer, she asked again.

  “Please be quiet,” Rowan growled. “My head feels like it has been split in two. Loud noises make it worse.”

  Eliza quieted, though she was a little irked that her question went unanswered. Unable to speak, she settled for once again trying to clean the blood off of Rowan’s face. She forced him to remain still, telling him just how unsightly he appeared. He winced but allowed her to continue.