‘Last night, you heard how a hero was born. Now listen to how he grew.’
A soft noise behind was all that it took for him to be on his feet and turn, knife in hand. He only hoped that it was not apparent that his feet took four small steps before he found his balance, nor that his fingers had fumbled in grasping the hilt, nor that his eyes were squinting to adjust from the glare of the view from the window to the shadow of his chambers.
The desert-dry voice, now familiar, started as she moved closer, a tray with a ewer of iced water and two fine goblets borne before her in place of an instrument of assassination.
‘Your steadiness may waver, you may flounder for your weapon, and your eyes may be straining, but they are all better than when I first saw you here. Let us hope, however, that your dagger is sharper than your reactions, and your mind is sharper than both.’
‘If they were half as sharp as your tongue, crone, I would be ruling the world.’ He sank into his chair, slipping the blade back down the side of the cushion, but this time ensuring that the hilt protruded a little more than it had before.
She poured water for him and he took it in silence. She filled the other goblet for herself, and he let her do so. She could do so without rebuke on this occasion, he resolved. Just as he resolved every afternoon at this time.
She stared with him across the training fields to the dusty plains beyond, two pairs of eyes on the same scene but neither mind seeing it. ‘You could.’
‘What?’ Though he knew.
‘Rule again.’
‘A man cannot win a duel without the right strategy to exploit his opponent, the right horse to bear him, the right armour to defend him and the right blade to strike the killing blow.’
Her voice was like the dry sandy wind that blew in from the desert. ‘Your mind is your strategy, your desire will carry you, their blinding contempt will be your armour.’
‘And the sword? This is no ordinary duel, it will be a fight like no other, and to the victor will come the Empire. It will need a blade the like of which we have never seen. What of it?’
‘Fear not, child of fate.’ Old fingers reached out and gently touched his arm. ‘He is here.’
****
The ship cleared the headland, bringing their first glimpse of the city as they began to swing through the entrance of the harbour.
Brann glanced to his right, shorewards, and almost stopped rowing in astonishment. The harbour itself would have been classed a lake in his land, but even it was dwarfed by the city beyond. White buildings reflected the glaring early morning sun over an area larger than he had ever seen covered by man’s constructions, until his eyes wandered and saw the built-up scene replicated time and time again to the limits of his gaze. Scattered like carelessly discarded jewellery, occasional buildings had golden-clad roofs amongst the red of the majority, giving the same effect, as the ship moved their viewpoint, as the sun did when it dropped a thousand flashes on the surface of the sea.
He was jolted from his astonishment by Gerens’s elbow. ‘Just because you haven’t seen the Jewel of the Empire before, it doesn’t mean you can leave the rowing to us.’
Grakk turned slightly without missing a stroke to speak over his shoulder. ‘If you can look and row, young untravelled boys, you should take the opportunity. There is no better view of the largest city in the world than from here, other than from the Royal Palace itself, and you are unlikely to be afforded the latter perspective.’
Cannick strode down the aisle, his boots loud on the wooden planks even above the sound of a galley in full rowing action, accompanied by a familiar warrior.
‘Brann, to the Captain, after you’ve had a scrub. Galen will take your place for the last stretch, now that we are all free men and friends.’
Galen grinned through his shaggy beard. ‘Well, we’re all free men. Let’s not get too hasty with the rest of it.’
As Cannick moved back up the aisle, Hakon managed to stretch a long leg and nudge Grakk in the back. ‘Looks like you were wrong, oh infallible wise one. One of us seems likely to be treated to that other perspective you were talking about.’
Grakk responded by adroitly tripping Brann as he walked past. ‘You still need to work on your awareness of potential danger, I see,’ he observed pleasantly.
As the ship skimmed across the calm of the harbour towards long stone piers that stretched from the shore like tentacles reaching for any craft that came close, Brann washed for the first time since they had stopped to resupply the previous week. A large tub had been filled with fresh water near the stern and he quickly stripped and scrubbed himself, the practicalities of three months at sea having robbed him of his aversion both to public nudity and cold water, neither of which appeared to be an issue among Einarr’s people in any case.
The Captain was leaning, his back to the door, over a sea of papers strewn across his table when Brann was shown into his cabin. He waved a hand at clothes laid on the bed without turning.
‘You’ll need those,’ he said distantly, staring at a sheet of notes. As Brann moved across the room, however, he straightened and turned, running both hands up his face and through his hair. ‘Apologies,’ he sighed. ‘If there’s one thing I hate more than being polite on diplomatic missions to pompous arses, it’s the studying you have to do beforehand.’
He got to the bed before Brann and stopped him, holding him at arm’s length to observe him. ‘You’ve grown,’ he said. ‘Up and across the way. It should help you swing a sword a bit more easily, but hopefully you have not outgrown these clothes. You’re still undersized, though, so they probably will fit.’
Brann smiled. ‘I would think most people are undersized compared with anyone from your land.’
The Captain’s eyes narrowed with amusement. ‘I also think most people would find you undersized. Not that they would think that a dwarf had stepped from the mines of the fables, mind you, you’re just not as tall as some.’ He cocked his head to the side and stepped back to examine Brann from further back. ‘No, definitely not a dwarf.’ He frowned. ‘I think.’
Brann laughed this time. ‘I have missed our ego-boosting chats.’
Einarr grunted. ‘Well, I haven’t missed having a page. No offence intended, but I work better on my own. Too many years working for a living, I suppose. But now, as you’ll have guessed, I have need of a page once more.’
Brann executed a courtly bow. A very poor courtly bow, he knew, but his experience of court etiquette was non-existent. ‘At your service, my lord.’
The Captain sighed and sat on the bed. ‘You don’t have to be, you know. You are a free man now. I can’t order you to do anything other than your duties as a member of the crew of the Blue Dragon. I’m asking if you’ll do it.’
‘Do I have a choice?’
‘Truthfully?’
‘Yes.’
‘No.’
Brann grinned. ‘Just as well I was going to say yes, then.’
He started to get changed into the page’s clothing. While typical of anything that came out of Halveka in that the garments were practical and hard-wearing, still they were of a finer material and cut than he was accustomed to and the feel of them helped his head adjust to his more