'You probably want to stay in practice, though,' added Sivana. This month, her hair was blue and short. In The Wizard's Exile she played both sprite and ship captain, the latter with a false beard and a silk scarf on her head.
'So we were thinking,' said Mallion, 'maybe you could teach us what you know.'
'Me?' said Tal, coughing on his cider. 'I'm no teacher.'
'You're the one who stages all the fight scenes these days,' said Sivana.
'That's not the same as real fighting,' Tal said. 'I mean, I hope it looks convincing, but it's not the same at all.'
'Wouldn't it look better if we all knew how to fight for real?' said Mallion.
'Maybe,' Tal allowed. Then his suspicions arose again. 'And maybe it would give you an advantage when Quickly casts Waterdeep next season.'
'Please,' said Mallion. 'Sivana and I are getting those parts anyway.'
'Don't be so sure about that,' said Tal. 'The four duels are the most important scenes.'
'And who would believe either of us could beat an ogre like you?' said Sivana. She and Mallion together barely weighed more than Tal. 'They've got to be the same size.'
'Maybe she'll pick Ennis and me,' said Tal.
It was a feeble argument, since big Ennis was both portly and homely, hardly a good choice for one of the romantic rivals. He usually played the foolish counselor or the cuckolded husband.
'Fat chance,' said Mallion.
'We really want to learn,' said Sivana.
'Why not go to Ferrick's yourself? You're both good enough to get in.'
While neither of them had had proper training, they'd learned enough in the playhouse that their greatest challenge would be to break the bad habits they'd formed.
'We'd rather learn from you,' she said.
Tal looked from Sivana's face to Mallion's, expecting to see one of them crack a smile and reveal the joke before they'd had their fun with him.
'Really?'
'Really,' said Mallion. Sivana nodded.
'I'll have to think about it,' said Tal. He liked the idea of having fencing partners, but the fear that he'd hurt someone again still turned restlessly in his belly. 'When would you want to do it?'
'Right before rehearsals,' said Sivana, 'to warm up.'
'I'll think about it,' said Tal.
He didn't have to think for long. Within a few days, Mallion and Sivana had already learned the basic footwork and followed Tal's lead for an hour of vigorous exercise. When Chaney learned about it, he insisted on coming along. His lazy efforts provided the perfect bad example for the actors, yet he could get it right when Tal corrected him. Best of all, he didn't mind the criticism.
As Tal expected, the hardest part was breaking them of habitual posing and fancy but ineffective flourishes. Deep down, Tal knew that those were some of his own failings as a swordsman, but it was easier to see it in others. He corrected, gently at first, then with an increasing scolding he knew came from long familiarity with Master Ferrick's sharp, imperious commands. When Mallion complained that he worked them too hard, Tal knew he was starting to do a good job.
'Why don't you practice with us?' Sivana asked one afternoon. Chaney had just given Mallion the thrashing of his life, even through the padded armor and masks Tal insisted they wear. Now both men complained they were too tired to go on.
'Because you're not good enough yet,' said Tal. It might have been true, but Sivana's eyes narrowed. She suspected the real reason.
'You're not going to hurt us, Tal.'
'I'm not worried about hurting you,' he lied.
'Then show me that parry you say I botched,' said Mallion.
That sounded reasonable. There was no danger in demonstrating a parry. Tal agreed, inviting Sivana's attack and catching her blade, binding it, and parrying just barely outside her line of attack.
'You don't want to go too far,' he said. 'Otherwise, you have to move too far for the counterattack.
'Show me the counterattack,' said Sivana.
'Not today,' said Tal.
Despite his reticence, Tal wanted nothing more than to fence. More honestly, he wanted to fight. He loved the contest, the trick of outthinking his opponent, then driving home the determining thrust.
He just couldn't be sure he'd hold that thrust in check.
The feeling was strongest just before the full moon. Sometimes his arms craved impact and his legs wanted only to run after a foe and catch him. Sometimes he wished Rusk were not only alive but back in the city, rushing toward him. He felt his jaw clench and bite, wanting to feel a hot rush…
When such thoughts took hold, Tal shook his head so hard his hair stung his face. He stretched his arms as far as they would go, then let them hang loose at his sides, his fingers stirring in an invisible current.
Tal practiced with Perivel's blade only alone, at night. If Lommy was watching, he'd use one of the practice swords instead. But when the tasloi ran off to join his brother, Tal took the monstrous sword out of its canvas bag and fought imaginary foes with lusty abandon until he noted and corrected his own mistakes. Much as he chided Mallion and Sivana, he berated himself when he caught himself blurring the lines between real fighting and choreography. Perivel's sword should be used only for fighting, he decided. Not only was it too dangerous for play but it seemed made for killing. It had a purpose.
Tal found that he could wield the weapon with increasing ease, and he noted with satisfaction that his muscles had grown not only harder but sharper. The scars of Rusk's attack had flattened with his stomach. They were still visible through his thick body hair, but perhaps they were not so ugly anymore.
One night, Tal paused in his drill to stand before the mirror to admire himself, stripped to the waist and gleaming with sweat. He liked the way he looked and considered telling Quickly that he was willing go shirtless on stage again. Rehearsing the conversation in his mind, he realized how truly vain he had become-or how vain he had always been.
Even though he was alone, Tal flushed with shame. He didn't like to face his own failings, especially those that he despised in Tamlin, his conceited older brother. In some ways, the brothers were not so different.
One night in late Uktar, just before the Feast of the Moon, Tal paused in his solitary practice. Something he couldn't identify seemed out of place. He couldn't hear Lommy and Otter, but that was not unusual. Sometimes they were quiet, even at night. Then Tal realized he had just felt a brief coolness on his naked back and caught a fresh whiff of the pre-dawn air. A glance told him that both stage doors were still closed, but he realized that one of them had been open seconds earlier. An intruder had entered the playhouse.
To his relief, Tal saw Perivel's sword on the makeup table, where he'd left it. An assassin would have removed the weapon first, so maybe the intruder was merely a burglar. He would be a disappointed burglar, since Quickly removed the admission funds to a vault in her tallhouse each night. He'd be a regretful one, too, since Tal intended to find him.
Tal saw no one backstage, and he heard nothing unusual. His sense of smell had grown keen over the past ten months. When he sniffed the air, he detected only the usual odors of the Wide Realms: water reeds, lime, and horsehair from the thatched roof, oak beams and plaster from the walls, powder, greasepaint, and linen from the dressing tables, even nuts and orange rinds from the ground beyond the stage doors.
