winding alleys of the craftsmen and into the heart of Ambrosia.
The street ahead widened, and well worn cobbles replaced the mud underfoot. Painted storefronts mixed with rough clapboard. In the distance Alodar saw inns, taverns, and liveries rising above the smaller structures.
As he continued, the street crowded with beggars and merchants with pushcarts, badgering the patrons who ventured forth for business before noon. Hawkers standing on balconies added their voices to the melodious background clop of horse-drawn coaches. The aroma of freshly baked meat pies on storefront shelves blended with the smells of human exertion as he pushed his way through the thickening swarm.
Alodar pressed on, and the shops gave way to private dwellings and finally to expansive mansions, high- walled with gates closed to the street. He no longer blended in with the traffic but stood out against the glint of mail and sheen of silk that passed him by. Near the river which split the city, Alodar stopped and banged a heavy knocker against a door of iron.
'I wish an audience with warmaster Cedric,' he said to the anonymous eyes which peered through a small slit in the door.
'Have you an appointment?' the voice behind the eyes asked. 'Warmaster Cedric is presently giving private drill and has two more pupils after noon today.'
'I wish to engage him in like manner,' Alodar said, 'and am here to arrange terms and times. Perhaps he can see me for but a moment.'
The impersonal voice exploded in a hearty laugh. 'And I see by your attire that you must be the scion of some lord in Vendora's court itself. By all means enter. My master needs a diversion this morning and I think he will be most amused by the value you place upon his craft.'
The door swung open and Alodar saw two figures clashing long staves against one another in the large courtyard. Vine-covered walls ran around the periphery, meeting either side of a two-story structure at the far end. Large wooden racks of precisely hung clubs, swords, and maces hid all but one small doorway, and the windows above were crowded by cabinets of daggers, crossed halberts, and double-headed axeblades secured to the wall. Circles and squares of dusty chalk divided the hard clay ground into the pattern of an often-patched quilt, and in the arena nearest the building the two men struggled. Alodar's irritation over the servant's manner vanished as he advanced to meet them with a rapid stride.
'No, no, no,' the taller of the two growled. 'If he thrusts with both hands equally extended, push your staff perpendicular to it. If you do not, he will slide around your guard and drive home like this.' With these words he dropped his left hand from his stick and, swinging with his right, soundly thumped it against the ribcage of his opponent. The second man yelped with surprise and tripped to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs.
'Enough for today, Dartilon,' The victor dismissed the other with a flourish. He smoothed back into place short, silvery hair and twirled the end of his waxed moustache into sharpness. His eyes were an unblinking steel blue and his cheeks axeblade flat about lips drawn into a firm thin line. The skin on his bare arms and legs showed the crisscross of many scars and blotches of age but stretched tight like a drumhead across his thickboned frame.
The fallen man scurried away into the house at the courtyard's end, rubbing his side, and Alodar seized the opportunity to speak. 'Warmaster Cedric, have you room on your calendar for yet another? I cannot pay as well as some, but I will be an attentive pupil and learn well what you may teach.'
'My fee is a gold brandel per lesson,' Cedric rasped, 'Does your eagerness extend that far?'
'A gold brandel, no,' Alodar said. 'At least not at once. Not until I receive return on my formula.'
'Alchemy,' Cedric snorted. 'Hardly a stable undertaking on which to depend. I have a cousin, Saxton, who practices the craft in some little shed out on Honeysuckle Street. He toils alone from sun to sun and all of his hard labor keeps him no more than days away from beggary. I prefer to instruct one whose purse always jingles, regardless of the luck of each morning's brew.'
'It is from Saxton, in fact, that I come,' Alodar said. 'And surely you had rather someone asking to learn than some lord's son sent because it is the fashion?'
'I take the rich men's gold because they thrust it upon me. If they wish me to ride on past laurels instead of upon the horse of the commander, then it is only just that I do so. Time with you only deprives me of coin for my purse. Be gone with your ideals so we can both spend our time more profitably.'
'I come on no idle whim, warmaster Cedric,' Alodar persisted. 'I am determined to learn the craft of fighting and seek to learn it from him who teaches best.'
'Determination, my scars.' Cedric waved aside Alodar's words. 'Determination until you feel the first true stab of pain and realize that it is not some glorious game for the sagas.'
With these words, Cedric suddenly lashed out with his staff and knocked Alodar's feet from under him. Alodar's eyes blazed, but he understood the intent and choked down his cry of protest. He slowly rose, rubbing his shin. Through clenched teeth he said, 'Such a blow I can stand, warmaster.'
'Indeed so,' mocked Cedric and he flicked out and tripped Alodar to the ground once more. Alodar grimaced from the shock to flesh already growing sore, but scrambled upright, reaching out wildly for the end of the stick which now quivered tantalizingly in front of his face. As he extended his arms, it whizzed through the air with lightning swiftness and pounded his stomach with three quick thrusts. Alodar involuntarily doubled up, grasping his hands to his middle, helpless to ward off a series of blows which now rained down upon his unprotected head.
In an instant the barrage stopped, and he huddled, licking blood, ears ringing, barely able to understand Cedric's words.
'What now of that determination, lad? Do you still want to be the mighty warrior?'
Alodar struggled to his feet a third time, still clutching his stomach and squinting to see through eyes beginning to puff shut. 'If this is the way you instruct, let me have the other staff and continue,' he spat out. 'By the laws, yes, I am determined.'
Cedric lowered his weapon and intently studied the figure Alodar cut before him. 'Yes, let us test it fairly,' he said as he scooped up the second staff and tossed it in Alodar's direction.
As Alodar reached for it, the master's stick sprang to life, whirling, thrusting and pushing with lightning speed. Alodar, numbed as he was, could only imitate a stance he had practiced as a boy and thrust his staff horizontally forward. Cedric whipped his erect and cracked Alodar upon the top of the head and then each shin, Alodar shifted his stick vertically to ward off the blows, and Cedric replied with lunges to both sides, methodically hitting shoulders, arms, thighs, and calves. In desperation, Alodar released his left hand and swung his staff in a slow arc towards Cedric's dancing body. Cedric smiled and cracked Alodar's knuckles. The stick dropped once more to the ground.
Now defenseless, the barrage increased in intensity and Alodar huddled, hands over his head in helplessness. As the shower of pain continued, Alodar curled up smaller still, saying not a word but tightening his lips as each blow again hit his swollen knuckles and the puffing welts forming on his back. Finally Cedric tired of the sport and stopped the pummeling. 'And the determination, now?' he taunted.
'As before,' Alodar croaked, struggling to rise on quivering legs. 'Let us go at it again.'
Cedric dropped his staff and stood a long time in silence. At last he said, 'You are either addlepated or burn with desire, my lad. What indeed pushes you so?'
Alodar managed to pull himself erect and return the older man's stare. 'I wish to prove myself worthy,' he said. 'Lord Feston spoke highly of the value of your teaching and his reputation at arms is great.'
'Sweetbalm for reputations. More come from circumstances than from merit. Ambrosia is babbling even now about how this Feston, one of my former lordlings, bettered fifteen men on the walls of Iron Fist. Fifteen men surely all like yourself. Yanked from some town or field, dressed in leather and told that they were now warriors. Why, with any training at all, one could hack away among the likes until his arm grew tired, with no threat upon his own person. But true skill in arms is not measured by such petty reputation. It is by trial in which yours is not the only sword that bites deep. And such skill is achieved at no little cost. Can what you seek be worth the agony of this morning and the days to follow?'
'Yes,' Alodar answered simply, holding fists tight against his sides, determined not to collapse until the interview was over.
'Valdo, tend his wounds with sweetbalm.' Cedric turned suddenly and beckoned to the servant still at the gate. 'And fit him sparring gear for the morrow.'
'Sparring gear?' Alodar asked. 'For tomorrow?'
'Yes,' Cedric said. 'My pupils need practice against the lesser skilled order to build confidence and polish their
