was what mattered. He needed to find the thief-taker as much as ever, still gripped by the same pull that had made him jump ship and take his chances with the sea. He had no idea what he’d do when they met. The anger didn’t burn like it used to, but it burned nevertheless.
When Berren rose the next morning, Tarn had already gone and so he made his way up to the sword- master’s house alone; when he reached it, Talon and Tarn were already there, squatting in a corner of the yard and deep in conversation. Talon saw Berren and beckoned him over.
‘You’ve practised with Tarn enough,’ Talon said. ‘What do you think of him?’
‘The sword-master says-’ he began, but Talon was already shaking his head.
‘No, no, no. If I wanted to know what Silvestre thinks, I’d ask him. If I want to know how he fights, I’ll stay and watch. I want to know what you think of him.’
‘I like him,’ Berren said. It felt odd talking about Tarn when he was standing right there.
‘Would you have him at your side in a fight? Would you let your life depend on him?’
Berren cocked his head. ‘I would,’ he said. ‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
Tarn’s frown was fierce. ‘He’s reliable,’ said Berren slowly. ‘He’s slow on his feet a bit and I’d worry about that perhaps — ’ Tarn glared ‘- but I’d know I could depend on him. The two of us would work well. I’m quicker, he’s stronger. Where I’m small, he’s large. Between us we could do things that neither could do alone. If I was hurt, he’d help me. Probably do something foolish.’ He had to smile. The look on Tarn’s face was touching: he was trying so very hard to scowl.
‘What about the others here?’
Berren peered at Talon. Tarn had asked him the same thing several times and so Talon surely already knew his answer. ‘Why? Why are you asking?’
‘Just answer, Berren of Deephaven.’
‘Lucama then. He has a temper and can be made to lose it. He makes mistakes then but I think I’d fight beside him anyway. He’s short and fast. Morric, Remic, Alaxt, they’re all plodders.’ He grimaced and flicked his eyes sideways in case one of them was close enough to hear. ‘They’ll stand as long as they think they have a good chance to win and they’re cool-headed enough to know when they can’t. Blatter. .’ He wasn’t sure what to say about Blatter. ‘He’s not as fast as Lucama but he thinks more. He tries to bait us. He’s a bit of a shit really, and some of the stuff he comes out with. . well, makes you just want to strangle him. He and Lucama aren’t allowed to practise together now.’ Berren paused. ‘There was one time. .’ Talon must have known already because Tarn had seen it all, but the prince just looked at him. Berren shrugged. ‘I like fighting with Lucama. Blatter used to say things. Call us names. Dark-skin, short-spear. That sort of thing. Doesn’t bother me much but it got to Lucama. The sword-master didn’t stop it either, he just said, “What, you think you won’t get taunts when you fight for real?” And I know how it is. Was always like that where I grew up. So anyway, one day when he’s running his mouth, we pick Blatter up and pin him to the dirt and tell him we’d prefer not to hear his voice for a while.’ Berren coughed. He’d taken his time with his words while Lucama had pressed Blatter’s face into the dirt and Silvestre had watched it all without stirring. They hadn’t seen Blatter for two days after that. ‘I’d be surprised if that’s the end of it between those two.’
Talon shook his head. ‘They’ll save it for the battlefield if they know what’s good for them. Things like that can set whole companies against each other.’ He stopped, his attention drawn by something over Berren’s shoulder. Lucama was walking across the practice yard towards them. He took a long hard look at Talon and began to practise his lunges.
‘Excuse me,’ said Talon. He got up.
Berren turned to Tarn. ‘What’s he like?’ he asked. ‘When you’re fighting?’
‘Who? Talon?’
‘No, the sun-king. Of course Talon!’
Tarn smiled. ‘He’s a tiger. Lordly gentlemen get sent out for a season in the field with one of the companies now and then. Supposed to make men of them but mostly they’re a nuisance. They don’t know their arse from their elbow and you spend more time making sure they don’t get anyone hurt than you do worrying about the enemy. The Prince of War, though, he’s different. He’s been with the Hawks for ten years. Put him in a battle, he’s everywhere. Always shows up where he’s most needed and never runs from anything. You wouldn’t think it to look at him, but on the field. . On the field he’s someone else, like he’s possessed. Most men run when they see
In the practice yard a fight had broken out.
8
In the middle of the fighting square Talon and Lucama had their swords out and were dancing around each other. Lucama was slashing and cursing, snarling with a fury which Talon had surely provoked. Berren started to stand, but Tarn put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down; so he watched instead, chewing on his knuckles while the palm of his other hand rested gently on the hilt of his sword.
‘I’ve been around a lot longer than you have,’ muttered Tarn. ‘Just stay out of it. This sort of thing happens often enough, even in the same company. Usually it doesn’t come to much. He’s just trying Lucama out.’
Tarn’s fists were clenched, Berren saw. ‘Are you sure we shouldn’t-’
‘No,’ Tarn snapped. Then he spoke more quietly. ‘He does this every year, picks on someone from another company and tests him. I wish he wouldn’t. Don’t worry — he’s got metal under that shirt.’
The fight stopped as abruptly as it had started. Silvestre was standing at the edge of the practice yard. He didn’t say anything but he didn’t need to — his presence alone was enough. Talon saluted, first Lucama and then Silvestre, and walked away. Lucama glowered after him. For the rest of that day he was sullen and bad- tempered.
The next morning was Berren’s last with the sword-master. It rained solidly and by the end he and Tarn were soaked to the skin. Talon came to meet them when they were done, promising a night to remember before they all sailed their separate ways. The sword-master gave them a lecture on the virtues of running away as soon as a fight started to go bad and then shooed them out of his house as if he was glad to be rid of them.
‘Silvestre doesn’t like farewells to linger,’ Talon said as they walked through the drizzle down towards the docks. Berren turned and looked back at the city around him for what might be the last time. ‘He likes you. He likes Tarn as well. Actually, Silvestre is one of those people who likes almost everybody, which I suppose is both his blessing and his curse. Every winter he teaches men and women to fight. Soldiers like us. By the end of the season half of them are dead. He told me it was always half, for some reason. If you last through the first year then there’s some hope you’ll survive to grow old. Chances are that you won’t, though.’
‘I will,’ said Berren, with a force that surprised him. Talon gave him a puzzled look and then laughed.
‘They all say that. But
‘I don’t. .’ Now was the time to speak, now or never, before Talon drank himself stupid and they were both too muddled to think and he was suddenly on the run again, on his own, heading off to find Master Sy — wherever he was. It would be
‘You don’t what?’ Talon was smiling but there was a hardness and a sadness there, as though he knew what Berren had been about to say and was ready to tell him no, that they would part tomorrow with the dawn and there
