I suppose I had, in a way, led a sheltered life. There had been no bullies in Whitefish village, and it was a while before I recognized that Raede was less concerned with Cleton’s antecedents than with establishing his own authority. I stared at his blunt features and wondered why he sought to provoke this argument, simultaneously realizing that Cleton’s mild responses served only to irritate him the more.
“I could break you,” he said.
“Perhaps,” said Cleton.
I thought there was no perhaps about it. I thought Raede could likely break us both. I thought it a pity Ardyon had confiscated our weapons. I heard Raede say, “The aeldor of Kesbry had a son; a snotty creature he was.”
“Some are,” Cleton said.
“Like you,” said Raede.
“You make swift judgments, friend Raede,” Cleton said, still mild, as if they conducted an entirely friendly conversation. “You’ve known me but a single afternoon and already you mark me one with a man I’ve never set eyes on. Think you you’re perhaps a trifle hasty?”
Raede said, “No. I think you’re a popinjay. I think you’re a pampered keep-son. And I don’t like you.”
To his right and left two students sniggered. Their names were Leon and Tyras. I thought that did this come to the fight Raede appeared intent on provoking, they would take his side. I thought that singly I could defeat either one, but together … I glanced sidelong at Pyrdon, wondering if he would aid us, and saw his eyes shifting nervously between Cleton and Raede. I thought he would not.
Cleton said equably, “That’s your right, my friend. Indeed, I must admit I’ve not much fondness for you.” Then his eyes flashed and his voice dropped, though his words came clear: “But still I’ll warn you-do you continue this, you’ll regret it.”
Raede was a moment taken aback, then he snorted laughter and said, “I’ll regret it, eh? And how shall you make me regret it, popinjay?”
Cleton’s voice was mild again, but his eyes were pale and hard. “I’ll thrash you,” he said confidently.
Raede’s eyes narrowed until they were tiny slits: I thought no longer of a bull, but of a wild boar brought to bay and ready to attack. He said, “We’ll see. After dinner.”
“As you wish,” said Cleton.
After we had eaten we left the hall and waited outside for the tutors to disperse. As is the way of such things, word had gone around the students, and a crowd was gathered in the quadrangle, eager for the promised diversion. Raede announced that the enclosure where we had taken our first lessons was a suitable place, and we made our way there, as stealthily as any group of bloodthirsty young men. It was foolish of us to think we should go unnoticed, but we believed ourselves unobserved as we filled the space, the spectators spreading along the walls, Cleton and I facing Raede and his two acolytes at the center. The night was starry, and sufficient light came from the College buildings and the streets of Durbrecht that we could see well enough. I saw that Raede was smiling hugely.
“I trust this is between we two alone,” Cleton said, intending insult, “and your friends shall not aid you.”
“I’ll not need aid,” Raede answered.
“Then do we begin?” said Cleton.
Raede grunted and took a long step forward, swinging a clublike fist at Cleton’s head. He was not yet seventeen years old, but that blow could have downed a full-grown man. Cleton, however, was not there for the fist to strike: I saw him dance clear, ducking, and then rise to grasp Raede’s wrist in both his hands. I am not sure what happened next-there was a swift shifting of feet, sudden movement, and Raede lay on his back. I laughed. Cleton stood waiting, smiling. Raede climbed to his feet and attacked again. And once more was toppled, landing this time on his face in a flowerbed. He pushed up, shaking his head, dirt smeared over his cheeks and mouth. Then he snarled and stood, staring at Cleton with furious eyes. He was not hurt, but he was humiliated, and perhaps aware for the first time that this might not be the easy victory of his anticipation. He advanced more cautiously, his head down and his hands extended from his sides. Cleton stood waiting for him, that easy smile still on his lips. Raede came on slowly, then sprang, faster than I had thought his size should allow, his great hands reaching for Cleton’s throat. Had they landed, I think he would have choked my friend, or broken his neck. Instead, they found only empty air as Cleton again ducked under his opponent’s reach, took hold of his tunic, and fell backward, crashing down with Raede into a bush. This time Raede cried out, and when he extricated himself, I saw his face was scratched, thin lines scored across his forehead and cheeks. He wiped a dirtied hand over his wounds and muttered a foul oath, then lowered his head and charged, caution forgotten.
It was a foolish move: Cleton simply stepped a pace sideways and in an eye’s blink pivoted and kicked out, knocking Raede’s legs from under him. For the fourth time the bully went down, skidding helplessly over the flagstones. When he rose, his nose was bloodied and his lips puffed, his tunic filthy. I became aware of the audience muttering, that wagers had been placed. I grinned, sure now that Cleton must win.
Raede, too, had that thought, for he swung his heavy head and made some sign to Leon and Tyras. I saw it, and then that Raede maneuvered to turn Cleton’s back to his supporters, advancing slowly again, his arms spread wide, driving Cleton across the opened space. I moved from my position, making my way along the edge of the crowd until I stood behind Leon and Tyras. I watched as Raede came onward, Cleton sensing some subterfuge, so that he risked a glance over his shoulder. He saw the two, and me behind, and nodded once as I waved, trusting me. Then he turned to face Raede again, feinting to one side and then the other, the larger man blocking his escape each time. I saw Leon and Tyras exchange a look and their shoulders tense in preparation. As Cleton was driven back, they readied to grab him. Raede smiled now, which was an ugly sight, and darted at Cleton, intending to force him back against Leon and Tyras.
They raised their arms, and I set a hand against each of their temples and slammed their heads together. I was, as I have said, no weakling, and I put all my strength into my effort. There was a dull sound, like two blocks of wood banged, and both gasped and went limp, falling bonelessly to the stones.
Cleton said, “I thought you needed no aid; I see you’ve no honor,” and I heard both anger and contempt in his voice.
Raede grunted and continued his advance. Cleton stood his ground, and I feared he would be caught in Raede’s terrible embrace. Then I winced, instinctively sympathetic, as he kicked Raede between the legs.
Raede squealed like a pig at gelding and clasped both hands to his assaulted manhood, knees and waist bending as he curled over the source of his pain. His eyes were closed and his mouth wide open. Cleton performed a kind of pirouette that spun him full around and lifted his other leg in a sweeping kick to Raede’s chest. It was again so swift, I was not quite sure what my friend had done, but I saw Raede lifted onto his toes and toppled sideways. A choking moan burst from his open mouth, and he made no effort to rise, instead twisting in a fetal ball. Even in the yard’s wan light I could see his face was horribly pale. I wondered if he was dying.
Cleton stood watching him, his expression dispassionate. There was a murmur from the onlookers, and someone called for Cleton to finish the fight. My friend said, “It is finished.”
And then a toneless voice said, “Indeed it is, and now the price shall be paid.”
I turned, startled, to find Ardyon at my back, behind him two Changed. He glanced at the two students lying unconscious at my feet and raised his brows in silent inquiry. I nodded, silent myself, my heart beating very fast. He touched me on the shoulder with his caduceus and said, “Come with me.” The staff jutted in Cleton’s direction and the warden said, “And you.”
The crowd parted, opening a path to the gate, and we followed Ardyon to our punishment.
I learned a great deal about stables in the days that followed. Ardyon decreed that we should relieve the Changed whose task it usually was to tend the horse pens, and so for three weeks Cleton and I spent our evenings shoveling dung. It was tedious, but not especially hard labor; the worst thing about it was the smell that permeated our clothes. I grew accustomed to it soon enough, but for all we found we had won a new respect amongst our fellow students, still we must suffer their teasing-the ostentatiously pinched nostrils, the elaborate offers of pomanders and scented soaps. We grinned and bore it: at least we were not expelled.
I was intrigued by the expertise with which Cleton had dispatched Raede (who lay recovering in the infirmary with Leon and Tyras for company) and was about to question him the first evening when a small man with the fair hair and pale skin of northern Draggonek came into the stable. He had very bright eyes, set close together, and wore the black sash of an instructor in the martial arts.
“I am called Keran,” he said, and preempted my inquiry. “Where did you learn to fight?”
“With the warband,” Cleton answered, leaning on his shovel.
Keran nodded and settled atop a stall watching us. “Don’t let me halt your labors,” he said, “else Ardyon shall find you more.”
We returned to the task in hand. Keran said, “Did you not think it unfair? Raede is, after all, without skill in the art.” His voice was soft, with a slight northern burr, giving no hint whether he criticized or merely questioned.
Cleton deposited a pile of steaming dung in the cart and shrugged. “I warned him against baiting me,” he said, “and he’d the advantage of his size and strength.”
Keran’s face was impassive as he returned, “But you well know that size and strength are no match for skill.”
“Raede is stupid,” said Cleton calmly. “He took offense at the accident of my birth. I sought no fight, but he forced it on me-because I am an aeldor’s son, which should have warned him I’d have the advantage of training.”
I thought Keran might have smiled then, but his tone remained dispassionate as he said, “You might have killed him.”
“I might,” Cleton agreed, “but I did not. Only taught him a lesson when he called his friends to help him.”
Keran grunted and looked to me. I read a question in his eyes and said, “I saw Raede signal them, and then they readied to grab Cleton. That was unfair.”
“So you tapped their heads,” said Keran.
“I’ve not Cleton’s skill,” I said, “so I did what I could. Should I have stood by?”
“No,” said Keran, and he did smile then. “Not whilst a comrade faced unfair odds.”
I felt both vindicated and relieved. “They’re not bad hurt?” I asked.
“They’ll wake with aching heads,” he told me. “And Raede will ache in other parts, but they’ll survive. Likely they’ve learned a lesson, too. But you two-here not a full day and already fighting?”
“They left us little choice,” said Cleton. “What else could we do?”
Keran nodded as if thinking about that, then murmured, “We’ve rules here, and one is that disputes be settled under the eyes of a tutor. I suspect it’s unlikely you’ll receive another challenge, but does it come, you’ll meet it with me watching. Do you understand?”
We nodded dutifully, and I ventured to ask, “When shall the lessons begin?”