Master of restless shado.., p.46
Master of Restless Shadows, page 46
part #1 of Master of Restless Shadows Series
That left him standing, and waiting in awkward silence.
Narsi considered leaving the duke to his spying. There would be no point in Narsi slipping in during Sparanzo’s lesson to examine his legs on the sly if the duke was standing here in the hall, watching everything.
Then the duke straightened and glanced farther down the dim hall. A group of well-dressed young Cadeleonian men hurried toward them. Several armed guards trailed them. Narsi recognized Prince Jacinto at the head of the group. He’d replaced his flamboyant silk rags with blue velvet attire, trimmed in gold. By comparison the duke’s riding clothes appeared rather humble, though his raised head and imperious expression certainly weren’t modest or meek.
“Fedeles, you must stop slinking off on your own!” Prince Jacinto declared.
“I was bored,” the duke replied.
“You’ve a shorter attention span than your horse,” Jacinto responded, but he sounded amused. He glanced to where Narsi stood and stopped short with a sudden, wide grin. “Master Narsi! Why, you are just the man I need.”
“My physician is far too busy to spend his time in one of your plays,” the duke responded. Which was rather high-handed, Narsi felt, particularly since he wasn’t actually in the duke’s employment, but Father Timoteo’s.
“Don’t be that way, Fedeles,” Prince Jacinto replied. “Everyone knows you’ve no use for physicians, and my latest production requires someone to play an alluring Yuanese catamite.”
To Narsi’s surprise the prince winked at him. Several of the young men attending the prince eyed Narsi far less favorably, though the slim fellow with a cane at the rear of the group—Narsi recalled his name was Enevir—regarded him with an expression very like sympathy.
“The fact that Master Narsi is neither an actor nor Yuanese ought to give you a little pause,” the duke replied, but he too smiled. He closed the distance between them and the entire party turned as the prince and the duke strode down the hall, pretending to argue over some absurd-sounding play.
Moments later Narsi stood alone in the hall. He considered knocking but couldn’t resist leaning forward to see exactly what it was that had so enrapt the duke. On the other side of the crack between the doors Master Ariz stood, silently staring back at Narsi.
Despite himself, Narsi gave a shout and leapt back a step.
Master Ariz pushed the doors open and considered him with a disturbingly blank expression.
“You surprised me,” Narsi said, as if that hadn’t been abundantly obvious. Then a thought occurred to him—certainly the duke and Master Ariz hadn’t been standing on opposite sides of the doors staring at one another, had they? Though it made for an amusing mental image. “How long were you standing there?”
“I heard Prince Jacinto’s voice in the hallway and came to see if he meant to call on Sparanzo.” Master Ariz stepped back, making way for Narsi to enter the fencing room.
The chamber blazed, sunlight pouring in through a multitude of windows and reflecting across even more mirrors. In the midst of all the light three dark-haired children stood. If Narsi hadn’t known better he would have said that they were all siblings—the two boys could easily have passed for identical twins. The girl stood at the same height as the other two and gripped a small wooden sword in each of her hands.
Master Ariz closed the doors behind Narsi and then made a perfunctory introduction. The slim boy wearing a gold-threaded jerkin was Sparanzo, while the other two were Mistress Delfia’s children, Celino and Marisol. Master Ariz’s dull voice and blank expression betrayed only a trace of warmth as he spoke to the three of them.
“Master Narsi has come to examine all of us to ensure that we are all in our best health for Prince Sevanyo’s coronation,” Master Ariz stated.
Narsi hadn’t expected to examine all of them, but noticing young Sparanzo’s worried expression, he guessed that Master Ariz was right not to make the boy feel singled out. The excuse of further examinations also offered Narsi an opportunity to possibly look at the scar on Master Ariz’s chest. So he nodded and opened up his physician’s bag.
The girl, Marisol, stepped up to him directly and performed a curtsy. Narsi gave as much of an exam as he could without having the Cadeleonian girl remove any of her clothes. Her pulse beat strong and her breathing sounded clear. When he requested that she hop from one foot and then the other, she showed off a little, turning agile spins. Her arms and legs were surprisingly muscular for such a young child.
“You are in quite fine health, Mistress Marisol,” Narsi informed her, and she grinned, displaying small pearly teeth.
Her brother followed her example and appeared just as toned and fit. After Narsi told him so, the boy cocked back his head and nodded, in a languid, confident manner that reminded Narsi of Lord Vediya. Sparanzo approached Narsi much more hesitantly. Young Celino actually caught his hand and drew him near.
“Don’t worry,” Celino told Sparanzo. “Mari and I are right here to defend you. And so is Uncle Ariz.”
Sparanzo glanced back over his shoulder to Master Ariz. The fencing instructor produced a fractional smile—which Narsi thought had to be the first time he’d seen the man do so.
Just observing Sparanzo walk to him, Narsi noted the boy’s limp, as well as his focused attempt to hide it. Even at his young age the child had obviously already absorbed the Cadeleonian ideal of physically powerful and perfect men. He seemed very aware that he did not quite measure up. His two strong, agile playmates likely made him all the more aware of his impediment.
“You’re five years old?” Narsi asked.
“Six in a month.” Sparanzo spoke very clearly and with a formality that seemed at odds with his youth. Narsi guessed that the boy mirrored the tone of either his mother or father when addressing a servant.
“Well, you’re quite tall for your age,” Narsi told him, hoping to reassure the boy.
Sparanzo nodded. His expression remained serious and disapproving. Still he allowed Narsi to examine him without voicing any objection—though the boy’s entire body tensed when Narsi placed his hand on his left leg and felt the muscle of his calf.
“Does that hurt?” Narsi asked softly.
Sparanzo shook his head. Narsi considered him, attempting to tell if he was lying or simply afraid of having attention brought to his left leg. Narsi dropped his hands to the heel of the boy’s shoe. Sparanzo remained tense. Narsi felt sympathy for the child, but he would do him no good by stopping his exam and pretending like nothing was wrong.
“Can you shift your weight onto your left foot and then back all the way over to the right for me?” Narsi asked.
Sparanzo nodded. As he shifted his weight, Narsi noticed that both Sparanzo’s playmates did the same thing. He glanced to them to see if they were perhaps teasing the boy, but both of them appeared quite serious and focused on exactly emulating the slight wobble that marked Sparanzo’s shift from his left foot to his right. They were both quite good at imitating the motion, which Narsi found truly strange.
Sparanzo repeated the movement and Narsi watched him closely. This time Narsi felt certain of the slight difference he detected in the length of the boy’s legs.
“Very good,” Narsi told him. “You’re all done.”
Relief showed plainly on the boy’s face. He hurried to join his companions and Narsi rose and stepped back to Master Ariz’s side.
“Now for your exam, Master Ariz.”
“That’s hardly necessary—” Master Ariz began.
“It doesn’t hurt. And we’ll be here with you, so don’t worry.” Sparanzo offered nearly the same assurance that Celino had given him.
“I really should have a look at your stitches,” Narsi added.
Master Ariz didn’t argue. He simply stood unmoving for several moments. Then he looked to the children and told them to perform some series of dance steps or fencing positions—Narsi was not familiar enough with either to know. The three of them set to work, taking turns lunging at one another and then springing back. Their reflections danced across the mirrors.
Master Ariz drew back to one of the weapon racks to remove his heavy coat and rest it across the rack. The pale fabric of his shirt showed the faint lines of dried sweat. The right sleeve displayed flecks of bloodstains. As Master Ariz rolled back his sleeve to expose his stitched forearm, Narsi noted both how well he used his left hand and the corded thick muscle of his arms. It suddenly occurred to him that breaking free of Master Ariz’s grip—should he choose to grasp him—would not be easily done. The sword hanging from Master Ariz’s belt seemed all at once glaring and ominous.
And yet the man himself remained bland in appearance and demeanor. He extended his right arm. Narsi studied the stitches and scowled at the bruised skin and red, inflamed scabs that mottled his neat, clean work.
“You would be wise to take better care of your arm while it’s healing. If the wound festers, it could cost you your hand.” Narsi quickly retrieved his remaining flask of coinflower distillate from his medical bag as well as a small washcloth. He cleaned the wound as gently as he could. Master Ariz gave no indication of pain as Narsi worked.
He leaned in toward Narsi and the smell of sweat rolled from him.
“What of Sparanzo?” Master Ariz asked.
“His right leg is a little shorter than his left,” Narsi replied. “The matter is easily remedied by making the sole of his right shoe just that small bit thicker. The condition isn’t uncommon and most children grow out of it.”
“That’s all?” Master Ariz asked.
“I believe so,” Narsi replied. “Exact measurements of both his legs need to be taken, but I didn’t want to embarrass him in front of his friends. Also, it might be more natural for his cordwainer to take the measurement, since he’ll need to know the precise difference to make up in the shoe heels.”
“Sensible,” Master Ariz remarked. “I’ll have my sister inform the duchess. She’ll be relieved to know it’s so simple a matter.”
“Yes,” Narsi agreed, but his thoughts were far from the subject of who should arrange for the boy’s shoemaking. Instead he battled his own apprehension over broaching the subject of the brand Master Ariz bore. If he was going to do it, now would be the time. Or he could let the moment pass and simply withdraw to a safe distance from a man who might very well be a murderer.
Fear slithered through the pit of his belly, as he finished cleaning Master Ariz’s arm. Lord Vediya had warned him against doing this, but he’d also been so delighted at the idea of knowing.
Narsi packed his medical supplies away. Then he straightened to his full height. He stood a good three inches taller than Master Ariz, though he suspected the Master Ariz outweighed him by a solid stone of hard muscle. Still, would he take the chance of attacking Narsi in front of the children? Narsi hoped not.
“You know when I first stitched your arm up I noticed a scar on your chest—”
At once Master Ariz’s head came up. His gray gaze fixed upon Narsi’s face, while his right hand dropped to his sword hilt. He said nothing and his expression remained blank as a mask. Narsi’s throat felt dry and his heart raced, but he pressed on.
“I believe that it’s a Brand of Obedience, and if so, then I’d like to help you break its control over—”
Master Ariz’s left hand suddenly slammed into Narsi’s throat, cutting off his words and nearly knocking him off his feet. Master Ariz’s fingers clamped into the flesh of Narsi’s neck. Narsi fought with both hands to break Master Ariz’s grip, but his arm was like steel. Narsi gasped for air, and white specks floated before his eyes.
“Don’t say another word.” Master Ariz spoke so calmly that the children took no notice of them. His expression hardly altered, though beads of sweat had risen on his upper lip and his pupils flared wide: both signs of immense pain and intense distress, Narsi remembered from his medical schooling. He wondered if his own gaze was a mirror of Master Ariz’s. His pulse seemed to pound through his entire body. Master Ariz’s palm felt cold and damp against Narsi’s skin. Tremors passed through his fingers as he very slightly loosened his choke hold.
“I do not wish to kill you, Master Narsi. But you’ve done a very foolish thing.”
“Yes, I see that.” Narsi started to draw back from the other man’s grip, but Master Ariz shook his head.
“If you run, I will not be able to keep from giving chase. I will cut you down in an instant.” Master Ariz whispered the words as if straining to push them from his mouth. “You must take my sword from me. Quickly.” Master Ariz jerked his right hand back from his sword belt. His whole arm shook as he held it out from his side.
Narsi reached out and gripped the hilt of Master Ariz’s sword and drew it. The weight of the weapon startled him.
“Now my dagger,” Master Ariz directed him.
Had he not felt so terrified, Narsi thought he might have laughed at the strangeness of their interaction.
He quickly took Master Ariz’s dagger from its sheath. Like the sword, it felt unwieldy in his hand. Despite the fact that he now held two deadly weapons against Master Ariz, Narsi didn’t feel any more safe or certain of the situation. If anything, the sight of the naked blades worried him all the more. How easily could Master Ariz take one or both from him and run him through. Even if he could keep the blades, the weapon racks surrounding them brimmed with no end of swords, spears, maces and flails for Master Ariz to make use of. Narsi wasn’t a swordsman and he doubted he had it in him to use any weapon against another person.
Narsi tried to calm himself and think, but it was hard to feel collected with Master Ariz’s powerful fingers holding him in a strangling grip.
“Take your hand from my throat, will you?” Narsi attempted to maintain a light tone, for the sake of his own confidence. He didn’t imagine that squealing or shouting would aid Master Ariz to remain collected, either.
“I’m trying to,” Master Ariz ground out. They stood there in the strange tableau for what felt like eternity. Sweat poured down Master Ariz’s face and soaked through the front of his white shirt. He sucked in air through clenched teeth, as if merely breathing was an agony for him, and still his expression betrayed nothing more than a slight frown.
Narsi watched him, feeling every quake and tremor of Master Ariz’s struggle play across the delicate skin of his throat. Master Ariz’s grip grew steadily tighter. The beginning of panic flitted through Narsi’s chest as he struggled to draw in each breath.
“You must force me to free you,” Master Ariz said at last. “Raise my sword to my chest. Make my flesh feel its bite.”
Narsi hesitated for only a moment. He needed to breathe. He lifted the heavy sword.
Behind them the children laughed and bounded around each other. Out of the corner of his eyes, Narsi saw their shadows dance through long shafts of bright sunlight.
To Narsi’s horror, Master Ariz stepped into the sword blade, and a brilliant red weal of blood welled up through the front of his shirt. Narsi almost pulled the sword back, but then he felt Master Ariz’s grip on his neck ease slightly.
“Release me,” Narsi rasped.
Master Ariz’s hand jerked and shook as he dragged his clammy fingers back from Narsi’s throat. Narsi gasped in a deep breath of air. A cold ache remained where Master Ariz had bruised the muscles of his neck.
Three loud bells rang from the distance of the chapel. Though it felt as though he’d stood here with Master Ariz for hours, Narsi realized that hardly any time had passed at all since he’d entered the fencing room. Now a knock sounded at the doors and the children stilled in their play. Narsi looked to them and found all three of them staring back at him.
“Very good, Master Narsi. But your sword arm is dropping slightly,” Master Ariz said calmly, as if instructing him. Perhaps he was. Narsi lifted the sword a little.
Sparanzo and Celino both appeared to accept the idea of some impromptu fencing lesson, but Marisol looked slightly skeptical. She started toward them, her own small wooden sword gripped in her hand, but then the doors opened and two guardsmen leaned in to inform the children that they were expected back to attend the duchess.
“Off you go, then,” Master Ariz replied. He glanced over his shoulder to the guardsmen. “Please tell my sister that I may be late. Master Narsi and I are in the midst of a lesson.”
Narsi realized that if he was going to expose Master Ariz, then this had to be the moment, when there were at least two other armed men present. He met Master Ariz’s gaze and took in his pallid, perspiring visage. The splotch of blood staining the front of his shirt continued to spread. The man looked half ruined, and Narsi knew that his rash decision was largely to blame for Master Ariz’s suffering.
He’d taken an oath to do no harm, and yet his desire to please Lord Vediya had clearly led him to inflict agony upon Master Ariz. He couldn’t lay Master Ariz bare now, in this moment of desperate suffering.
“It may be an hour or more, considering how much I still have to learn, I fear,” Narsi announced. His voice sounded too loud and his attempted grin felt like a grimace.
Fortunately the guardsmen appeared largely disinterested in both himself and Master Ariz. They offered half bows to Sparanzo and struck up a pleasant conversation with the boy as they turned and led the children away. The doors fell closed. Relief washed through Narsi, only to be followed by anxiety.
What was he going to do with Master Ariz now?
“There’s a length of rope hanging over the sword rack behind me and a stool beside that. It’s well made enough to restrain me,” Master Ariz told him. “Keep the sword to my chest and walk me back to it.”
“You’re bleeding and need—” Narsi began to object.
