Changing the topic, Pug said, “How are your sons, Gardan?”
“Well enough, Pug. They learn their craft and dream of making themselves rich, save for the youngest, Faxon, who is still intent on becoming a soldier next Choosing. The rest are becoming expert cart-wrights under my brother Jeheil’s tutelage.” He smiled sadly. “With only Faxon at home the house is very empty, though my wife seems glad for the peace.” Then he grinned, an infectious smile that rarely could be viewed and not answered. “Still, it won’t be too long before the elder boys marry, and then there’ll be grandchildren under foot and plenty of merry noise again, from time to time.”
As Tomas drew near, Pug asked, “May I speak with the condemned?”
Gardan laughed, stroking his short beard. “I guess I might look the other way for a moment, but be brief, Squire.” Pug left Gardan talking with Roland and fell into step beside Tomas as he passed on his way to the opposite end of the court. “How goes it?” Pug asked.
Out of the side of his mouth, Tomas said, “Oh, just fine. Two more hours of this and I’ll be ready for burial.”
“Can’t you rest?”
“On the half hour I get five minutes to stand at attention.” He reached the terminus of his post and did a reasonably sharp about-face, then resumed walking back toward Gardan and Roland. “After the fire-pot cover was finished, I came back to the pell and found the sword missing. I thought my heart would stop I looked everywhere I almost thrashed Rulf, thinking he had hidden it to spite me. When I returned to the commons, Fannon was sitting on my bunk, oiling down the blade. I thought the other soldiers would hurt themselves holding in the laughter when he said, ‘If you judge yourself skilled enough with the sword, perhaps you’d care to spend your time learning the proper way to walk post with a poll arm.’ All day walking punishment,” he added woefully “I’ll die.”
They passed Roland and Gardan, and Pug struggled to feel sympathy. Like the others, he found the situation comical Hiding his amusement, he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial tone and said, “I’d better get along. Should the Swordmaster come along, he might tack on an extra day’s marching.”
Tomas groaned at the thought. “Gods preserve me. Get away, Pug.”
Pug whispered, “When you’re done, join us in the ale shed if you’re able.” Pug left Tomas’s side and rejoined Gardan and Roland. To the sergeant he said, “Thank you, Gardan.”
“You are welcome, Pug Our young knight-in-the-making will be fine, though he feels set upon now. He also chafes at having an audience.”
Roland nodded. “Well, I expect he’ll not be losing a sword again soon.”
Gardan laughed “Too true. Master Fannon could forgive the first, but not the second. He thought it wise to see Tomas didn’t make a habit of it. Your friend is the finest student the Swordmaster has known since Prince Arutha, but don’t tell Tomas that. Fannon’s always hardest on those with the most potential. Well, good day to you both, Squires. And, boys,”—they paused—”I won’t mention the ‘fist-boxing lesson.’ ”
They thank the sergeant for his discretion and walked toward the ale shed, with the measured cadence of Gardan’s voice filling the court.
Pug was well into his second mug of ale and Roland finishing his fourth when Tomas appeared through the loose boards. Dirty and sweating, he was rid of his armor and weapons. With a great display of fatigue, he said, “The world must be coming to an end; Fannon excused me from punishment early.”
“Why?” asked Pug.
Roland lazily reached over to a storage shelf, next to where he sat upon a sack of grain soon to be used for making ale, and got a cup from a stack. He tossed it to Tomas, who caught it, then filled it from the hogshead of ale that Roland rested his feet upon.
Taking a deep drink, Tomas wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said, “Something’s afoot. Fannon swooped down, told me to put away my toys, and nearly dragged Gardan off, he was in such a hurry.”
Pug said, “Maybe the Duke is getting ready to ride east?”
Tomas said, “Maybe.” He studied his two friends, taking note of their freshly bruised countenances. “All right. What happened?”
Pug regarded Roland, indicating he should explain the sad state of their appearance. Roland gave Tomas a lopsided grin and said, “We had a practice bout in preparation for the Duke’s fist-boxing tourney.”
Pug nearly choked on his ale, then laughed. Tomas shook his head. “If you two don’t look a pair. Fighting over the Princess?”