Shehyn was waiting for me when I returned after lunch, holding her carved wooden sword. She looked at my empty hands and made an exasperated gesture. “Where is your dueling sword?”
“In my room,” I said. “I did not know I would need it.”
“Run fetch it,” she said. “Then meet me at the stone hill.”
“Shehyn,” I said. Urgent imploring. “I don’t know where that is. I don’t know anything about the stone trial.”
Surprise. “Vashet never told you?” Disbelief.
I shook my head. Sincere apology. “We were focused on other things.”
Exasperation. “It is simple enough,” she said. “First you will recite Saicere’s Atas for all gathered. Then you will climb the hill. At the first stone, you will fight one from the school who is ranked of the first stone. If you win, you will continue to climb and fight someone of the second stone.”
Shehyn looked at me. “In your case, this is a formality. Occasionally a student enters the school with exceptional talent. Vashet was one such as this, and she gained the second stone at her first trial.” Blunt honesty. “You are not such a one. Your Ketan is still poor, and you cannot expect to gain even the first stone. The stone hill is east of the baths.” She flicked her hand at me: Hurry.
There was a crowd gathered at the foot of the stone hill by the time I arrived, more than a hundred people. Grey homespun and muted colors vastly outnumbered mercenary red, and the low murmur of the crowd’s conversation was audible from a distance.
The hill itself wasn’t particularly high, nor was it steep. But the path to the top cut back and forth in a series of switchbacks. At each corner there was a wide, flat space with a large block of grey stone. There were four corners, four stones, and four red-shirted mercenaries. At the top of the hill stood a tall greystone, familiar as a friend. Beside that stood a small figure in blinding white.
As I came closer, I caught a smell drifting on the breeze: toasted chestnuts. Only then did I relax. This was pageantry of a sort. While “stone trial” had an intimidating sound to it, I doubted very much that I was going to be brutalized in front of a milling audience while someone sold roasted nuts.
I entered the crowd and approached the hill. I could see it was Shehyn next to the greystone. I also recognized the heart-shaped face and long, hanging braid of Penthe at the third stone.
The crowd parted gently as I walked to the foot of the hill. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a blood-red figure rushing toward me. Alarmed, I turned and saw it was none other than Tempi. He hurried toward me, gesturing a broad enthusiastic greeting.
I fought the urge to smile and shout his name, settling instead on a gesture of joyful excitement.
He came to stand directly in front of me, gripping me by my shoulder and jostling me around playfully, as if congratulating me. But his eyes were intense. Close to his chest his hand said, deception where only I could see. “Listen,” he spoke quickly under his breath. “You cannot win this fight.”
“Don’t worry.” Reassurance. “Shehyn thinks the same, but I might surprise you.”
Tempi’s grip on my shoulder grew painfully tight. “Listen,” he hissed. “Look who is at the first stone.”
I looked over his shoulder. It was Carceret. Her eyes were like knives.
“She is full of rage,” Tempi said quietly, gesturing fond affection for the crowd to see. “As if your admittance to the school was not enough, you have been given her mother’s sword.”
That piece of news knocked the wind out of me. My mind flickered to the final piece of the Atas. “Larel was Carceret’s mother?” I asked.
Tempi ran his right hand affectionately through my hair. “Yes. She is enraged past reason. I fear she would gladly cripple you, even if it means being thrown from the school.”
I nodded seriously.
“She will try to disarm you. Be wary of it. Do not grapple. If she catches you with Sleeping Bear or Circling Hands, submit quickly. Shout it if you must. If you hesitate or try to break away, she will shatter your arm or pull it from your shoulder. I heard her say this to her sister not an hour ago.”
Suddenly, Tempi stepped away from me and gestured deferential respect.
I felt a tapping at my arm and turned to see Magwyn’s wrinkled face. “Come,” she said with quiet authority. “It is time.”
I fell into step behind her. As we walked, everyone in the crowd gestured some manner of respect toward her. Magwyn led me to the beginning of the path. There was a block of grey stone, slightly taller than my knee and identical to the others at each corner of the path.
The old woman gestured for me to climb up onto the stone. I looked out over the group of Adem and had an unprecedented moment of stage fright.
Bending a bit, I spoke softly to Magwyn. “Is it appropriate for me to raise my voice when reciting this?” I asked her nervously. “I do not mean to be offensive, but if I do not, those in the back will not be able to hear.”
Magwyn smiled at me for the first time, her wrinkled face suddenly sweet. She patted my hand. “No one will be offended at a loud voice here,” she said, gesturing considerate moderation. “Give.”
I unbuckled Saicere and handed it over. Then Magwyn urged me onto the stone.
I recited the Atas while Magwyn watched. Though I was confident of my memory, it was still nerve-wracking. I wondered what would happen if I skipped an owner or misplaced a name.
It took the better part of an hour before I was done, the audience of Adem listening with an almost eerie quiet. When I finished, Magwyn offered her hand, helping me down from the stone as if I were a lady descending from a carriage. Then she gestured up the hill.
I wiped the sweat from my hand and gripped the wooden hilt of my dueling sword as I started up the path. Carceret’s reds were strapped tightly across her long arms and broad shoulders. The leather straps she used were wider and thicker than Tempi’s. They looked to be a brighter red, too, and I wonder if she had dyed them especially for today. As I came closer, I saw she had the fading remains of a black eye.
Once she saw I was watching, Carceret tossed her wooden sword away in a slow, deliberate motion. She gestured disdain broadly enough so they could see it in the ha’penny seats at the back of the crowd.
There was a murmur from the crowd and I stopped walking, uncertain what to do. After a moment’s thought, I lay my own training sword down by the side of the path and continued to walk.
Carceret waited in the center of a flat, grassy circle about thirty feet across. The ground was soft here, so I wouldn’t ordinarily worry about being thrown. Ordinarily. Vashet had taught me the difference between throwing someone to the ground and throwing someone at the ground. The first was what you did during a polite bout. The second was what you would use in a true fight where the intention was to maim or kill your opponent.
Before I came too close, I fell into the now-familiar fighter’s crouch. I raised my hands, bent my knees, and fought the urge to rise up onto the balls of my feet, knowing I would feel quicker, and ruin my balance as a result. I took a deep, steadying breath and slowly moved toward her.
Carceret fell into a similar crouch, and just as I was coming to the outside limits of her reach, she made a feint toward me. It was only a slight twitch of the hand and shoulder, but, anxious as I was, I fell for it wholeheartedly and skittered away like a startled rabbit.
Carceret lowered her hands and stood up straight, abandoning her fighting crouch. Amusement, she gestured broadly, invitation. Then she beckoned with both hands. I heard a few pieces of laughter drift up from the crowd below.