Naza returned at dusk and carried a pitcher of ale out to the woodshed.
‘How are you feeling, my friend?’ he asked, filling a tankard and passing it to the grateful Beltzer.
‘Worse than death,’ he replied, draining the tankard.
‘You didn’t have to do all this,’ said Naza. ‘You should have rested today. You took quite a beating last night.’
Beltzer shook his head. ‘Your wife understands me better than you. This is what I need,’ he said, lifting the tankard. ‘You know, there’s an insanity to it all, Naza. I was the most famous person in Gothir. I was the standard-bearer. I was wined and dined, money and presents poured into my hands. I was on top of the mountain. But there was nothing there. Nothing. Just clouds. And I found that you can’t live on that mountain. But when it throws you off – oh, how you long for it! I would kill to climb it again. I would sell my soul. It is so stupid. With fame I thought I would be someone. But I wasn’t. Oh yes, the nobles invited me to their castles for a while, but I couldn’t talk to them in their own language, of poetry and politics. I was a farmer. I can’t read or write. I stood with them and sat with them and I felt like the fool I am. There is only one skill I know – I can swing an axe. I killed a few Nadir. I took the standard. And now I can’t even become a farmer again. The mountain won’t let me.’
‘Why don’t you visit Maggrig and Finn? They still have that house in High Valley. They’d be glad to see you and you could talk of old times.’
‘They were always loners and we were never close. No, I should have died at Bel-azar. Nothing has gone right since then.’
‘Death comes soon enough to all men,’ said Naza. ‘Don’t wish for it. Come inside and have a drink.’
‘No, tonight I will sit out here and think. No drinking. No fighting. I will sit here.’
‘I’ll send a jug out to you – and a hot meal. I’ll have some blankets brought out too.’
‘You needn’t do this for me, Naza.’
‘I owe you, my friend.’
‘No,’ said Beltzer sadly, ‘you owe me nothing. And from now on I work for my food.’
*
Forty wooden pegs two inches in diameter had been driven into the lawn; each was set some three feet apart in rows of eight. The eight young students stood before the pegs awaiting instructions from Chareos. The morning sun was bright and a light breeze caressed the elm trees which bordered the lawn.
‘Now, gentlemen,’ said Chareos, ‘I want you to walk along the pegs, turn and come back as swiftly as you can.’
‘Might I ask why?’ enquired Patris, the Earl’s eldest son. ‘Are we not supposed to learn the use of the sword?’
‘Indeed you are, my lord. But you hold a sword in the hand, and that is only one aspect of the bladesman’s skill. Balance is everything. Now kindly take your positions.’
The youngsters stepped on to the pegs and made a wary start. Patris moved smoothly out, turned and ran back to where Chareos waited. The other youths followed more carefully. Three slipped and had to make the attempt a second time; these three Chareos took aside.
‘You will continue on the pegs until I return,’ he told them. One was the fat child, Akarin, son of the city’s Elder Magistrate. He would never be a swordsman, but he was a game boy and Chareos liked him.
He took the other five youths to the Run. It had been finished the day before and Chareos was well pleased with it. A long plank was angled up to join a platform of logs some six feet above the ground. The logs were balanced on greased spheres of wood, allowing them to roll gently. At the end of the log run was tied a knotted rope. With this it was possible to swing the twenty feet to the second set of logs and down a greased plank to the ground. The youths looked at the structure, then gazed one to the other.