Fletcher: Crystals of Memory, #1

By P.S. Power

As he lay dying, the mind of an old historian is placed in a magical crystal by an old friend. Over a thousand years later he wakes, in the shared body of a young boy, who needs him to save his life.

The problem is that a disciplined old man has very different ideas about how to live a life than an adventourous, but lazy, boy.

Worse, an ancient war is upon them, a thing that will alter the course of both their lives, forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Orange Cat Publishing
• Release date: Oct 3, 2019
• ISBN: 9798223964834

Book preview

Chapter one

The cool stone, a red gem about the size of the nail on his right thumb, pressed against his forehead. The man holding the rock was familiar to him, being his old apprentice. Ganges. Except that the man had left his service over thirty years before, leaving the path of the historian, to seek magic as his way through the world.

The boy, who truly wasn’t such any longer and had barely been that when Farad had tutored him on the old histories of their people, teaching him the ways of walking the memories from long ago, smiled at him.

My old teacher. I have been asked to preserve your thoughts and learning. This should... He hesitated. A thing done in order to collect his thoughts, perhaps. It may well have been for other, darker reasons.

Mainly due to the fact that, while Farad Ibn Istel was not afraid of magic on its face, there had been no asking as to if he wanted to be stored as a living crystal for all time. It was a heady thing being done there, the old man knew. It meant, for one thing, that the pain he was feeling in his chest, the tightness that his mental disciplines were not easing much, was simply expected to end his days.

A thing that he was ready for.

Rather than fight, slapping the small gem away from his head as it collected his thoughts, experience and some texts suggested life essence into itself, he sighed. Gently. Breathing wasn’t pleasant any longer. In fact, it was a thing that he’d grown well tired of over the last days. A sign, he supposed, that his life was at its end.

Weakly, he spoke. It was a rasping and dark thing. Heard only due to the younger man, who was strong and sturdy for one who practiced magic, to lean in. Close enough to seem oddly intimate. The sort of thing that one did only with family. Not that Farad had any of that left.

Is it not enough that I have measured my days in meditation and reflection on the past? Perhaps it serves well enough for me to end in this place. My life has been long and well enough spent for me to accept that I should rest now. The room was the same tiny cell that he’d lived in for most of his life. Not a prison, exactly, since he was a free man, able to come and go at his whim.

Except that his disciplines had caused him to forego the way of the husband or beloved. The walls were stone and mud, packed tight against the heat and cold that the seasons would bring. A cave with a sturdy structure meant to last through the ages tucked inside. The floor was made of the same tan stone, having been swept clean constantly for so long that there was little to no dust gathering in the space.

It was night out, and Ganges had rather snuck into the room to see him. The moves had been quiet and his words mere whispers. Giving the lie to having been ordered to do anything like preserving his old and forsaken master at all.

If there had been a command from the High Lord, or even the Master of Histories, this act would have been done during the light of day. Not by a man in a dark cloak, furtively entering the stone room in secret, as if to meet him for illicit purpose.

No one would stop Ganges the Wizard from seeing his old friend, after all. Not as he lay dying as he was. Not even during the full light of day. So, this act was something different. Something that Ganges figured would be frowned upon.

Mustering a smile, a thing which took more effort than anything similar had in his entire life, Farad managed a gentle shake of the head.

Before he could call his old apprentice on his actions, taking him to task for what he had planned, Ganges smiled back. There was mirth in his eyes. Something that spoke of love and kindness.

You are too wise to be fooled easily, old one. Still, we don’t have much time and it would be a loss to the world to allow all you have accomplished to fade. There is no other that has walked the path of time as you have. Not in all of history. I cannot bear to see you go without... Again, he stopped, the smile fading from his lips. It was a mistake, not finishing my studies with you. I selfishly sought power and riches, instead of seeking to enrich others with learning. I failed you.

There was pain in the center of his chest, as Farad tried to snort. The thin blanket, a tan thing that was rougher than it needed to be, so that comfort wouldn’t distract him from his tasks, resting over his middle. It was too warm, even if thin in the moment. That was the way of his death, no doubt. Too hot at some points and no doubt too cold in others. The day had been cool for the region, being in the middle of winter as it was. No fire raged in the small hearth, either. No, the heat he felt was just the last gasp of his ancient and frail body, trying to hold to life.

He tried to snort, which came out as a weak gasp. The cool crystal on his head warming as well, as a soft nimbus of power left the right hand of his old student.

You followed your heart. That is no bad thing. You started on a path that was not for you in this life, that was all. I merely hope that my teachings aided you in some small way?

As the darkness moved across his eyes, his old apprentice nodded. It was, he was certain, the last thing that he would see. The kindly face of a man, who, in the end, was as close to a son as he’d ever had.

More than you will know. It was you, and the skills of history that you imparted to me, as much as my instructors in magic, that allowed me to become what I am now. Your tricks of memory have allowed me to consume vast tomes and commit them to my inner being in mere moments. That is perhaps the greatest power one can have, in the world of magic. In part, this is why I seek to do this now. You are too learned to let fade from the world. We might need you again. This stone will allow that, after a fashion. This time he paused only for a moment, taking a deep breath, as pain flared through Farad’s head.

When he spoke again, tears flowed freely down Ganges’ cheeks.

This will imprint your mind inside of it. A mere copy. If you are needed, any who presses this stone against their own head will find that you live inside of them from that point on. A merging, instead of a possession. A joining, so that you may aid others in time of need, without fear of harm to those you give comfort and help to. It is perhaps cruel of me to do this to you. I cannot bear to lose you for all time though. You are as my own Father to me. Perhaps more than that. I would not lose you, if it were in my power to prevent... I love-

Those were the last words Farad could make out. The pain inside of his chest grew worse as his breath stopped. Then, as a mercy, the world faded from view and there was nothing. Not even a thought that it was finally done and that he’d won. Having lived a full life, if an odd one. A thing spent doing things in a way that had allowed him to learn of many wonders, if at a remove. From books and ancient tomes, all of which had lived inside of him for almost seventy years.

Almost instantly, he felt his eyes open.

The faces in front of him were rather different, not being his old friend, Ganges, at all. Two men and a woman. Large ones, compared to those he was used to seeing. Pale, as well. People who he’d never met before, hovered over him. The lady touched him in a most familiar fashion, using a damp cloth on his fiery brow. The view was distorted, as if he had a fever. It was hard for him to focus his eyes. Nearly impossible. When he tried anyway, he felt so ill that he nearly couldn’t bear it.

What he could make out, feeling at least as bad as when he lay dying the moment before, was that they all had an odd and wraithlike cast to them. Instead of being dark of skin and hair, they were a lighter people. Like those from the far north, in legend. The man who touched his head was old however. He mumbled in a strange language.

After a moment, Farad understood it, his mind catching up, if slowly, to the new happening. The words weren’t any of the dozen languages he spoke. At the same time, he did now. It was as simple to understand as his own natural tongue. A flowing thing that reminded him of the language of Circes. Different enough that knowing that particular way of speaking wouldn’t have aided him, without this new knowledge being with him. Somehow.

The gray beard in front of him took the damned crystal off of his forehead, his face stern and sad seeming.

"I do not know if this is enough to save the boy. The red fever is upon him. Half of those that have fallen with it have died in the last months. The ancient texts that came with this bit of magic spoke of it being of great power, not healing, in particular. It is all I have to offer at this point." He seemed reluctant to say the words. To tell these people that his trick with the magic rock was probably going to fail.

Ganges had told him that he was to help others. It was the reason he was there, placed in a stone that held a copy of himself. Now in a person. One who lay dying, as he just had. Only the cause was different. The feeling, interestingly enough, was similar. It was difficult to breathe, for instance.

Farad answered, or tried to, in the tongue of these people. It came out thick and accented, which would need to be fixed. Communicating clearly was important.

I need to go into a trance state. To stop the swelling of my head, inside, before it kills me. Give me water and do not worry. I shall save your boy. That is the task I was assigned. What is needed is a skill I possess. Do not fear. He had to speak the words twice, before the people there understood him. His tongue was physically thick.

This, then, as odd as it seemed, was his duty to Ganges. Not recalling the path of the historian or the tales from the halls of memory at all, simply using a few tricks of the mind to reduce swelling for long enough to save some little foreign boy. Looking up again, as the three with him stood there, shocked that he’d spoken at all, he recalled who they were.

His Mother, a lovely and not at all old woman called Lyse. The old healer, Master Franken. The other man was one that he’d seen before, even if they weren’t close. Prince Alpert. They, Alpert and Lyse, were young, being not out of their third decades as adults. That probably meant that he wasn’t old at all, since it was clear to Farad that Anders Brolly, the boy who he was now, would be the child of the Prince. At least that had been whispered in the presence of him before.

Not taking time to inspect the stone walls and draperies of the cool room he was in, he closed his eyes.

Then spoke, his voice weak sounding.

"Water. I will handle the rest of this."

They spoke then, in words that were far away from his mind, as he walked the path of focus. A hallway of the mind that contained the memories of concentration and what it felt like. Seeking to lessen the swelling inside of him. Particularly the back of his head. It was that which would kill him, if he failed. There was a trip into the tunnel of memory first. The place where he’d lived most of his life. Instead of reconstructing the tale of time, reciting it perfectly, as was his occupation, he moved to the side in his mind.

Following the tunnel into the body of the boy he lived in now.

Making the warmth and dryness turn cool and moist. Finding the places in his head that were filled with heaviness and feeling lightness in their place. He tried to drift off after a while, away from the world. Only into sleep. That was not allowed, since to do so courted death. His duty there, in the strange place he found himself, joined with Anders, was clear.

So was the dark payment for his aid.

These people, the doctor and his new parents, had sought extreme measures to save his life. In doing so they’d undone their child, Anders. He was now, at least in part, an old man from a rather different place. Causing them to lose the rest of what they had there due to laziness wasn’t a good thing.

It was not, he had to think, precisely the golden and splendid fate that Ganges had meant for him. Instead of aiding in his chosen task, the one of his old life, recalling the story of all time for those who would learn, he was basically being used as the last order medicine for a child. One who was not over old, from the feeling of it.

Someone gave him sips of water as he worked. His eyes opening finally as his head was mainly clear, the next day. It would take some small effort to hold to that now, but his fever was broken. The face in front of him, giving him a sip of water from a finely made, if plain silver cup, was the old doctor. Franken. A man who had tended to Anders before, several times. Mainly for minor scrapes and the wounds that an active and high-spirited boy might find himself with.

Ah! There you are. The crystal did its job? That or time allowed you to live. Either way, I think we can call it well enough done, don’t you think, Anders? There was a condescending pat on the head to go with the words.

The kind of thing that a kindly person did with small children, forgetting that they would one day be adults. There was no real harm in it. The only difficulty was that, of course, Anders was not all that tiny. In thinking about it, he knew that he’d seen twelve full years and recountings of his birth. Nearly a man, even for the people he was with now.

Those of the land of Istlan.

A place so far from his own land of Barquenna that he’d never even heard of it. Which could mean many things, he knew. The most likely was that his mind had slumbered for a truly long time inside the stone that Ganges had placed him in. So long that whole lands had come into being that were not even a dream in the mind of a sultan or tyrant when he’d passed.

That or the gem had journeyed so far from where it started as to likely mean the same thing as far as he was concerned.

Neither of which mattered in the moment, he decided. After all, he was not Farad Ibn Istel any longer. He couldn’t be allowed that. It would be a great wrong to force his old life to supplant that of young Anders Brolly. The issue was that his well-schooled and powerful mind, with its great store of memories had overwhelmed that of the child he’d been placed in. They had merged, truly. Only he was mixing with a blend of eight of his years for each one of the boy with him.

Diluting the poor child into being a strange thing, no longer truly fit for his world. Which given the lengths that these people had gone to in order to save him, seemed almost evil. If a thing that couldn’t be helped. To that end he smiled. Trying to give them their boy back, to the best of his skills.

The information was all in there, inside of his thoughts, after all.

Master Franken! You saved me? That’s a marvel. I was certain that I’d died at a few points there. His words were too strange for a boy, sounding aged, with the wrong choices being made as to what to speak about.

The gray beard smiled at him, patting his head again. This time groping the front of it, to test his temperature.

"So I’d feared, myself. Can you tell me what it was like, the crystal used on you? You mentioned a healing trance of some sort? No one in living memory has even tried to use this kind of thing. Not on a living person. They are incredibly rare. I wouldn’t have, except the Prince insisted I do something to save you. He slowed his words then, looking away. That... We should likely not speak of that. It’s a known thing, though dangerous to go over in public. That he’s your Father?"

That was the first time anyone had spoken that fact so obviously to Anders. It was still a thing that he’d picked up, even if Lyse, his Mother, had carefully never spoken of it. The woman wasn’t old and was often in the company of the man, even if he had a foreign wife that he should have been attending to. It would have been a scandal, if the man wasn’t the second son of the King there.

Given that, him having a bastard or two wasn’t considered that large of a concern. Not as long as no one admitted to it. That could be a problem, later, if anyone sought to overthrow the King and place another, perhaps more controllable, person on the throne of the land. The secret was kept close, so that no one would think it real, if such a thing came up.

So, Anders Brolly, a mere boy in the land he was living now, took a slow breath.

That isn’t truth, Master Franken... My Father died in the last war, before my birth. It was kind of the Prince to see to my needs, don’t you think? No one would have thought to do that, normally. It was a lie. The good kind, which the old man understood, even if coming from a mere boy.

Ah... I can see that. Yes. Very good, Anders. Now, do you recall what happened? With the gem I used, I mean to say.

It was tempting to lie and say he didn’t. There was the chance that this man could have him put to death for being strange now, even if it had been done by his own hand. Then again, if that was the way of these people, the Master needed to know what had taken place, so that he wouldn’t do that again.

You used the memory crystal on me. It, the one you have here, holds the mind of a historian of Barquenna. A man known in life as Farad Ibn Istel. We merged, my thoughts and being with his, which gave me access to certain mental skills of that old man. He... We, went into a learning trance, since that was in his abilities and used that talent to calm and reduce the swelling of my brain. That and time allowed me to live. It might be best not to do that too often. I’m... Not totally Anders any longer. Alive though, which I wouldn’t have been, otherwise.

The admission was a large thing. One that might have had him ended if he were still among his own people. The Master of healing in front of him simply took a deep breath and nodded, slowly.

"I see. That is... Rather different than I was thinking. I acted in desperation, seeking to please Prince Alpert. Can you cope? You must be most disoriented. We could claim that you were left changed by the fever? If this is found you will be hunted and killed for it. Possibly, at least. Possession is frowned upon here in Istlan."

That kind of damage to the mind could happen, Anders knew. Even in his own young life, he’d seen that kind of thing. Those left slow or crippled by fevers and blows to the head. Magic was said to also create problems that way, if more rarely.

I should be fine? Though... He searched the mind of the boy he was with. A rather untamed child. Willful and entitled seeming, given his rather humble stature in the world he lived in. Anders is a bit of a brat, isn’t he? That would be hard to maintain now. Farad lived a life of discipline and learning. True devotion to his duties and tasks. Such habits would be hard to let go of. Even if it’s clear that at least some of them must be, in order to survive here.

The old graybeard choked, laughing and trying to swallow it.

"That... Is true, I have to say. About young Anders. We can tell all that care that you were close to death and it forced a realization of mortality upon you? That will be enough for most, I think. Though it might be best if we leave off the portion where you are another person as well, now. That isn’t exactly what I was asked to do here. I will inform those who need to know. If it isn’t brought up, perhaps you could fail to mention it?" He seemed a bit chagrined at the idea. Not displeased to the level of having Anders killed, thankfully.

That would be a waste of the effort that had been put in so far, after all.

I agree. Now... What should we do?

The room around them was ill lit, with the window behind him, a square thing with wooden shutters, being opened to allow fresh air in, with heavy curtains pulled over it to block the light. Except where the breeze caught the cloth and lifted it on occasion, allowing light to show under it. Other than that, there was only a simple lamp off to the side, on a low table. It wasn’t the normal way of doing things there. Only for the sick or dying, to allow them what rest they might find.

In truth, he wasn’t feeling truly well yet. Enough that he might rise to see to his studies, of course. Those, when he thought about them, were most odd.

Mainly in that, even though there were adults around, people who knew, clearly, that the boy needed a profession or calling to fulfill, none of them had insisted he do much of anything. Earlier, when he was a younger boy, he’d been instructed in letters and basic numbers. One of the youngest Prince’s tutors had even sought to teach him of maps and geography, simply to be pleasant.

Past that, Anders simply ran errands when asked, there at the castle. A thing that wasn’t going to turn into a job for an adult at all. Worse, the boy didn’t care for the task and malingered, hiding most of the time, so that no one could find him during the hours he might have been working at a useful task.

Even Prince Erold was better behaved and focused on doing the right thing than Anders was, most days. Truly, he felt the pain of that laziness acutely for a moment. That realization caused him to wince and look away in shame from the Master of Healing in front of him. It was, perhaps, an allowable thing for a Prince to act in such ways, or to seek merriment instead of his studies. For a poor boy of no assured wealth, that was a good path to destruction.

Master Franken, being a kind man, if a bit too much so toward a certain young boy it seemed, patted his head again. As if he were a child, instead of a near man who needed to be doing something more with his life. Quickly, if at all possible.

"Rest, for now. I need to get your Mother and fa... And Prince Alpert. To let them know that we were successful. Again, it might be best if we didn’t mention what you spoke on? Ever." There was worry in his eyes, as if Anders wasn’t the sort to hold to the lie they’d come up with in order to save them both.

Nodding, which was the custom of these people to signal agreement, he spoke, softly.

"That will be done. I should be up and about soon, if possible. There is much to see to. This boy, I, hardly have a place in the world. I need to see to finding my way."

The man might have been removed from the life of the child he was with, it was true. He also had the weight and wisdom of many years on him. That allowed a certain perspective to be held, even if the ways of Istelan were different and strange. Istlan.

Indeed, my boy. That might serve you well, given your experience here. The words were projected a bit, indicating someone was coming into the room.

The woman who entered when he looked past the bearded healer wasn’t Lyse, Mother of Anders.

Rather, she was the older head maid, Estella. The woman was matronly, lacking in the plumpness that she should have had, given her reach into her fifth decade. A tidy sort who filled her hours with work of one kind or another, mainly there at the castle. Having no children of her own, that he knew of, she’d rather doted on Anders, when he was younger. Caring for him, often in the place of his own Mother, when she was too busy to care for him.

Now, given his behavior of the last years, the woman had pulled back, no doubt fearing the boy was lost to her. That was a cruel thing, however. A thoughtless one, given that this woman had acted as his own Mother on more than one occasion, when he was a boy. A time not too long before that moment.

She held fresh towels and cloths to be dampened and pressed to his forehead. It was very clear that the maid had seen to giving him the water he requested, through the night. At least he understood that now, recalling her scent and presence even in the trance he’d held. She smelled of flowers, while the well-aged healer held a scent of smoky incense and something coppery.

Master Franken seemed bemused by her presence. Not upset at all. There was a look of understanding in him. A sense that he knew what even the rather bratty and annoying boy in the bed had once meant to her.

Anders smiled up at her.

Estella! Thank you, for seeing to me through the night. That water you gave me and the comfort of your presence were all that held me to life, at times. Master Franken says that he expects me to be well in a few days. Truly, I owe both of you my life. Reaching up, he held his arms open. To embrace the woman. That part of things was strange.

It wasn’t truly the custom of Farad’s people at all. Certainly not for a historian, who had lived his life in service to time and memory. For Anders it was a signal. That he was taking this woman as a member of his own family. That was, perhaps, proper. She’d been not only kind to himself, but to Lyse. The women were still close, spending time chatting in the evenings, when the day’s work was finished.

The move was met by a shocked look. Then accepted, since it harkened back to a time when Anders had been younger and less standoffish from her. The reason for that was...

Farad nearly froze, realizing why the boy had held back from the older woman. Not, as he would have guessed, to protect her virtue or due to uncomfortable feelings for her that had come as manhood approached. Those things were a difficulty of becoming a man, after all and could, perhaps, be forgiven a boy. Especially one that did not know how to cope with such things well yet.

No, Anders Brolly had, for some strange reason that even he didn't really understand, come to look down upon the woman for being one who served. As if that wasn’t the place of most people in the world. The little fool actually thought that he was better than the hard-working woman.

When he let her go, he forced a grin.

I was just telling Master Franken here that something occurred to me, as I lay there, dying in the dark. His voice was light and pleasant sounding.

Estella smiled back, patting his shoulder gently.

Oh, what was that, then? She seemed to be humoring him, instead of worried that he’d nearly died. It had been close, of course.

So much so that Master Franken had been willing to use unknown magics on him. It had worked, if only barely.

Just that I need to start seeking a place in the world. Learning and finding some way to help those around me. Like you and he do here. He bowed his head, since it wasn’t possible for him to do much else at the moment.

For all he felt like leaping from the lumpy mattress, a thing that poked at him uncomfortably in places, being filled with clean straw, his head ached enough that he felt ill just from the simple movement.

His friend and caretaker, Estella, nodded a bit primly then.

"That sounds like a good thing to see to. I was just speaking with your Mother on that topic the other month. She didn’t want to push, not knowing where you might find your place. Do you have any ideas?"

The truth was that he didn't at the moment. Anders fancied himself a fighter, even though he lacked training for that, totally. He lacked even the rudiments of sword, spear and bow, which most of the other boys in the area at least played at. Given that he was a boy of the castle, no one was suggesting he learn the common skills for hunting that many more rural children would be given.

At the same time, expensive tutors in arms were hard to come by without coin to pay them. Given everything, his best bet would have been to befriend those who could have taught him things there. Most weren’t stingy with their knowledge, if a polite and well-spoken person inquired of how things were done. The trick there was that Anders Brolly had been neither of those things in particular.

Rather than let his face turn to a sour expression, to hide his ignorance, the basic defense that Anders wanted to use, he smiled at the kindly woman.

"I have a few. It will take effort to gain the training I need. I’m afraid that I haven’t been a very good boy for a time. I’ll have to prove to everyone that I’m worth bothering to teach, before I can request that of them. Especially if I need to beg their aid for free. I’ll see to that."

He managed to sound pleasant, even as his head ached rather fiercely at him. It was clear though, and when he moved to stand up, his limbs were limber and strong. Looking down at his arms for the first time, where they pressed past the end of his gray night shirt, it was clear he was very light in color. As much as either of those with him, if not more so, due to his recent illness.

I should drink more water. I fear that my head isn’t totally clear yet. He laughed a bit, making light of his discomfort.

Master Franken didn’t try to hold him down, though Estella moved in a way that indicated she was considering it. Instead she moved to the table that had the lamp on it and a pitcher made of fired clay, decorated on the outside with pictures. Some of those showed fantastic creatures, with men, covered in armor, fighting them. Mainly with spears.

The sounds of the liquid pouring into the metal cup was familiar to him, from his old life. His new one as well. The world was dark there, which was due to his poor state of health, not a lack of light. When the cool handle of the vessel was pressed into his hand, he drank it all. The moisture felt good on his lips, which were cracked and dry.

Master Franken nodded.

That’s right. Drink it all. Let me see if I can find some people. They’ll want to see that you’re up already.

There was a nod from Estella, who made a face, setting her load of soft towels down finally.

You should dress, if company is coming. If you can, that is? She seemed worried that his ability to stand might be all his energy was going to allow that day.

That wasn’t the truth. He felt a bit ill, like he might be forced to vomit. Other than that, he was more or less fine.

I can do that. I think I have some clean clothing around here, someplace?

The lady didn’t insist on helping him, simply putting the cloths away and scurrying from the room so that he could do that in peace. Luckily, he hurried and Anders wore simple enough clothing that he could dress himself.

Because minutes later, several people came into the room. Including Lyse, and the Prince. His Father.

Chapter two

Behind his Mother, who rushed in to hold him, fawning a bit more than was probably appropriate normally but in a way that could be forgiven, considering that death had been at hand for him, Anders considered the others there. Prince Alpert had walked in boldly and moved in, almost as if he was considering an embrace of his own.

His child had nearly died, which showed on his face. A thing that was a poor plan, for all of them, if Anders’s memories on the topic were correct.

To forestall that, he bowed before the man could make that kind of mistake. The thing there was that he didn’t do it well. He was trying for the first level of courtly bow. That got the slender fellow standing behind the older Prince, next to Prince Erold, to step in and hit him with a stick.

Master Belford sneered at him. His black hair seemed greasy and was too long to look manly. The lacquered stick he held was only as thick as a man’s thumb and about three feet long. The end was covered in polished copper colored metal. It stung as it hit, correcting his posture.

"No! Rear foot at ninety degrees, touching the lead heal, turn sideways then bend. Cup your left arm, main finger out with a cupped hand!" The move got several people in the room to glare at the man.

Anders just tried again, standing first, then resetting, recalling what was said and placing the movement first in the hall of memories, going over it as he did it, inside his mind. Then he waited for the next round of tapping. Only one came though, to his front leg.

Bend slightly there. The tone was actually softer on the second correction. The first had been nearly violent seeming in its sternness. When the correction was made, the sneer turned into something a bit easier to take. It still seemed haughty and a bit brutal, as if Anders simply wasn’t good enough for the man.

Still, once it was done correctly, the stick poised to make further corrections, there was a nod.

Better. Each time, from now on. Stand straight and bow toward your Mother. Familial version, so both feet facing her, left hand at your side... The stick was ready, Master Belford not seeming to care that he’d nearly died the night before at all.

Except that wasn’t truth. The man was being kind, to his normal way of teaching. At least as far as Anders was concerned. It was one of the reasons that Anders had taken to avoiding the younger Prince, even if they were friends. It saved on bruising. He was gentler with Prince Erold, who looked on, seeming ready to strike the man in the moment. The boy was a year older than Anders was. Taller and stronger as well. His spirit was better, being kinder in most situations. Seeing his friend beaten fresh from his sick bed was pushing him, from the expression on his face.

Doing what he’d been told, bowing as one did to a family member, when in court, a place that Anders had never been at all, even living at the castle, had his Mother doing it back. Her face, lovely under her golden hair, was made up. Painted in the fashion that some of the finer ladies affected there. The men didn't have anything such as that going on. They were all clean shaved, except Master Franken.

Almost without mercy, even if all the bowing was making him feel ill again, Master Belford waved at Prince Erold.

Now, the second courtly bow. Just for practice. Normally the first would serve, given that you’re friends. Rear foot further back. Prince Erold, if you would return that? It wasn’t a true question. They both did it and no one was struck with the stick.

Prince Alpert didn’t scold the man, schooling his face instantly.

You’re well now, Anders? Your Mother was most concerned that you might perish in the night. Master Franken and myself as well. He seemed baffled by that, and gave the old man a rather sly look, for a moment. Your magical gem worked? It seems an amazing recovery.

The Master Healer bowed, poorly enough that Master Belford twitched, the stick nearly lashing out at him. A thing that the older man ignored with a soft smile.

He’s ill still. Needing to rest for some time. It might truly be weeks before full strength is recovered. Alas, the gem had but one use in it. The light that glowed there dimmed and has vanished now. It was worth it, to save a life.

When he bowed again, he did it a bit more cleanly, using the first courtly bow. This time the other Master didn't seem to want to strike him over it. Which had to be on purpose. All of it. The men were, subtly, trying to show the other their place in the world. It was a battle that Anders barely understood. Farad could see it happening, even if the why of the thing made little sense to him. They worked in different fields after all. One not lesser than the other.

A trainer of men and the saver of lives. Both things were needed in the world.

The older Prince bowed to the healer then, going low, his rear leg back, showing great respect.

Perhaps some payment would be in order, for the loss of such a treasure?

Interestingly, the Master Healer shook his head, saying no. Then bowed in return.

"It wasn’t lost. The treasure is still with us, in the form of young Anders. A thing he seems willing to repay to the world. Already he’s spoken of finding useful tasks to occupy himself. Not that we should push him too greatly for a time. He must be ready to fall over, to be honest about it. The red fever is harsh on a body, even if they live. He’s still with it. Thankfully, it shouldn’t spread from him now."

A thing they all knew, or no one would have risked coming into the space with him. As it was, his room needed a good airing out. It reeked of sweat and urine. That had mainly gone into the chamber pot, which would need to be carried to the dumping hole behind the castle, soon. For the moment he ignored it, since it was simply part of the world they all lived in. They weren’t a filthy people but not all of the scents of their land were sweet.

They hadn’t been in Barquenna, either.

The room became a bit awkward then. Finally, Prince Alpert bowed to Anders, meaning he did it back, using the second courtly form for it. The man was the Prince, after all. For his part, the man used the familiar form. Which was foolish of him.

Erold rolled his eyes and Master Belford stiffened, seeming slightly horrified by the action of the older Prince. The man’s dark hair moved a bit as he did it. Then he glared at the others.

I nearly lost my son. I think that protocol can be waived this once? There was a growl in the words, his long face slightly angry seeming over the idea. Lyse took a deep breath, staring at her son.

Who ignored the move and the words, standing only after the elder Prince did.

When Anders spoke, he made his words soft.

The thought is appreciated, Prince Alpert. I also thank you for your aid in saving my life. All of you. They all got different bows then, which got him hit with a stick when he did Master Belford.

"The first courtly bow! I didn’t save your life! These things are important. Do it again." The man let himself be mollified on the second attempt.

Anders drove all of the new information into his mind, holding it there, layered in a dark hallway, in order of their names. The first courtly bow, with a man shaped image showing the important points. The second a step down. The familial version on the other side, to the right, with an image of Lyse performing the correct action. All of it designed to help him recall the correct movements later.

When he stood, Master Belford nodded at him.

Better, again. We should take time to review courtly graces, if you have time from your busy schedule of hiding and playing, Master Anders? While you recover. We can sit while doing most of it, which I’m certain will be restful for you. The words were sour in tone, speaking of the idea that he already understood that Anders wouldn’t be doing any such thing.

Truly, that was correct, for the most part. The boy was, or had been, lazy and fearful of minor discomfort. Even while fancying himself a strong man who would make an excellent soldier.

Using the first courtly bow, doing it correctly, even if he felt sick, Anders schooled his face. He didn’t love the man in front of him. Even the part of him that was Farad could see good reason for that. The fellow held information that might be useful however and had trapped himself by the rules of the place there. He’d offered a thing, in front of others. Even if he’d been insulting in his use of the term master, for a boy.

That would be most welcome, Master Belford. We can do that now, or at your convenience?

He wasn’t certain that he’d done it correctly, until Prince Erold chuckled a bit.

We should then. I guess if we need to be stuck inside on a nice day such as this, we might as well do that. Still, you could go softer on the lash, couldn’t you Master Belford? I can’t imagine bruises and lacerations will aid in his healing from this latest setback.

The words were polite, though a bit dry. Indicating that the younger Prince was actually a bit upset with the man. Probably about the use of the stick in his hands. It did sting, when it was used.

The man actually smiled, seeming to mean it.

Hmm? I suppose we might, if Anders is going to actually attempt to learn for once? It seems nearly dying was good for you, boy. Come. This place could use some freshening. We can sit in the outer commons for today. Will that serve, do you think?

The question was put to Master Franken, who nodded. The outer commons were the fields outside the castle walls. Near the groomed forest, on the western side. There was a fresh creek that ran in that direction. One just large enough for fishing, at certain times of the year.

It was, he thought, still early spring.

They bowed themselves out of the room, since getting to lessons seemed to be an actual task they were expected to see to, in the minds of the adults. At least if the younger Prince was going to take part in things without creating an issue for his tutors. They didn't race to the outer commons or anything, since that would, as Master Belford explained blandly, be rude to the ailing man.

His current weakness should not be exploited or mocked. If he is strong enough to move at all, we should seek to put him at his ease, not racing about to tire him. A measured pace is needed for that.

It truly was hard to summon the needed energy. His breathing wasn’t labored and his chest felt free and loose. A thing that he knew well meant he was decently healthy. Compared to an old and dying man. It took nearly twenty minutes to reach their destination, given that Master Belford had need to collect supplies for their day’s lesson first.

One of those things was a blanket, which was laid out by the Prince.

For you to sit on, instead of the ground, Anders. Move over a bit, for the rest of us. There was a playful grin and the cloth was large enough for the three of them. He sat with his legs crossed, where Master Belfort copied him and Erold lounged back, propped up on a single arm.

The first order of things, it seemed, had to do with eating. Not that they had food in the basket that Belford had brought with them. Which was fine. Anders would have been ill if he’d been forced to even smell food at that moment.

Instead, a fine plate was set out, with a smaller one above it, away from Anders. Then silver, the real kind, not the wooden spoons and knives he was used to were set out, arrayed in front of him. A napkin made of linen was folded quickly and placed on the plate.

First, as soon as you sit, take the napkin, unfold it slowly, and put it on your lap. The way of doing that was more complicated than he’d been told, so he was hit. Tapped on the knee. It hurt a bit.

Anders didn’t respond at all to the move, merely correcting things when he was told.

Then he placed the names of the various objects in front of him in an alcove of the courtly manners hallway, in his thoughts. The instructor of the moment sneered at him as soon as he finished that part.

Repeat what I told you. What is that?

The first spoon. Used for broth or soup.

The stick was used to point, the cross-legged man looking at Anders, not what he was pointing at directly.

This?

The opening fork. Used for the small salad. Sometimes for an opening fruit dish. That would depend on the service and time of year.

They covered everything in front of them, several times and in different orders, trying to throw him off. Except that the names were already in his head. That made the whole exercise decently simple. It was shown to him by the fact that he wasn’t being beaten constantly. A thing that Anders was confused by. Not Farad. It was clear to him that the unpleasant man was both being kind, in his own harsh way, to the ill boy and impressed that he was learning at all.

A thing not associated with him in the past.

Packing the plates and silver up, he nodded.

Never spit at the table. If you must remove food from your mouth, do so carefully and place it on the edge of your plate. Like this. He pantomimed the motion, which Anders did in return. Earning a nod.

Exactly. That’s a good bit of learning on that topic for now. We’ll go over that again in three days’ time. Now, when you meet an attractive young lady, what do you say to her, Prince Erold?

The question was designed to get the other boy into trouble, since he might have drifted off, the boring lesson being about how he ate at every meal, no doubt. Nearly so. When he shared that with Anders they just shoved food in their faces, like anyone else.

Well met, Miss. Pleased to make your acquaintance. There was a smile and a small bow to go with it. That required standing to do. It was different than the others Anders had seen.

They all had to get up then, with Master Belford waving at the Prince rather gracefully.

Correct. Demonstrate the flirtatious bow. Pay heed here, Anders.

He did, since getting things wrong could still lead to a beating. Even if it came later, when he was well again.

The move was tucked into the correct portion of his memory, with lines running to different areas outside the hallway in his head. Things dealing with young women, in this case. That way, if it ever came up for him, the event would lead him to the correct idea. How to bow toward a woman, if you wanted to gain her attention.

Except that there was no other version of it, other than being formal. With a lady, it was expected that you would flirt and flatter, each time. Even if you didn’t find them attractive in particular. All women then, were to be treated the same that way. It was very different than what Farad was used to.

In his life women were in the audience at times as he recited histories, tales or books and almost never spoken to, much less courted. That was only about himself as an individual, due to his calling. A thing that Anders had no reason to live by at all. In fact, it would be harmful to make him do so. An odd thing that would be noticed.

He was bowing flirtatiously toward Erold when another man strode up. He smirked a bit, seeing the lesson at hand. Then he bowed himself. The man was dressed in rougher clothing. Military garb, rather than the finery that Master Belford or the younger Prince had on in the moment.

Anders knew who the man was, of course. Captain Ford, of the castle guard. The Prince’s weapons and fighting tutor.

They all responded with the first courtly bow. Given he wasn’t hit, it seemed Anders had gotten it correct the first