Gowan was sitting at one end of a long table; there were three other men sitting with him. One seemed very young, one was about Brand’s age, and one a few years older.
“Welcome,” Gowan said cheerfully. “You’re just on time. Come and take a seat.”
Two men were already seated on Gowan’s left, so Brand took the seat on his right to even things out.
“Allow me to introduce your fellows,” Gowan said. “To my right is Dren. And to my left is Alaric and Brin. Gentlemen, this is Brand, who will also be staying here.”
Dren was close to Brand’s age, with dark blond hair cropped close to his head and pale blue eyes. Alaric was a few years older, a heavy set man with dark hair, also close cropped, and grey eyes that missed nothing. Brin, the youngest, fidgeted in his seat as though unable to stay still. He was a slender youth with dark curly hair and brown eyes.
There were murmurs of greeting which Brand answered with murmurs of his own. He was saved from any further conversation by the appearance of servers who began bringing in platters of food. The dishes were passed around and everyone helped themselves.
“Forgive me,” Brand said to Gowan after everyone had been served, “But did you not say there were six of us here?”
“Veran’s always late,” Dren told him. “And Grent hasn’t come out of his room since he got here.”
This was followed by an interruption as a man hurried into the room. His shaggy brown hair was mussed and there were ink stains on his fingers.
“You’re late Veran,” Gowan said disapprovingly.
“I know, I know. And I’m very sorry. But I was thoroughly engrossed in the history tome I borrowed from the library.”
He hurried took the seat beside Alaric. “Hello, you’re new,” he said to Brand. “I’m Veran. You’re a Witcher, aren’t you? I’ve never met a Witcher before.”
He seemed rather pleased to be meeting one now and Brand couldn’t help taking a liking to him. “I’m Brand,” he said. “And yes, I am a Witcher. Or at least half of me is, at any rate.”
There was little talk while they ate and what little there was consisted mainly of compliments on the food.
Gowan rose from his seat, signifying the end of dinner. “If you’ll all excuse me, I have duties to see to. Feel free to make use of the common room.”
“Good night Gowan,” Brin called after him. “Anyone up for a game of dice?”
The rest of them pushed away from the table and stood as well.
“This way,” Brin said, leading the way.
The others looked at each other and then Alaric shrugged and followed, the others trailing after him.
Someone had started a fire in the fireplace, and on a sideboard just inside the door was a variety of beverages. Alaric poured himself a goblet full of an amber liquid from a crystal decanter, Dren chose a clear liquid from another. Veran held up a pitcher of ale and raised an eyebrow at Brand, who nodded in assent. Brin ignored the refreshments altogether and was busy going through the boxes on a shelf, looking for the dice.
While Alaric and Brin settled at a table for the game, Brand and the others settled into the chairs near the fire.
“How long have you been waiting here,” Brand asked. “Gowan told me we must wait until there are twelve of us.”
“Alaric has been here the longest,” Dren said. “He’s been here close to three weeks. “I arrived more than two weeks ago. Veran arrived the day after I did. Brin and Grent arrived from different directions six days ago.”
“Grent is the one who does not leave his room,” Brand said.
“Brin exaggerates, of course,” Veran said. “Grent breaks his fast in the morning, but he does not linger. He claims he needs to have quiet for his meditation and prayer.”
“I find it odd that someone so religious would seek to become a mercenary,” Dren added.
Personally, Brand felt the same, although he said nothing.
Two days after Brand arrived, a much older man named Sena arrived, followed three days after that by Lucca.
Veran was almost as excited by Lucca joining them as he had been by Brand. Lucca was from the western wastelands, whose inhabitants were almost as insular as the Witchers.
Brand found time weighed heavy on his hands as they waited for the remaining three to make their appearance. He worried about how Raven was faring, but Gowan assured him he was doing well. Veran speculated that the wait was a test of their patience and Brand was forced to agree.
After the first day of inactivity, Brand made it a habit of rising before breakfast to run through the sword dances. The second morning of this, he realized Brin was watching.
“What are you doing?” the boy asked.
“It is the sword dance,” Brand said, without breaking his rhythm.
“I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Few have, outside of the Witch Hills,” Lucca said, coming downstairs early as well. “May I join you?”
“Certainly,” Brand said. “I’m about to start the third movement.”
Lucca took his place beside him and joined seamlessly into the dance. Brin watched, mesmerized as the two men moved in synchronization, one move flowing into another.
Veran and Dren joined the audience. “What are they doing?” Veran whispered.
“It’s called a sword dance,” Brin whispered back.
Alaric joined them as well, watching silently until they were done.
“Where did you learn to do that?” Brin asked.
“It was part of my training,” Brand told him. “One of the first things I ever learned.”
“As it was with me,” Lucca said. “Our sword master was a Witcher.”
“I’ve seen something similar in the east, but without the swords,” Alaric said. “It was called the warrior’s way.”
“Can you teach it to me?” Brin asked eagerly.
Lucca and Brand looked at each other. Brand shrugged. “Why not?” he said.
When he and Lucca came down to the common room that afternoon, as they’d arranged to with Brin, they found the others gathered as well.
“What’s this?” Lucca asked.
“We figured it couldn’t be much harder to teach all of us than just one,” Dren said.
“What say you?” Lucca asked Brand.
“Why not?” Brand said easily. “If we are to fight together, why not share knowledge that could aid us?”
Gowan, watching from the shadows, smiled.
No comments:
Post a Comment