After breakfast, they returned to the solar, Sodrin to continue his training with Radimar, Jahna to gather up her unmarked parchment, quills and ink. She could just as easily write about today’s lesson in her chamber and not distract her brother by watching him.
“You won’t miss anything,” Radimar assured her. “It’s more of the same for the rest of the day. If we do something different, I’ll tell you tonight at supper and demonstrate it tomorrow so you can record it.”
He had already been extraordinarily accommodating to her requests for observing his training, and she hesitated for a moment in asking him for more, but her curiosity would eat her alive if she didn’t.
“When you have time, could you tell me more about Beotra and Senakhte?”
He considered her for a moment. “This evening, after supper,” he said. “With your father’s permission of course.”
She clapped her ink well against her ink bottle and grinned. “I’ll talk to him right away!” She sped off, turning once to wave. He watched her leave, lifting a hand in farewell.
Supper that night lasted forever, and Jahna thought it couldn’t be over soon enough for her liking. She fidgeted in her chair and tried not hurry her father along with speaking looks. Had he always stirred his soup that many times before swallowing a spoonful? And did the meal have to consist of six courses?
She forced herself not to wolf her food or yank Sir Radimar from his chair when he pushed aside his plate, signaling he was done. No one left the table until Lord Uhlfrida was finished. She tapped her fingers impatiently on the arm of her chair while he, Sodrin and the swordmaster chatted about various topics, only half listening as she counted the seconds under her breath.
When her father announced he would take his wine to his solar and invited Sodrin to face him in a game of turni menet, she almost bellowed “Finally”!
“I’d challenge you, Radimar,” Uhlfrida said. “But it seems my daughter has decided you’re to play storyteller for her this evening.”
Radimar bowed. “It will be my pleasure, my lord. Good evening.”
They walked beside each other toward the small library that was Jahna’s favorite room in the house.
Radimar relieved her of the burden of initiating the conversation between them. “You did well today in practice. Don’t let your brother convince you you’re a distraction or in the way. If you were, I’d tell you.”
“I never listen to Sodrin anyway.”
“Much to his frustration, I’m sure.” Radimar smiled.
Jahna smiled back. “Just so.” She flexed her hand, still aching from earlier. “I think I need to practice more. My hand and arm grow tired faster than I’d like.”
“That isn’t unusual for beginners.” He lifted his arm, palm facing her. “It’s less about practice and more about strength.” He pointed to the underside of his wrist and traced an invisible line from where it met the bottom of his hand to the crook of his elbow. “You want to strengthen not only your hand but your arm here as well. I can show you exercises that will help.”
They reached the library, and Jahna nudged the door open, pleased to see someone had readied it for their visit.
The library was modest in size but lush in comfort. Tapestries carpeted the floors and warmed the walls, while tables and chairs were spaced around the room in settings that invited intimate conversation. At some point during the evening, a servant had entered to light the torches and hearth. A merry fire crackled over a small rack of logs and chased away much of the chill that had settled in the room.
Jahna hugged her shawl closer around her shoulders and made her way to a pair of chairs flanking a table. The scene mirrored the one in the training solar earlier, with her stack of blank parchment, bundle of quills and well of ink waiting for her. A pot of tea and two cups sat on a tray at another table adjacent to one of the chairs. Jahna claimed a chair and motioned for Radimar to take the other one.
He sat and surveyed the table crowded with writing material. “I see you brought your supplies to record more of my life and all its sins on parchment.”
Jahna had wondered more often than she cared to admit just how many sins the kind but enigmatic swordmaster had committed. “Do you have a lot of sins?”
His soft chuckle sent a pleasant shiver down her arms. “Not really, at least none I’ll admit to. I’m a simple man of simple means. Besides, I don’t like inviting trouble.” He gestured to the teapot. “Now, let’s pour the tea, and I’ll tell you what my master told me about the legendary Beotra.”
Radimar spoke and Jahna wrote until her ink ran out. She shook her quill and peered into the dregs of black morass coating the glass. “I’m out of ink.”
Radimar gestured to the guttering torches. “Pitch and wick as well, and the hour is late. We’ll need to seek our beds. Did what I tell you satisfy your curiosity?”
Not even close, but his beguiling voice had be a joy to listen to and lent depth to the tale of Beotra, swordswoman of legend. “I think it only whetted it more, but I thank you, Sir Radimar. Would you be willing to tell me more about Ilinfan and its teachers later?” Her father would likely peel off a strip of her hide if he knew she pestered the swordmaster as much as she did, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him (or her), and so far Radimar hadn’t shown any irritation regarding her constant questions.
“I’ll bargain with you,” he said “Train with your brother and me every morning instead of every other morning, and I’ll give up all of Ilinfan’s secrets to you after supper on those nights your father doesn’t require my company or I’m not teaching your brother additional swordplay.”
Mornings promised to be painful, sweaty and exhaustive. Jahna leapt at the offer. “Our bargain is made, Sir Radimar.” At his insistence, she and Sodrin had abandoned the more formal convention and addressed the swordmaster as simply “Sir Radimar.” As their teacher, he was even more informal with their names.
She held out her hand, and he clasped it in his, giving a light squeeze before letting go. She liked his hands with their callused palms and long, bony fingers. Tiny scars decorated their backs, memories of nicks and cuts he must have received when he trained as a student of an Ilinfan swordmaster.
The days bled into weeks, then months as the seasons waxed and waned at Hollowfell. Jahna spent the early hours of her days practicing with Sodrin, the afternoons working with the estate’s housekeeper in managing the large household and the evenings either reading to her father or recording Radimar’s tales of Ilinfan.