LITMIR.BIZ

      • CHAPTER SEVEN •

      Understanding

      PUG HURRIED ACROSS THE COURTYARD.

      Princess Carline had sent him a note asking him to meet her in her flower garden. It was the first word from the girl since she had stormed away from their last meeting, and Pug was anxious. He did not want to be on bad terms with Carline, regardless of any conflicts he might be feeling. After his brief discussion with Calin, two days earlier, he had sought out Father Tully and talked with him at length.

      The old priest had been willing to take time out to speak with the boy, in spite of the demands the Duke was placing upon his staff. It had been a good talk for Pug, leaving him with a surer sense of himself. The final message from the old cleric had been: Stop worrying about what the Princess feels and thinks, and start discovering what Pug feels and thinks.

      He had taken the cleric’s advice and was now sure of what he would say should Carline start referring to any sort of ‘understanding’ between them. For the first time in weeks he felt something like a sense of direction – even if he was not sure what destination he would eventually reach, holding to such a course.

      Reaching the Princess’s garden, he rounded a corner, then stopped, for instead of Carline, Squire Roland stood by the steps. With a slight smile, Roland nodded. ‘Good day, Pug.’

      ‘Good day, Roland.’ Pug looked around.

      ‘Expecting someone?’ said Roland, forcing a note of lightness that did little to hide a belligerent tone. He casually rested his left hand on the pommel of his sword. Apart from his sword, he was dressed as usual, in colorful breeches and tunic of green and gold, with tall riding boots.

      ‘Well, actually, I was expecting to see the Princess,’ Pug said, with a small note of defiance in his manner.

      Roland feigned surprise. ‘Really? Lady Glynis mentioned something about a note, but I had come to understand things were strained between the two of you . . .’

      While Pug had tried to sympathize with Roland’s situation over the last few days, his offhanded, superior attitude and his chronic antagonism conspired to irritate Pug. Letting his exasperation get the better of him, he snapped, ‘As one squire to another, Roland, let me put it this way: how things stand between Carline and myself is none of your business!’

      Roland’s face took on an expression of open anger. He stepped forward, looking down at the shorter boy. ‘Be damned it’s none of my business! I don’t know what you’re playing at, Pug, but if you do anything to hurt her, I’ll—’

      ‘Me hurt her!’ Pug interrupted. He was shocked by the intensity of Roland’s anger and infuriated by the threat. ‘She’s the one playing us one against the other—’

      Abruptly Pug felt the ground tilt under him, rising up to strike him from behind. Lights exploded before his eyes and a bell-like clanging sounded in his ears. It was a long moment before he realized Roland had just hit him. Pug shook his head and his eyes refocused. He saw the older, larger squire standing over him, both hands balled into fists. Through tightly clenched teeth, Roland spat his words. ‘If you ever say ill of her again, I’ll beat you senseless.’

      Pug’s anger fired within him, rising each second. He got carefully to his feet, his eyes upon Roland, who stood ready to fight. Feeling the bitter taste of anger in his mouth, Pug said, ‘You’ve had two years and more to win her, Roland. Leave it alone.’

      Roland’s face grew livid and he charged, bowling Pug off his feet. They went down in a tangle, Roland striking Pug harmlessly on the shoulders and arms. Rolling and grappling, neither could inflict much damage. Pug got his arm around Roland’s neck and hung on as the older squire thrashed in a frenzy. Suddenly Roland wedged a knee against Pug’s chest and shoved him away. Pug rolled and came to his feet. Roland was up an instant later, and they squared off. Roland’s expression had changed from rage to cold, calculating anger as he measured the distance between them. He advanced carefully, his left arm bent and extended, his right fist held ready before his face. Pug had no experience with this form of fighting, called fist-boxing, though he had seen it practiced for money in traveling shows. Roland had demonstrated on several occasions that he had more than a passing acquaintance with the sport.

      Pug sought to take the advantage and swung a wild, roundhouse blow at Roland’s head. Roland dodged back as Pug swung completely around; then the squire jumped forward, his left hand snapping out, catching Pug on the cheek, rocking his head back with a stinging blow. Pug stumbled away, and Roland’s right hand missed Pug’s chin by a fraction.

      Pug held up his hands to ward off another blow and shook his head, clearing it of the dancing lights that obscured his vision, barely managing to duck beneath Roland’s next blow. Under Roland’s guard, Pug lunged, catching the other boy in the stomach with his shoulder, knocking him down again. Pug fell on top of him and struggled to pin the larger boy’s arms to his side. Roland struck out, catching Pug’s temple with an elbow, and the dazed magician’s apprentice fell away, momentarily confused.

      As he rose to his feet again, pain exploded in Pug’s face, and the world tilted once more. Disoriented, unable to defend himself, Pug felt Roland’s blows as distant events, somehow muted and not fully recognized by his reeling senses. A faint note of alarm sounded in part of Pug’s mind. Without warning, processes began to occur under the level of pain-dimmed consciousness. Basic, more animal instincts took hold, and in a disjointed, hardly understood awareness, a new force emerged. As in the encounter with the trolls, blinding letters of light and flame appeared in his mind’s eye, and he silently incanted.

      Pug’s being became primitive. In his remaining consciousness he was a primal creature fighting for survival with murderous intent. All he could envision was choking the very life from his adversary.

      Suddenly an alarm rang within Pug’s mind. A deep sense of wrongness, of evil, struck him. Months of training came to the fore, and it was as if he could hear Kulgan’s voice crying, ‘This is not how the power is to be used!’ Ripping aside the mental shroud that covered him, Pug opened his eyes.

      Through blurred vision and sparkling lights, Pug saw Roland kneeling a mere yard before him, eyes enlarged, vainly struggling with the invisible fingers around his neck. Pug felt no sense of contact with what he saw, and with returning clarity of mind knew at once what had occurred. Leaning forward, he seized Roland’s wrists. ‘Stop it, Roland! Stop it! It isn’t real. There are no hands but your own at your throat.’ Roland, blind with panic, seemed unable to hear Pug’s shouts. Mustering what remaining strength he possessed, Pug yanked Roland’s hands away, then struck him a stinging slap to the face. Roland’s eyes teared and suddenly he breathed in, a gasping, ragged sound.

      Still panting, Pug said, ‘It’s an illusion. You were choking yourself.’

      Roland gasped and pushed himself back from Pug, fear evident on his face. He struggled weakly to pull his sword. Pug leaned forward and firmly gripped Roland’s wrist. Barely able to speak, he shook his head and said, ‘There’s no reason.’

      Roland looked into Pug’s eyes, and the fear in his own began to subside. Something inside the older squire seemed to break, and there was only a fatigued, drained young man sitting on the ground. Breathing heavily, Roland sat back, tears forming in his eyes, and asked, ‘Why?’

      Pug’s own fatigue made him lean back, supporting himself on his hands. He studied the handsome young face before him, twisted

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