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Kushiel's Pupil	By : Seraphis Category: G through L > Kushiel's Trilogy Views: 5698 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Kushiel s Trilogy, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Kushiel's Pupil
- 2-TWO
- 3-THREE
- 4-FOUR
- 5-FIVE
- 6-SIX
- 7-SEVEN
- 8-EIGHT
- 9-NINE
- 10-TEN
- 11-ELEVEN
- 12-TWELVE
- 13-THIRTEEN
- 14-FOURTEEN
- 15-FIFTEEN
- 16-SIXTEEN
- 15
- 16
SIXTEEN

The following morning, Lord Barquiel was as good as his word, and I found him in his study prepared for a ride, in boots and spurs. I handed him back his essay, and then my notes, two sheets of foolscap covered closely in violet student's ink. 'Here, my Lord,' I said, 'the appointed study notes you asked for.'

He nodded, and glanced over them briefly, to see that they were in Caerdicci, as he had ordered, but he did not read them, instead laying them across his desk. His eyes flicked back up toward me. 'Are you ready, girl?'

I raised my riding crop, tapping it against my own boots, setting my spurs to jingling. 'My lord, I am at your disposal.'

'Very good.' he murmured distractedly, straightening his gloves and cuffs, and beckoning to me with a motion of his head. 'Come along then, Verreuil. Don't let's be late.'

He set off down the hall at a brisk pace, particularly, I thought, in light of his advanced age, and I watched his gait with particular interest. I recalled my mother saying somewhat about a man's leg telling a great deal about his life, and I noted the slight outward curve of his legs, the mark of a life spent in the saddle. I knew, of course, that the Duc L'Envers, in his youth, had distinguished himself to the Khalif of Khebbel-im-Akkad by his prowess on horseback, so much that he had been given Akkadian lands and titles, and, eventually, an alliance by marriage with the Lugal.

We exited toward the stables through a hidden stair which I had never before encountered, which came out into the groomsmen's common area, where a few youths were breaking their fasts over a game of cards which I did not recognise. They all glanced up as Lord Barquiel and I entered, but to my surprise, they only saluted him lazily, as though they were accustomed to his trafficking through their tradesman's entrance with some regularity. Only one stood in acknowledgement, and Lord Barquiel waved him down. 'If they are ready, do not indispose yourself, Clement,' he said.

'My lord, they are only waiting for you.'

'Very good. Tacked?'

'Yes, my lord.'

'Good man. Come along, Verreuil, our horses await.' He snapped his fingers at me, as though I were a dog to heel, and started toward the main body of the stables, where we found our horses, Hephaestos for me, and a rather heavy-boned creature of Namarrese stock, dark bay, and clearly bred with an eye toward warring. I was surprised that he did not ride one of the fine Akkadian horses he had popularised in recent years, and which had been actively bred with the grand war-horses of Azzalle to produce several springy, warm-blooded breeds with astonishing strength and endurance.

Hephaestos greeted me with his habitual good nature, snuffling into my shoulder and lipping at the buttons on my jacket affectionately. He swung his neck round as though to offer me the rein, and I bounced lightly up into his saddle without regard for the mounting block. Lord Barquiel was already astride, wheeling his horse in a tight demi-courbette which I could not help but admire. I followed him out of the courtyard and palace gates, out into the city bustle.

We had not far to ride, as I quickly found; he was leading me directly to the Hôtel de Garde not four city blocks from the palace. This was, as the name implies, the headquarters of the city guard, though it served also as a barracks for any contingent of the army that might be residing in the City of Elua without alternate lodging, as well as the official home of the Commander of the Guard. It was a sprawling building, with large courtyards and squares for drilling troops in various manœuvres, of fairly recent architecture, of the style, I think, which is called High Gothic, built early during the reign of King Ganelon's father, King Ermenguilde.

We entered at a foot-gate just wide enough to admit a single man on horseback, and the concierge admitted us with a brief nod and a lazy salute in Lord Barquiel's direction. I was not certain what, exactly, to expect, but we rode past the main courtyard and along a line of shady cypress trees, into a square occupied by a body of some fifteen men on horseback, all lightly armed and armoured. They were engaged already in what I immediately recognised as a cavalry-drill, horses at a slow canter, filing by lines of straw mannequins, the mounted guardsmen firing short horse-bows with deadly precision, then drawing their swords and plucking twig garlands hanging from ribbons with their points.

The commander of the drill, a tall, athletic figure in a lieutenant's uniform, was mounted and stationary, observing his men with a keen and exacting eye, though he remained silent, and from this silence I deduced that his men were performing with exquisite precision their manœuvres. When he caught sight of Lord Barquiel and myself watching his men, he made a signal to a bystanding young ensign and kicked his horse toward us, saluting as he approached.

'My Lord Duc,' he said, and I was startled to hear his clearly Akkadian accent, and see it visible in his lineage, though he was at least half d'Angeline.

'Rigel,' Lord Barquiel lazily returned and dismissed the salute, 'this is my student, Verreuil. We will be observing your manœuvres today, and I hope to eventually have her join the drills.'

To his credit, Rigel did not bat an eye at so unusual and frankly impossible statement. Whoever had heard of a girl drilling with cavalry officers? I did not even know whether my strength was enough to pull Hephaestos up short for the whirling courbette which the dragoons performed. He only nodded, and with a final salute, prodded his horse back to his lieutenant. I turned my eyes toward the Duc L'Envers, and he nudged his horse closer to mine.

'There are several things, in particular, that I want you to observe here, Verreuil.' He began, in a fashion I would very soon learn was his most didactic manner. If there is one thing I cannot fault Barquiel L'Envers for, it is apathy. There was a great passion in him, thoroughly d'Angeline, for all the things which he loved, and for all the things which he hated. There have never been two faces upon that man in his life, though he may have, at times, wished for them. 'This is a formation for men bearing short-bows, not lances. There are many weapons which may be utilised as a cavalry officer, among them distance weapons such as the light bow, or the javelin, as I am certain you have observed during hunts. I will not today explore the origins of bringing weapons onto horseback during warfare, but it is a relatively recent development in Terre d'Ange, not extending before my own lifetime. We will speak of mounted infantry at a later time, but here we are presented with our most modern and most skilled horse guards, and you will see that they are no mean horsemen.

'This formation which they are now creating,' he said, and I observed that from the square the men were separating in a long line of pairs, unravelling like a thread from a torn lace stocking, each man pulling his bow in a single direction, the man behind preceding his fellow by half a length. They were not using arrows, but each man pulled the short bow with a force and fierceness that predicted well how it might fly. They were pulling slightly upward, as well, that the arrows might find greater range. 'That is a formation for creating a wall of arrows, a hail of them which will descend upon the enemy with great force. A slower, heavier cavalry, or an infantry, or perhaps a company which is rendered slow by reason of transporting machines of war, will be overwhelmed by such a tactic. Do you see how the men return to their column immediately after they have loosed?' I nodded. 'Speak when you acknowledge me, girl. I'm not so old as to have grown deaf.'

'Yes, Lord Barquiel.' I replied, swallowing. My throat was dry. I could picture the rhythmic poetry of the light cavalry, riding over hordes of unmounted troops.

'On the battlefield, they will remain in a line until they are fully extended, and then they will release their arrows. That creates a wider striking field, and prevents friendly fire. Here, in these close quarters, they must return to a square, and that is as important, to be capable of producing such agility from their horses in this narrow courtyard. They perform manœuvres such as this on the Champs de Guerre, but of course it is simpler to display them here. Of course, in the city there are no heavy cavalry, so our lessons in such a discipline shall remain theoretical for the time being.' He cast his gaze over me. 'You promise to be tall, Verreuil. Mayhap, with the right armourer, and the right alloys, we might fashion plate that can be sustained by a woman, if she is trained to it.'

I nearly laughed in his face at such a preposterous idea. He, of all people, should know that women in Terre d'Ange do not wage war. We are neither the Dalriada nor the fierce women of the ancient Hellenes, who excised their own right breasts to better draw a bow. Our women are soft creatures, full of sensuality and hard brilliance, and even those as canny and independent as my own mother, whom not a one would deny is one of Terre d'Ange's most fearsome heroes, prefer the strength of the mind and knowledge to that of physical battle. Even Melisande Shahrizai, fierce and independent and cruel, used the brutal hands of men to forge her desired empire.

Nevertheless, I watched the cavalry officers ride through their forms, admired the horsemanship of the guards, and the discipline of the ranks, and I listened to all that Barquiel L'Envers had to say concerning the make of their armour and the breeding of their horses, the kind of men who typically joined the ranks of horse guards, and the ones who found the greatest success. He spoke, also, of famous commanders who had changed the game of mounted battle forever, of battle-chariots and its benefits upon certain topographic features. I learnt a great deal from him too; nearly all he had to say, I absorbed. I may not, today, be capable of repeating to you every concept upon which we touched, but I know that if I were confronted with a cavalry battalion and told to drill the men, a great deal of the orders I would confer upon the men were planted in my mind, albeit in their most rudimentary elements.

We returned to the palace some two hours later, the morning having been eaten up, and I found that I was exhausted and voraciously hungry. I expected Lord Barquiel to return me to the study and hand me another assignment, but instead we stopped in with the grooms, who had apparently been instructed to have ready a small repast for the duc and myself, for which I was deeply grateful. There were slices of Aragonian ham, stuffed in generous portions into hot roasted apples studded with sugar and cloves, fresh brown bread and warm goat's cheese, a skin of small beer and figs plucked directly from a courtyard tree not a half hour previous. I feasted, feeling sated and warm, surrounded by the smell of horses and hay, with the sunlight drifting lazily in through the open windows.

I found that I was conversing rather comfortably with Lord Barquiel and the grooms, speaking of Montrève's wheat fields and grazing sheep, of searching for truffles in the wood with the dogs, of breeding hounds, and of my own favourite hound, a big brindle dog with lambent golden eyes named L'Oeuf, as he had made a habit of stealing eggs as a pup, fearless in the face of a wolf, who yet deferred to his half-sister, a dainty blue bitch by the name of Ombra.

I found that Lord Barquiel kept his own pack of wolfhounds at his holdings in Namarre, and bred his own mastiffs out of stock he said was out of the far eastern border of Khebbel-im-Akkad and Bhodistan, a large dun or red breed with classic molosser features, jowly and steadfast, with the giant muscles and feet that typify the breed sort. I had never, myself, owned such an animal, Montrève not having much call for such breeds, but I had seen them in Namarre and in Camlach, when we had journeyed to Aiglemort to visit the Unforgiven some years ago.

By and by, we finished our luncheon and Lord Barquiel eased himself back to his feet. 'Come along, girl,' he beckoned lazily, with the sort of imperious gesture I imagined would have been used to recall an adjutant on the field of battle as easily as one of his dogs. 'We must be getting you back to the rest of your tutors. I imagine you're rather late for your flower arranging.' He grinned, and I returned the smile, a sort of quiet and madcap conspiration which, only that morning, I would never have conceived possible between Lord Barquiel and myself.

He accompanied me so far as my next class, not, incidentally, flower arranging, but rather lessons in diction and verse by none other than the Royal Poet himself, Master Gilles Lamiz, where Yseulte was already delivering a portion of verse, which I understood later was of her own composition, in her accustomed elegant and ingenuous manner.

When we entered the study, which was an expansive and well-heated room deep in the centre of the palace, with a smell of gall, ash and old paper. Yseulte, distracted by the noise of our entrance, turned and caught sight of Lord Barquiel, and, with a glance toward her master for permission, rose and embraced him. It was a pretty picture of filial affection, a display for which I would not have credited Lord Barquiel had I not witnessed it with my own eyes. He doted on her, as he did not upon me, calling her his dear and kissing her hands. She was twice a princess, to be sure, the cousin to the Queen of Terre d'Ange and the daughter of the Khalif of Khebbel-im-Akkad, though from what I now understand she would not have been exactly called so in her native land.

I do know that Lord Barquiel made much of her, and, as though to follow suit, the peerage of the City of Elua found her charming. That, of course, was her own function. Yseulte was as likeable a girl as any one might meet. By now the pall which had followed Sidonie for her half Cruithne breeding had worn away, and the dark cast of her features was merely a new exoticism which enhanced their sharp d'Angeline beauty.
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Kushiel's Pupil