"A fair morning to you, my young friend!" Tal said cheerily as he entered, a tray balanced in one hand. "Can I interest you in breakfast?"
Garin stared mutely at him a moment longer before sucking in a ragged breath. "Did you have to enter like that?"
"Of course not! But I'm an inconsiderate, ignorant, and irrelevant ignoble who doesn't care a whit for others' feelings. Or so I must act now." He winked as he sat on the edge of the bed, sliding the tray toward Garin.
Despite his annoyance, he found his stomach grumbling at the aromatic richness of the food. Bacon, thick slabs cooked to golden crispness, sat next to lard-fried potatoes and leeks, and a small mound of gleaming red berries beside. The plate looked large enough to feed a small family.
"Is all of this for me?" he asked hopefully.
Tal snorted and snatched a slice of bacon. "Not a chance. But half of it is."
Without complaint, Garin seized a fork and began to carve out the larger half.
"Now," Tal said around mouthfuls of food, "to begin your day of lessons — a lesson in perception."
Garin nearly choked trying to respond. "My day of lessons?"
"Of course! You didn't think your education would stop once we reached Halenhol, did you? No, don't interrupt. When playing the game of the court, you must establish a character for yourself and always maintain it. In this way, you maintain your influence over others' opinions of you. If you do not, others will begin to form ideas for themselves, and this is the very last thing you want."
Garin stared at him, chewing as placidly as a cow.
Tal sighed. "You're supposed to ask me why."
"You told me not to interrupt!"
"Your second lesson: Never obey the spirit of any law, and only oblige by its letter when it suits you."
Garin just shook his head.
"Your other lessons," Tal continued, "will begin after you've finished scarfing that food down. I should warn you, though — you may not want to stuff yourself. Getting whacked in the stomach is unpleasant enough when it's empty."
He nearly spat out the food in his mouth. "Does that mean… sword training?"
"Of course! An adventurer ought to know how to fight. But I should warn you: it won't be as simple as thrashing other young lads with a stick. Others may approach you, seeking to coax information out of you."
Garin sighed, wishing a morning of swordplay could be only about that. But here in the Coral Castle, that promised to be as unlikely a wish as a goose feather bed had seemed back in Hunt's Hollow. "Information about what?" he relented.
"About me. Possibly about you as well. But you can't flat out refuse them." Tal cocked his head. "So, we must invent a story for you."
"A story?"
"Yes. Hmm…" He put his hand to his chin as if thinking deeply, though Garin guessed he'd thought this through already. "How about this: You're my distant cousin, recently orphaned, and from a far-off town in the East Marsh. Out of the goodness of my heart, I've decided to take you on and bring you here to Halenhol to afford you every opportunity. Though you resent me and know me for a fool, you're going along with my plans as you want what I can provide." Tal beamed at him. "How's that?"
Garin swallowed his mouthful and shrugged. "Kind of weak."
"You wound me." Tal rose suddenly from the bed, almost causing the whole breakfast tray to slide off. "I'll come by after the sword lesson to take you to your next one."
"Which is?"
The man grinned. "It's a surprise."
Garin doubted that portended anything good.
Once he'd dressed in a simple set of tunic and trousers — or as simple as the wardrobe Tal had provided allowed for — Garin followed him down the winding hallways of the castle. Now that he'd eaten and dressed, he felt eager and nervous. How would he compare to the other young men in training? He doubted any of them would have come from a place as small and far away as Hunt's Hollow. Small — it was strange to think of his hometown that way, but he'd seen it was true as soon as he'd entered the gates to Halenhol. Hunt's Hollow had been the World for most of his life. Now, it was quickly becoming one small part of it.
He set his jaw, pushing the thoughts away.
Coral Castle was sparsely populated at the early hour of the morning, only a few people bustling back and forth down the salmon-colored corridors. Back in Hunt's Hollow, their immaculate clothes would have deemed them as well-to-do at least. But having glimpsed how the nobility dressed, much less the King, and from the respectful nods and bows Tal received as they passed, Garin could tell these were simply servants. And with a startle, he realized they weren't just bowing to Tal — they were bowing to him.
A long way from Hunt's Hollow, indeed, he marveled in a daze.
But when they arrived at the courtyard, all thoughts of heightened status were quickly dashed away. At first, Garin thought six boys were standing there, all younger than himself. But as he came closer, he saw that though one of them stood at the same height as the others, he was far from a boy.
The Master-at-Arms was bald and wore a long, gray beard bound into two tails with leather cords. Two swords, one on each side, were belted to his waist, and he wore a scowl that was even more intimidating. As if to make up for his diminutive stature, he was built broadly, a stockiness that suggested strength and endurance far beyond an ordinary man.
"Is he a dwarf?" Garin whispered to Tal.
He glanced back at him with a wry smile. "Half-dwarf, actually. If he had full dwarven blood, he'd be one foot shorter and two feet wider."
Garin shook his head. When he'd set out from Hunt's Hollow, he'd hoped to see more of the World. But he'd never imagined how all the stories would come alive before his eyes.
"Fresh blood?" the Master-at-Arms bellowed as they stepped onto the courtyard. "Come here, boy! You're late!"
Garin clenched his jaw at being called "boy," but talking back to the weaponsmaster didn't seem likely to make a good first impression.
As he walked over to join the other boys, Tal grabbed his arm, stopping him. "Remember, this is the game of the King's court," he said in a low voice. "You must watch what you say, even here. As far as we're concerned, anyone can be a traitor."
"Got it." Garin pulled away.
"Enjoy hitting other boys with sticks!" Tal called at his back.
Garin hunched his shoulders and hurried away, hoping his face didn't look as hot as it felt.
The Master-at-Arms was staring severely at him when he reached the others. Garin was the tallest by far among them, but he doubted it would play to his favor. Odds were that all of them had been "hitting other boys with sticks" much longer than he had.
"Finally," the Master growled. "But next time I tell you to hurry, you run. Understood?"
Garin opened his mouth uncertainly, then nodded.
"That's good. What's your name, boy?"
"Garin. Garin Dunford." His eyes flickered to the others, wondering what distinguished names they had. He doubted anyone as provincial as himself usually received lessons from the Master-at-Arms to the King.