Текст книги "Regent"

Автор книги: Brian Rathbone

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Brian Rathbone
Regent

Chapter 1

Wisdom is the reward for surviving our own stupidity.

– Wendel Volker

Run!

Instinct and compulsion drove Sinjin's lean, teenage body to greater speed, his shoulder-length, auburn hair streaming behind him. Running was the one thing he did well, and the landscape slid by in a blur punctuated by moments of perfect focus. Leaping over a protruding tree root, his eyes locked on another dark-robed figure moving within the trees. Startled, Sinjin lost his step and nearly went down, but through strength of will, he heeded his father's command and ran.

Faster. Run, Sinjin,run!

Ahead the trail turned sharply upward on a direct course to the top of a steep incline. An unfamiliar pain stabbed Sinjin's side, and he placed a hand over it, hoping it would make the cramp go away. It didn't. The Wood Run was designed to challenge even the best runners, and it succeeded in that, but Sinjin gritted his teeth and persevered. Sweat stung his eyes by the time he crested the steep hill. He wanted to stop and rest, to slow his labored breathing, but knew he could not; something was wrong. There should be no one in these woods, especially not shadowy figures in black hooded robes, and his father's mental commands reinforced his fears. It was unusual for Prios to speak with Sinjin over such distance, and Sinjin knew it must have required a great deal of energy and effort. It was equally unusual for Sinjin to be competing in the Spring Challenges, something that had been expressly forbidden.

Stop!

It took a moment for Sinjin to react to the abrupt command, and his momentum carried him forward. The air sang a sharp note, and a dark flash crossed the trail only a hand's width in front of Sinjin's unprotected abdomen. Thrown from his balance, he lost control of his limbs, and a loose rock turned his ankle. Using his next off-kilter step to hurl himself upward, he tucked and rolled, just as Uncle Chase had taught him. The air sang once again, and a slender bolt struck a nearby tree, giving Sinjin a clear view of the deadly implement. It was not like the thick, stubby bolts used to hunt game; this was delicate and precise and seemed a much more frightening weapon.

Cut the course! Turn left ahead!

More shadowy figures moved within the trees. Sinjin started to turn but caught sight of the next ribbon on his right. Tied around the trunk of an elm, it was the last of seven ribbons he needed to collect. Each was signed by Master Edling, and all were required as proof of staying on the Wood Run course. The thought of facing Master Edling and his father made Sinjin want to quit the race and get home, but he could win this race; he knew it. He'd allowed Durin to talk him into it because he'd secretly desired it. Things were not going to go well for him when he got home-if he got home-and he knew this might be his only chance to win. It wasn't the prize he sought; it was the chance to prove that he was good at something-the best, even. Youthful desire overwhelmed sense and his father's command, and Sinjin turned sharply to the right.

Barely slowing, he grabbed the long end of the slipknot and charged toward the clearing, but just as the lush grasses of the Challenge fields came into view, a dark-robed figure stepped onto the trail and raised his arms before him. Sinjin could not see what weapons threatened from within the folds of the overlong sleeves, but he felt the danger.

His blood froze and he nearly ran headlong into death's embrace, but his training was not so far from his mind. Without slowing, he ran up the trunk of a nearby oak and flipped himself backward over the stunned assassin. Using the longest stride he'd ever attempted, Sinjin propelled himself into the clearing. A roar erupted from the gathered crowd, and Sinjin knew he must be running a faster time than Hester had. All he had to do was finish the race to defeat a living legend. Bolstered by this thought and the sight of the exuberant crowd, Sinjin ran. His shoulders itched, almost expecting a bolt to strike and demanding he at least turn his head and look back, but the pain never came.

Durin stood at the head of the crowd, jumping, shouting, and pointing at the sand clocks.

Sinjin suppressed a smile. Then he lowered his head and poured all the energy he had left into a final sprint. At the finish line, he stuffed his seven ribbons into Master Edling's hands. The crowd erupted. Edling, who normally wore a haughty and sour look, could not keep the surprise from his face.

Get home. Now!

Sinjin barely heard his father's voice in his mind, and that worried him more than anything else. Durin's dumbstruck gaze followed Sinjin as he ran past, not even bothering to accept his prize. Sinjin just placed a hand on his aching side and kept moving.

Durin ran up alongside. "What are you doing? You won! You beat Hester's record! You have to stop and accept your prize. You're supposed to get a wreath of vespa and a kiss from Alissa. I can't wait until Kendra hears about this."

"My dad already knows," Sinjin said between sucking in breaths. He couldn't even think about Kendra; she was an unsolvable problem.

Durin's look was apologetic, as it often was, his expressive face and liquid-brown eyes almost comical. "I didn't think he would find out-at least not this soon. Sorry."

"And there are people trying to kill me."

"What? Really?" Durin asked, stumbling as he tried to keep up.

Sinjin just grunted and jogged north toward his home, and for once, Durin matched his pace.

By the varying light of five herald globes, Catrin hunched over a crumbling scroll, trying to unlock its secrets before time rendered it back into dust. Her translucent hair fell to one side, a constant reminder of the consequences of power. Four more herald globes rested in small iron pedestals, which currently held down the corners of the ancient vellum. Each globe cast its unique glow over the surface of the scroll accompanied by muted reflections from the polished stone table on which they rested. Catrin didn't notice the white and blue filaments that arched from her delicate fingers to the table.

She sighed and closed her eyes. Vast amounts of knowledge had been uncovered in the past decade, much as a result of the ancient cache Catrin herself had found at Ohmahold, but little had been deciphered and even less truly understood. So many of the things they found seemed meaningless and out of context. Each discovery brought more mystery than certainty. The scroll that currently held Catrin's interest discussed the principles and behaviors of energy. It had been found deep within Dragonhold.

That name still made Catrin shiver. She had proposed Volkerhold as the name of her keep, but the instant Chase had suggested Dragonhold, people latched on to it. Leave it to her cousin to come up with a name irresistible to most yet made Catrin very uncomfortable. She'd seen the true majesty of dragons, and it seemed an impossible name to live up to, especially since her relationship with Kyrien was in question. He was a free beast, and nothing bound him to her. After the war with the Zjhon, he had come to her once every year for eight years straight. For the past two years, though, he'd been absent.

For months Catrin had been trying to make contact with him, but he was distant, and what little communication they managed was garbled and only served to worry and confuse her. It disgusted her that deep down she also wanted more dragon ore. Kyrien was far more to her than just a source of the precious stone, but she was suffering without it. Working the stone into herald globes, though tedious, calmed her nerves and filled the hold's coffers. Truly, a visit from her dragon would do her good. With another sigh, she pushed the scroll aside, unable to achieve the level of focus needed for translation, and a sloppy translation would do her no good at all.

Other papers and scrolls awaited her attention, but she returned to one she'd read a dozen times before. It was from her cousin's husband-a man she had nearly married, a man who might have wished he'd married her instead of her acerbic cousin Lissa. While the letter was polite enough and the words themselves gave no real reason for alarm, the letter's presence alone was cause for concern, and Catrin couldn't help feeling that there was a cry for help hidden beneath the bare words. The messenger had refused to tell exactly how he had come into possession of the letter, but he had said that it hadn't come directly from Wolfhold or Ravenhold, and he had no way to guarantee its providence.

Once again, Catrin's thoughts wandered to Thorakis the Builder, the man said to have saved the Greatland from starvation by building massive fisheries. Much of Jharmin's letter told of Thorakis's achievements, including a huge network of man-made rivers within walls of stone. It was almost too much to believe, and though Jharmin spoke well of Thorakis, there was something else, but Millie's sudden arrival and the worried look on her face brought Catrin to her feet.

"Come quick," Millie said as she pulled Catrin from the room, her breathing heavy. "It's Prios, m'lady, he's taken ill."

"Where?"

"In the viewing chamber, m'lady."

Catrin charged ahead, her lithe form moving easily, leaving Millie to shuffle along behind her, the older and heavier woman's joints allowing for only so much speed.

Though Prios was Catrin's first concern, she also worried that this would cause undo anxiety over the safety of the as of yet untested viewing chambers. Catrin knew the perils of improper astral travel, but she also knew the chambers would be safe. Still, she felt like less of a person for having those thoughts. Any right-minded person would be thinking of her spouse.

When Catrin turned the corner, she found Prios supine on the rough stone floor of the first viewing chamber, his head in Brother Vaughn's lap. Though he was breathing, his pale complexion and trembling hands troubled Catrin. Even in his current state, he looked beautiful to her. The kindness in his eyes offset the hard lines of his regal visage. Even staring into empty air, his expression was locked into a look of compassion.

Seeing her dragon ore carving, Koe, lying beside him, chalky and depleted, Catrin was shocked. Even in its most inert state, the carving had an imposing feline form. Koe had been fully charged, glossy and slick, and had been resting in their bedchamber. Prios would not have taken the carving without very good reason; he knew how important it was to her. She'd never been able to carve another like piece; no other dragon ore had ever revealed its true form to her. A sick feeling clutched Catrin's gut, and she asked, "Where's Sinjin?"

Brother Vaughn, his long gray hair pulled back into a braid, looked up with an apology in his eyes. "Prios charged in here, saying he had a bad feeling about Sinjin and that he needed to use the viewing chamber. I tried to stop him, but he just stared out the opening and fell to the floor. He'll be back. I just know it. He's strong."

Catrin slapped Prios hard across the face. Millie sucked air through her teeth, but Catrin knew he would feel only the most intense sensations while out of his body. Shouting in his ear, just as Mother Gwendolin had once done for her, Catrin told him he was going to die. She scanned the painful memories, hoping to recall something that would help save Prios. Without the grounding effect provided by the chairs of stone and metal, he would have nothing to guide him back to his body. He would be lost.

Lost.

Whether the thought came from Prios or from Catrin's subconscious, the effect was the same, and it drove Catrin to reckless action. Without the aid of the stone chairs to anchor her or the monks' chanting to shake loose her spirit, Catrin gazed out of the viewing portal, pulled deeply on the energy around her, and wrenched her soul free from its mortal trappings. Though she left most of her physical senses behind, she did not miss Millie gasping, "By the Gods! She's gone too. It's like they're trying to kill me!"

Unlike Catrin's previous experiences with astral travel, movement was anything but effortless. Just staying whole required most of her concentration. The world seemed to pull at her spirit from a thousand directions, slowly tearing her apart. What movement she did manage was clumsy and out of control, but her son's life and that of her husband were at stake, and nothing would deter her. Driven by a mother's instinct, her spirit flowed down the Pinook Valley, over Edling's Wall, and into the lands that had once been her home. An almost irresistible urge to visit what had been her family's farm tugged at her. Painful memories rose unbidden, the dull ache of loss all too familiar. With extreme mental effort, she focused her energy and thrust those feelings aside. Nothing mattered more than finding Sinjin and Prios.

The world moved wildly beneath her, bucking and lurching as she cast out her senses, searching for familiar patterns of energy.

Go back.

Catrin barely heard Prios in her mind, but his words struck like thunder. She could feel his pain and the effort it had taken to communicate with her. His essence was nearly depleted, and someone interfered with his attempts to return to his body. Feeling helpless, Catrin reeled with fury. Never before had she tried to influence the world around her when traveling outside her body; always before she had been but an observer. Now though, she sensed an enemy approaching her son and another slowly killing her husband.

Dark energies swirled around her as Sinjin and Durin half limped and half jogged into view. The pain in Sinjin's eyes made it clear that he was in no condition to outrun anyone. The darkness coalesced into two figures that materialized as if made from nothing but shadow.

Durin saw them first and shouted, "Run!"

"I can't," Sinjin said, but he picked up his pace as much as he could. It would do no good. Both assassins raised their arms and aimed at Sinjin.

Though they could not hear her, Catrin screamed and thrust herself into the face of one of the men, feeling for his eyes with her energy. A sound like a sizzling pop split the air, and the assassin fell to the ground, screaming and clutching his still-hooded face. The second assassin seemed frozen in time, yet Catrin watched in silent horror as a slender bolt sliced the air on its way to Sinjin's heart. Leaves rustled as what felt like a tornadic wind rushed past Catrin, and she recognized Prios's spirit. Emotion overwhelmed her as she watched him alter the flight path of the bolt so it soared harmlessly over Sinjin's shoulder. A moment later a wall of malicious intent slammed into her like a wave of fire and nausea. Catrin struggled to hold herself together as her unidentified adversary tried to help the world tear her spirit apart. Everything turned a shade darker, and Catrin knew she would soon succumb. As the assassin aimed once again, she made one last desperate attempt to communicate with Sinjin: "Run!"

Never before had Sinjin heard his mother's voice in his mind, and the sound of it terrified him. It felt as if those words might be her last. Screaming, he ducked under the next bolt loosed by the assassin. Behind him he heard a wet thunkand a grunt. Turning to look, he saw Durin drop to one knee, his face pale and drawn. Anger welled up in Sinjin and would not be denied. Howling, he turned and ran toward the assassin, who seemed surprised and momentarily stunned. Using what Uncle Chase had taught him, Sinjin coiled his muscles and focused his core strength to launch his attack. He struck with more force than he could naturally muster, and he felt tingling hands assisting him and reinforcing his strike. The assassin went down and did not rise.

With a lump in his throat, Sinjin turned to Durin, who was now on his side, one leg trapped beneath his body at an awkward angle. It looked to Sinjin as if he were already dead. Tears filled his eyes, but he forced them back. When he pulled Durin from the ground and wrestled his limp body over one shoulder, the boy moaned and Sinjin risked a moment of hope-it was a brief moment. The assassin, too, moaned, and Sinjin moved off as fast as he could while carrying Durin. Once again his shoulders itched, waiting for the next deadly bolt to strike. He nearly dropped Durin at the sound of a snapping branch, but it was Uncle Chase and five of his best men who approached.

Chase rushed forward when he saw the boys and charged past them, looking for their assailants, his soldier's body rippling with intent. Sinjin turned to watch his uncle go, terrified by Chase's deadly charge but also by the thought of losing him. The valley behind was now empty, though, and nothing of the two assassins remained. It was as if they had been taken by the wind. Only the still form of Durin and the deadly bolt protruding from his shoulder gave evidence that they had ever existed.

"What happened?" Chase asked. "Never mind. It doesn't matter. We need to get you back to Dragonhold. Bradley, Simms, you carry Durin. Jorge and Morif, grab Sinjin." Words of protest were cut short as Sinjin suddenly found himself slung over the shoulders of two men who immediately began to run. The desire to run on his own two legs was nearly overwhelming, despite knowing his energy was already spent.

Chapter 2

The power of words, used with artfulness and skill, can be immeasurable.

– Surry the Minstrel

"You should all be ashamed of yourselves," Millie said as she walked among the beds in the now overfull infirmary. The tears that gathered in her eyes seemed to anger her further. "When you are all well enough to hear me, you can be certain I'll tell you what I reallythink. I most certainly will. Selfish and thoughtless, not to mention plain stupid. Did I mention stupid? No respect for a fragile, old heart such as mine."

Her footsteps echoed off the cold stone walls.

Sinjin waited until Millie thundered from the room before raising his head. He alone was unscathed after the events of the previous day. Fault was his alone to bear, yet those he loved had paid the price for his impetuous and selfish decisions. Millie was right; he truly was detestable. Tears threatened to fall from his eyes as well, and his chin quivered. Durin groaned, causing Sinjin to leap; it was the first Durin had stirred since Brother Vaughn had administered a series of poultices. Each one had seemed to pull some of the poison from the boy's body, but no one knew if it would be enough.

"Durin," Sinjin whispered. "Can you hear me? Wake up. Don't make me beat you into consciousness."

Durin's eyes did not open, but one side of his mouth twitched and turned upward. It lasted only a moment; then he was gone again. Sinjin's parents were faring no better, and the room began to close in on him, forcing him to accept the guilt and responsibility. Part of him wanted to run until he could run no more, to escape from the horror of having killed his parents and his best friend. What kind of monster would do such a thing? He'd risked everything on a silly race. He'd won the race and lost everything else.

Returning in a rustle of skirts, Millie entered the room looking pale, and she leaned on the rough-hewn walls. "Master Edling is within Dragonhold," she gasped between breaths.

Sinjin's head snapped up. Master Edling had never entered Dragonhold, and not since the erection of the wall bearing his name had he come north of it. It wasn't until recently that anyone could cross the wall. As a result of the Pinook Treaty, a gate had been built and limited trade established. Looking at the still forms of his parents, a chill clutched his bowels. This was no time to show weakness. Sinjin was not weak minded or completely unprepared. "Tell him my parents are involved in matters that cannot wait and will occupy them until after nightfall."

"Edling and his gaggle of fools are not here to see your parents," Millie said with a look that Sinjin knew all too well. "They're here looking for another fool, one that seems to have won a race, I believe."

Standing as rigid as stone, Sinjin allowed Millie to dab powder around his eyes.

"We can't have them thinking you've been crying," she said. "Now look at me. Your eyes are as red as roses. But I can't fix that."

That did little to bolster Sinjin's failing confidence as he walked to Dragonhold's main entrance. What had once been a jagged gash in the stone wall had been carved into a broad entranceway. The inner gates, which had been constructed using whole tree trunks, stood open, showing the cloudless sky beyond. Within stood Master Edling and his party, which was dwarfed by the massive scale of the ancient hall. Delicately curved pillars the size of greatoaks extended high into the darkness, leaving the ceiling of the chamber hidden from view. Some said the place was named Dragonhold because dragons could fly within the hold; others said an ancient dragon lived in the darkest depths of the mountain fortress. Sinjin knew he could use the majesty of his home to his advantage.

"Master Edling," he said with a bow that was little more than a nod. He could almost feel Millie's pride as he had shown just enough respect to offset the insult. Again, he could sense Millie's approval as he let the silence hang between them. Someone less trained might have launched into apologies or explanations or excuses, but Sinjin knew better; Millie and Uncle Chase had seen to that.

"Lord Volker," Master Edling said after an uncomfortable silence. "I had hoped your parents would accompany you. I was so looking forward to congratulating them on raising such a fine and strong young man-not to mention fast. Hester was none too pleased that you broke his record, I can assure you that! I don't believe I'd buy any butter or cheese from Hester if I were you," Edling finished with a condescending smile and a too-deep bow.

Sinjin, again, said nothing. Those behind Master Edling shuffled their feet and fidgeted, perhaps uncomfortable on Edling's behalf.

Master Edling coughed. "Yes. . as I was saying. . you left without claiming your prize. The Spring Challenges and Summer Games are based on tradition, and some traditions simply must not be broken, for the sake of continuity. It is for that reason that we have come to you. I present you this wreath as a sign of your victory. Let your countrymen know that your right to the title Champion has been duly earned and cannot be taken away."

Sinjin accepted the wreath, knowing Edling had other, less honorable reasons for coming to Dragonhold, such as assessing his enemies' hold in person.

Alissa stepped forward and Sinjin was utterly unprepared for her kiss. He had expected a quick peck, but she grabbed the back of his neck and kissed him deeply. Sinjin took a step back, and she moved with him, as if she'd forgotten anyone else was present. When finally she allowed Sinjin to pull free, there was a look in her eyes that made Sinjin feel like a doe before a mountain cat. His skin flushed and his face reddened nearly as deeply as Alissa's father's as the man ushered her to the back of Edling's party.

Sinjin flushed even further when he looked into the gathered crowd to see Kendra Ironfist looking like a storm cloud-her face flushed, her eyes afire. Despite it all, Sinjin had to admit that she was beautiful, though he'd never admit it to her. Too many times she'd caused him trouble. Still, her long brown hair softened the scowl on her face, and there was a certain twinkle in her glare. Sinjin's current circumstances once again demanded his attention as another strained silence hung over the hall.

"Thank you all for coming here to present me with this prize," Sinjin finally said. His face still burned and a tremble crept into his voice, but he kept from showing his fear. "If you will excuse me, there are matters that require my attention."

"I had hoped for at least a brief tour," Master Edling said. His eyes took in the details as he scanned the great hall. The tile mosaic floor had been returned to its original glory, and the ancient suits of armor that lined the walls gleamed under a patina ages in the making. Ornate entranceways led to halls shrouded in shadow, and Sinjin guessed that Master Edling must dearly wish to know what lay beyond.

"Perhaps another time, Master Edling."

A long silence allowed the tension to rise as Master Edling attempted to silently compel Sinjin.

"Perhaps you could have your steward contact me, and we can arrange for a proper tour," Millie said from behind Sinjin, who gave no indication that he would speak again.

"Uh, yes. I suppose that would be best."

Sinjin knew it would be a long climb back down the wooden stairs that led to the valley floor below and that it would most likely be dark by the time Master Edling's party reached the bottom. Insulting Master Edling was a risky thing to do, and Sinjin was in no mood for taking more risks, but he definitely didn't want Master Edling to know that his parents were incapacitated. If Edling wanted to launch an attack on Dragonhold, this would certainly be the time to do it.

Edling left without another word, his party hurrying in his wake.

"If I weren't so angry with you, I do believe I'd be right proud about now," Millie said.

Sinjin turned to see her smiling, and the weight on his soul was just a little lighter. "Thanks, Millie. I'm sorry about all the trouble I caused."

"I don't suppose you'll be making that mistake again, now will you?"

"No, ma'am."

"It wasn't all your fault, now. There're darker forces at work here, and you've just got to be more careful. If they were to have killed you. . why, I don't know what I'd have done." There was a catch in her voice.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Now you run to the kitchens and get something in your belly. Can't have you falling over too."

Sinjin's stomach agreed with Millie, and he jogged toward the kitchens. Leaving the cool air behind, he descended to the great forge. Rhythmic ringing echoed through the tunnels of stone, and the heat of the central fire radiated from the heart of Dragonhold. Here, all those who needed fire could do their work. Sinjin glanced into the smithy on his way by and could see Strom's muscular form glistening in the orange glow of hot metal. He was not a lumbering brute of a man, but he was lean and powerful, the cut of his muscles making him look like a living sculpture. His hammer blows set the cadence for the chorus of the forge. In the adjacent chamber, Osbourne and Milo worked glass into wondrous forms. As he peered in, he could see them putting the final touches on a glass dragon made in Kyrien's image, an image that was becoming ever more popular despite his long absence-or perhaps because of it. Sinjin pulled his gaze away as thoughts of Kyrien led to thoughts of his mother and father.

The smell of baking bread overtook the earthy fragrance of the smithy and smelting room, and more savory aromas drifted in from the kitchens. Sinjin charged past the bakery and slowed to a respectful speed when he reached the main kitchen. He couldn't count the number of times Miss Mariss had told him to slow down in her kitchens, and as he'd gotten older, he'd begun listening to her-most of the time. Several smacks on the back of the head with a wooden spoon had helped motivate him.

When he entered, an unnatural silence greeted him. The kitchens were a place of noise and constant activity, but everyone in the keep knew what had happened the day before, and the cooks silently waited to see what he would say.

Miss Mariss had been fanning herself near one of the precious few ventilation shafts, seeming reluctant to come talk to Sinjin. "I'll never get used to this heat," she complained, as she had many times before. "The kitchen in my inn is always hot, but you can walk outside and escape it for a bit. Here you just cook along with the meat! Do those men really need that much heat to forge metal and make glass?"

Sinjin walked alongside Miss Mariss as she talked. Absently she grabbed a wooden bowl and a slate. Into the bowl went red sausage, smoked bacon, salt-cured ham, eggs, and walnuts, Sinjin's and Prios's favorite breakfast. Onto the slate went a small loaf of dark bread that had been cut open and stuffed with soft cheese and honey.

"Go," Miss Mariss said, not giving herself or anyone else the chance to ask him questions she knew he did not want to answer.

Sinjin left without looking anyone else in the eye, but when he turned the corner, he literally ran into the last person in the world he wanted to see. Kendra looked down at the honey that now stained her smock, which was snug and seemed to demand that Sinjin stare at it, and she cast Sinjin one of her least pleasant looks. "You oaf!"

"Kendra! You apologize this instant!" ordered Kendra's mother, Khenna.

"It was my fault. I wasn't looking," Sinjin said, and he tried to slide by both of them, but Khenna blocked his path.

"This won't do. Kendra, say you're sorry."

"I won't because I'm not sorry. He thinks he's better than everyone else and he's not!"

"Forgive her, Lord Volker," Khenna said, causing a flush of a different sort to run over Sinjin's face. He hated to be called "Lord Volker," especially now. And Kendra was the last person he wanted to hear someone call him that.

"If he's a lord, then I'm a horse's-"

Kendra's words were cut short, and Sinjin did not look back. The less he did to provoke Kendra, the better. It was not that he feared her, but a battle with her was one he could not win; this he knew from experience. Khenna was a trained fighter, and Kendra had proven a quick study. She challenged his authority at every opportunity, and one time he let his temper get the better of him. "Go back to your momma's skirts," he'd told her. It was a stupid thing to say. She hadn't even waited for him to finish the sentence before spinning on one leg and landing a kick on his jaw. That was all it had taken. After he'd regained consciousness, his mother had scolded him for fighting with girls. Confrontation with Kendra was best avoided.