Spycraft Academy

by B N Miles

  "Let's make a wager, shall we?"

  Her voice was a dark hiss tunneling into his brain. She kept him anchored by knotting her fingers in the back of his head.

  "I bet you that I can sleep with her before you do. And if I win, you have to do whatever I want…for a whole day."

  The thoughts that had been churning in his head came to an abrupt halt. He squinted at Drina, partly offended because Mattie wasn't some race hound to make bets on, and partly hopeful that she would win.

  Before he could answer, her expression shifted and she flicked him on the nose. "Kidding."

  Her sense of humor was quickly becoming apparent. Sam needed to quit getting so worked up when she baited him. There was something oddly comforting about knowing her angle, like he was in on the joke. He didn't have to worry about how he was going to respond, or if he looked clueless when he tried to respond in the first place. She wasn't actually flirting with him, just screwing with him, and if that was how she played around with her friends, then he could loosen up and joke around with her too.

  Sam squinted at her and she stuck out her tongue, but when Drina turned to walk away in Mattie's direction, Sam snatched her by the back of the trousers and pulled her flush against his chest.

  "Fine," he said, bending his head and muttering into her ear. "But if I win, you have to do whatever I want…for a whole. Entire. Day.”

  His previous realization began to melt a little when he felt her go completely still and saw the gooseflesh rise along her arms. Maybe she was playing around with him, but she certainly wasn't as unaffected by his response as he expected.

  "Oh?" She didn't look at him.

  Sam studied the side of her face, frowning in thought. He expected her to keep joking with him, but there was something different about her quite suddenly. Maybe it was the way she seemed so stiff while her voice sounded so casual, maybe it was something more subtle that he couldn't pinpoint.

  Maybe she wasn't used to somebody playing her game.

  This was new. Exciting. He felt like a kid again, inching toward the feral cat who stayed in the alley next to the cobbler's shop, quietly sneaking up on her to trap her in his arms, scratching her ears even as she clawed his arms, grimacing and patiently waiting for the inevitable moment when she stopped and started purring instead.

  He wondered what she would do if he pushed her a bit more.

  "I'm sure I'll think of something productive for you to do. When I win, that is." His fingers pressed into her lower back, circling the flesh beneath her tight tunic. He wasn't so sure it was the right thing to do, and there was some deliberation on whether she would turn around and slap him for taking such liberties.

  Instead, she exhaled a little more heavily than a normal breath and took a step forward. Then another, then another until she was strutting away, her chin held high.

  "Good thing you won't win, then. I hate being productive!" She called back.

  It didn't escape his notice that she didn't so much as look at him as she sashayed toward Mattie, nor did he miss the exaggerated swing of her hips.

  He grinned to himself, a little prouder than he should’ve been that he managed to trip her up just as badly as she did him. Game on, Drina.

  Sam made himself comfortable against one of the walls, content to just watch the girls get a feel for each other as they sparred. Mattie wasn't holding back, which meant that Drina wasn't either, which meant that he was able to get a good gauge on their new crew member.

  While Mattie was a mid-range fighter when she was forced into confrontation, Drina was short range. The two of them made a good match for Sam and his long-range abilities. He'd never held an actual weapon outside of a dulled knife before, so he was better off with using his shadow talents than something like a sword and shield.

  Mattie, though, was good with sticks. Maybe the nobles would laugh at that, but Mattie was a dangerous foe because she didn't care to use whatever was close to bash somebody over the head. Usually, sticks and planks were widely available, and so she'd gotten quite good at swinging them to the point that she'd carved her own staff a few years ago to practice with. The staff was still back at home with their crew, just in case they needed it, she'd said.

  Drina fought dirty, though, and she was giving Mattie a run for her money with the two long daggers she was slashing about. The two of them, lunatics that they were, kept bursting into mad giggles whenever one of them got a new cut or a bruise from the other.

  The giggling stopped when a swell of voices floated through the entrance hall. Quickly, the girls shelved their weapons and made their way to Sam, both of them leaning against the wall like him, pretending that they weren't playing with school property like toys.

  One by one, the other students filtered into the arena. Sam didn't know how long his crew had been fooling around for, but the sun was completely up now and the rest of the students looked completely awake.

  "Good morning, heathens!" A woman's robust voice boomed from behind Sam and he whirled around. It was one of the teachers that Mode introduced yesterday, though her name slipped his mind. She was standing in the highest row of the amphitheater, and he had no idea how long she'd been there, nor did he know how she'd so thoroughly kept herself hidden with how very imposing she was.

  She was taller than Sam by a fair amount, her broad shoulders and hips packed with solid muscle. Her hair was black, streaked with silver and as long and wild as a barbarian's. Her face was deceptively young, her features attractive and her expression thunderous.

  As she descended the rows of seating, Sam had to try and not stare at her bare thighs as she moved. Women, at least the ones in the capital, did not walk around with their legs bared for all to see. Outside of that, the muscles flexing in her thighs were cut and impressive. She could probably pop his head off his shoulders with those.

  When she got to the final level, she grabbed the railing right over Sam's head.

  "I am Hildralitum lo bek Morgat!" Even though she was within speaking distance, her voice was loud enough to be considered a dull roar, and her foreign accent punctuated everything she said with a lilt that might have been pretty had she not been shouting. "But, since you lowlanders can't handle my true name, you have my permission to call me Hilda."

  Sam ducked when she suddenly swung her body over the railing, as quick and agile as any rogue he'd ever known. She landed in front of him and sprayed sand beneath her feet.

  "As you've probably guessed, I'll be teaching you pups how to not die in battle. As great a challenge as this may be, I, Hildralitum lo bek Morgat, pledge to do exactly as I have been charged."

  She held her arms to the sky, and Sam didn't know whether she was being dramatic for comedy's sake or if she was actually mad, because the next thing he knew, she tilted her head to the round sky hatch as if praying.

  Somebody whispered and she roared, "Quiet!"

  All was silent for a few moments. She lowered her arms and her face and then whirled on her heel, her eyes burning into Sam. His skin prickled and his muscles tensed on reflex. He knew in his bones when he was being sized up by a killer.

  "You three will join the rest of your people," she said.

  It wasn't a question. Sam silently moved away from the wall and made the short trek to the other end of the circular sand floor, joining the untested ranks of his fellow would-be spies with the girls following close behind.

  Hilda waited until the three of them settled into the group before she nodded to herself and clapped her hands once. "Excellent! Now that we're all together, take a moment to look around at the rest of the group."

  Sam's eyes darted to the left and to the right, and like him, nobody else was truly taking stock of the rest of the group.

  "I said look at the group!" Hilda's loud voice dropped to a deep, menacing octave.

  Sam jumped and swiveled his head, looking at the others without truly peering close at them. He was pretty sure that every one of the fifty people he was standing with jumped as well
.

  "It seems to me that we are already having trouble following directions. Well, I'll beat that out of you in the next month!"

  His eyes scanned past Delcan, and when he realized that the other man was staring at him, his eyes flicked back. Under normal circumstances, he would have never looked a noble in the eye, but being lumped in with all of them made it seem like everybody was on a level playing field. But he didn't look away either, something like a dare clawing at his stomach.

  Sam should have ignored Delcan. He still didn't know how strict the school was against things like harassment of a little nobody, perpetrated by a big somebody. After a moment, Delcan looked away. There had been nothing particularly hostile in the man's gaze, but there was something there that wasn't friendly, either. He'd been sizing Sam up.

  "Good, good, yes. Very good. Now! Sit down, all of you!"

  "In the sand?!" One of the girls huffed.

  "Would you rather sit in a pool of your own blood, heathen?!" Hilda's eyes blew wide open, and she stabbed toward the ground with her finger. "Sit your skinny ass on the ground now!"

  It was then that Sam noticed the scars on her hands. They were so faded that they must have been incredibly old—thin lines on the sides of each palm, traveling up her wrists, her forearms, her triceps, and disappearing under her armored tunic.

  They were too symmetrical to be battle scars. Ritualistic, then. Her accent was too foreign for him to pinpoint, which meant that her people didn't often travel to the capital. She might have been from the forbidden North, but the people across the border had white hair, like Mode. She was dark-featured and judging by her general lack of clothing in the middle of autumn, probably from somewhere far more north than where Mode hailed from.

  Sam obeyed her orders and got on the ground with the rest of his class, folding his legs under him. Hilda couldn't have been a very good spy with the way she stomped along the sand, her voice bouncing off every surface in the room. Then again, maybe not every teacher was specialized in the art of subtlety.

  "I will tell you a truth, and it is not up for discussion," Hilda said, pacing in front of the group like an eager bear. "You are first years. Untrained. Scrawny. Ignorant. In need of protection from all that might harm you. Useless, unworthy, and weak."

  Sam bit his tongue. She was talking to the whole group, he reminded himself, not just him.

  "To my people, you are not worthy of any sort of consideration until you reach the age of twenty-five. Then, you would prove yourselves ready for battle before you are acknowledged as a true adult. All of you are about five years away from that, which means that you are children. Children need to be directed, honed, given instruction, and above all, if they wish to survive, they must listen to those who are charged with their care. They must be nurtured before they're allowed to act as if they are grown."

  Somebody in the group muttered and Sam looked over to see Delcan bending his head to speak quietly in another girl's ear. Hilda was still talking, much too loud to be able to hear him.

  "I, Hildralitum lo bek Morgat, have been charged with nurturing you. Which means that if you die, I will find a necromancer to summon you from the dead so that I may kill you again. It means that if you do not obey me, I will drag you into the quad, kicking and screaming, and then cane you bloody in front of the whole damn school. It means that I will force you to work as a unit to better your chances of survival. And it also means that if any harm comes to any of you, it will be by my hand or my command, and not anyone else's. If you pledge to follow my instructions, then you will have my protection and my favor. One toe out of line, and it's the cane for you."

  She stopped pacing and faced the group fully, her hands on her hips and her legs spread wide. "Do you agree?"

  The group echoed an affirmative answer and Hilda growled—actually growled like an animal. "Do my ears deceive me?! Am I addressing a bunch of milky-eyed, loose-lipped, lowland whores, or am I addressing warriors?!"

  Drina giggled beside him and whispered, "I like her."

  The group shouted 'yes!' at her that time, and she seemed to be satisfied, for she continued.

  "Rule one: When I put a weapon in your hand and point you at something or someone, you attempt to kill it. Rule two: You are not actually allowed to kill anyone, so I will stop you in your bloodlust before you actually succeed. Rule three: You will not use that magical hoo-ha in this class—if you have to rely on something you were given in order to succeed, then you will have nothing to rely on when it is taken away. As the great General Omathson once said, the swiftest path to defeat is strategizing for a knife fight when the enemy has brought a bow. And rule number four: If I am speaking, you will shut your whore mouth and listen to every word I say as if I were one of your imaginary lowland spirits. If I am speaking of the shit I took this morning, I expect you to hang onto every word of my glorious recounting. You!"

  She whirled on the group and pointed right at Delcan, who'd been whispering to his group and ignoring their instructor as she shouted rules at them.

  Delcan stiffened up and his eyes were riveted on Hilda.

  "Stand up and get over here!"

  At least the idiot had enough sense to move quickly without offering their instructor any complaint.

  Hilda waited until he was standing in front of her before she grasped the boy by his shoulders. He didn't flinch.

  "Hmm..." She pinched his chin between her fingers and made him look right, then left, then straight. She squeezed his upper arms then circled him slowly, poking between his shoulder blades, popping him behind the knee with her foot, prodding and nudging at him and looking for something that Sam couldn't possibly guess.

  She nodded to herself and said. "You'll do."

  Delcan was facing away from the group while Hilda stood beside him and gave the group a grave frown. All of a sudden, quick as a viper, her hand lashed out and a loud smack echoed through the chamber. Delcan did move then.

  He startled and howled, grabbing his ass and spinning on his heel. His teeth were bared at their instructor, and she bared hers back.

  For a moment, Sam thought Delcan was going to tell her off, but to his surprise, the other boy's beastly expression gradually dropped until he was standing there very calmly.

  "Ha! Very good!" Hilda thumped him on the back. "I like you. You are scrawny and insignificant, but not as scrawny as the rest of the litter, yes? I will call you Torjan."

  "My name is De—"

  "You may have your name back when you've earned it. Go on then, go pick a weapon." She nudged him away and looked at the rest of them, her voice no longer wrathful, but instead, almost excited. "Now! Who will fight Torjan to the death, hmm?!"

  Drina nudged Sam and he shook his head.

  Then Mattie poked his arm and whispered, "Do it, chicken. He's a right asshole."

  "No way. You see how big that guy is? He's castle-trained, he'll whip me up and down this arena."

  "Do it." Mattie poked him again. "Chicken."

  "Oh, come on." Sam rolled his eyes. "How old are you, five? I'm not going to—"

  Mattie smiled sweetly at him before both of her hands shot out. She shoved him so hard that he fell on his side, his legs unfolding and kicking out in the process.

  "You!" Hilda pointed at Sam and dread filled his stomach. "You are a good, brave boy. You may have the honors of participating in our first duel!"

  Sam glared at Mattie and she stared the other way, refusing to meet his penetrating gaze. How could she do that? Was she trying to humiliate him in front of literally the whole class? What did she gain from this?

  "Go on, Sam." Drina shoed him away and that impish smile was on her mouth. She had something to do with this. She talked Mattie into doing it, somehow, for some reason.

  If he could pass off the opportunity to someone else, he would. However, now everybody was looking at him and it was a bit late for that. He slowly got to his feet.

  On the other side of the arena, near the weapon rack, Delcan was al
ready testing the weight of a large sword.

  Sam looked at Hilda, who was crossing her arms and darting her eyes pointedly toward the weapons. He took a breath, steeled his nerves, and made his way to the wall of death. Best case scenario? Delcan whooped him into next week and the rest of the class singled him out as the weak link. Worst case? The instructor thought he was the weak link and reported his performance as 'poor,' dropping his chances of advancing.

  He didn't look at Delcan as he passed the other boy. Delcan did look at him, though. He sneered at Sam and muttered a sarcastic 'good luck.' Sam knew he should have looked away when Delcan eyed him earlier, now the largest guy in the class was going to put Sam 'in his place,' as the nobles so loved to do.

  When Sam arrived at the weapon rack, the sharp blades all but blurred together. He couldn't mess this up. He was counting on doing his best in all of his classes to maximize the chance of making it to next year; he wasn't going to let a poor performance on the first day ruin that.

  But what was he going to do?

  His eyes dashed from the knives to the swords. It would be better to counter Delcan's moves with something of equal length and weight. But he'd never held a sword in his life. He was better with a knife, but he wasn't as good as Mattie. He was at a disadvantage here. He relied on his magic, that's all he had when there was a problem. His magic and a good brain that worked well under pressure.

  So why wasn't that brain working now? It was too late to back out now, the others would really single him out if he did. Damn Mattie and Drina to the second throne of hell.

  In the end, he chose two hand-axes. They had a familiar length compared to his knife, but the added benefit of a curved blade meant Delcan's sword would slide right off...if he managed to block it. He didn't know the first thing about parrying a sword.

  Sam hefted the weapons in his hands. He took a deep breath, turned around, and walked slowly to the middle of the arena. They were only a few yards away from the rest of the group, still sitting in the sand. He could feel the stifling weight of a hundred eyes on him.