His gray eyes darkened. “I serve Eusiron, the Dark Warrior.”
Eusiron. Suddenly, she remembered. Under the spell the entity had cast on her in the guardhouse, Rhinne saw these men riding in a strange forest, and sailing a ship. They must have traveled here at the war god’s bidding, somehow, before any of this had happened. He had planned the entire shady thing—though admittedly, a bath and some warm clothes brightened her opinion. She reached for a cup on the table. Wine. She took a long sip.
Just then, the cabin door opened and a man entered wearing a cloak of Albatross with red trim like the one Sirion had worn. His skin was dark as beans, he had eyes of pitch and hair knotted all over his head like rope. Rhinne thought she had seen him in the Shining Star shortly after she arrived. He nodded to her, flaring his nostrils. “Crow,” he said in a deep voice. “Captain of the Winterscythe.” To Laegir he said, “They’re coming. I’ll keep ahead of them long as the winds hold.” He touched Rhinne with a black glance, and left.
She took another sip of wine.
Laegir rumbled with laughter. “Sailors. ’Twould seem the Eye didn’t cure Captain Crow of his superstitions.”
Rhinne nodded. It was common enough, sailors disliking women on their ships. Or warlocks. Or certain kinds of animals. The sea made men strange. “What’s happening?”
“Your men are following us.”
She didn’t need to ask what he meant. Lorth and Eaglin had been following her since she arrived, and Wulfgar would scour every sea on Ealiron to find her. Nervous at the direction this was heading, she picked up a hazelnut. It slipped from her fingers and bounced to the floor. “Do they know I’m here?”
“They suspect it. Master Eaglin had planned to take the Winterscythe to Tromb with a large company of Raptors. I was sent instead.” A dry smile touched his lips. “The Raven of Eusiron does not like surprises. They’ll attempt to overtake us to discover if you’re here.”
“Do you intend to sail to Tromb without them?”
“No. But we must get far enough away to thwart less desirable pursuit. The Lords of Eyrie aren’t the only ones in Caerroth hunting you.” He drew his cloak around his bulk and moved towards the door. The hazelnut crunched beneath his boot. “We’ll not keep you in here. But I have two requests. First, you must not roam this ship without an escort. Second, if any of my men tells you to get off deck, you must return here and remain. Do you understand?”
“Aye,” she said, meaning it. This was not the sort of man one defied.
“Good. I’ll be your trainer. Your escort will be here shortly to fetch you. His name is Adder.”
After he had gone, Rhinne drew a deep breath and rose to prepare herself for sword work. It seemed unreal, her memories of training with Wulfgar in the yards of Tromblast. While Eaglin’s brief care and some sleep had greatly lessened the discomfort of her wounds, training would remind her of how much strength she had lost.
She donned her sword and sat on the bed, feeling like a thief and wondering what manner of cutthroat Captain Laegir had picked as her escort. The name “Adder” did not engender comforting images.
She jumped as a knock sounded on the door. She got up, straightened her back and tried not to look as nervous as she felt. She opened the door. A tall warrior stood there, dressed in the same livery as Laegir. He wore a light hauberk and a lovingly oiled sword strap on his chest that had seen more than a few winters. He leaned casually on the doorframe, tilting his head down to the low opening. His blond hair hung in long strands. Weathered lines touched the corners of his blue-gray eyes.
Rhinne’s heart skipped a beat. “Adder?”
“Milady.” He stepped back and let her out of the cabin. He moved down the narrow corridor without a word. Rhinne reached up and knotted her tangled locks into braids as she hurried after him.
They ascended a ladder. As Rhinne emerged onto the quarterdeck, icy wind lashed her face, stealing her breath away. No more affected than if he were strolling in the mountain sunshine, Adder padded aft, nodded to the steersman and went up the steps to the poop deck. Rhinne looked behind her, recognizing the long, sinister ship she had seen in the harbor upon arriving with Fana. Black sails strained in the wind. The crew, a motley collection of men clad in the rough yet functional trappings of mercenaries, deftly moved on the decks, ladders and shrouds, shouting at each other. Laegir’s men lounged about in what shelter they could find, including the comfort of their cloaks. Their gazes settled on her. She noticed two women among them clad in the same gear. Their expressions revealed nothing.
With a shaky breath, Rhinne strode for the steps. Adder stood halfway up awaiting her, gazing across the ship, his hair blowing in the wind. North Born of Ragnvald and Sentinel of the Realm, Rhinne recited to herself. Winter is my god.
She emerged onto the poop deck to find a dozen warriors there. Laegir leaned against the rail cradling a sword in his arms. Captain Crow sat on the deck against the mizzenmast holding a wineskin in his lap. Another female warrior sat close beside a man, her arm slung over his thigh. Adder moved among the men. He clasped wrists with a dark-haired warrior with a scar on his face and then sat against the hull, comfortable with his physical presence in the world.
I killed an oborom priest, Rhinne continued privately.
Laegir took his blade by the hilt and spun it once to loosen his wrist. “Are we ready? Let’s see what you’re made of.”
Rhinne removed her cloak and tossed it aside. As she drew her ancestral sword, she imagined using it to cut out thoughts of Adder watching her. He sat there with one knee propped up and his arm hanging over it. In his other hand, he held a sheathed sword. Rhinne felt stiff and the wound in her belly ached. She loosened her shoulders, planted her feet and extended her mind into the space around as Wulfgar had taught her.
The captain came at her like a gust of wind. She parried his first thrust easily enough, but then he twisted his blade and sent hers spiraling into the air. The men laughed as it clattered to the deck.
“Easy now,” Laegir chided them. “Don’t make me bring one of you sorry lot up here.”
Rhinne calmed her heart and kept all expression from her face as she went to retrieve her blade. One of the men respectfully held it out on both palms, his eyes moving over the inscriptions along its length. Rhinne nodded and took it in hand.
Laegir came at her again.
And again.
She sparred with the captain of the Eusiron Guard until her arms burned and her knees were weak. As the morning waned, the sky broke up into ragged clouds moving swiftly over the brightening sun. Wind blew cold from the north. Laegir was a patient, relentless instructor. Not all of his suggestions aligned with Wulfgar’s methods. But as her brother had once told her, a good warrior trained with many masters so as not to become limited by one style.
She had almost forgotten the men, even Adder, as she worked—until something caught her eye. A large black bird with a wedged tail wheeled over the sky above the ship.
“There’s that bird again,” one of the warriors said, blinking up through a tangle of dark brown hair.
“Mind the distractions,” Laegir warned. Rhinne parried another thrust from his blade, but her mind was on the sky. Nightshade? It had to be. It was too far out to be an ordinary raven, which meant Wulfgar and Lorth might be near.
The brown-haired warrior brought around a bow, strung it and nocked an arrow. Laegir did something Rhinne didn’t catch and, once again, sent the blade from her hand. The men sitting nearby jumped out of the way to avoid being struck by it.
“Fletch,” the woman said tiredly. “Leave off.”
The warrior drew back his string at took aim at the raven drifting on the sky. “What are you doing?” Rhinne said. Laegir said something; she ignored him. Her fatigue forgotten, she wound up and hit the man with a roundhouse kick that knocked him and his bow into the men behind him.
“Och!” one of the men barked. “Idgit!” Another laughed as they untangled themselves from the warrior
’s bulk. Someone threw an arrow clattering across the deck.
Captain Crow growled with laughter. “Aei. Who ever heard of a northman afraid of a fucking raven.”
Fletch was not amused. He rolled up, flung off his cloak and towered over Rhinne like an angry bear. She rallied into a crouch. “C’mon you son of a...”
He charged. But he hadn’t taken two steps before Adder covered the deck and struck him in the face with enough force to knock him back into a stumble. Rhinne then realized why they called her escort adder. She had never seen anyone move so fast. He struck the other man in a half a dozen places before he saw what hit him, leaving him in a groaning heap on the deck.
In the silence that followed, Captain Laegir cleared his throat. Rhinne turned around, realizing she had forgotten him. Abashed, she stepped back and bowed her head. A fine teacher, he deserved more respect than she had just shown him. He reached down and put a finger under her chin, lifting it. Something resembling amusement shone in his steel-gray eyes.
“The Dark Warrior said you’d surprise me sooner or later,” he said. “Sooner, I’d say.” He straightened his back and looked around at his men. Some of them hadn’t moved; others were heading down the steps to other amusements. Fletch got to his feet, but required two men to help him get below. Rhinne glowered at him from the corner of her eye as he passed.
The raven had gone.
“Adder,” Laegir said. The lean, blond warrior had retrieved Rhinne’s sword and was slicing the air with it to try its weight. His scarred companion said something that made him smile. At Laegir’s call he approached, calm and in full possession of his composure. He offered Rhinne her blade, which she sheathed quickly. Laegir said to her, “Lessons done for now. Get some rest. We’ll begin again at dusk.”
Rhinne could have collapsed on the spot.
“Milady,” Adder said almost cheerily, tilting his head towards the steps.
She walked stiffly by his side. “Why did you do that? Attack him?”
“Orders. No one touches you.” He floated down the steps with wiry grace.
Rhinne followed him clumsily. “But I started it.”
He said nothing as they walked over the quarterdeck. Rhinne kept her attention to herself as she followed him down the ladder to the corridor below. She put a hand on the wall to steady herself. When they reached the door to the captain’s quarters, Adder opened it and looked inside the room. Then he let her in.
“You handle your blade well,” he told her matter-of-factly. “Laegir likes your spirit. But he’ll not let that breach pass. You’ll be fighting Fletch before the moon goes dark.” He lifted his chin towards the table, where food had been laid out for her. “Eat and rest all you can. Today was just a warm up. Laegir will put you in all kinds of uncomfortable situations before he’s done with you.
“I’ll return at dusk. Drop the bar behind me.”
He left the room and closed the door as he would the lid on a perfume box.
*
Adder was true to his word. At sunset he brought Rhinne below to the stuffy lower deck where Laegir’s warriors quartered, sleeping in hammocks and eating on tables and benches they had moved in place for the occasion. It smelled of musk, leather, stale drink, farm animals and lamp oil. Men sat about, eating, drinking and talking. A war-clad woman acknowledged Rhinne with a nod, which she returned. In the shadows, another woman straddled a man sitting against a post, her arms around his neck as she moved on him. Farther aft, two men were similarly engaged. Others sharpened their blades or polished their leathers. They had set up a makeshift training ring, and men circled each other there, gripping knives.
Rhinne was not innocent of the company of warriors; Wulfgar had seen to that. But while the warriors of the Eusiron Guard didn’t regard her with disdain as had the men of Tromb, they bore a certain seasoned loftiness that made her conscious of her inexperience.
Laegir didn’t give her time to get comfortable before putting her in the ring at the end of an opponent’s blade. Like ravens teasing a wolf, the warriors took turns testing her. Between bouts, they plied her with whisky. She gladly accepted the first cup, as it helped her to ignore Fletch glowering at her from beneath his swollen, hooded eyes. But another and another faded his presence beneath a glare of drunken belligerence. She didn’t remember Adder having brought her back to the cabin.
The next morning she awoke with a cruel hangover, half a dozen bruises and two cuts put there as respectfully as her assailants had dared with Adder looking on. Seasoned in sword yards all their lives, Laegir’s warriors were skilled at besting her without real damage while making it clear where her weak spots were.
Caring less for her discomfort, Laegir sent Adder early to fetch her. The blond warrior moved with cavalier regard as he brought her to the main deck to face the captain again. This time Rhinne’s distractions didn’t include a raven but an ever-growing audience including Fletch, brooding as usual. Each time she trained, the burly warrior was there, his eyes now black and blue from the slam Adder had given him in the nose. Either the warrior bore a grudge or Laegir was forcing him to be present, perhaps to put her off balance and test her skills under pressure, as Adder had warned. In any case, it was effective.
Fletch was not the worst distraction she faced that day, however. As the sun rose and warmed the ship, Adder undressed to the waist, nearly causing Rhinne’s knees to buckle at the sight of him. One of the women shouted, “Och! Keep going, puppy!” Laughter. Laegir’s expression almost dared Rhinne to admire the lean, muscular warrior, as if the captain had ordered him to strip just to rattle her wits.
By the end of the third day, Rhinne knew every ache and pain in her body like an old friend. She had also become aware of a different kind of ache.
The dark moon rose against a brilliant cloak of stars as Adder returned with her late from an encounter with three of Laegir’s blades on the fo’c’s’le. They had been lying in wait for her at the top of the steps as she ascended to get some fresh air and clear her mind—at Laegir’s suggestion, of course. The men had jumped her like a band of ruffians. She managed to bloody one’s nose and nearly knocked another over the rail into the black churning waters below. The third caught her short with his blade to her throat. Her knee in his groin had only proved partially successful; he had grabbed her neck and cut open her tunic, baring her smock to the frosty air.
Tired and shivering, Rhinne clutched her gaping tunic over her chest with one hand as she followed her escort over the main deck and into the officers’ quarters. Adder grabbed a lamp from a hook in the corridor. As always, he reached the door to the cabin first, opened it and checked inside before letting her in. He stood aside, holding the lamp aloft. “Is there anything else you need?”
Rhinne briefly considered asking for whisky—it would help her muster the courage to ask him for what she really wanted. She entered the room and turned around. “Just one thing.”
He stood there expectantly, seeing nothing but his duty. Rhinne gulped. She didn’t want to seduce him; she just wanted him. For three nights she had thought of little else, her sore muscles notwithstanding. If she had to go another day watching him move around the ship with his tomcat gait and easygoing mastery, she would throw herself into the ice-cold sea.
“Milady?” he inquired.
No help for this, Rhinne thought miserably. She lifted her chin. “Do your orders that no one touches me include yourself?”
A smile crept over his lips as he lowered his gaze and cleared his throat. “Those orders apply especially to me. I was told don’t even think about it.”
Rhinne stepped back as blood rushed into her cheeks. The convenient excuse would cover disinterest without flaw. She knew the routine; she had experienced it enough times in Tromblast, men stepping around her for reasons of honor or duty. But she knew as well as a man how little lust cared for such things. Honor meant nothing in the middle of the night. If he really wanted her, he wouldn’t care about Laegir.
“I under
stand,” she said quietly. “G’night, then.”
Adder put his hand on the door as she tried to close it. “I have thought about it.”
Gathering up the remains of her honor as she would a messy spill, Rhinne abandoned the door and moved to the table, fumbling for the tinderbox on the wall so she could light a candle. His comment was pointless. Besides, she wouldn’t bring trouble on him by way of Laegir. She lit a candle she had earlier melted onto the table. A leather bag of wine lay next to it. She unbuckled her sword strap and hung the scabbard over the bench.
Adder came into the room, closing the door behind him. He hung the lamp and approached her. “I think you misunderstand.”
She turned her head without looking at him. A raft of responses came to mind. She left them there.
“Rhinne,” Adder said, his breath touching her hair. He smelled of whisky. “He doesn’t have to know.”
Fast and sneaky. She choked on a laugh. “Don’t be daft.” She turned around, her heart tripling a beat at his proximity and the hungry expression on his face. “He’ll know.”
The warrior returned to the door and dropped the bar into place. He removed his cloak, sword and hauberk, and hung them on a hook. Rhinne rooted in her tracks like a stunned hind as he came to her again, raising his fingers to caress an unraveling braid of her hair. “Laegir won’t look if we don’t give him a reason.” He parted her tunic as deftly as the sword that had cut it and leaned down, brushing his lips over her neck. “Think of it as practice for focusing on your lessons.”
“That’s a bad idea,” she breathed, lust shooting through her in a hundred buttery places.
“Na.” He dragged her tunic over her head and threw it aside, then gathered her into his arms and backed towards the bed, drawing her along. “It’s a good idea. Otherwise Laegir will feed me to a sea dragon.”
“Not if I can help it,” Rhinne returned as the warrior brought her down to the bed.
Eusiron’s Folly
Water pulled her to and fro, warm salty water touching her in dark colors. Breath, flesh and fire rose and fell with the tide, drawing her closer to the light of the earth. He rolled her over, strong hands moving down. Waves crashed against the shore and the stars shone in great, ghostly sheets upon the void. He parted her thighs, easing down. Darkness shivered with a cry. She washed up on a shore, fingers clutching the sand. Waves caressed her in long rhythm.
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