by Aaron Hodges
The woman laughed in response. “Of course,” she said, “just as soon as you promise I will come to no harm.”
Erika swung her arm backward and forward, but if the gauntlet was working, its range must be limited. There was no choice. She lowered her hand—it would still be a simple thing to strike the woman down should she prove dangerous.
“Thank you, Archivist.” Shadows shifted in the night as a woman stepped forward, hands raised. “I left my weapons near the road,” she said quietly, “as I said, I mean no harm.”
“That has yet to be seen,” Erika replied, eyes narrowed.
Swathed in a black cloak and heavy winter clothes, little could be seen of the speaker but her face. Erika lifted her fist higher, and the glow of her gauntlet illuminated wide, circular eyes and a narrow jaw. The woman’s lips pursed and Erika didn’t miss how her gaze lingered on the magic. She allowed herself a smile.
“Why are you here?” she asked again. “How do you know who I am?”
“All in good time,” the stranger said, lowering her hands before nodding to Erika’s stack of wood. “I find winter nights to be more comfortable with a fire. May I?”
Erika hesitated, wondering whether this was some elaborate trick to lower her guard. But if so, she could not see how it could be sprung, not with the gauntlet in her control. She gave a curt nod.
Smiling, the stranger crossed to the woodpile and began moving some of the branches around. Then she took up the flint and struck it twice into the kindling. The sparks caught with a tiny whoosh. Leaning close, she blew softly into the flames. Within minutes there was a small blaze burning.
The stranger paused, eyes lingering on something off to the side. Despite herself, Erika’s cheeks grew warm as she realised the woman was looking at her tent. She raised an eyebrow, amusement showing on her twisted lips.
“Don’t think I can help with that one,” she chuckled.
“Enough,” Erika snapped, using anger to cover her embarrassment. She pointed her gauntlet at the woman. Though her fist remained closed, the death magic dormant, she was pleased to see the self-assured smile leave the stranger’s face.
“I asked you some questions,” she said dangerously.
“So you did,” the stranger said, straightening beside the fire. Erika flinched, but the woman only held her hands out to the flames. “What a creation, fire,” she murmured. “Man’s earliest, most important tool, the beginnings of all civilisation.” She glanced at Erika. “And the end of many too.”
Erika swallowed, looking from the woman to the flames, wondering if she was making a threat. But her visitor made no move towards her, and finally Erika shook her head.
“What nonsense are you spouting?”
“My master believes the secrets of the Gods could be the gateway to a new era,” her mysterious visitor replied, “one without poverty or illness.” She turned towards Erika, eyes aglow in the light of the fire. “But in the wrong hands…those secrets could destroy us.”
“This magic deals only in death,” Erika snarled. “If your master wants it, tell him to come and face me himself.”
The stranger seemed amused at that. “My master is not interested in trinkets,” she replied. “Your map, however, is of far greater interest.”
Erika’s heart beat faster and unconsciously she reached for the scroll in her inner pocket. No copies had been made—the risk was too great, after the attack beneath the earth.
She narrowed her eyes. “You were sent by the King of Gemaho.”
“I was.”
“He tried to kill me.”
“An unfortunate misunderstanding,” the stranger replied. “That was never his intention. He values the work of those rare souls who seek the truth. Your knowledge of the Gods and the ancients who once worked alongside them is irreplaceable. Your death would have been a terrible tragedy to his royal personage.”
“I’m sure,” Erika said shortly.
“Regardless of such miscommunications, I have been sent in peace, to heal the rift this unfortunate…accident, has opened between us.”
“And why should I trust anything you say?” Erika hissed.
“Perhaps you should not,” the woman said, extending her hands towards the flames. “It is up to us to prove our worth to you. That is why I was sent, to aid you in your journey.”
“And rob me of my prize, should I succeed, no doubt.”
“No,” the stranger said, standing. “My king offers equal partnership.”
Erika sneered. “I already have a partnership—with a monarch who has not tried to kill me.”
“Not yet,” her visitor replied softly, “though she came close, did she not?”
“I…” Erika trailed off, recalling that moment in court, the look in the queen’s eyes. Doubt touched her, before anger swept it away. “Enough!” she snarled. “The queen is my ally, has granted me supplies and an army to ensure my success. I need no aid from the cowards of Gemaho.”
“The world calls us cowards,” the woman murmured, looking out into the dark, “but perhaps we are the only ones who have not been fooled.” She shook herself, glancing back at Erika. “I will not fault you for your loyalty, Archivist, though it is misplaced.”
“The queen has given me power, lifted me up to the highest of honours.”
“Honours which can be easily taken away, should you fail.” The woman’s eyes bored into hers.
“Enough,” Erika hissed, lifting her gauntlet. “I am tired of your lies. Tell your king to stay away. I want no part of your kingdom of traitors.”
“Very well,” the woman replied. She bowed her head, as though Erika’s words had wounded her. Turning, she made to go, before glancing back. “But know this: our people are never far. Should the time come and you reconsider our offer, remember my words. In our king, you will always have a friend.”
Then she was gone, disappearing into the night as though she had never been.
Erika stood standing beside the fire for a long time, staring at the place where the woman had stood. Her words rang in her ears. Now that she was gone, Erika could no longer deny their truth, could no longer hide from the doubt they had inspired. Had she given her loyalty to the wrong person?
No.
She could not trust a king whose assassin had tried to kill her just a week before. Shaking herself, she sat and added a log to the fire.
For the rest of the night though, she did not sleep, and when the sun rose it found her already on the road. For every night after that, she was sure to find an inn long before sunset.
14
The Recruit
Light grew on the horizon as Lukys jogged his way around the earthen palisade. His shoulders ached, seeming to jar with each step, though at least he no longer carried the heavy pack. It had snowed again in the night, and while burning barrels atop the ramparts kept the snow from gathering there, the ground remained frozen beneath his boots.
He kept on despite the difficult conditions, eager today to beat the axeman at his own game. Lukys had slept the night in his clothing and risen early, leaving the barracks in silence to avoid further confrontation with Dale. Now he hoped to complete his loop of the city before Romaine arrived.
The run took him past several ranks of soldiers on guard. Each looked up at his approach, but upon seeing the blue colours of Perfugia, they quickly resumed whatever tasks he’d interrupted. The sight took some of the breath from Lukys. He would show them his worth eventually; for now, he could do little but accept their disdain.
Sunlight set the Mountains of the Gods aflame as he turned the final bend and approached his meeting point with Romaine. The Calafe warrior was only now striding up the steps, a bundle of practice spears carried over one shoulder. Lukys picked up his pace so that they both arrived at the same time.
Coming to a stop before the warrior, he sucked in a lungful of air and stood straight, doing his best to pretend the run had not tired him. Below, life began to stir in the town as its citizens steppe
d into the frosted streets.
“Early today?” Romaine asked, one eyebrow raised.
There was no sign of Cara. Lukys felt a twang in his chest. He shouldn’t have driven her away, but there had been something uncomfortable about the way she watched him, and her laughter…her laughter had made him feel a fool.
Which he was.
Shaking his head, Lukys resolved to find her and apologise later. In the meantime, he offered Romaine a salute.
“Bright and early, sir.” After his mortification at knocking Romaine to the ground the day before, he had decided to treat the warrior with the respect owed one of his professors back in the academy.
A scowl darkened the warrior’s face. “Enough of that,” he rumbled, tossing Lukys one of the practice spears. “I’m no blasted Flumeeren officer.”
“I…” Lukys stammered, his cheeks going red. So much for showing respect. “Sorry…”
Romaine only grunted and hefted the spear. Before Lukys could ready himself, though, the sound of pounding hooves came from below. He turned back to the town and watched as mounted men in Flumeeren uniforms appeared, riding in the direction of the river. Each was garbed in full plate mail and carried shield and lance, armed for war.
Heart suddenly pounding in his chest, Lukys swung towards the river. The mist had melted away with the morning light and the waters were clear, the mudflats between the city and the banks empty of movement.
“Looks like the general’s resuming the morning patrols. It’s usually a half-regiment, different men each day. They’ll cover twenty miles before returning,” the warrior said in answer. “Dangerous after that attack. The creatures could be setting an ambush. But suppose it’s necessary, to keep them from gaining a foothold our side of the river. And looks as though he’s given them some reinforcement.”
Lukys watched in silence as the wooden gates swung open and the riders spilled out onto the mudflats. There were at least fifty, a full regiment. More than enough to handle any stragglers that might still be in the area, even a Tangata pair, should they risk a crossing. Even so, Lukys did not envy them the task of facing down one of the creatures in the open.
Turning his back on the departing soldiers, Romaine hefted his spear. “Ready?”
“What? I—”
Romaine lunged before Lukys could finish. He leapt back, bringing up his spear in a rough estimate of the low block Romaine had shown him the day before. The wooden poles came together with sharp clack.
“Your stance,” Romaine growled, continuing the attack.
Blocking again, Lukys forced himself to be mindful of his feet, of moving through the stances Romaine had demonstrated. He was surprised when he stayed upright, though he knew the Calafe warrior was taking things slow. It seemed the drills were working—he had practiced them during his free time after the last lesson, eager to prove to Romaine he was worth the time.
“You’re getting better.”
Lukys stumbled as Cara’s voice came from behind him. He started to turn, only to receive a solid blow to the hip. Air hissed between his teeth as he staggered back, gasping curses.
“…wasn’t ready!”
“In battle, a warrior cannot afford to be distracted,” Romaine replied, though he wore a grin. Stepping past Lukys, he nodded to Cara. “Welcome back, lass.”
Cara snorted as she walked past, amber eyes fixing on Lukys. He swallowed and dropped his gaze. “Sorry, about yesterday,” he said quickly.
Sorry, sorry, sorry.
When she did not reply, Lukys lifted his head, expecting to find anger on her face. Instead, she smiled. “That’s okay,” she said slightly, gesturing with her bandaged arm. “I shouldn’t have laughed; I don’t know how to use a spear either.”
“Really?” Romaine murmured. He seemed surprised. “Your…parents didn’t teach you?”
Cara shrugged. “How to defend myself, sure. Just…not with weapons,” she hesitated, looking up at Romaine from beneath her lashes. “Would you teach me as well?”
The question seemed to give Romaine pause. Lukys looked from one to the other, then blurted out the obvious: “But your arm!”
“My arm?” Cara glanced down at the offending limb, as though surprised to find it was still there. “Oh, right, well, I’m ambidextrous!”
“Ambi…what?” Romaine asked.
“It means she’s comfortable using either hand,” Lukys explained, frowning. It seemed there was more to Cara than met the eye. He looked to the Calafe warrior. “But still…she can’t—”
“Why not?” Cara interrupted. “Afraid of getting beat by a girl?”
Lukys’s cheeks grew warm, though it wasn’t that. Having the guards watch his ineptness was bad enough, he actually liked Cara. He didn’t want to appear a fool in front of her, at least, any more than he already had. But unable to say as much, he only shook his head.
“No,” he muttered, “but your broken bone, it needs rest to heal.”
“Not to worry.” A smile brightened Cara’s face as she lifted the injured arm and waved it. “I had a good medic. Feels fine to me.”
A long pause stretched out as Romaine and Lukys watched her, and finally she rolled her eyes. “I only need the one hand to wield a spear,” she insisted. “The others meant to be for a shield anyway.”
“Fine,” Romaine surrendered finally.
Lukys supressed a groan as the Calafe gestured for Cara to collect the spare stave. Pushing aside the emotion, he tried to focus on the bright side. At least he was no longer alone. And Cara said she hadn’t practiced with weapons before. Perhaps she would be just as embarrassed as him—
“Lukys, high block,” Romaine bellowed suddenly.
Flinching, Lukys tried to bring up his practice spear, but he’d been holding it awkwardly and the wooden stave caught between his legs as he retreated. Before he could stop himself, he was slamming into the ground. A groan slipped from his lips as he looked up from a puddle of mud.
“Did I at least get the stance right?”
Chuckling, Romaine offered his hand and pulled Lukys back to his feet. “As you’ve already seen,” he said, addressing Cara, “Lukys here still has a lot to learn. Why don’t you two pair off.”
Steeling himself, Lukys glanced at Cara, but for once she kept the smile from her face, though he still imagined he could hear her laughter, whispering in his ears. He shook his head, dismissing his embarrassment. Cara was just as much a beginner as he was…
Lukys narrowed his eyes, watching Cara as she approached. For the first time he noticed how smoothly she moved, her feet shifting naturally through the stances he had so struggled with the day before, body in constant balance. The breath caught in his throat as he saw the smile tugging at her lips.
“Again, Lukys, high block!” Romaine called, but Lukys hesitated.
“Romaine, I—”
The stave in Cara’s left hand seemed to come alive, leaping for his face, and with a cry Lukys shoved his own spear upwards, barely deflecting the blow. He staggered back, struggling to recover his stance, but Cara still came on. The stave flicked out again and this time Lukys couldn’t get his weapon up in time. A blow struck him in the shoulder, then chest, forcing him backwards.
Witch!
Though the blows stung, somehow Lukys managed to keep his feet. Enraged, he grabbed his stave in both hands and struck back, using the only attack Romaine had taught him. The practice spear thrust out, aimed at Cara’s chest. At the last moment she twisted and the point of his stave slipped beneath her arm, missing its mark.
Faster than thought, Cara dropped her own weapon and grasped his. Lukys cried out as the stave was yanked from his grasp. The scream died on his lips as Cara spun his weapon, the tip flashing up…and coming to a stop just inches from his face.
A smile touched Cara’s lips as she lowered the stave, and Romaine’s laughter rumbled across the rampart. Lukys’s cheeks grew warm and he swung away. A hand on his shoulder stopped him.
“Lukys,” Cara ca
lled him back. “I’m sorry.”
Cursing inwardly, Lukys drew in a breath and faced her. She still smiled, but he could see the apology in her eyes. He sighed and smiled despite himself.
“That’s okay,” he replied.
Stones crunched as Romaine approached. “Every child of Calafe learns to fight at a young age,” he explained.
“I…” Cara started, before nodding. “Yeah.”
“Though in this case, it seems young Cara wasn’t entirely lying,” Romaine added. “Those blows wouldn’t have been much good with a spear.”
Red creeped into Cara’s pale cheeks at the warrior’s words, and chuckling, Romaine went on. “Shall we see what I can teach the two of you then?”
So they continued for the rest of the morning, running through stances, spear thrusts, and blocks. The broken arm didn’t seem to bother Cara much, and she needed no help with her balance, but using the stave like a spear seemed to give her more problems. Lukys, meanwhile, found himself growing increasingly frustrated about the repetition. Still, there was method to Romaine’s madness, and as the morning progressed, Lukys found that the moves began to come more easily. Where before he had to think about each step, now the movements became instinctive, natural.
By the time Romaine dismissed them at noon, Lukys had collected a fresh assortment of bruises, but at least he was finally making progress. He wandered through the town, making for the northern gates. The Perfugian regiment had been assigned to the quarry just outside the city, breaking down shale rock into gravels that could be laid on the streets and ramparts of Fogmore to reduce the incessant mud that followed every rain and snowfall. While Lukys had been granted consent to train with Romaine in the mornings, he was meant to join them by noon.
The sound of steel slamming against rock carried down to Lukys and he belatedly picked up his pace, embarrassed that others were working while he was not. Perfugians did not skirt their duties, however much they might loathe their superiors.
As he drew close, Lukys saw the exposed stone was of a deep red. Pickaxes in hand, the other recruits were already working at the rockface. Or at least keeping up the pretence of work. A quick glance at their barrows showed little progress had been made in the hours they’d already been there.
