Blade and Soul

by C. M. Estopare

  Marceline simply shook her head at the attention.

  They act as if they've never seen an Agent.

  And she knew this to be false—according to the Castellan, the Spears had had one before.

  But that Agent died...

  What was Ludovic not telling her?

  He hadn't called for her. He was allowing her free range of the fortress for nothing. Nothing at all.

  What is his game? What is he planning?

  Marceline itched to find out—but she had patience.

  She enjoyed practicing with the well-kept weapons in the tower's armory. Enjoyed not having tasks to do and people to save.

  Reprieve is good for the soul.

  Perhaps Ludovic was taking that bit of advice to heart? She shrugged at the notion.

  This time, she only took a handful of knives. No throwing stars. She didn't like how they cut into her hands.

  Marceline came to the courtyard early, a couple of hours before the sun.

  She found the place bloated with people, mostly training soldiers. Severin's men. She cursed, wishing they would've come to train later. Mornings were her favorite times to train—at least, that's how it was at the Bann.

  She wouldn't get that time slot here, it seemed.

  Sighing, she returned to the alchemist's tower. Placed the weapons on their holders and decided to explore a bit. Returning to her room, she found a folded pile of clean clothes on the bed. Moving closer, she caught a hint of cinnamon. Lavender wafting from them.

  They were still warm.

  Upon the pile sat a card. “Welcome.” was scrawled across its body. And it was signed, “Rosetta.”

  Marceline assumed it was a gift from the castle staff.

  Or, the alchemist.

  She shrugged. Tore off her old clothes in favor of the slit surcoat, undershirt, and breeches. She sighed, smiled. Let her eyes close.

  It was nice to wear something fresh. Clean.

  Leaving the room, she ventured down the hallway. Turned for the stairwell and dashed down the curving length of them to the ground floor. Leaving the tower, she raced across the bridge. Her breath leaving her in two white streams. It was cold in the mountains—freezing—especially with winter finally coming to the north.

  She hoped secretly that she would see snow.

  And perhaps Ludovic. We need to talk.

  Walking into the courtyard, she dashed towards the main building before too many locals could notice her and wove her way through corridor after corridor. All the while, sticking her head through this door and that. At one point, she spied a sort of indoor bathhouse. She made note to use it later, proving she remembered where it was.

  She found a door to the outside and opened it. Saw verdant—everything was green up to a high stone white wall. To her left, she spied three circular targets. Arrows stabbed all of them. A limber man, tallest person she had ever seen, worked a bowstring taut before letting it go fluidly.

  He moved like the wind itself.

  Slowly, she backed up. Moved to close the door.

  “I saw you in the courtyard.” he murmured, never once looking at her as he plucked an arrow from the grass at his feet and pulled it taut against his bowstring, “We all did.”

  The arrow flew. Pierced the target with a twang.

  “Ludovic has brought a strong player to us. He says you worked in the Safranian court before you joined the Spears?” Gray eyes were almost clear as they flitted towards her.

  She saw his ears were pointed. Sharp like knives.

  He moved too gracefully, like breathing water.

  He's not human.

  “Are you an elf?” she asked bluntly, “Who are you?”

  His laughter was warm. Deep, but light enough to carry, “Human niceties were always a bane of mine.” he smiled, bringing his long bow to the dirt, “It's nice to know someone who avoids them outright.”

  The elf had a thin face. Oval shaped. Laughing eyes had a hint of cruelty in them. He reminded her of an eagle. A wise and bitter one.

  “My name is Kiran.” he told her, smile crooked, “I am Ludovic's Emissary. And you?”

  She felt the need to lie to this man, “Marceline—,”

  “—Agent of the Bann.” he inclined his head of long silver hair, “The entire fort knows your name. You're something of a celebrity.”

  Marceline smirked, “Is it because of that little display in the courtyard?”

  “Somewhat.”

  He leaned on his bow, staring. Picking the weapon up, he approached her. Stood mere inches from her, “Want to know a secret?”

  Marceline took a step back, his scent was stifling. Like clipping the root of a peppermint plant.

  Kiran leaned in, “Our field agents and soldiers are mostly men. The strong and able type. Humans. No elves or changelings. Only creatures Severin can trust. You being here?” he whispered conspiratorially, “It changes the tide of things. A woman able to withstand the challenges of the Bann—her existing, someone like you—it brings people hope. It makes them think—well, if she can do it. Why can't I?”

  She listened. Mind going to the collection of women and young men who watched her yesterday. Who begged to be taught.

  “According to Severin, only human men can fight and die for the Spears. But you being here has opened up an entirely new avenue. My question is—will you take it? Will you teach those that Severin has turned away?”

  Am I even good enough?

  She had failed the Bann. Her charge had died.

  It is only a matter of time until the Masters come for me.

  It was a hard question. One she did not have the answer to.

  Marceline took another step back, “Are you pushing me to teach?”

  Kiran mirrored her movement, backing up as well. He answered with a half-hearted shrug and a smile.

  KIRAN'S WORDS HAUNTED her, though she slept soundly. Reine avoiding her dreams for the moment.

  When the morning came, she woke before the sun. Listened to the rumbling roar of thunder, rain smacking her window. Hail.

  She stood. Walked to the door. Opened it and exited the room. Shut the door behind her.

  Adelaide wiped her eyes. Pressed her palms into the cold stone floor and sprang up to standing. Attempted a jittery attention with clenched fists and stiff jaw.

  Marceline's face was a jumble of confusion, before she fixed it. Applied her stoic mask.

  What is this girl doing at the foot of my door?

  “Why are you here?”

  Adelaide swallowed, “I'm here to learn! I've quit my job in the kitchens to become your apprentice!”

  The girl stood as stiff as she could, like a trembling statue.

  “You quit your...?” Marceline shook her head, brought a palm to her forehead, “...so where have you been...did you sleep here?” she demanded, “At the foot of my door?”

  “There was a rumor you were taking apprentices, so I came here straight away!”

  Marceline cringed.

  Kiran...

  She knew a snake when she saw its tail, and Kiran had to be that snake.

  Rumors about me taking on apprentices...merde...

  Marceline thought of turning her away—but found that she couldn't say no. The girl looked at her expectantly. If she had quit her job, that meant she had no place to sleep. No way of paying for food—eating at the dining hall wasn't free. Not completely.

  Hope brightened the girl's eyes though her lips were pulled taut. She was a skinny thing. A bony little girl.

  “You wouldn't last a day,” Marceline blurted, “not in my training...”

  Fine. I'm doing this. I might not be perfect—but I'll train people to protect themselves...at the very least.

  Marceline set a foot forward. Watched the girl tremble slightly, her fists pressed against her sides, “You want to be an agent? Fine. When you're regretting this decision, remember that you came to me.” she hissed, coming closer. Staring the girl down, “Your name is Adelaide, correc
t?”

  “Yes—,”

  “Non.” Marceline snapped, “You will answer to recruit until you've proven to me that you're more.”

  Marceline could smell Kiran all over this. Before more came—begging to be trained—she'd have to talk to him—soon.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Marceline

  Marceline woke. Kicked Adelaide awake.

  Days had passed. Ludovic hadn't called for her.

  She decided to simply train.

  “Good morning, miss!”

  “Run the bridge.”

  They sprinted together. Racing toward the courtyard only to break from it, rushing into the main fortress. Searching for a training spot that had quickly become their own.

  In the green of the silent yard, Marceline dropped to her knees, “Get down.”

  Marceline held her hands up, “You know how to ground fight?”

  The girl was tense, her doe eyes wide. She shook her head, “No, miss. I don't—,”

  “You're going to come away with some bruises then.” Marceline smirked, “They'll heal.”

  The girl was frightened. Tense, yet tough. She froze up whenever Marceline came for her.

  Marceline hoped to beat that out of her.

  On their first couple days of ground fighting, Adelaide came away limping. Excited to try again, or other times resentful. Many nights, she whimpered in her sleep as she snored at Marceline's doorstep.

  A week passed like this. Running. Repeated beatings while ground fighting.

  It wasn't long until another young woman presented herself to Marceline.

  A tall and limber woman stood at her door, fists clenched. Brown eyes stared at nothing.

  “Your name?” Marceline grumbled, pissed at being woken from her sleep.

  “Clara.”

  “Non,” Marceline snapped, “it's recruit.”

  And she began training this girl as well—a young woman from the Free Cities nabbed up by pirates. Sold as a slave. Escaped on a Chaperon to the Southern Reaches.

  This girl was foolhardy. She spoke her mind, even if it earned her a rap to the forehead. A knee in the stomach.

  Marceline didn't like disciplining them this way, but it was how she was taught. So it had to be effective. At least, she thought.

  A week passed. Seven days like this, training, testing, disciplining. She wouldn't let them touch weapons—not yet.

  Marceline counted—knew Ludovic had to be outright avoiding her at this point.

  On day eight, she caught Severin's eye in the courtyard during her morning run. He wouldn't say anything as he stared. Mumbled beneath his breath. From across the way, Kiran simply laughed as he led his entourage of beautiful svelte elven women across the courtyard.

  Behind Marceline, Adelaide sighed and Marceline calmly told her to shut up.

  On the ninth day, Marceline let the two fight.

  Clara and Adelaide dropped to their knees. Raised their hands.

  “Go on.” Marceline nodded.

  Adelaide froze.

  Marceline sighed—will she ever get over that?

  Clara used this to her advantage and charged Adelaide. Pummeled her to the ground with her hands flat against Adelaide's skinny torso.

  Adelaide wiggled and rolled away. Moved like a flash of lightning as she reared back her fist and slammed it into the center of Clara's spine.

  For a moment, Clara went limp.

  Marceline nodded, a faint smile playing on her lips.

  She wiped the smile away.

  Behind her, an oaken door wheezed open.

  The three women froze. Wind looped over the white wall rising high before them. It whispered.

  “Marceline Brandy?”

  A herald invaded their secluded training spot. He wore a long silvery surcoat, a flaming sun sitting squat in its center. Bony fingers clutched the surcoat's crisp fabric as the herald flitted his eyes from Marceline to the women hunched on the ground.

  He opened his mouth to speak, closed it like a floundering fish.

  “What is it?”

  His eyes flew to Marceline's, “You are summoned to the council's chambers by the Soliel, miss. If you would...follow me...”

  Marceline turned away from the man. Eyed Adelaide, “You know what to do.”

  She simply nodded, her face a hard mask. Clara looked on with a gaping jaw, sliding her gaze from Adelaide to Marceline. Slowly, she nodded as well.

  The herald licked his lips, “You are summoned—,”

  “Finally.” Marceline stopped him, meeting his eye once more. “Show me to him.”

  The herald clamped his lips shut. Nodded and turned.

  Marceline followed suit.

  THE CHAMBER'S CEILING seemed high enough to brush the sky, the place spacious enough for a forest. Albeit, a small one.

  A massive table took up most of the chamber's free space, sitting right at its heart. On its face was a crudely drawn map of the known world. Meandering around the table were three men Marceline well knew; Severin and Ludovic at its head. Kiran, far from the others. Tracing patterns on a foreign continent Marceline did not know. Finally, to Ludovic right, stood a scarlet haired woman brooding over a single place on the continent of Danae.

  It was an understatement to say she was simply beautiful. She was a scarlet temptress. A woman with blazing flame for hair stuck in a shapely body framed by a slender black gown with intricate lace trim.

  She stood close to Ludovic, pouring over the map. Her scarlet curls sliding.

  Marceline brought a hand to her own hair—boring, black. Stormy sometimes, useless most others.

  Was she jealous?

  Non, I am an Agent...not a child's porcelain doll.

  Without invitation, Marceline walked straight ahead. Approached the table and met everyone's eyes evenly. Everyone, except for the beautiful red headed woman who refused to look up.

  “Good of you to finally join us.” even her voice was beautiful, befitting a woman of her size and stature. Her voice hung over the room, demanding attention, as the woman stood tall. Delicate hands clasped behind her back, “Now, to business. I shall put this bluntly for the benefit of you, Kiran—and you, Marceline,” looking into the redhead's eyes was like staring into the sun. Marceline's eyes watered as she refused to break eye contact.

  The redhead adopted a stoic expression. Brought her gaze to the map and up once more. She began to pace, walking behind Ludovic, “Safrana's eastern citadel has been attacked—,”

  “This much we know.” Severin snapped.

  “Not by men,” she hissed, shooting a glance at Severin, “nor by a horde of monsters; but by a creature that is normally peaceful and intelligent. A highscale.”

  A dragon changeling?

  Marceline couldn't hold back her gasp.

  “A dragon?” Marceline and Ludovic blurted out at once.

  The redhead rolled her eyes. Kiran held back a chortle as Severin simply shook his head.

  “This...ah, Marceline I apologize,” Ludovic shook the shock from his face, “this meeting was supposed to be about your stake in the Spears.”

  The red head sighed heavily, still pacing, “We already know what she is to this organization, Ludovic. Why drag this out? Marceline—you're our spymaster. But I'm sure you've already guessed this—half of the fortress has already guessed this, Ludovic...merde!” she hung her head, held her forehead with her hand, “Sometimes I feel as if I am surrounded by simpletons!”

  Severin slammed his hands to the table, “You don't decide things around here, Vidonia. You're junior to Ludovic and I. Lud, I don't agree with this.”

  “Was your appointment this informal, Vidonia?” Kiran hissed, “Give the woman some breathing room!”

  Ludovic combed his fingers through his hair, “Do you accept this appointment, Marceline?” he sighed, “However...informal...it may be?”

  “You people and tradition! If she's here—take her on! Don't run circles around it! She's already taken women on as apprentic
es, she knows what she's getting into!”

  “Vidonia, hush.”

  Vidonia threw up her hands.

  Marceline watched. Thinking.

  A dragon attacked Safrana? Then what would they need with spies? Agents?

  Marceline looked to Severin. Then Ludovic, “Wouldn't you need more commanders? More able-bodied men and women who could fight off a dragon? What use would a spymaster be to you in this sort of situation?”

  “I agree, Ludovic.” Severin murmured, “Send her home.”

  “Highscales are intelligent creatures, as Vidonia mentioned earlier, and they do not attack without reason.” Ludovic began.

  “The Soliel is right. I have reason to believe it is being controlled.” Vidonia nodded. Steepling her fingers, she brought them to her lips, “If you trained agents and sent them to infiltrate the western citadel, we could promptly find out who controls it.”

  Kiran placed his elbows upon the table and leaned forward, “Highscales are very much like you and me. They think, they feel—they are not mindless destroyers. Which is why we classify them as changelings and not monsters. Whatever caused this highscale to change and level a city, had to do with something—or someone. We need agents to figure out who—”

  “My men could kill it! Do away with it once and for all! Why waste time searching for alternatives? That thing is killing people!”

  “Not currently.” Vidonia countered. “For the moment, it has vanished.”

  “For the moment.” Severin spat, “How long until it comes back? Kills more innocents? I say—fuck the alternatives! We find this thing's roost and free its head from its neck!”

  “Highscales are immortal.” Marceline said, jaw tight, “You cannot simply kill it.”

  Vidonia blinked. Sniffed, “Marceline is right. Highscales are not easily killed, Severin. Especially not in the way you've just proposed.”

  “But they can be killed.” Kiran interjected, “Kill something they are bonded to—a lover, a mother, a child—and the creature will die. Easier than severing its head from its neck, huh?”

  Severin sneered, “And you'd waste time finding this thing's loved ones? You'd search while it returns—killing more innocents. Destroying Safrana while you search and coddle and plead?” he spat upon the floor, “I am done watching you two beg for this thing's life! Non-humans—Ludovic, I've told you—,”