by J. R. Castle
Everything they had was in there. Quinn knew that they’d never had much, just a few clothes and some old wooden toys, but it was all in there. Marta’s belongings, too: her one good dress from long ago, magic ingredients and her neat pile of yellowing letters and writing tools.
He wrenched at the guard’s grip, but the man was twice his size. Jarin laughed as the flames twisted up and Quinn stared at him furiously. His breath came hot and fast. They couldn’t do this to Marta! It was her whole life! Quinn had watched Marta working so hard cleaning the guards’ clothes and sheets every day of her life and now they were burning her house. How dare they do this to her? he thought. Anger bubbled up in him, far more intense than when he’d hacked at the woodpile. Then he’d just been angry. Now he was furious. His skin flushed, and he felt scalding hot all over, like the rage was burning him up, like fire was creeping over his skin,
The guardsman holding him yelped and snatched his hand away, looking at it in surprise.
‘A spark from the burning cottage,’ he muttered. ‘It must have been …’
Quinn didn’t wait for the man to grab him again. He lunged forward, past the guards to where Marta lay near the cottage. It was all burning now. Quinn knew there was no way he could save it. He could see the walls cracking with the heat and the wooden door smouldering. Inside, the flames had found their way to Marta’s laundry. Quinn saw it blazing like a furnace. Marta was so close to the fire, even her clothes were starting to char. Quinn grabbed her and pulled her back. He was so angry he didn’t even notice the heat.
Quinn glared at Goric with fury as he pulled his aunt to safety. He knew he should be bowing and stammering apologies to the Captain of the Guard, but he couldn’t. Goric hadn’t had to do any of this. Quinn would have gone to be a trainee to protect his aunt, but Goric was enjoying this. He was laughing.
‘The cottage can be rebuilt,’ Goric said. ‘But next time you defy me, boy, your aunt will be inside it when I burn it down.’ He swung up onto his horse, gathering the reins in one hand. ‘Take the boy to the garrison for training,’ he told the others. He kicked his horse viciously and set off ahead of them.
Marta stirred and coughed weakly. To Quinn, her face looked red from the heat of the fire, and there was a smear of blood under her nose. She reached up with thin, trembling arms and hugged him. Quinn blinked away tears.
‘Don’t worry,’ Marta whispered. ‘I’ll go into exile. He won’t be able to hurt me any more, and he won’t be able to use me to threaten you. You’ll be all right.’
Quinn felt his throat choking up. ‘What am I going to do?’
She stroked his cheek and smiled. ‘Stay safe. Do what Goric tells you. Keep out of trouble, but stay true to your heart. I’ll come for you as soon as I can, I promise. This won’t last forever.’
‘Enough!’ Rowena growled, stalking over to them. She grabbed Quinn’s arm and jerked him up. Marta slumped back to the ground. ‘Come with me. You’re one of us now.’
Quinn turned his head to stare at the blackened remains of his home as the guards dragged him away.
I might have to be a trainee, he thought, but I’ll never be one of you. Never.
CHAPTER 5
THE GARRISON
They had been riding for hours by the time they came in sight of the garrison and despite the sunshine dipping through the trees, Quinn felt a dark cloud of despair hanging over him. He’d clung on to Jarin in a daze as the horse clipped through the forest, Rowena and Goric travelling up ahead. Every time the horse had taken a step, Quinn’s backside had thumped on the hard saddle and the jolt had travelled all the way up his back to clatter his teeth. He could actually feel the purple bruises forming with each whack of the saddle – though it was nothing compared to the pain of seeing his house burned to the ground or the look on Aunt Marta’s face.
The garrison’s outer gate was a massive, stone construction at least four storeys high. Two round towers flanked the enormous gateway, with arrow slits piercing the stonework every couple of yards. A heavy iron portcullis hung above the gate. As he rode beneath it, Quinn peered up at it with a shudder. If it dropped, he and the horse would both be squashed flatter than one of Marta’s pancakes.
At least I wouldn’t have to be in the Guard, he thought darkly.
The courtyard in front of him was almost as big as Quinn’s village. To the left, straw targets in the shape of huge dragons had been set up. Quinn watched as the guards fired arrow after arrow into them. To the right, he saw a group of trainees a year or two older than him battering at each other with wooden swords. Nerves crept across him like vines across the forest floor, but he held them in check. He wouldn’t let the Guard get to him.
Abruptly, the horse came to a stop. Jarin gave him a little push to ‘help’ him, and Quinn cried out as he slid off into the dirt.
‘Hey!’ he shouted.
‘Stop moaning,’ Goric snapped, as he dismounted his own huge mare. ‘You’re in the Black Guard now. You’d better get used to being uncomfortable.’
Does that mean lying in the dirt? Quinn thought, ignoring Goric. He gazed up at the garrison building. It might have seemed like prison – and he was sure it would be like hell for the recruits – but it was the grandest prison he’d ever imagined. The building in front of him was at least a hundred yards long and two storeys high. Half a dozen narrow towers jutted above the building flying the flag of the Twelve Islands: a clenched black fist on a red background that made Quinn shiver.
And it’s made of stone, he thought. It’s not bad for some. Builders on Yaross had a hard time coaxing the levitating rocks from the Floating Mountains into submission: material that stayed on the ground didn’t come cheap.
‘New recruits must report to the main garrison …’ Goric barked.
Quinn trudged across the courtyard, the mid-afternoon heat rising from the ground in waves. He caught the smells drifting out of the kitchen and his stomach clenched. Bacon, he thought, his mouth watering. And freshly baked bread. All he and Marta had had last night were summer fruits and nuts. He started to wonder where the dragon-fighting taxes really went.
At the thought of Marta, he felt for the package in his pocket. He wondered what had been so important that she’d had to use magic to get it to him without the Black Guard noticing. He had to find somewhere quiet before he could take a look.
‘You’re not sightseeing!’ Rowena barked. ‘Follow me and tie up that horse!’
Quinn jumped. Too busy daydreaming, he’d almost forgotten he was standing in the middle of the courtyard. He walked back, grabbed hold of the horse’s bridle and pulled it after Rowena, tying it up in the huge stables.
‘You, boy!’ a harsh voice shouted.
Quinn looked around and saw that another, smaller guard was striding towards him, black armour glinting in the afternoon sun. The raised black fist embossed on the breastplate of the armour seemed to be aimed right at him. Quinn couldn’t help flinching.
‘Your papers,’ the guard demanded. ‘Do you think I’ve got time to hang about all day?’
Quinn pulled the scroll from inside his shirt,
Taking care to conceal Marta’s package, Quinn pulled the scroll from inside his shirt and held it before him. The guard snatched it up.
The summer sun was hot on Quinn’s back and the dust from the courtyard got in his mouth and nose and eyes. His mouth felt like a dry well, desperate for a drop of rain.
The guard stiffened in front of him. Quinn’s heart stuttered. Did he see Marta’s package inside my jacket?
Nervously, he looked up at the guard, but noticed that he wasn’t even looking at him. Instead, he was staring away over Quinn’s back, as though he’d completely forgotten that he existed. Quinn shuffled carefully around. All he could see were hooves as yet more mounted guards rode into the courtyard.
The first horse snorted and abruptly came to a halt. A moment later, Quinn saw a golden boot swing down to land with a puff of dust on the courtyard. Something was diffe
rent about this guard. Around him, trainee and guardsman alike dropped into a bow.
Quinn saw a line of golden medals pinned to the man’s smart, night-blue military jacket. He wasn’t wearing the black armour of the Guard, Quinn saw, but the Guard seemed wary of him.
The only people who wear clothes like that are the Emperor’s courtiers, Quinn thought, as he peered at the man. But they never come this far south …
He shifted his head so he could get a better look. The man was tall and thin, with deep-set eyes. He glanced around haughtily, like he owned the place. Behind him, on the ground, Quinn spotted what looked like a ragged heap tied up behind the man’s saddle.
Goric strode forward to greet him.
‘Marshall Stant. Welcome to Yaross Island. We didn’t expect you so early.’
Stant! Quinn recognised that name. The man was notoriously cruel. The Emperor used him to put down rebellions. He was the one who would destroy villages harbouring those with dragonblood.
Stant peered slowly around the courtyard. ‘So I see,’ he said. His voice was as cold as his eyes.
‘Untie her!’ Goric commanded.
Quinn watched several of Goric’s guards leap to their feet and hurry over to the marshall’s horse. Now Quinn could see that the shape tied to the back of Stant’s horse wasn’t just a bunch of rags, it was a girl.
Another recruit, Quinn thought. At least I got to ride on the horse.
Quinn could barely make out what she looked like. She was covered in dust and mud from head to toe, and she was bleeding and scraped in a dozen places. She was clutching her left arm tight to her body as though it was broken. Quinn noticed the enormous bruise on the side of her face.
The girl let out a moan as the guards untied her roughly and shoved her back down to the ground. Quinn tensed. Couldn’t they see she was hurt?
Stant laughed. ‘The girl’s been causing trouble,’ he called. He turned slowly to eye the trainees. Quinn avoided the gaze. ‘This is what happens when you cause trouble …’
Goric laughed heartily. ‘True enough, Stant. Although why we need such a useless girl —’
Rowena spluttered.
Quinn knew that female officers in the Black Guard were rare, but that didn’t mean they weren’t just as fearsome as the men. Emperor Vayn was the friend of anyone who shared his cruel outlook – Rowena clearly demonstrated that.
‘What I mean is,’ Goric continued, avoiding Rowena’s glare, ‘why not put an end to her if she has caused such problems?’
Quinn flinched at Goric’s brutality.
Marshall Stant turned his cold eyes on Captain Goric. ‘It is not for you to question, Goric. The decision does not belong with a mere captain of Yaross Island, it goes much higher than that.’
Goric looked taken aback and tried to stutter a reply, but he was completely lost for words. Quinn caught the girl’s flashing green eyes that seemed to smile in his direction. He had to stifle a grin. For the first time in years he’d seen Goric humiliated. It was worth a laugh whether he was stuck in the Black Guard garrison or not.
Suddenly the mood darkened once more. ‘Enough of this,’ Stant cried. ‘Lock the girl up in your dungeon.’
The dungeon? Couldn’t they see the state she was in? She needed help. A guardsman grabbed the girl by her injured arm and started to drag her towards the garrison building. She let out a scream of pain and her eyes seemed to plead with Quinn.
‘Stop!’ Quinn shouted instinctively, as he leapt to his feet.
The whole courtyard fell silent and turned to look at him. Quinn’s hand shot to his mouth. Marta had told him to keep out of trouble, but he’d only been at the garrison for ten minutes and already he was diving into it headfirst. It was just the same with the washing hanging up in their cottage; he couldn’t seem to avoid it.
Marshall Stant looked at him in disgust. Quickly, he threw himself down to the ground and bowed again. Goric stamped over. He drew his sword and planted his boot on the back of Quinn’s neck, pinning him to the ground. Quinn squirmed in fear.
‘Shall I kill him for his disrespect?’ Goric called, desperate to regain Stant’s approval. ‘We haven’t started training him yet. It will be no loss.’
Quinn grimaced. Goric’s boot was twisting his neck so painfully it felt like it was going to break.
‘No,’ Marshall Stant said, slowly. ‘I have a better idea. If this boy values Thea’s life so much, why don’t we give him the chance to earn it? Let’s see what he’s made of.’
Marshall Stant looked around at the rest of the trainees who were still crouched unmoving, heads pressed into the dirt of the courtyard. Stant pointed a gloved hand to the largest of the trainees, a great hulking boy named Jori, almost the size of a grown-up with muscles that would have made a bull jealous.
‘The boy can fight this trainee. If he wins, Thea will be treated well and join the other trainees. If he loses,’ – for the first time, Stant smiled – ‘they will both be put to death, here, today.’
Quinn gulped.
Stay out of trouble? This wasn’t what Marta had had in mind.
CHAPTER 6
THE FIRST FIGHT
The guards and the trainees formed a circle in the centre of the courtyard. Before Quinn could react, one of the guards had shoved him right into the middle of it. He stumbled to his knees and looked up.
The hulking trainee Stant had picked out was watching him with a grin on his great flat face. He flexed his fists. Muscles rippled across his body.
‘We fight until one of us can’t get up,’ Jori growled. ‘Those are the only rules.’
Quinn swallowed hard. The trainee looked like he could rip him apart with his bare hands, then pick up the pieces and squeeze them into sausages. That was if he didn’t just pound Quinn into the courtyard dirt first.
Jori bent and tossed something to Quinn.
‘Here,’ he barked, with a smug smile forming in the corner of his mouth. ‘Take this.’
It hit the ground by Quinn’s feet with a clank. Quinn bent over and peered at it. It was a length of chain about as long as his outstretched arms, with flat weights at each end. He looked at it, puzzled.
‘That’s your weapon,’ said Jori.
Quinn frowned. ‘You’re kidding. What even is this …?’ But before he had a chance to work it out, Goric’s voice barked out behind him.
‘Fight!’
The guards and trainees pushed in closer, forming a solid, jeering circle around both Quinn and Jori. Quinn knew he couldn’t escape if he wanted to.
Jori picked up another chain and began spinning it around his head with one hand. Quinn barely managed to grab his own before the trainee was on to him. Jori’s other hand came up, grabbed the middle of his chain, and whipped it right at Quinn.
Quinn flicked his head to one side, but not quickly enough. The weight on the end of the chain grazed the edge of his forehead. He stumbled back.
‘Too slow!’ Jori smirked. ‘This is going to be easy.’
Quinn tried swinging his own chain at the trainee. It was heavy and far more difficult than it looked. The trainee stepped easily out of reach and Quinn ended up whacking himself on the knee as the chain swung back his way. He winced as it cracked against the bone.
Goric laughed. ‘You should have waited longer to cause trouble,’ he called. ‘Trainees don’t start learning the chain until they’ve been here at least a day.’
We’ll see about causing trouble, Quinn thought.
Jori swung his chain again and Quinn crouched, watching him. Maybe if he misses and I strike back quickly …
The chain snapped out. Quinn tried to block it with his own, but it was no good. It smacked into his stomach, knocking him back. He sprawled in the dirt, gasping for breath. His chest felt like it was on fire. He could hear the laughter of the guards carrying across the courtyard. The trainee circled him again, twirling the chain.
Get up! Get up!
Quinn scrambled to his feet, still feeling dizzy and
fighting against the pain and the lack of air. One of the guards stepped in from the circle and shoved Quinn forward. He stumbled towards Jori. The trainee’s weighted chain caught him on the side of the head again, and he tumbled back to the ground. Blood flowed down over his ear.
Quinn realised it was no use. The trainee was too big and too strong. His arms were almost twice as long as Quinn’s. Quinn knew he was never going to beat the older boy with brute strength. Instead, he’d have to rely on the only muscle that really counts: the brain.
He staggered to his feet, watching the trainee. The bigger boy was sweating in the heat. He was heavy and slow – he’d be quick to tire. Quinn was fast and agile – if he had any hope he’d have to use that to his advantage to outmanoeuvre his opponent.
Jori swung again, but this time Quinn was ready. He didn’t try to use his own chain. He twisted on the ground and leapt back as Jori’s chain whistled past.
The crowd jeered.
‘Fight him!’ Goric shouted. ‘Fight him, you coward!’
Quinn didn’t listen. Instead, he kept on dodging, retreating, moving left then right, ducking and diving.
With a roar of frustration, the trainee lashed out his chain again and again. Ignoring the pain and the blood flowing down the side of his face, Quinn kept light on his feet. Jori became more and more frustrated. He swung his chain in every direction.
Quinn smiled inwardly. It’s working!
‘Stay still!’ Jori shouted. His face had turned red. ‘Get back here!’
The crowd booed and shouted, but the trainee was slowing down. His attacks were becoming wilder. Sweat had soaked his shirt. Quinn saw how the boy was struggling to raise his chain.
‘Kill him!’ Goric yelled at Jori. ‘Rip his head off!’
Jori charged, flailing with the chain. As he stumbled past, Quinn whacked his own chain across the trainee’s back. The bigger boy stumbled, and the crowd went silent, sensing the change in fortunes.
