The Cadet of Tildor

by Alex Lidell

  Three hours into the journey as the gray skies set loose their blizzard, her initial excitement began to fade. Footprints disappeared under the snow.

  “Joining the Crown’s Service was your life, Renee,” Alec said suddenly. “It isn’t too late to go back.”

  She stumbled. “And get cut the next chance that comes?”

  “No.” He blocked her path and faced her. “You can—”

  “Make my own choices. I chose you and Diam. It’s done.” She walked around him and continued down the trail, locking her mind against further assaults of doubt. “I do wish we knew where in the Seven Hells we’re headed,” she said, her boot sliding off a stone hidden beneath the snow. At least Diam’s captors had to be on foot by now—between the weather and the poor footing, any horse would have to be hand-led. Her stomach growled. Anxiety had kept them hiking through dinner and now it was late, the dimming sunlight about to vanish completely. They needed to make camp, should have made it before now. Renee stopped walking, raised her forearm to fend off the wind, and evaluated the terrain.

  The terrain seemed to stare back. A chill gripped her spine. Renee shook her head, her hand resting on the sword’s hilt. Her pulse quickened. Someone was watching them. A bandit, lurking behind snow-burdened evergreens. Or, an injured traveler, too cold and hurt to call out for help. Or, a Viper scout, mapping another approach to Atham. Or . . .

  Khavi whined.

  “Halt!” A familiar voice commanded from behind them. “Remove your hats.”

  Renee twisted around to find Savoy’s steel pointing at her head. It remained there until both her and Alec’s faces were bared, the sharp wind biting their cheeks.

  “Is Diam . . . ” He caught her eyes and did not bother finishing the question. “There was a note in my room.” He sheathed his blade and motioned for them to follow him off the path. Fifty paces from the trail, a camp, complete with Seaborn, Kye, and a tent, sprung from hiding. Savoy glared at the sky, then at her and Alec. “What are you two doing here?”

  Pleasure meeting you as well. “Same thing you are,” Renee replied. Savoy was no longer her commanding officer. She owed him no military courtesy.

  He snorted and turned away.

  Renee ground her teeth. “Khavi has Diam’s scent.”

  Savoy paused and scratched the dog’s chin. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he told Seaborn, without bothering to look back at Renee and Alec. “Good. The bloody blizzard wiped the tracks.” He squinted at the sky. “We’ll send the kids back to the Academy once the weather clears.”

  Renee blinked at the gall. “You will not.” She stood her ground. “We quit.”

  Savoy did turn then and cocked an eyebrow, but Khavi’s sudden howl halted the conversation. The dog shied as if struck and cowered to the ground, his tale between his legs. Howls turned into desperate whimpers.

  Renee’s gaze shot to Alec, who shook his head. He knew no more than she did.

  Savoy squatted, pulled off his glove, and reached toward Khavi’s muzzle. “What’s wrong, boy?” he asked softly, and sighed when the dog cringed away. Savoy stood up, his hand dropping limply to his side. He drew a breath. “Takay and de Winter, you will go back.” His voice grew hard. “At best you’ll get in the way out here. More likely, I’ll get you killed.”

  “No.” Renee stood her ground. Alec shifted uncomfortably behind her.

  Twisting, Savoy caught her arm and threw her into a snowbank. “Which of my words confused you, girl?”

  Renee gasped from shock and cold.

  He pulled his sword. Metal whispered against the sheath. “Staying with me will get you dead. If you have a burning desire to be cut to shreds, I will oblige the curiosity right now and save us both the trouble.”

  “Seven Hells, Korish!” Seaborn’s voice pierced the storm. “You’ve made your point. Stop now.”

  Renee’s breath misted, adding dramatic effect to the unfolding theater. “You won’t kill me.”

  Savoy chuckled without humor. “No, I won’t kill you.” Renee prepared to push herself up, but Savoy’s blade remained at her throat. His free hand stopped Seaborn’s approach and his face grew calm. On the sword’s hilt, Savoy’s fingers adjusted their grip. Renee realized her miscalculation a moment before he nodded his agreement again. “But I will hurt you enough to prevent travel.”

  She didn’t doubt him now. And she knew he was granting her precious seconds needed for escape, but her body refused to move. Her hands scuffled in the snow and defiance fueled her waning courage. She stayed where she was, locked in a contest of wills. Somewhere nearby, Seaborn repeated his friend’s name. The wind whipped the words away.

  “Brace yourself,” Savoy said softly. Not a threat, a recommendation. His muscles tensed. The rising point of the blade tripled in size.

  “Get away from her.”

  Savoy’s eyes grew and his sword snapped away from Renee toward Alec’s voice.

  Renee scrambled up on her elbow. A gasp escaped her as she saw what her friend had done.

  A chaotic blue blaze engulfed Alec. He shook with effort but his focus remained on a shimmering tentacle that extended from his hand to Savoy’s sword. The steel heated, glowing a bright orange red that spread down the blade. When it reached the hilt and touched skin, something sizzled, like frying bacon.

  Savoy gasped but permitted himself no more than that. He shifted his weight, like a panther readying to pounce. “Mage.” The surprise that flickered in his face yielded to discipline and the word came as a simple statement of fact. He clenched his teeth and stepped forward.

  “Stop!” Renee scrambled to her feet.

  Without breaking his line of sight, Savoy reached out with his free hand and pulled her behind him.

  Alec’s body quivered at the center of the blue flame. Savoy, in contrast, was poised and still. Perhaps he had not yet decided whether to strike. Or else he had, and only awaited the right moment.

  Panic pounded Renee. “Alec! Stop! He’ll kill you.”

  Alec’s voice was strangled. “I can’t.”

  A streak of white fur leaped from the snow. Paws hit Alec’s chest and followed him to the ground. The mage flame died. Triumphant, Khavi wagged his tail and licked the face of his fallen prey.

  Pushing past Savoy, Renee rushed to Alec. She found the opening in his jacket lining and placed orange leaves to his lips, wishing she knew what dose to offer. Given the circumstances, more was probably better. His tunic and hair were drenched in sweat and he wheezed softly, struggling to steady his breath.

  “I see.” Seaborn’s voice was uncharacteristically flat.

  Renee tightened her hold around her friend’s shoulders. “He’s . . . good with animals. He can track with Khavi better than you can. You need him.” She took a breath. It wasn’t good enough. Seven Hells, Khavi is a mage too! she almost shouted, but swallowed it down. The secret was not hers to tell, nor had she any proof for the outlandish claim. But she needed the men to listen. She had to give them something more than vague skills or wild legends. “And, if you turn him in now, you’ll both be tied up with authorities instead of out searching for Diam.”

  Several paces away, Savoy lowered his blade at last.

  “Understood,” he said, his face unreadable. A crimson drop fell on the snow beneath his right hand. Another drop joined it. Khavi trotted up and prodded his wet nose into the sleeve obscuring Savoy’s fingers, then gave a reproachful look when the hand pulled away.

  “I’m sorry,” Alec whispered.

  Savoy turned and walked off into the woods alone.

  * * *

  Shame ambushed Renee in the dark. Being tossed into a snowbank had kindled unwelcome memories—it seemed Savoy was turning knocking her about into a habit. Her last glimpse of the Academy, with white flakes circling the peaked gate, floated through her mind each time she closed her eyes. Alec stayed silent and twitched in his dreams. When they started out early the following morning, Renee had no trouble waking; she hadn’t slept.
/>   According to Seaborn, the note that appeared in Savoy’s room after the exams directed him to the Yellow Rose in Catar City. There was no signature. The fresh trail the men had followed, until the storm destroyed the tracks, confirmed recent travel toward Catar, the Vipers’ home turf. Any legitimate business went by road. Renee rubbed her arms. Savoy was the true target of this mess. He had to be. No other reason to leave the note in his room. Someone had issued Savoy a challenge, and named the battlefield. And, of course, Savoy was answering it.

  None of which was reason to patronize her. Renee bloody well wasn’t the kidnapper.

  She coughed as cold air bit her lungs, and tightened her scarf. They trekked on. Tree limbs sagged under the weight of their white burdens. Long, sharp icicles hung from the thicker branches. Kye, whose velvety black coat shone in dazzling contrast to the white world, picked an unfortunate moment to snack on the vegetation, shaking snow from a pine onto Renee’s head.

  Gasping, she jumped sideways and cringed at the small clump of wetness that made its way into her collar and snaked down her spine. Savoy’s eyes flickered in her direction. Depriving him the satisfaction of watching her squirm, Renee made no comment. To her irritation, the man showed no discomfort in the freezing weather. He strode along, leading his horse and scanning the landscape, as if his body long ago negotiated a truce with the wind and the chill. And he never called for a break.

  “Korish, stop a few minutes,” Seaborn said after they crested another hill, having marched several hours upward to get there. He looked like Renee felt, exhaustion slumping his shoulders.

  Savoy regarded him, then Alec and Renee. His lips pressed together in annoyance but he said nothing, and slung off his pack.

  She restrained a sigh. The man consented to traveling together, so he needed to stop complaining about their inadequacy every ten seconds, however wordlessly he did so. She reached for her canteen. No water came out. A thick slab of ice blocked the vessel’s mouth. She stuffed it back with a curse. Everything she touched, it seemed, from the essay to the bout with Tanil to the gods’ forsaken water flask, had a whiff of failure to it. Of course, Savoy’s canteen suffered no such issues. Taking a swallow, he extended it to her.

  “I’m not thirsty.”

  He shrugged, and after offering a drink to the other travelers, stowed the canteen back in his pack. Upside down. “Ice floats,” he said, catching her gaze—just in case she hadn’t already noted his superiority.

  Ignoring him, she dug a frozen hunk of bread from her pack and contemplated the chances of keeping her teeth intact if she bit it.

  “Forget that, make a fire.” Savoy looked to the sky. “We’ll camp here for the night.”

  “We’ll lose time,” she said, despite no longer feeling her toes. The three layers of socks she pulled on that morning failed to do their job.

  “We’ll lose one of you if you don’t get something hot inside.” Of course, he excluded himself from that category. Weather and fatigue bothered only mere mortals. If Seaborn and Alec had not already started unpacking, she would have kept hiking. Or tried to.

  Renee gathered her waning energy and surveyed their new campsite, building a mental list of chores.

  Savoy eyed her with condescending concern. “Gather firewood, de Winter,” he ordered, as if making such decisions was beyond her. “Alec, animals and gear. Connor, you and I will put up the tents. You have a problem, de Winter?”

  The words left her mouth before her brain filtered them. “Yes. It’s blond, green-eyed, and thinks it’s a god.” She shifted her weight under the penetrating stares. In for a copper, in for a crown. She glanced at Alec and Seaborn. “We’re not daft. I just said what everyone’s thinking.”

  “Not me,” Seaborn said quietly, and turned to his work.

  Savoy ran a hand through his hair, his face as indifferent as his tone. “Do whatever you want, de Winter.”

  “I thought you liked him,” Alec whispered when they’d turned to their chores.

  “I thought you didn’t.”

  He shrugged, not meeting her gaze. “I don’t. But disliking him doesn’t bother me.”

  Unsure what he meant, Renee began setting up camp, fast realizing that firewood remained the only outstanding critical task. Damn the man.

  Once the fire was started, she savored its warmth for several indulgent minutes before surveying the rest of the setup. Alec brought over kitchen gear and started compiling ingredients for some sort of stew. Seaborn, armed with a small shovel, piled a windbreak mound by the first tent. Savoy anchored the second. Well, tried to anchor the second. She watched him struggle to tie a knot one-handed.

  Walking over, Renee inserted herself between him and the rope. She drew it taut and secured it with easy motions. Permitting herself a content smile, she met Savoy’s eyes.

  Instead of thanking her, he reached down and pulled loose her bootlaces. “You’ll freeze your feet tying them so tight. Blood can’t move.” He shook his head. “How many socks did you cram in there?”

  Right. Courteous conversation was clearly beyond his skill set. She was neither his student nor his soldier. She was a friend of his brother’s and trying to save the boy’s life. And she was done with his bullying. “What’s your problem?”

  “Beyond a novice crusading for democracy? A kidnapped eight-year-old boy.”

  “If you bothered to mind him, we would not have that issue,” she said, knowing she went too far. And not caring.

  His eyes flashed. “We don’t. I do. You are a tagalong liability who can’t tell reality from grand adventure.”

  She went to slap him. He caught her wrist in mid-motion. The next instant, he released it with a hiss of pain, cradling his bandaged hand to his chest. It was not funny at all, but Renee smiled anyway and walked away.

  After cooling off enough to be passable company, Renee went to inspect Alec’s kitchen adventures. He was not there, but Seaborn, sitting on a fallen trunk near the fire, extended a mug of tea to her. He held up another one and called to Savoy, but the man shook his head and headed to the opposite edge of the clearing.

  Savoy dug out a small jar and braced it between his knees to open the lid, then unwrapped the bandage. When the salve touched the lesion, he closed his eyes and rocked over the cradled palm for a breath, before refastening the dressing.

  “Do you think burns hurt more than arrow wounds?” Renee asked Seaborn, who glanced over at Savoy and winced.

  “I think no one should be that skilled at tying a bandage one-handed.”

  “If he behaved like a normal human being, he wouldn’t have to,” she mumbled. After making certain that Savoy showed no signs of listening, she turned back to Seaborn. “Was he different as a cadet?”

  “He was the Seven Hells’ personal representative to the mortal realm. Gods, I don’t know how the Academy survived us both.” Seaborn’s smile faded and he stirred the fire with a stick. “I left for a while at fourteen. When I returned, Verin had him on a leash and he wasn’t talking much to anyone, me included.”

  “He still doesn’t.”

  He shook his head. “Relatively speaking, he does.”

  “You stopped being friends after the horse incident?” When several seconds passed without an answer, she looked up to see Seaborn watching her, his brows raised. She tried to cover her words.

  He shook his head. “Too late. When did he tell you what that essay was really about?”

  The heat rising in her face had nothing to do with the fire. “After what he did to me in the salle.”

  “After what he did to you in the salle?” Seaborn sat back and looked at her incredulously. “Renee, what he did to you in the salle was save you from getting thrown out of the Academy on the spot. He and Verin went head to head for half an hour over it. And then another quarter hour because he would not let Verin touch you.”

  She swallowed. Thrown out on the spot. Bloody gods. Her face burned despite the cold. She was on probation, yes, but in combat arts, not academics
. “Expulsion for one mistake? My first?”

  “You chose a poor time for it.” He spread his hands. “Verin had to cut a senior cadet in a few weeks anyway. You were making a difficult decision very easy, Renee.”

  She hadn’t considered that. She glanced at Savoy. “Why didn’t he just tell me I was getting off easy?”

  Seaborn tilted his head back. “I would wager,” he said, emphasizing the last word, “he did not wish to make excuses for his actions.”

  Renee’s stomach twitched in familiar frustration. His actions. Exactly. They were back to that. “Master Verin handles such things in private. Why did Savoy wish to humiliate me?”

  Seaborn chuckled. “Is that what you think?” He braced his elbows on his knees and cocked his head at her. “Humiliate you how, Renee? By besting you in a sparring match? I doubt there is anyone in Atham who could hold his own for more than a minute with the man.”

  She looked at Savoy and back. “He had wanted to deliver the blows himself. If it wasn’t to prove a point, then why?”

  Seaborn glanced at his friend. “He’s a fighter, Renee. He’d wish to face what comes with a sword in hand, even a battle he could not win. Perhaps he believed the same true for you?” He wrapped his hands around his mug and lowered his already quiet voice. “Plus, Korish is not one to let others handle his dirty work. He considered your fate his fault.”

  “That’s—” Seaborn’s hunched shoulders made her swallow the word ridiculous. She frowned. “Does . . . Does he hold himself accountable for your injuries in the riding accident?”

  “I believe he always has.” Seaborn snuffed out a stray ember with his boot. “I also believe having to hurt you reopened that wound.”

  * * *

  Renee rose before dawn the following morning. Savoy had the watch and was in the midst of morning chores, flowing through the camp like a dancer across the floor. A pot of stew was already heating on a makeshift stove and a stack of fresh wood waited by the fire. On this miserably cold morning, in the middle of the forsaken woods, he looked more at home than she recalled ever seeing him at the Academy.