by Auryn Hadley
She was ready.
The passions coursed through her veins, but she forced herself to relax in the darkness of that alcove, feeling her heart race for a reason besides fear. That one cut changed her from a nervous soldier to the predator she had to be. His blood and pain were the advantage she needed to live through this. Lifting the edge to her mouth, Sal ran her tongue across it, tasting the hint of human sugar in his blood.
Then she sheathed the blade and grabbed Jase's mind forcefully. Her needs were shifting to anger. Don't you dare let me kill him, you bastard.
Ya may be Kaisae, but believe it or na, I am stronger than ya, Sal. Ya will na kill a single man. Na today, kitten.
His tone had changed. The submissive lover was gone, replaced with authority and defiance. She could feel Jase against her mind, and she found his new strength alluring. It made her want to rush in after him, but she couldn't. Not yet. She had to wait until the Marquis of Valmere had been made a king.
In her dark corner, time passed slowly. She checked her weapons, making sure each blade was sheathed with the edge the way she wanted. When that was done, she fit her helm over her pale hair, leaving only her white eyes visible beneath, and made one last check of her gear. A few buckles needed adjustment and straps got checked. Full armor, two swords and one steel dagger – if she lived through this, she was going to make one hell of an impression on this archaic country.
Ok, kitten, yer on. The crown's on his head, Jase told her as she heard the cheers of the crowd from the palace. Move.
Her fear was gone, the maast having replaced it with with a desire to do more and do it better. Sal stepped from between the buildings, her feet shoving against the ground, but she held herself to a walk. At the door, a guard saw her and called out, but Sal refused to change her pace. Three men raced to secure the entrance, their pikes held to block her path.
Her lip lifted and a growl rumbled in her throat as she allowed her instincts to take control. Think fast, Blaec had told her. He had no idea what that meant when she was in the grips of the maast.
Sal grabbed the guard closest to her and flung him out of her way. She turned to the next before his mind could react and snatched the pike from his hands. Using the butt to knock his legs out from under him, she ended the swing in the diaphragm of the third. The men crumpled to the ground like forgotten toys.
Less pretty, damn it, Jase snapped. They know yer here.
She dropped the pike and ran as her eyes dilated, adjusting to the darkness of the interior. There was a door at the end of the hall. That was her first goal. From the side, a man rushed her. She crashed into him, rolling easily across his back, and continued on. The next came at her with a sword. This time, she slid along the ground, using her hands to propel her forward again as she rose. More guards rushed behind her, their tromping feet loud in her ears, but they were already too late. As she reached the door to the Petitioner's Hall, a man cried the alarm and reached for her. She grabbed him by the neck and shoved her elbow into his face.
Forward! Jase screamed in her head.
She dropped him, but her feet had barely slowed. The Petitioner's Hall was filled with citizens. She could feel Jase slipping through the crowd, making for the Throne Room. Sal ducked between the bodies and glanced up. The balcony was littered with archers, each nocking an arrow. Their faces followed her movements through the citizens. Desperate to get out of their sight, she ducked low and slid between bodies like the assassin she was. Her dark armor made her nearly impossible to spot with a human's pathetic vision.
The crowd stops at the last column. I count ten men within reach, Jase updated.
Searching for that spot, she moved to the side, breaking through the line of guards from an angle they hadn't expected. The man to her left was brazen enough to grab her. Snarling behind her helm, she threw him into the men on the other side, knocking a few from their feet as she pushed forward again.
One of the guards swung his weapon behind her. She heard it cut through the air, hopping slightly to avoid it but never slowing. On the far end of the hall, a large window marked her destination. It's light cast a halo on the throne beneath it. She was almost there.
Archers. Eyes up, kitten.
Now in the open, she was a fast moving but easy target for the snipers along the balcony. Bows twanged as the arrows were released, and she changed directions drastically. The shafts clattered to the stone, allowing her to resume her mad dash to the King. A sharp whine was the only warning she got; one archer had loosed his arrow late.
Sal threw herself down, feeling the sweet touch of pain as the tip sliced across the gap at her throat. Her shoulder slammed into the ground and she looked up. Steel grey eyes stared back before she rolled to her feet. Running as hard as she could, she reached to check the wound on her neck. A few more millimeters and she'd still be laying on the floor.
Damn it Jase, watch the grey-eyed one! she snapped.
I am. Now run damn it, he commanded.
Blood trickled down her neck, under her armor, as she ran at the guards ahead of her. They stood ready, a line of shieldmen with pikes ready behind them, all pulled back in a tight circle around the dais. Sal smiled behind her helm. The fools were making this too easy.
When she got into range, a pikeman swung at her, and she ducked. But her feet reached higher. One foot landed on the pike, pushing it to the ground as she moved faster. The edge of a shield became her next step, and then the shoulder of a man. At the top of the human pile, she pushed as hard as she could, the maast making her muscles surge with power. She jumped, her body flying over the heads of the guards below, and Sal pulled her knees out of reach. Her eyes found her target as she descended toward the humans below her, and her instincts flared – her prey was in reach.
You will not harm him, kitten. You can na this time. Jase's voice carried a soft power that cut through her frenzy.
She landed behind the guards, her offhand securing her balance, and she pushed herself back to her feet in one smooth motion. The men behind her struggled to catch up, but Sal stormed forward, knowing they would never reach her in time. Five steps. With her eyes locked on the King's, she reached up with both arms and slid the blades from their sheaths.
Resin glinted in the sunlight, sending pale bars of light back to play across his armor. The King's eyes widened in fear, making her smirk as he pulled himself back in his throne, away from her. Just when he was ready to scream, she knelt, calmly placing the blades at his feet, the pale hilt stained from the blood on her own hand. But the guards were still coming.
There was one thing that always made humans pause. Sal reached behind her back. The steel dagger sang as she pulled it, it's color unique in the hall. For a moment, she held it up for the King to see, letting the light glint on real metal. Then she released her fist, letting the blade clatter to the floor. The metallic ring silenced the humans.
"I have run the gauntlet, Your Highness. I claim my rights to the position of Sergeant at Arms and swear to defend your life with my own." Her voice was only loud enough to reach the man cowering before her on the throne.
"Seize him!" a noble screamed from the side of the hall.
The King looked into her pale eyes and raised his hand, stalling the movement of the guards closing in behind her. He leaned forward, curious, and no longer afraid. "Do you swear fealty to me – and to Anglia?" he asked, his voice just as soft.
"I will swear to you, Highness, but I cannot swear to Anglia. I will swear to honor Anglia so far as it does not jeopardize my loyalty to the Conglomerate."
He nodded. His face was young, but his eyes were far wiser than she'd expected.
"Why?"
"Sire," she said softly, "the iliri need you, and I'm the best you can get."
He nodded, but she saw his shoulders sag a bit more. That's when Sal realized that the man before her had no desire to rule. He took the task seriously, aware of the responsibilities weighing on him, and she decided she liked him. He deserved to live
.
Regally, he rose from his throne to look over the crowd. "It has been generations since anyone has dared to brave the gauntlet," the King said, speaking loudly enough for all to hear. "Our laws say that any who is able to make it to the King's feet – and who is willing to disarm themselves and swear fealty to him, shall be granted the position of Sergeant at Arms, commander of the Anglian military."
The crowd murmured. He let them die down before he continued. "You have all witnessed this one," and he gestured to Sal, still knelt at his feet. "The first in over seventy years to complete this challenge. By the laws set forth in the Constitution of Anglia, I am proud to present my Sergeant at Arms. Please rise, my friend."
In her head, she heard Jase whisper to Roo, Tell Arctic she's in.
Sal rose slowly and unbuckled her helm, but before she could remove it, a noble yelled, "What's your name, boy?"
In one graceful motion, she slid the resin off her head. Her white hair fell behind her in a loose braid, and her strange ears peeked through it. In the light of the window, her alabaster skin shined, making the crowd gasp.
"I am Lieutenant Salryc Luxx."
The crowd's murmur grew louder.
Reeking of his anger, the noble stormed toward her. "Dominik, you can not let a woman lead the military, are you insane?"
"The law is the law, Lord Aulis," the King replied.
"That's 'Your Highness,'" Sal said softly to Lord Aulis, causing him to look at her.
"What is that?" he squealed, backing away from her. "Highness, she's not human!"
She'd known this was going to happen. Raising her voice, she addressed him so the crowd could hear. "No, I am not human. I am iliri. I am faster and stronger than any of your men. I have earned the title of Sergeant at Arms, Lord Aulis, whether you like it – and me – or not. Now step away from the King!"
The new king tried to hide a smile. "The law doesn't state human nor male. It merely states that anyone good enough to pass..." he looked behind her at the guards. "How many men are on duty today, sir?"
"One hundred and seventy-five, Your Highness."
"Anyone good enough to get past one hundred and seventy-five of the best Anglian soldiers is good enough to guard me – and to teach our men a few things, I think. Lieutenant Luxx, was it?"
"Yes, sire," Sal said, lowering her head politely.
"Please. Let us retire to my office. I believe we have much to talk about." He cast a glance behind him. "And yes, Otso, you can tell the council to meet us there."
Chapter 14
When the King stepped from the dais, the crowd knelt. He bent over and grabbed her weapons from the ground, then handed them to her, hilt first. Sal took each gently, sheathing the swords while the King looked closely at her knife. When he finally returned that, she slipped that blade into the sheath along her belt and nodded, falling behind him as he made his way from the Throne Room. Their feet sounded loud in the silence.
Together, they entered the King's private offices. He gestured for her to take a seat before moving to a shelf behind his desk.
"I can not, sire," Sal said quietly. "I can not sit in your presence unless you do."
He turned to her and sighed. "Ok, first things first then. In these rooms and my personal chambers, I am not 'sire' or 'Your Highness'. I am Dominik Jens, the son of a bastard of a king. My great claim to fame was the right to collect taxes in a country province with maybe twenty tenants. That's all. The only thing the place had going for it was an impressive title. My only training in how to act noble was listening to the cook chastise the kitchen help. You may call me Dominik, or Dom, but I can't do all the damned 'kinging' constantly. I'm just a commoner whose father was born on the wrong side of the sheets."
Yes, he was definitely the right man for this job. "Fair 'nough." She slipped into the chair he'd offered her, unbuckling the bezor from around her neck.
"Brandy? Whiskey? Mead?" he offered.
"Mead please."
He poured her a glass and turned to hand it to her, but his eyes widened. "Lieutenant? You've been injured!"
Sal smiled. Her maast was in control but still pulsed in her mind. "I know. You have one good archer up there in that bunch, Dom. One. We have a lot of work to get your army in shape. You don't happen to have a handkerchief do you?"
He pulled one from a drawer in his desk, passing it across to her. Sal held it against the slice in her throat, the pressure causing her desires to flare. Slowly, she exhaled and closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the chair. She had to make it a little longer.
"Do you need a physician?" he asked, true concern in his voice.
Sal chuckled. "No. That would probably be a very bad idea. Trust me, it doesn't hurt like you'd think. It's just a nick, but I should warn you, I will need to be excused within an hour."
"Ok? Are you going to turn into a frog or something?" he joked, trying to lighten the mood.
"Something like that. I'm not human, sire." She opened her eyes slowly and looked into his, noticing the green flecks. "It's called the maast, and I think you should know about it."
"The what?"
"The maast," she repeated, enunciating the strange word for him. "Have you ever heard of berserkers?"
He nodded. "Yeah, Anglian myths talk about them, why?"
"That's the maast. If I cause harm or experience certain pain myself, it hits me. Think of it like an addiction. I can hold off my need for a fix, but only for so long."
"Then what do you need, Lieutenant?"
"Sal, please. And you probably don't want to know."
He chuckled. "Ok, now I have to."
She looked at him, reminding herself that humans were not her prey this time. As the thought crossed her mind, she felt the passions surge, and it came out in her voice. "I have to kill again, or I need to fuck."
He stepped back unconsciously. "And you're in this, 'mast' thing now?"
"Trust me, Dom, you're not my type. This really is just a nick, but I was hyped up before I entered the Palace. I know your council will have a few things to say, but when I'm done, I mean it. Ok?"
"Ok," he agreed, sounding nervous. "I think it would be best if the nobles don't know about this. Those pricks can't seem to wrap their mind around anything except how to impress their peers with pompous bullshit." He offered a weak smile, trying to lighten the mood. "Who woulda thought it, huh? An iliri and a bastard's kid in charge of the biggest country on this continent."
Sal leaned forward, grabbed the glass of mead and took a long drink, then nodded. Before she could answer, the door flung open behind her. Four sets of feet entered the room.
"You can not allow this!" a man demanded in a nasally voice.
"I already have, Bjan," Dominik said. "So you might as well introduce yourself to the new Sergeant."
Sal stood to face the nobles behind her. The scent of their contempt filled the air.
"Sal, this is Bjan Arvo, Cillian Tor, Otso Aulis, and Marcu Piet," the King introduced, gesturing at each one in turn. "And this is Sergeant Salryc Luxx, the commander of my military."
"Can you do more than run, girl?" Marcu asked her snidely. "We all saw your agility in there, but what combat experience do you have? Damn it, Dom, that was supposed to be my position. I've already made promises of promotions to certain officers. What am I going to tell their parents now?"
"Tell them," Sal nearly growled, "that I don't play politics. Lord Piet, I don't know what you think the military is exactly, but it's not a popularity contest. Regardless of who these soldiers are related to, their job is to protect this country. If I have to restructure the entire thing, I will, and Anglia will be better for it."
"Yeah?" Marcu snapped at her, "And what makes you think you're qualified?"
Sal smiled at him too sweetly. "How many men have you killed this year, Lord Piet? In your life?"
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"I've participated in fifteen elite operations. I led three of those persona
lly, and I've commanded multiple smaller skirmishes in the war against Terric. This year alone, I put over seventy men in their graves. I only know of one man with more tactical genius and skill in combat than myself, and before now, I reported directly to him. What qualifications do you have to lead the military exactly? Besides who you're related to or how much money you spent in bribes."
She knew she'd read him right, and her words proved it. Irate at being talked to that way by a woman, Marcu stormed at her, intending to slap her hard. Sal grabbed his forearm, holding it against his struggles, making him look like a fool.
"Shall we duel over it, Lord Piet?" she taunted. "I'll even give you the choice of weapons. We can make it a public affair, and you can invite all your friends. That sounds like something Anglians would do, doesn't it?"
"Fucking bitch. You have no right to talk to me like that!" He yanked his arm back.
"Actually, I do. According to your constitution, I outrank you on all things military." She pinned her ears at him, lifting her lips enough to show her sharp teeth. "Now sit the fuck down, and get over it, my lord."
Behind her, Dominik laughed. "I like her. Anyone else? Otso?"
"I'd just like to know, well..." Cillian Tor spoke up hesitantly. "No offense, Sergeant, but what are you?"
Sal relaxed, flicking her ears back forward. "I am iliri, my lord."
"Iliri don't exist... do they?" he asked.
"There's a few of us left. I've only met one other, but your country is filled with my ancestors."
"Oh?" Now Dominik was curious.
"The grauori. Over two thousand years ago, we split from them, but we still have many of the same customs and traditions."
