by B. T. Narro
The moment he got to his campus house and opened his door, a cold sweat drenched him. Nick’s room probably was the same as he’d left it.
They can’t possibly expect me to be the one who cleans it, can they? Basen shuddered at the thought. Will Nick’s parents come for his wand and clothes? Should I clean and prepare his belongings so his mother won’t see them and his bed covered in blood?
Basen was thankful he hadn’t eaten, as he felt he might vomit as he forced himself wearily toward Nick’s room.
The sight of it nearly knocked him off his feet. He grabbed the doorknob for balance. Pools of dried blood the color of dark rust stained the sides of the mattress and the floor beneath it. The sheets were in disarray, spotted by blood where they hadn’t fallen into the russet pools.
Basen couldn’t look anymore. He ran to his room and shut the door behind him. Then he collapsed onto his bed and let his face sink into his pillow, fighting to get the images out of his mind. But he only managed to replace them with something worse: Nick trying to speak while blood bubbled out of the gaping wound in his neck.
An emotion finally came—fury. He jumped up and threw his pillow into the wall. Then he slapped his mattress over and over while gritting out anguished cries through his teeth. His hand burned with pain, but he didn’t stop until fatigue overcame him. That he fell back onto the bed, too tired to let out any more anger.
He drifted in and out of sleep until a knock roused him. Hoping it was Sanya, he was surprised and disappointed to find Cleve and Alex standing before him. Then he noticed the rags and buckets of water in their hands.
“We figured it would be helpful if we cleaned Nick’s room and got his possessions in order for his family,” Alex said. “Then you wouldn’t have to.”
It was so thoughtful that Basen had to stop himself from sobbing with relief. But then he realized that these warriors weren’t close enough to him to offer such a thing on their own. “Terren told you to come, didn’t he?”
“No,” Cleve answered.
Alex shook his head. “He didn’t.”
They sounded genuine.
“Then it was Effie,” Basen realized. He’d noticed her worried looks in Penny’s class earlier.
Alex set down the bucket and put his hand on Basen’s shoulder. “No. Cleve and I were talking about what happened and decided we wanted to help our good friend, Mason.”
“It’s Basen.”
Cleve and Alex groaned in embarrassment. “How could she not know?” Cleve asked Alex.
Then Alex’s slack jaw tightened in anger. “Oh, she knew. Damn Effie!” He shook his fist. “I had a feeling Mason sounded wrong. Why does she always have to stir up trouble? I’m sorry, Basen.”
As he imagined Effie convincing them to use the wrong name, laughter swelled in his stomach. He let it come, and it pushed out all of his anger and anguish.
“Come in,” he told them, still chuckling. “I truly am thankful both of you are here.”
“We’re happy to help,” Alex said.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The final day of evaluation week was Cleve’s favorite. Every warrior was to duel the same opponents from the first day. As soon as they were done, evaluation week was over, usually ending in the late afternoon, giving them more time to duel each other for sport. They would have the next day off—leaving time for more dueling. Cleve’s uncle finally would have time to spar. Besides Terren, a few instructors were the only ones left who could still beat Cleve, and he looked forward to challenging them.
Sanya had dismissed his assistance when he’d first offered to train her. But after she’d seen how valuable his mentorship was when he’d insisted on giving her just one lesson, they’d begun to meet at the beginning and end of each day. He enjoyed the challenge of teaching her how to defend herself against stronger opponents, something he’d never had to learn himself, and he hoped to see his strategy and their hard work come to fruition today.
He’d noticed that Sanya’s biggest weakness was standing toe-to-toe with her opponent after blocking an attack, being blocked herself, or being grabbed. She’d had little training with this in Tenred, she told him, and Cleve couldn’t teach her everything she needed to know in just four days. But he tried.
It wasn’t long before Reela asked him why he spent so much time with the other woman, a hint of jealousy in her tone.
“Because Sanya has the chance to be exceptional,” he replied.
“Do you mean for a woman swordsman?”
“No, for anyone.”
After that, Reela no longer took offense. Her psyche told her Cleve had no feelings for this woman, though he had to admit that he admired her determination. Without it, he never would’ve volunteered to help.
It was a surprise not to find Sanya on Warrior’s Field early that morning. She must figure extra rest is more important than one last lesson, Cleve thought. His eyelids lowered as he saw Peter walk onto the grass.
Cleve pretended not to notice him and instead practiced his attacks and counters against an imaginary opponent, ensuring his movements were quick yet accurate.
Peter came straight up to him. “I’ve seen you training the woman when each day is done.”
“So?”
“Why do you do it?”
“To watch her take two points from you so you won’t qualify for Group One. Then I won’t have to deal with you for the rest of the year.”
“You’re a fool to waste your time with her. She’s hurting us more than she’s helping. Sneary knows it as well as I do, which is why he put her against the best of us. So everyone would see that she’s not good enough.”
Cleve would never tell Peter that it was actually his uncle who’d made that decision.
“Are you listening?” Anger tinged Peter’s voice. “All of us are better off when she fails, including her. You’re making it worse by helping her.”
Cleve ignored him until Peter cursed and walked away to train on his own. Cleve had seen Peter strike other men whose words had angered him, but Peter was only courageous enough to attack those he knew he could beat or at least scare into retreating from the challenge, and Cleve was not one of them.
He did fear for Sanya, though. Peter would hurt her badly given the chance, and not just because she was a woman. Because she was weak in his eyes. Undeserving.
Cleve smiled as he saw Alex come onto the field.
“You must be excited about today,” Alex said when he reached Cleve.
“I’m always excited about duels.”
Alex laughed. “If I didn’t know you better, I would’ve taken your emotionless tone as sarcasm.” He pointed his weapon as he often did before they sparred. “It’ll be good to take everyone’s mind off why a mage with no enemies was murdered in his sleep. Come at me.”
Cleve hated that a fellow student had been killed. Terren had told him there were still no suspects. Alex was right, though. Duels could draw his focus away from something even as terrible as that.
After several bouts at half speed, the rest of their evaluation group had gathered around them. All except Sanya. Cleve frowned as he looked around for her. At the sight of Sneary, they quickly formed a line.
The warrior instructor pointed at them as he counted. As he made his way from one end to the other, Sanya ran to barely make it as the fiftieth warrior counted. She hastily straightened and tied back her crimped hair. This was the farthest Cleve had seen her from composed. She’d better not give a poor showing. Everyone knew Cleve had been training Sanya, so her performance reflected upon him just as much as it did upon her.
“You all should know by now that this is the final day to show me which group you deserve to be in,” Sneary announced through his aggressive shout that Cleve had become accustomed to. “The groups are meant to challenge you appropriately for the rest of the year by pairing you with those of equal skill and potential. Show me how much you’ve improved when you duel the same people you did the first day. Sanya and Peter, step forw
ard.”
Most people clapped their hands in excitement, a few offering words of encouragement for Sanya. So Cleve wasn’t the only man she’d convinced she deserved to be here. Unfortunately, there were still many more who believed women should stay off the field and wanted to see Sanya fail to prove it. Their boisterous support of Peter didn’t seem to reach her ears, however, as her large eyes shone with determination.
Sneary called for them to fight. Sanya started with a low backward heel sweep that forced Peter to jump away.
Damn. Cleve had been going over that surprise attack with her, and although Peter seemed surprised, his superior reflexes won out. It’s all right, Cleve told himself. She has a lot more tricks.
They each waited for the other to advance, Peter unusually cautious. He tested Sanya with a safe swipe at a distance. She quickly yet calmly moved a step back to avoid it.
Then Peter surprised even Cleve as he rushed at Sanya. She struck down at his shoulder, but he braced himself and blocked the blow with his wooden sword. Peter continued to close in as Sanya danced away, avoiding his reaching hand with a nimble duck. Then she spun to avoid his desperate swing to catch her. She counterattacked with a swipe at his ankles, but the large warrior jumped over it and delivered a counterattack of his own—a powerful downward swing that threatened to knock her unconscious if it found its mark.
She rolled forward to dodge it, but Peter jumped on top of her before she could get up. Everyone knew Sanya was in trouble as she tried to squirm out from under him, throwing elbows and knees without control as panic seemed to take over. Peter dropped his weapon and swept her arms out of the way with his massive left forearm so he could bring his right fist down, striking her hard in the temple.
She winced but protected her face in case another blow was coming. Fortunately, Peter obeyed the rules and got off her after Sneary called out, “Point.”
Sanya was quick to her feet, as if she hadn’t been punched by a fist half the size of her face. It was clear she was disappointed, but she hid any trace of pain.
“Do you need a moment?” Sneary asked her.
“No.” She snatched her sword from the grass. Peter was quick to follow suit.
“Then fight.”
She stayed back and jumped away each time he advanced.
Come on, Sanya. You can’t keep him out forever. Attack.
Peter laughed bitterly. “Are you going to keep running until I grow bored, coward?”
She pretended not to hear him, standing ready for his next move.
“It’s not going to work.” Peter grunted as he wound up for an overhead slash.
Sanya sprang forward to take advantage of his vulnerable position, but Peter seemed ready for this tactic. He swung down his elbow at her, yelling, “I knew it!”
Cleve cringed as time seemed to slow. Elbows did more damage than knuckles, far more capable of breaking bones, and Peter put all his force behind his assault. Amazingly, Sanya seemed to have predicted his plan and managed to duck under the sharp swing of his arm.
With Peter completely exposed, she drove her wooden sword against his ribs with both her hands on the hilt and all of her weight behind it. He stumbled sideways as he lost his balance. Then he crashed onto his back with his arms splayed and lost his grip on his weapon.
Cleve and Alex applauded along with a few others. Her offensive had done little damage to Peter thanks to his boiled leather tunic and her blunt, wooden sword, but had she been wielding a real blade, she would’ve killed him.
Sanya didn’t smile. She just let out her breath and looked slightly less disappointed.
Peter grabbed his weapon and slammed it against the grass, anger assuming control. Sanya faced him and waited as he got up.
“Fight,” Sneary said once again.
Peter became a whirlwind of aggression. He swung hard yet with calculation, using his advantage of reach to keep her from striking back without first stepping toward him and putting herself at risk.
“He’s given up trying to hurt her at least,” Alex said.
“Just wants the point,” Cleve agreed.
Sanya took on a pensive expression, as if solving a puzzle, as she weaved back and forth to dodge or deflect every blow. It was a strange countenance to witness in the middle of a bout, especially when Peter looked more like animal than man, with his teeth clenched as he grunted with every swing.
But he couldn’t seem to touch her. She didn’t risk striking back, however, just put on an amazing display of defense. As time went on, it started to look as if she knew what Peter was going to do, ducking and leaning to cleanly avoid every attack.
Peter closed in as his speed increased. But rather than back away, Sanya let him come and made him look like a fool as she jumped to the side of his lunge and then ducked under his slash, ending with a punch square to his groin.
All the fight instantly drained out of him as he collapsed in on himself and then fell to a knee. Some of the men watching let out an empathetic groan, while most others, like Alex, laughed. Cleve smiled at Sanya, and she nodded in gratitude. It had taken some time to add the groin punch to her repertoire, but it was clearly worth their efforts.
Peter, his face red and strained, walked back to the line pretending not to be in pain, though his unsteady gait betrayed him.
Cleve was next to duel. Sneary pitted him against Ashton, Sanya’s second opponent from the first day. Cleve had mentioned Ashton’s technique as an example of close combat plenty of times during training with Sanya, for Ashton had earned both of his points against her with his fists.
Ashton’s ability to find flesh with knuckles had become known last year, and he’d even scored a few points against Cleve during their duels. But today, Cleve wouldn’t give him the chance in order to demonstrate to Sanya the proper method of keeping such an opponent at bay. He forced Ashton back with the threat of kicks and lunges, and eventually Cleve had scored twice without being touched.
A dozen other duels took place before Sanya’s name was called for the second time. The buzz of excitement swelled as she stepped out of line. Ashton came forward without Sneary needing to call his name. Clearly he’d been anticipating this duel for some time, and with jumpy nerves judging by the look on his face.
Sneary told them to fight, but neither moved. Both opponents held their weapon at the ready, their caution showing great respect for the other’s abilities.
Eventually, Ashton tested her with two quick jabs of his sword. She deflected each and showed she was ready to strike back, but he didn’t move close enough to allow her.
After a long period of minimal risks from both of them, Ashton finally rushed her. He used his sword not to strike her, but to block her defensive attack so he could tackle her. Cleve had gone over this with her hundreds of times, knowing it was one of Ashton’s favorite moves. She got low and used his momentum against him, flipping him with a boot to his stomach. But he was back on his feet at the same time as she was, a bit chagrined as he charged again.
He swiped away her poke at his chest and then opened his hand to catch her small fist coming at his face. He swung the pommel of his sword at her head. She ducked under it and tried to gain some distance, but he still had a good hold on her fist and pulled her back into him, driving the blunt tip of his sword against her stomach.
“Point,” Sneary called.
She needs to stop letting herself get entangled or at least be more prepared for it. Cleve caught her eye to see if she knew this. He made a gesture, sliding his right hand out of the fist of his left. She nodded.
Ashton once again tried to find a way in for his next point. She motioned as if to fend him off with her weapon, and he went for the bait, raising his sword in defense while swinging his fist at her. She swayed to dodge the punch and brought her weapon down upon his striking arm hard enough to take it off had she been wielding a blade of steel. Ashton clutched his arm and groaned.
Good, now his attacks will be slower with that arm. Sanya showed sh
e knew this during the next fight by allowing her right side to be more exposed as she upped her aggression. Soon one of her quick attacks found its way past Ashton’s defense, and she’d earned a victory.
Half of those watching applauded, a rare response to a duel.
It wasn’t long before Cleve got to face Peter. Their bouts were always the loudest and often the quickest because Peter had learned last year that the longer the fight went on, the worse his chances were. Grunting, Peter swung hard and fast, yet managed to keep himself from being too exposed. The only time Cleve had respect for Peter was as he fought him, for the man always demonstrated how he had killed so many of their shared foes in battle.
But eventually Cleve found his opportunity when Peter came forward too far. Cleve stepped in, blocked his attack, and kicked out Peter’s front foot. He was on top of Peter before the man hit the ground, his sword pressed against the underside of Peter’s chin.
“Point,” Sneary called before Peter could move and pretend Cleve hadn’t just had the opportunity to take his life. As Cleve began to stand, Peter shoved him. Cleve fell to the side but got a hand down and rolled onto his feet.
“Peter!” Sneary yelled. “That’s another point against you. Get back in line.”
His face turned red. He opened his mouth to speak but then stopped himself, no doubt aware that his words would earn him nothing but a lap around the field. Ripping up a handful of grass like a child, he stormed back to the line of warriors standing shoulder to shoulder.
Cleve’s next duel was against Alex. He wondered if Terren wanted him to duel the same people as Sanya to help prove that she wasn’t extraordinary when she failed to do as well as he did.
The first day, Cleve and Sanya’s last duel had been against each other. Cleve had tripped her for both points, and Sneary had yelled at him for holding back. He wouldn’t make that mistake again when it came time to face her, especially not with how dangerous she’d become.
But she wasn’t yet at Alex’s skill level. He and Cleve had dueled regularly last year, and both had improved equally in their time apart. Alex nearly matched Cleve’s height and, like Cleve, had spent his life training against master swordsmen. Alex knew how to defend against every tactic.
