by Billy Wong
#
Later that night, Mark decided to go take a bath. He opened the door, prepared to ask the nearest servant where he could be cleansed, only to see a sturdy, yellow-bearded man standing just outside his room. He wore long robes of sleek fur, and a golden crown adorned his head.
"King Leo?" Mark breathed.
"Yes, that is I. May I come in?" Mark stumbled aside, and the king entered to sit on the bed. "Sit with me," Leo said. Mark did so. "What do you think of Ann?"
"She's nice. She's been very kind to me, and she saved my life. And she is the most amazing fighter I have ever met."
Leo's next question nearly made him piss his pants. "Has she bedded you yet?"
"No, Lord King! I haven't-"
"I can tell she is interested in you."
"H-how?"
"Because she has not bedded you yet." Mark stared at the king. "Would you have her, if she asked?"
He tried to meet Leo's eyes, but his heart was pounding. "I... she is a beautiful girl."
"You would be wise to say yes. You are a fine young man, son to an earl and carrying the blood of your nation's greatest hero. There are—and have been—many worse matches."
Mark didn't understand why the king would be so inclined to imagine him and Ann in a romantic context. Leo knew him not at all. "Thank you for the compliment, but I don't even know who I am right now. My parents turn out not to share my blood, and my mother is a woman I've never met. I'm hardly ready to pursue a romance."
Leo frowned. "Did I ask that you marry her? I would have to know you much better before considering that. But as far as flings go, you would be an improvement over many past."
"We're only friends."
"For now, yes." Leo stood and walked to the door, where he looked back at Mark. "That will be all. Go and have your bath."
A moment later, the unnerved Mark rose to obey the king. He needed that bath more than ever after the talk they'd had.
#
Mark's eyes stung with fatigue when he awakened the next day, for he had gotten little sleep. He headed down to the yard, hoping that Ann's perpetual energy would be infectious. To his shock, he found her facing off against a number of soldiers, sword in hand.
"Lady Ann," a wide-faced man in a round helm asked, "are you sure you should be sparring today? You were badly wounded, and you can't have healed."
The princess smirked and lunged at the soldier, who parried her thrust only for her to step in close and elbow him down. Ann stabbed her sword into the ground nary an inch from his neck, laughing loudly while she watched him blanch.
"Rest, for a little scratch? Who the fuck do you think I am? Do you think just because you're wounded, the enemy will give you a break?"
"For you, maybe," a lanky guard said, and charged slashing at Ann's legs. She jumped the blade, twisting into a roundhouse kick which connected with his shoulder. He fell clumsily on his side, barely hitting the ground before the tip of Ann's sword touched his solar plexus.
"That wasn't my point. I was speaking of those who wouldn't be so merciful." Ann scowled. "And you guys better not be taking it easy on me!"
A burly man who Ann must have previously disarmed rushed at her back and wrapped her in a tight bearhug. "In that case, you rely on your comrades to protect you while you rest."
Ann threw her head back, hammering her skull into his face. His grip loosened, and she grabbed his arm to throw him over her shoulder. "I would, except no one else is as good as me."
On his back, the big soldier groaned and rubbed his nose. "Wasn't that a little rough?"
"You're the one who resorted to wrestling. What was I supposed to do, let you win?"
"You're an ass, Princess."
"Ha! If I were another princess, I might have you flogged or flayed for that. But I'm too nice. What say you to that?"
"I have no retort."
Smiling, Ann "killed" another rushing soldier by slapping his spearpoint off course and poking him in the groin. "To be honest, Len, I do trust you to try your best to protect me. But you aren't always there, as yesterday proved. Besides, you know pain isn't a word for me!"
"What the hell, Ann?" Mark asked, wide-eyed. "It's been two days since you got stabbed! There's no way you can be well enough to fight!"
She regarded him with exasperated eyes. "Oh, cut it out. Do I look hurt? My wound's nicely sealed, and I know how not to do myself much harm. Now, are you ready to test my blade?"
"What?" Mark asked with a start. "You want to fight me?"
"That's the idea, yes. Come on, show me what you can do."
He walked past the watching soldiers, hesitantly drawing his sword. He still worried that Ann might hurt herself, but didn't know how to say no to her. She raised her own sword, and he took in how truly enormous it looked in the short girl's hands. "Sweet Ledina! How the hell can you wield that thing?"
She took her right hand off the hilt, then gave the huge sword a twirl. "I can. That's all that matters, isn't it? Come on, I'll make it easier for you. I'll use one hand to throw my balance off a bit. Hell, I'll even make it the off hand."
Mark charged, slashing at Ann's shoulder. She ducked the blow, grabbed his ankle with her free hand, and tripped him. Her sword was at his throat before he could move. His voice rose in protest. "You said you were going to use one hand!"
"On my sword, yes."
She let him up, and they began to circle. Fine, he thought. If you're going to fight dirty, so am I. They locked swords, Mark's arm quivering with the strain. He punched at her face. She caught his fist and wrenched it back, and a sharp pain shot through his wrist and arm. Ann levered him to his knees, and he realized her sword was touching his throat again.
"Come on!" she taunted as she stepped back and motioned with her hand.
Mark stayed down on one knee, waiting for her to advance. When she came forward he pushed himself up and began to retreat, carefully blocking and parrying her attacks. Each blow jarred his arm with its force, but he waited until she went for a low sweeping cut. He jumped over the slash, kicking out with his left foot. He had her...
She reached up with blinding speed, slapping his boot aside with an open hand. Knocked off balance in midair, Mark tumbled into the dirt. Ann's sword swept down, ripping his sword out of his grasp. For a moment, his hand was completely numb; then, pain. Ann turned away, raising her arms and playing to the crowd of soldiers while he nursed his hand.
"So easy! Like fighting a little kid. And this is a Widalian nobleman! The best of their race!"
As he sat watching her mock him, Mark's heart quickened with rising anger. He was used to fighting uneven duels with Clint, but had never been humiliated like this. He hadn't even put up a fight. His jaw set, he stood and rushed at Ann's back. He jumped and his foot shot out, smashing into her lower back. She grunted and stumbled, falling to her hands and knees.
Mark watched and waited. Ann's head hung, her back moving with the rhythm of slow, deep breaths. Gradually, she drew herself to her feet, still facing away from him. Her body seemed to shake with pain and the promise of violent retribution. Mark cringed, preparing to be hurt—maybe killed. But when Ann swung around to face him, a bright smile was etched across her face.
"I let you do that, you hothead! Are you still mad?"
"No. Sorry."
"It didn't hurt. You're weak!"
"No, I really shouldn't have done that."
"Hey, I wanted you to feel angry—and helpless. It's a good lesson, to know what it feels like to be helpless. You never want to feel it again."
Mark frowned. It seemed a rather harsh technique of instruction. "Did you ever get this lesson?"
Ann laughed. "My first tutor tried it in my bath, pretending to be an assassin. I didn't recognize him at first and beat him half to death."
"Oh. In your bath?"
"I know. That's why I beat him half to death. I recognized him soon enough, but I didn't stop."
Mark turned and walked back to pick up his sword. "Are
you going to teach me now, instead of just beating me down?"
"Yes, yes. Time to get serious."
"You sure are an amazing fighter. Say, you ever wonder if you could beat Helrish Deathsface, if you fought?" Helrish was famed as the greatest warrior of the age, but Mark could hardly imagine anyone being more formidable than his new friend.
Ann smiled and said in a wistful voice, "You know, I used to dream about getting a chance to test myself against that man. But as I grew older, I realized something."
"What was that?" Mark asked when she did not continue.
"That he must be an old man by now. It's kind of sad, actually. What fun it would have been, to fight him in his prime!"
#
Ann took it easy on him from then on, allowing him to put up a fight though he knew she could have had him at any time. Still, she never let him win. As to her advice on fighting, she told him many things he was used to hearing. "You grip it too tight," she would say, or "you stand too stiff." Also "you're too tense" and "you need to act, not think." Clint told him pretty much the same all the time. Mark knew his faults, but despite wanting to improve found it frustratingly hard to change.
Though Ann's fighting style looked wild and unskilled, the princess flailing her sword about like an angry child, somehow it proved incredibly effective. Every attack Mark made was countered effortlessly, and again and again the huge sword hammered through or darted past his guard to tap him. Watching more closely, he noticed the natural economy of motion and precision of each strike. Not unskilled then, he decided, just simple and efficient.
"Do you know how to use a shield?" Ann asked eventually.
"Yes, we train with bucklers in Julpy."
"Getting one might serve you better than wielding just a one-handed sword and nothing else. Also, have you ever considered using a bastard sword?"
Mark shook his head. "Aren't those usually heavier blades? I'm used to my little sword. I know it might seem strange to you that bigger isn't always bigger, but I can't-"
"Mark, I understand about different bodies. I'm short myself, and not great with a standard longbow. But swords can be crafted for the wielder. Let me see yours." He handed it over, and Ann smiled. "My father had a sword about this size made for me with a bastard grip." She patted the pommel of her huge blade. "Obviously, I grew out of it."
"It'd interesting to try something like that."
"How about I give you mine?"
"What, for free?"
Ann's eyes narrowed. "No, you have to pay for it."
"That's all right. I'm used to my sword, I don't need-"
"Gods, Mark! I'm fucking with you!" She looked at one of the soldiers standing nearby. "Dan! Give me back that sword I lent you."
"But I've had it for two years."
"I'll get you a new one."
Mark tapped her shoulder. "It's okay, if you gave to him, I don't need it."
Dan tossed the scabbarded sword, and Ann caught it by the hilt. "Just take the fucking thing," she said as she shoved it into Mark's arms.
He stared at the sword. The scabbard was plain leather, suited to the common soldier who had worn it. But the exposed hilt was silver inlaid with tiny diamonds, with a bronze pommel and elegantly rounded steel crossguard. He drew the blade. It was as light as Ann had promised, and perfectly balanced.
"You're going to give this to me?" Mark asked in disbelief.
"I reserve the right to take it back whenever I please, and you know I can. But let's say it's on loan for now."
"Thank you, Ann."
"It's no big deal. It was getting tiresome watching you waste your off hand. Now come on! With good Perfian steel in your hands, I can worry less about breaking your puny sword."
#
By now Mark had become aware of the bald man lurking ever nearby when he was in the company of Ann, and it came as no surprise when Kyle made himself visible near the end of practice. Ann noticed Mark glancing towards the big knight now and then, distracted by his presence, and smiled reassuringly.
"Don't worry, he won't do anything. I won't let him hurt you."
"I'm not worried about him hurting me. He's your bodyguard, and I don't want to strain your relationship with him."
Ann glanced at Kyle, and without thinking Mark tried to take advantage. His sword flashed down, but as if sensing the blow coming Ann sidestepped neatly and tapped him on the ribs.
Without acknowledging the exchange, she shrugged and said, "Think I care what he thinks of me? We argue all the time, but he'll protect me at the end of the day. It's his duty, and he would give his life to do it."
"Are all Perfian knights so dedicated? It seems a bit unfair to take such devotion for granted."
"Oh, but it is devotion towards my father, not me. He doesn't much like me."
When they were finished practicing, Mark shook hands with Ann and chuckled. "I have never been so thoroughly embarrassed in my life."
"That's because you never met a warrior as good as me in your life." Her face grew a tad more serious. "You did fine, Mark. I dominated you, but not once did you stop trying. That takes a steady heart. If there's one thing I'm more proud of than my sword arm, it's my own steady heart."
He was grateful for the kind words, but figured she was only being diplomatic. If a steady heart was the best compliment she could come up with—in a training match, no less!—he would probably never be much of a fighter.
Later that day he bumped into Saul walking down the hall, and the young prince smiled at the sword at his belt. "She sure is taking a liking to you."
Mark blushed. "She doesn't care about it much, anyway. I mean, some soldier named Dan had it for two years."
"Yes, but she liked Dan."
"Oh. Why weren't you at practice with us? Don't you train in swordplay?"
"I have a private tutor."
"Why? Are you too feeble to fight with your sister?"
Saul chuckled. "Now that sounds like something she would say. But no, I'm not that weak that I couldn't handle sparring with her and the rest. Actually, I do go to the yard once in a while, though Ann always wins when we fight. The tutor teaches me a different style than most of our people use, that's all."
"Rapier?" Mark guessed.
"No, but close. Saber. Heavy chopping swords don't suit me."
"I almost want to train with you instead of her. She works me hard."
Saul nodded. "I'd think she would. I get all bruised every time we mix it up. But my tutor trains me just as hard, though in a different way."
"I suppose it's good they train rough. Soldiers should be training to fight for real, not just to fence."
"Indeed." A mischievous glint came into Saul's eyes. "Are you free tonight?"
"Why?"
"I could show you a few tricks to surprise Ann with. You want to impress her, right?
Mark nodded. "Sure, why not? Though I don't know how well I can learn your tricks in one night."
"No harm will come of it if you mess up. I'll probably visit and see how you do. Don't disappoint me, though!"
#
The days passed easily from then on, Mark spending most of his time with Ann, who always seemed to be free. After practice in the mornings, they would relax and have fun around town. Ann had all kinds of friends, from tavern regulars and castle servants to wealthy merchants and noblemen, and she talked to all of them in the exact same way. By now, that hardly surprised Mark. Ann didn't have social masks. She was just Ann. Many people loved her just the way she was, though she got her share of disdainful stares directed at her back. If she was aware of them, she showed no sign she cared.
Among Ann's wide circle of friends were the local children, and her favorite game to play with them was pretend. As she was larger than them, she was usually relegated to the role of a giant or monster, but seemed not to mind. She made Mark join in as well, and though he felt uncomfortable at first the children's enthusiasm eased his mind. Now, of course, it was usually him playing the monsters and
giants.
During what little time Ann was alone with Mark, she would chat with him about everything from food to weaponry to politics. It was hardly deep conversation, but always entertaining. Even when she brought up topics Mark thought he would have no interest in—like dresses and perfumes—he never grew bored. Her persona captivated him.
Her great cockiness was evident in every word she said and movement she made, her very voice a cloak of superiority, and yet there seemed an innocence about it all. Hers was not the arrogance of a powerful man who looked down at those he thought his lessers, but the natural conceit of a child who knew no better. What Mark knew would be rather irritating in others, seemed justified and proper for Ann.
They were sitting on a bench in the castle garden, feeding the doves together, when Mark decided to ask Ann, "So what do you plan on doing when you grow up?"
She glanced sidelong at him. "I'm already grown up. I mean, I'm seventeen, and hardly innocent."
She seemed innocent enough to him, though she was a killer and reputedly a slut. Even those terms held no derogatory power when applied to her. "I meant, what do you want to do with your life? Your brother's the future king, but besides being ready to fight, you don't seem to have anything like a job. Are you just waiting for the right prince to marry or what?"
"If I fall in love with a man, I'll marry him. I haven't met him yet, though. As for what to do, who knows? I'll have to wait and see what life brings."
"So if nothing happens, you're just going to keep living the way you are now?"
Ann smiled. "Why not? My life's great. I don't see why it has to change."
Mark hesitated. "You don't really seem to have much direction or purpose right now."
"Purpose? The real purpose of life is to enjoy it as best you can. For most people, that means making it as 'not difficult' as they can—like peasants struggling to survive. I happen to be in a position where I don't really have to deal with hardship. Why not take advantage of that and have fun?
"What would you have me do, run away from home to become a nun?"
It wasn't as if Mark hadn't met plenty of young nobles who wanted to do nothing but bask in the luxury their wealth allowed. But he'd never been close friends with such a lazybody, and his family had hammered the value of hard work into him. Still, he couldn't think of Ann as a bad person. She had risked her life to save him, and he knew it hadn't been "fun" for her to be wounded. He supposed that while she was capable of heroism on a whim, she just wasn't suited to long-term commitments.
