Combatant: The Revelations of Oriceran (The Kacy Chronicles Book 3)

by Anderle, Michael

  The poster made it clear that the fighting positions were voluntary, but didn't mention anything about remuneration. Surely the government will have to offer Rodanian citizens some kind of pay, for them to spend time training and fighting. It struck Jordan hot and hard that it didn't really matter if the positions were paid or not; if Toth really was leading some defensive team against harpy attacks, Jordan wanted in. She'd already begged Toth to train her. Apparently, now he'd be training not just her but whoever showed up in response to the poster.

  What Jordan couldn't work out was why.

  Why would Toth agree to abandon his position at The Conca so suddenly? How had he managed to dissolve his agreement with the humans of The Conca so quickly? He seemed eager to return to his role as Nycht defender, yet within a matter of days, he's changed his mind and decided to stay? It has to be Balroc's influence, whoever he is.

  Jordan retrieved the key Sol had given her to Juer's library. He'd told her the doctor wouldn't be there but was happy to allow them access to the library as much as they liked. She wished Sol was there to help her search, but he'd been occupied with deliveries every day since the motley crew had arrived from Trevilsom.

  She jiggled the big iron key in the lock and pushed through the gigantic wooden doors. The foyer yawned, dark and dusty before her. Beyond, she could just make out the semi-circular library space she and Sol had visited several weeks before. She secured the door behind her and crossed the marble floors, her footsteps echoing hollowly, making her feel cold and alone. She crossed the library's threshold, where the floor became wooden planking in the shape of a many-petaled flower. She craned her neck up at the books, scanning the massive selection. Her eyes dropped to the first floor where a series of small drawers lined the wall. Jordan made a beeline for the drawers marked with the letter ‘D’ in beautiful, flowing script. Beside the 'D' on the placard were several other foreign letters.

  She opened the first drawer and was greeted with the stale smell of moldy paper and old leather. She sneezed and began to search the titles, walking through the cards with her fingertips.

  Her mind kept drifting to the poster tucked in her pocket. How did it happen? She would have loved to have been a fly on the wall in the meeting between Balroc and Toth. What did the councilman say to convince him to stay? Did he threaten him somehow? Take away Toth's autonomy?

  The catalogue cards flew under Jordan's fingers, until she found a handful beginning with ‘Dragon’. Jordan thought Juer could do with a new system for cataloguing his books; perhaps one invented by an Elf and activated through voice control. She made a note to mention it to Sol to pass on to Juer.

  One of the things that amazed her the most about Oriceran was its strange blend of magical technology alongside an archaic way of life. Rodania had a magical barrier that (until recently) was believed to be impenetrable, and yet one had to spend ages with a nose shoved into a dusty old drawer like some stuffy academic, just to find a book. She shook her head and closed the drawer, a collection of cards in her hand.

  She spied the gigantic wooden lever hidden in a recess between shelves, and reached for it before remembering what Sol had said about the updraft system––that it would send all of Juer's research flying. She withdrew her hand.

  "Guess I'll do this the hard way," she mumbled. Eyeballing the number on the first card, she gave tight, powerful flaps to lift herself vertically along the cylinder of the library. Hovering was hard to do without jouncing and bobbing jerkily, but Jordan was getting the hang of it. Her eyes homed in on the numbering system, which was on the edges of the wooden shelves as well as the books themselves. This seemed foolhardy, unless Juer never planned to add or take away from his collection.

  She snagged three of the books and let herself drift down to the landing on the first level, where she spread the books out on a table. She plopped on a stool and opened the first volume.

  Her wings drooped. It was beautifully illustrated, but not written in English——though the title was simple and deceiving: Dragon, Draconi, Dragosus, followed by some scrawl that looked like upside down Greek. She shoved the book away and tried the next––Draco ex Speciebus Oriceran, which, if she wasn't mistaken, sounded an awful lot like Latin. A quick flip showed more Latin, but also a second column in an old form of English. There were a lot of ‘ye's and ‘auld's and ‘fyre's.

  Jordan scanned the color drawings of various species, but her heart sank as she realized just how in over her head she was. The dragons all looked the same, yet different. This one had the same horns as Blue, but three forks in its tongue. That one had Blue's coloring, but the eyes were much more bulbous. After half an hour of this frustrating confusion, Jordan slammed the book shut and shoved it away from her, frowning.

  The third book was no better.

  She blew out a big sigh. I can’t do this alone. There has to be a better way. She decided to talk to Sol about it more when she saw him next. Maybe he knew someone who could help, without giving away their predicament.

  Jordan gathered up the books, returned them and the cards to their rightful place, and left the library, locking it up tight behind her. She took a running leap off the walkway and took to the air, catching the wind and sailing straight for the northwest corner of Rodania.

  ***

  The training islands were not far off the coast of Middle Rodania. Three of them, circular and looking a lot like floating football fields, hovered in a staggered way, just like the large Rodanian islands. Jordan wondered what it had cost to have the Light Elves make these islands, or if there was an agreement as Rodania expanded to provide more territory as needed.

  Two of the islands were vacant; nothing but circles of low vegetation, dirt, and dark square shapes. As she drew near, Jordan's eyes homed in on two square shapes––trunks, likely full of equipment.

  The third island was crawling with Strix, mostly Nychts. Jordan spotted Toth's silver hair and made a beeline for him. She came in for a landing at a run. Toth’s arms bulged as he carried a wooden box that looked very heavy for its size. His eyes lit up when he saw her.

  "Jordan! I'm sorry, I haven't had a chance to find you." His eyes were apologetic. "How's your father? Any change?"

  "The same thanks." Jordan took the folded poster from her vest and unfolded it, hanging it out for Toth to see. "As for not coming to find me, that's okay. I can see you've been a little busy."

  Toth's eyes widened at the poster, then narrowed as he scanned the words. He glowered and set the trunk down, snatching the page out of her hand. " ‘Famous Nycht mercenaries’?" Toth growled. "He's good at the propaganda, I'll give him that much."

  "Balroc?" Jordan guessed.

  Toth nodded and shoved the page back at her. "I left the publicizing up to him. Apparently my guideline was not specific enough."

  "Which guideline?"

  "Not to use my name, or Caje's."

  "That's pretty specific."

  "You'd think so." Toth shouted instructions at a pair of burly Nychts carrying more trunks across the scrubby grass of the island.

  "He also used your last name," Jordan pointed out, following Toth as he delivered the small trunk to a low wooden table.

  Toth grunted.

  "I was thinking," she said as she folded up the poster, "just how little I really know about you, Toth. After everything we've been through together. I didn't even know your last name."

  "I don't have a last name." His face grew dark, and he shot a wary eye at Jordan.

  "It says ‘Sazak’ on the poster. Is that a mistake?"

  "I am no longer associated with that name."

  "But it used to be your last name?"

  "Jordan, I don't have time for this."

  "Yet another layer of mystery added. Oh, how little I really know the Nycht I'll be forever indebted to. Why don't you have a last name anymore?"

  "You're not indebted to me, and it's a very long story."

  "I'm sure it is." Jordan threw an arm over his shoulders. "I was
wondering, Mister No-Last-Name, what could possibly have happened to you in the last several days to make you completely abandon your commitments to the people of The Conca, and take up the sword for Rodania. You hate Rodania."

  "I don't hate Rodania, this place is my homeland. I just hate the inequality here. I also hate harpies. And I apologize, but I don't have time to go over the intricacies of my decision-making process at the moment. I have a lot to do before training begins."

  "Which is when?"

  Jordan released Toth. It was apparent he was not in the mood for levity or prying. Once again, she found herself unsure of where she stood with him. Was she a friend or a pest? The man's emotions were impossible to read, sealed off in the steel trap inside him.

  "Tomorrow."

  "Where do I sign up?"

  Toth didn't even blink. "There is no signing up, just show up ready to work."

  "Anytime?"

  "Whenever you've breakfasted. The earlier the better." He turned to a Nycht carrying an armload of wooden javelins with blunted tips. "Over there, by Chayla," he directed the fellow. The metal of the weapons gleamed in the sun, looking brand new.

  "Need help setting up?"

  Toth shot Jordan a blazing smile at this offer of assistance. "You're not too busy?"

  "Last time I checked."

  "Great. Follow me."

  Jordan followed Toth through a crowd of working Strix, mostly Nychts, who were laboring together to set up the training space. Wooden dummies as well as stuffed straw targets were scattered about on the grass. Big, muscular Nychts pounded stakes into the ground where small red flags had been erected. There was the clang of metal on metal as Strix sparred playfully with each other.

  "This is Chayla," Toth said, stopping in front of a fierce female Nycht seated on a low, flat stone. She was bent over a blade, which lay across her knee. The woman looked up with a glower and cast the Arpak a gleaming white snarl, revealing sharp eye teeth that looked a touch too long. She looked downright predatory.

  "Chayla, this is Jordan."

  Chayla's eyes raked Jordan from head to foot. Jordan thought she might actually be shrinking under this Nycht's gaze. She studied the Nycht as the Nycht studied her. Chayla had sharp high cheekbones, lean, square, muscular arms and thick, fleshy wings as black as night. Her dewclaws were long and thin and gleamed like obsidian, and her moss green eyes were large and calculating. Not everything about her was dark, though. She wore a pale leather vest with rough edges, stitched together unevenly with fat thread. Jordan wondered if the Nycht made her own clothes. A small silver hoop glistened from the woman’s nose, and her dark brown hair was clipped short and stuck out in all directions. Chayla's nails were filed to points.

  Everything about her screamed ‘Don't mess with me’.

  "Chayla is filing the burrs off these blades. They've only recently been forged and won't be ready to use until they've been cleaned up." Toth picked up a sanding stone from a collection of them near Chayla's booted foot. "If you can give her a hand, it would be greatly appreciated."

  Chayla stopped what she was doing and stared at Toth with a look broaching horror. "Greatly appreciated?" Her voice was thick and strangely accented.

  Toth ignored Chayla, gave Jordan a pat on the shoulder and strode away, leaving the two women to tackle a mountain of freshly forged blades of all shapes and sizes.

  "So," Jordan sat down on the grass next to Chayla and picked up a rough blade from the pile, laying it across her lap the way Chayla had done. "How do you know Toth?" Jordan picked up a stone, dipped it in the bucket of water on the ground, and began to file away the metal burrs.

  "Don't talk to me, Arpak," replied Chayla with a curl of her upper lip. She made ‘Arpak’ sound like a dirty word. "Just get to work."

  "Okay then," Jordan said under her breath. She pressed her lips together, bent over the blade, and did just that.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Days later, the training ground was a paradox of sounds as the sporadic clang and ring of steel on steel provided a counter rhythm to the gusty sound of wings flapping. Jordan knew why she was here—–to train with Toth, who had agreed to spend some one-on-one time with her—–but she couldn't help feeling like she was just a starry-eyed spectator.

  All around and above her, Strix sparred and trained, spiralling, swooping, and generally looking stunning as they moved with mastery of all three dimensions. Jordan, with just enough experience from her days training in martial arts, appreciated how they could move with such grace, even as they lashed out with spear, sword, and limb.

  She stifled a gasp as she watched Chayla spar with another Nycht. The woman snatched a spear thrown at her out of the air, just to spin into a dive going after her opponent.

  Toth followed her gaze. "Impressed?"

  The mercenary stood in front of her with a staff of polished wood in each hand. The ends of each staff were capped with bulbs of stitched leather. Sparring rods.

  Jordan blushed. She had been gawking.

  "Maybe they will be there to save you." A ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth. "But just in case, let's see what we can teach you."

  He tossed the staff to her, and without preamble they began.

  It was simple footwork and body positioning at first. He wanted to see her move, judge her balance. Could she track an opponent and keep her footing sound? Could she advance or withdraw fluidly, move quickly, without sacrificing stability? Did she keep her eyes on her opponent, still maintaining peripheral awareness, or did she stare at her feet? Thanks to her martial arts training, she managed to keep her guard up and move to match Toth's footwork.

  "Good," he nodded. "But what if we stop dancing?"

  Without warning, he made a quick overhead chop with his staff.

  Jordan brought her staff around in a wide grip, stopping the stroke cold.

  Her eyes slid from the quivering staff, over her head to Toth's face, and she saw something that surprised her.

  Fear? Impossible, Toth has gone head-to-head with monsters with a smile on his face. He isn’t threatened by anything, least of all me.

  Toth spun the staff away, and she shifted into a vigilant stance. Wordlessly, he came for her, this time springing lightly into a thrust with the padded end of the staff. She was on her guard, so her staff snapped out and deflected the strike smoothly.

  Again, she saw it—–that anxious widening of his features—–and then she recognized it for what it was.

  Not fear of her, fear for her. Toth did not want to hurt her, not even a training bruise.

  "Toth," she said, lowering her guard.

  "Eh," he grunted.

  "You need to stop babying me."

  A sheepish look crossed his face, then he nodded in agreement. "You're right, of course."

  She raised her staff.

  As Toth came at her again, this time with a side-stepping sweep at her legs, Jordan determined she wasn't going to let one of his words or blows be wasted. Her forward foot shot up and came back down as soon as the sweep passed. Her staff shot downward and warded off the return blow. As soon as Toth's staff withdrew, she was back to guard, rod up, eyes on her opponent.

  For the rest of the day, her training followed this pattern. Toth would move and she would follow, until he sprang to the attack, and she would have to defend. Occasionally, he would give some critique or advice, but never would he congratulate her footing or deflection after a particularly punishing series of blows.

  Little by little, he pressed her to attack back, to drive off his aggression with some of her own.

  As the sun began to set, Toth had her defend herself from aerial attacks. He swooped and dove upon her, which was truly terrifying at first, though she got the hang of it after falling over a few times. As the sky turned to bruised shades of purple, he had her in the air herself, her wings beating in time with her laboring heart. It was a new level of exertion, but also of exhilaration. She really did love flying; even if she had to protect herself from getti
ng battered as she did so.

  As the night came on in earnest, Jordan's shoulders and legs burned. Her back ached, and her hands prickled with numbness. It was a good, honest kind of pain, but it was still pain, and she was glad the training session was over.

  The next morning was agony, as was every morning after that for a very long time.

  •••

  Just when Jordan thought she was developing some mastery with the staff, Toth threw her a curveball—–or more accurately, a blunt mace.

  Jordan's hand flashed up to catch the training weapon. She hefted it in her hand, feeling its weight. It was a shaft of rough wood, with leather wrapped around one end and a weighted cosh-head at the other. The simple weapon felt more ungainly in her hand than the staff, even though it was only a little over half the staff's length.

  "I thought I was doing well with the staff." She eyed the bludgeon dubiously.

  "You thought so?" Toth had a way of making Jordan feel like a little girl; like she wanted to crouch behind a wing and hide. "Let’s see how you do with this." He produced his own mace with a flourish, putting the muscular control of his hands on display.

  Jordan fought to keep a twinge of jealousy at bay. Toth moved the weapon like he had eyes in every finger, like the mace was an extension of his own body.

  Toth began probing her defenses with lunging footwork and shallow swipes.

  Over the next several weeks, a pattern emerged. Toth started with Jordan in the morning, but as the sun crested, he would send her to train with her fellow combatants, always someone different. It was an endless round-robin; mostly of humiliation.

  Jordan would wake with a whole new batch of muscle cramps and soreness, and drag her carcass out to the training grounds. Toth would hand her a new weapon and take her through the paces.

  She went through an assortment of bludgeons and blades, axes and pole-arms, shortswords and javelins. The young Arpak never imagined there were so many varieties of death-dealing. Some weapons were an exercise in pure frustration. Axes…Jordan learned a deep loathing for those vicious implements. Toth showed her that the axehead's downward edge—–what the Nycht referred to as the ‘beard’—–could hook and ensnare in an insidious variety of ways. She would have been impressed if he wasn’t demonstrating all this on her.