Warbringer - Chapter 5
Romaine’s breath puffed in the cold morning air as he jogged along the earthen rampart, chainmail jingling with each tread of his heavy boots...
★★★★★ "Great start to a new series! Interesting characters and a unique storyline set in a world that begs to be explored or in this case survived. Definitely worth checking out!"
Centuries ago, the world fell.
From the ashes rose a terrible new species—the Tangata.
Now they wage war against the kingdoms of man. And humanity is losing.
Recruited straight from his academy, twenty-year-old Lukys hopes the frontier will make a soldier out of him. But Tangata are massing in the south, and the allied armies are desperate. They will do anything to halt the enemy advance—including sending untrained men and women into battle. Determined to survive, Lukys seeks aid from the only man who seems to care: Romaine, the last warrior of an extinct kingdom.
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Romaine’s breath puffed in the cold morning air as he jogged along the earthen rampart, chainmail jingling with each tread of his heavy boots. An ache had taken hold in the small of his back, and at times it seemed his knees were one bad day away from giving in. He didn’t know exactly what day his age had caught him. It was like an assassin, creeping up slowly, until suddenly it stood before him with knife in hand.
Gritting his teeth, Romaine pressed on. Weakness meant death out here, and he refused to surrender to its call. Finally he found himself back where he had started and drew to a stop, panting softly in the dawn light.
“Why do you run?”
He spun at the voice and cursed. Cara sat on a nearby water barrel, those strange amber eyes watching him through the morning mists. The general had provided her with lodging on Romaine’s request. He’d seen enough of his people homeless without adding another to their number. But what was she doing atop the palisade?
“Sorry?” he asked, straightening and forcing his breathing to slow.
A smile touched the woman’s lips as she came smoothly to her feet. Her broken arm hung from a sling, but otherwise she seemed fully recovered from the trauma of a few days past. Hugging the heavy furs tight around herself, she wandered over to where he stood.
“The running,” she said. “It hurts you.”
Romaine stared at the woman for a long moment, then shrugged. “The Tangata do not care about my pain. I cannot afford to be slow. So I run.”
Cara nodded as though he had confirmed some secret suspicion of hers. Her eyes flickered out over the rooftops of the city. The streets remained silent, though soon soldiers would rise to begin their days.
The thump of jogging boots approached and Romaine turned to watch Lukys stagger to a stop beside the water barrel. Gasping, he bent in two, and Romaine chuckled. Truthfully, he was impressed the young man had managed to keep pace as long as he had. The overland march from Mildeth had at least put a little muscle on the Perfugian recruit.
“Cara!” Lukys suddenly burst out, finally noticing the woman. He straightened immediately. “What are you doing here?”
“What, afraid of practicing the spear with an audience, lad?”
“An audience…” Lukys murmured, thick eyebrows knitting together in a frown. “Wait, we’re going to practice the spear today?”
The day before Romaine had only taken Lukys through exercises to help build his strength and stamina. But such exercises did little to dislodge the despair in Lukys’s eyes. He needed something to restore his confidence, or training the man was a lost cause.
Grinning, Romaine nodded to where two practice staves leaned against the stockade crenulations. “The spear is not my weapon of choice, but it’s better than most when facing the Tangata.”
“It’s…awkward,” Lukys said, picking up one of the staves and holding it before him. “Like it’s too long for my arms.”
“You’ll be thankful for that reach when next you encounter the Tangata,” Romaine replied, claiming the second stave.
He faced Lukys across the earthen rampart and adopted the basic fighting stance for the spear. Meanwhile, Cara sat herself on the water barrel and pulled her knees up to her chest to watch. A brilliant orange light shone from the horizon and the mist was beginning to lift. They were alone atop the wall but for a few guards, and they mostly kept to their own sections. Voices carried up from the streets of Fogmore as the first citizens rose to greet the day. The faint scent of burning wood carried on the air.
“So,” Romaine said, “show me your best strike, lad.”
Raising his stave, Lukys bit his lip. His eyes looked Romaine up and down and the warrior smiled. The lad was right to be cautious, but hesitation could prove costly against the Tangata. So with a roar, Romaine took the initiative, his practice spear thrusting out for the recruit’s chest. Lukys’s eyes widened and he stumbled on the slick mud, unable to move fast enough to avoid the blow. A soft thump followed as the wooden stave struck him in the chest, followed by a crash as Lukys tumbled to the ground.
“Stop hesitating,” Romaine said, setting the butt of his stave to the earth and offering the recruit a hand. “The Tangata won’t wait for you to make up your mind.”
“Sorry,” Lukys muttered, accepting Romaine’s assistance.
He gathered his stave with a groan, lifting it slowly, as though in great pain. Romaine sighed and was about to offer a break when Lukys lunged forward with his weapon. Taken off-guard, Romaine struggled to get his own practice spear into position. Wood clacked upon wood, but he failed to completely deflect the strike. The stave connected with his shoulder, forcing a grunt from the axeman.
Stepping back, he brought his weapon around, prepared to fend off another strike from the recruit. But Lukys did not follow up. Instead, he stood staring at his weapon, as though surprised by what he’d done. Romaine grinned.
“Well done, lad,” he laughed. “We might just make a soldier of you yet!”
Lukys looked up from the spear. “I…sorry! I thought you would stop it!”
Romaine only shook his head, still grinning, until laughter came from nearby. Glancing around, he saw Cara’s eyes dancing with mirth.
“You’re getting slow,” she said. “I am not sure the running is working.”
The grin slipped from Romaine’s lips. “Even the greatest of warriors can be taken by surprise,” he said, scowling. “Now, are you going to let us practice?”
Cara nodded quickly, moving her finger across her lips in a strange gesture. Shaking his head, Romaine faced Lukys once more.
“That was good,” he said again, ignoring the eyes on his back, “but you almost overbalanced on the strike.”
“What do you mean?” Lukys asked, running his fingers over the stave.
Romaine gestured him forward. “Try that again, I’ll show you.”
Lukys nodded—then thrust out with the makeshift spear. This time Romaine was ready for the strike and he twisted easily from the path of the blow. Then he swung out with his spare hand, snatching at the wooden staff and dragging it forward. Lukys cried out. His attack had thrown his centre of balance forward, and now Romaine dragged him beyond the tipping point. He struck the ground with a thump.
“That is what I meant,” Romaine said.
Grumbling, Lukys picked himself up off the ground. Brushing the mud from his clothing, he flashed a glare at Cara, though the woman remained silent this time. She only raised her eyebrows at Lukys. Scowling, he turned back to Romaine.
“What am I doing wrong?” he gasped, his frustration clear.
“Patience, lad,” Romaine responded, stepping forward and patting the man’s shoulder. “It’s only a matter of balance.”
“Oh yes, only,” Lukys replied with a scowl.
Romaine chuckled. “You seem upset.”
The recruit shook his head. “If you hadn’t noticed, I tend to fall down occasionally.”
A snicker of laughter came from behind them and Lukys’s cheeks reddened.
“You think balance is a talent you lack?” Romaine asked, pointedly ignoring Cara.
“Isn’t it?”
“For some it comes naturally,” Romaine admitted. He shifted so he was standing up straight, feet directly beneath him. “But not everyone is so lucky. Here, try to push me over.”
Lukys looked him up and down, obviously expecting some trick. Tossing the stave aside, Romaine spread his arms, indicating he was defenceless. Even so, Lukys approached cautiously. Romaine could hardly blame the lad—he had some fifty pounds on the young recruit.
Suddenly Lukys darted forward, palms connecting hard into Romaine’s chest. With his legs directly beneath him, Romaine was unable to brace for the blow. He toppled backwards, feet staggering in search of purchase but unable to find it, and went down like a sack of bricks.
Stumbling to a stop, Lukys gaped down at him, open horror on his face. “I’m so sorry,” he gasped.
Grunting, Romaine picked himself up off the ground. Sensing the nervousness in the young man, he took a moment to calmly brush the mud from his clothes. Then he darted at Lukys in a sudden rush.
“Argh!” Lukys shrieked, leaping back, arms raised, face going white with terror.
Romaine threw back his head and laughed, bellowing his mirth out across the town. He would never admit it, but he hadn’t had this much fun in a long time. Fighting, slaying Tangata, marching through the open wilderness, practicing with the blade, that was one thing. But by the Gods, he’d missed this, the camaraderie of the army. Why had he avoided others for so long…
A pale face, blue eyes, staring up from a bed of white.
The laughter left him. Letting out a sigh, he nodded to Lukys, who still looked like he half-expected Romaine to throttle him.
“Sorry, lad,” he said, adopting a serious tone. “A joke. But you see now? Even a big man like me can be knocked down by a smaller foe if he adopts the wrong stance.” As he spoke, he moved his legs so that they were shoulder width apart, left foot slightly ahead, right slightly behind. “Now,” he murmured, “try again.”
Lukys narrowed his eyes. The laughter had angered him, but he was cautious now of a trap. His chest swelled as he drew in a breath, then he leapt. Romaine did nothing to defend himself, but this time as Lukys connected, he was able to brace. With a grunt the recruit stumbled back, eyes widening as he saw Romaine had barely budged.
“Again,” Romaine rumbled.
Hesitation showed in the recruit’s eyes, but he obeyed, coming at Romaine in a rush. This time the axeman softened his stance, so that when Lukys struck the blow pushed him back. But with his feet correctly aligned, he simply stepped his left foot back, maintaining balance.
Lukys, meanwhile, had thrown too much of himself into the blow. With Romaine’s sudden withdrawal, he found himself overbalancing once more. His arms windmilled and he tumbled forward—
Romaine caught him by the shoulder and set him back upright. “Easy now,” he said with a smile. “I can only stand to watch you plant your face in the mud so many times in one day.”
Shrugging off Romaine’s hand, Lukys shook his head. “What am I doing wrong?” he croaked. He quickly lowered his head, though not before Romaine saw the glint of tears in the young man’s eyes. Then he swung around, locking sights on Cara. “I’d like to see you do any better!”
Shocked by the outburst, Romaine took a step back. Across the palisade, a stunned look showed on Cara’s face, her eyebrows lifting into her fringe of copper hair. Her mouth opened, as though to shout something back, but after a moment she closed it again. She rose from the barrel and stalked off without another word.
“Well that wasn’t very gracious of you,” Romaine commented.
Lukys sighed. “Sorry,” he murmured, eyes to the ground. “I just…I’m no good at this, Romaine!”
“Lad, you gotta walk before you can run,” Romaine replied. “Or in this case, you need to know why you fall, before you can figure out how to stay standing up.”
“And that means?”
Romaine sighed. “I see this is going to be a long lesson.” He gestured to the ground. “Look, a warrior’s strength, his balance, his mobility, it all comes from his feet.” As he spoke, he shifted so that his legs were rigid and directly beneath him. “A man who stands like this balances all his weight on a narrow base. He cannot move quickly, and is easily toppled.” He moved his feet to the basic fighting stance. “But stand like this, and suddenly you’re able to brace against an attack, or move easily from offence to defence.” He leaned forward then backwards in demonstration, always keeping his feet in the same position.
Frown lines creased Lukys’s forehead as he watched. When Romaine finished, he did his best to adopt the same stance. Romaine shifted his feet a little, placing them closer to shoulder width, and then stepped back with a nod.
“This is what we call a forward stance,” he said to Lukys’s questioning look. “It’s how you avoid ending up on your ass in battle.”
This time, Lukys didn’t seem to notice the gibe. His eyes were on his feet and concentration was etched across his face. Romaine smiled.
“Now, step forward with your right foot. Keep this stance in mind as you move, so when you place your foot down, you remain in the position.” Romaine mimicked the instructions as he spoke, his right boot becoming the forward foot. He waited for Lukys to copy and corrected his stance again before continuing. “Now left foot forward.”
They continued in that fashion, advancing and retreating across the palisade to the amused glances of the soldiers on watch. But Romaine did not see Cara’s face among them, and he made a mental note to remind Lukys to apologise later. No point in letting animosity grow between those forced to live inside the walls of Fogmore.
“Are you sure this isn’t another of your jokes?” Lukys asked suddenly after half an hour of marching up and down in forward stance.
Romaine raised an eyebrow. “Let’s see, shall we?”
They were back where they’d left the staves. Romaine swept one into his hands and leapt at the recruit. A yelp tore from Lukys and he jumped back as the wooden tip lanced for his face. The makeshift spear missed him by an inch.
Gasping, Lukys lowered his hands. “What The Fall was that?” he shouted at Romaine.
Romaine grinned. “You didn’t fall.”
“What?”
He gestured with the baton at Lukys’s feet. “You kept your feet in the forward stance.”
“I…” Lukys trailed off, looking from the stave to his feet. Realisation dawned in his eyes and a grin split his face. “I did!”
“Good work,” Romaine said. Then he tossed his stave to Lukys and swept up the second. “Now, guard up!”
Lukys was still staring at the makeshift spear in his hands when Romaine attacked. This time he didn’t move with the same speed, his mind obviously tangled between using the spear and moving his feet, and a muffled thud followed as Romaine’s stave struck the recruit on the shoulder.
A grunt came from Lukys as he stepped back, losing his stance. Romaine advanced, stave flashing out to prod him in the chest. With a cry, Lukys’s feet went out from under him, and he slammed into the packed earth.
Romaine towered over the young man.
“What?” he said, a grin on his lips. “You didn’t think you’d become a warrior in just one day, did you?”
Erika’s spirits lifted as her horse topped the hill and started down the other side, cutting off her view of Mildeth and its host of refugees. She had spent the night in luxury, bathing in the royal saunas, sleeping in private apartments reserved for the most important of foreign dignitaries. But despite the extravagance and her aspirations to make such an existence her reality, Erika had felt stifled, trapped by the towering walls.
She felt almost excited to be on the road again, setting off towards distant horizons. There was a freedom to this life, especially now that she rode alone. The queen had offered another assistant to help with her work, but after her experience down in the darkness, Erika had declined the offer. There was no telling who she could trust now; better she ride alone and have faith that the magic would defend her.
There was one drawback to this journey—every mile she rode carried her deeper into the frozen south, back towards Calafe and a past she had thought left long behind.
A shiver ran down her spine and Erika forced her mind to her surroundings. The road ran straight from Mildeth along a valley that cut through the rolling hills of lowland Flumeer. The terrain would provide for easy riding the first day, and regular waystations along the Queen’s Highway meant she should not need the canvas tent stuffed into her saddlebags.
Which was just as well, for it had always been Sythe who’d set their camp each night.
That would change once she crossed the Illmoor, but then she would have a full regiment of soldiers to perform such menial tasks. The queen had provided her documents to sequester the force from one of the border cities. By Erika’s calculations, the journey would require a total of five days in Calafe land—two to reach the site, one to explore the ruins, and another two back. Surely they would encounter no problems with the Tangata in such a short time. Not in the wide, untouched wilderness of Calafe, at least.
In the meantime, riding through the snow-sprinkled farmland of lowland Flumeer was a far sight more pleasant than her prior excursions.
She rode hard through that first day, stopping only occasionally to eat or walk her horse. The road was well-used and well-kept, and she encountered plenty of other travellers along the way. Some were farmers with wagons loaded up with wares, others merchants from further afield, though these were fewer now that Calafe had fallen.
Many more, though, were refugees—not from Calafe now, but people of Flumeer. They were obvious from the carts they brought with them, loaded up not with wares for sale, but ordinary goods—tables and chairs and kitchenware, the items of worth they had been able to carry away with them. These were the wealthy of the south, those with the power and resources to leave behind their former lives and set out in search of safer pastures. They were leaving now, before the Tangata came. Those who were left behind would not be so fortunate.
Erika nodded politely to those travellers who offered greetings, but her mind remained in the darkness beneath the earth. Now her discovery was known, there would be those who sought to take it from her. She imagined in each of the strangers the eyes of a killer, waiting to slay her on behalf of a foreign king. Whenever they came close, she would raise her gauntlet, ready to defend herself if necessary.
Only when the sun dropped towards the distant horizon did she start looking for a place to sleep. The road had begun to wind between the hills now, cutting off sight of the way ahead and behind. She continued on, eyes alert for an inn, but unconcerned by the empty land around her. The queen’s steward had assured her that inns were in plentiful supply on these southern passages.
A half hour later the first traces of worry began to form in Erika’s mind. There were no travellers on the road now and she realised she hadn’t seen even a farmhouse for quite some time. The sun was already disappearing beneath the horizon, its glow fading by the minute. Without its heat, the temperature plummeted. Pulling the coat tighter around herself, she kicked her horse into a canter.
It was almost dark when she found herself beside a stream. Alone on the road, she cursed winter and its short days. It seemed there would be no feathered bed for her tonight. Out of options, she dismounted and led the mare from the road. At least the creek would provide fresh water.
Directing her horse upstream, she walked a hundred yards through a neighbouring field, until the curve of a hill hid her from the road. If she was going to camp alone in the open, she didn’t want her presence known to every rogue and bandit in the area.
She found an old willow tree overhanging a section of riverbank, its twisted limbs stretched far out over the river. Tying her horse’s reins to one of its branches, she then rummaged round in her saddlebags and pulled out the canvas tent. Above, the sky was clear, the first twinkling of the northern star just beginning to shine. She hoped that meant it wouldn’t snow that night.
The tent was so heavy Erika almost dropped it when she finally dragged it from the saddlebags. Cursing, she stumbled away from the horse to an empty patch of grass and tossed it to the ground. Then she stood staring at the bundle, and for the first time, began to regret not bringing at least a porter. She was unaccustomed to the day-to-day tasks of preparing a camp, and while she’d occasionally watched Sythe…she hadn’t really been paying much attention.
“How hard can it be?” she muttered to herself.
An hour and several ropes jerry-rigged to the willow tree later, she finally admitted to herself that pitching a tent was perhaps slightly more difficult than she’d thought. Nearby, her horse snickered and she rolled her eyes. The tent looked like a strong breeze might knock it down, but with only the light of a half-moon for guidance, it was as good as it was going to get. She would have to pray the night remained clear.
Returning to her horse, she struggled to remove its saddle then threw a blanket over its back. By the time she was done her teeth were chattering and her fingers so numb it hurt to move them. Clenching her fist, she sighed as warmth ignited in the gauntlet.
Only then did she recall Sythe had usually lit the fire before it grew dark.
Swearing, she fumbled at the saddlebags for tinder and flint. Thankfully there were plenty of fallen branches beneath the willow, and with little rain the last few days, they were mostly dry. She knelt and gathered the twigs into a pile, the tinder at the centre. Then she took up the flint and struck it towards the wood…
…and cursed as she struck her hand instead. The stone tumbled from her fingers as she leapt to her feet, cursing loud enough to wake the ancients. The cold only seemed to make the pain worse, and she balled her uninjured hand into a fist, wishing in that moment for an enemy she could take her anger out upon—
“Looks like you could use a hand.”
Erika’s heart twisted in her chest as a woman’s voice spoke from the darkness. Pain forgotten, she lurched to her feet and swung around, gauntlet raised as she searched for the speaker. But whoever it was, they stood just out of line of sight—which wasn’t far, admittedly, with only the half-moon for light.
“Who’s there?” she hissed. “Show yourself!”
“Easy, Archivist,” came the response. “I mean you no harm.”
The breath caught in Erika’s throat. Whoever the woman was, she knew who Erika was. That meant…
A soft glow emerged from the gauntlet, not enough to illuminate her foe, but it gave her reassurance.
“I said, show yourself,” she hissed.
The woman laughed in response. “Of course,” she said, “just as soon as you promise I will come to no harm.”
Erika swung her arm backward and forward, but if the gauntlet was working, its range must be limited. There was no choice. She lowered her hand—it would still be a simple thing to strike the woman down should she prove dangerous.
“Thank you, Archivist.” Shadows shifted in the night as a woman stepped forward, hands raised. “I left my weapons near the road,” she said quietly, “as I said, I mean no harm.”
“That has yet to be seen,” Erika replied, eyes narrowed.
Swathed in a black cloak and heavy winter clothes, little could be seen of the speaker but her face. Erika lifted her fist higher, and the glow of her gauntlet illuminated wide, circular eyes and a narrow jaw. The woman’s lips pursed and Erika didn’t miss how her gaze lingered on the magic. She allowed herself a smile.
“Why are you here?” she asked again. “How do you know who I am?”
“All in good time,” the stranger said, lowering her hands before nodding to Erika’s stack of wood. “I find winter nights to be more comfortable with a fire. May I?”
Erika hesitated, wondering whether this was some elaborate trick to lower her guard. But if so, she could not see how it could be sprung, not with the gauntlet in her control. She gave a curt nod.
Smiling, the stranger crossed to the woodpile and began moving some of the branches around. Then she took up the flint and struck it twice into the kindling. The sparks caught with a tiny whoosh. Leaning close, she blew softly into the flames. Within minutes there was a small blaze burning.
The stranger paused, eyes lingering on something off to the side. Despite herself, Erika’s cheeks grew warm as she realised the woman was looking at her tent. She raised an eyebrow, amusement showing on her twisted lips.
“Don’t think I can help with that one,” she chuckled.
“Enough,” Erika snapped, using anger to cover her embarrassment. She pointed her gauntlet at the woman. Though her fist remained closed, the death magic dormant, she was pleased to see the self-assured smile leave the stranger’s face.
“I asked you some questions,” she said dangerously.
“So you did,” the stranger said, straightening beside the fire. Erika flinched, but the woman only held her hands out to the flames. “What a creation, fire,” she murmured. “Man’s earliest, most important tool, the beginnings of all civilisation.” She glanced at Erika. “And the end of many too.”
Erika swallowed, looking from the woman to the flames, wondering if she was making a threat. But her visitor made no move towards her, and finally Erika shook her head.
“What nonsense are you spouting?”
“My master believes the secrets of the Gods could be the gateway to a new era,” her mysterious visitor replied, “one without poverty or illness.” She turned towards Erika, eyes aglow in the light of the fire. “But in the wrong hands…those secrets could destroy us.”
“This magic deals only in death,” Erika snarled. “If your master wants it, tell him to come and face me himself.”
The stranger seemed amused at that. “My master is not interested in trinkets,” she replied. “Your map, however, is of far greater interest.”
Erika’s heart beat faster and unconsciously she reached for the scroll in her inner pocket. No copies had been made—the risk was too great, after the attack beneath the earth.
She narrowed her eyes. “You were sent by the King of Gemaho.”
“I was.”
“He tried to kill me.”
“An unfortunate misunderstanding,” the stranger replied. “That was never his intention. He values the work of those rare souls who seek the truth. Your knowledge of the Gods and the ancients who once worked alongside them is irreplaceable. Your death would have been a terrible tragedy to his royal personage.”
“I’m sure,” Erika said shortly.
“Regardless of such miscommunications, I have been sent in peace, to heal the rift this unfortunate…accident, has opened between us.”
“And why should I trust anything you say?” Erika hissed.
“Perhaps you should not,” the woman said, extending her hands towards the flames. “It is up to us to prove our worth to you. That is why I was sent, to aid you in your journey.”
“And rob me of my prize, should I succeed, no doubt.”
“No,” the stranger said, standing. “My king offers equal partnership.”
Erika sneered. “I already have a partnership—with a monarch who has not tried to kill me.”
“Not yet,” her visitor replied softly, “though she came close, did she not?”
“I…” Erika trailed off, recalling that moment in court, the look in the queen’s eyes. Doubt touched her, before anger swept it away. “Enough!” she snarled. “The queen is my ally, has granted me supplies and an army to ensure my success. I need no aid from the cowards of Gemaho.”
“The world calls us cowards,” the woman murmured, looking out into the dark, “but perhaps we are the only ones who have not been fooled.” She shook herself, glancing back at Erika. “I will not fault you for your loyalty, Archivist, though it is misplaced.”
“The queen has given me power, lifted me up to the highest of honours.”
“Honours which can be easily taken away, should you fail.” The woman’s eyes bored into hers.
“Enough,” Erika hissed, lifting her gauntlet. “I am tired of your lies. Tell your king to stay away. I want no part of your kingdom of traitors.”
“Very well,” the woman replied. She bowed her head, as though Erika’s words had wounded her. Turning, she made to go, before glancing back. “But know this: our people are never far. Should the time come and you reconsider our offer, remember my words. In our king, you will always have a friend.”
Then she was gone, disappearing into the night as though she had never been.
Erika stood standing beside the fire for a long time, staring at the place where the woman had stood. Her words rang in her ears. Now that she was gone, Erika could no longer deny their truth, could no longer hide from the doubt they had inspired. Had she given her loyalty to the wrong person?
No.
She could not trust a king whose assassin had tried to kill her just a week before. Shaking herself, she sat and added a log to the fire.
For the rest of the night though, she did not sleep, and when the sun rose it found her already on the road. For every night after that, she was sure to find an inn long before sunset.
Light grew on the horizon as Lukys jogged his way around the earthen palisade. His shoulders ached, seeming to jar with each step, though at least he no longer carried the heavy pack. It had snowed again in the night, and while burning barrels atop the ramparts kept the snow from gathering there, the ground remained frozen beneath his boots.
He kept on despite the difficult conditions, eager today to beat the axeman at his own game. Lukys had slept the night in his clothing and risen early, leaving the barracks in silence to avoid further confrontation with Dale. Now he hoped to complete his loop of the city before Romaine arrived.
The run took him past several ranks of soldiers on guard. Each looked up at his approach, but upon seeing the blue colours of Perfugia, they quickly resumed whatever tasks he’d interrupted. The sight took some of the breath from Lukys. He would show them his worth eventually; for now, he could do little but accept their disdain.
Sunlight set the Mountains of the Gods aflame as he turned the final bend and approached his meeting point with Romaine. The Calafe warrior was only now striding up the steps, a bundle of practice spears carried over one shoulder. Lukys picked up his pace so that they both arrived at the same time.
Coming to a stop before the warrior, he sucked in a lungful of air and stood straight, doing his best to pretend the run had not tired him. Below, life began to stir in the town as its citizens stepped into the frosted streets.
“Early today?” Romaine asked, one eyebrow raised.
There was no sign of Cara. Lukys felt a twang in his chest. He shouldn’t have driven her away, but there had been something uncomfortable about the way she watched him, and her laughter…her laughter had made him feel a fool.
Which he was.
Shaking his head, Lukys resolved to find her and apologise later. In the meantime, he offered Romaine a salute.
“Bright and early, sir.” After his mortification at knocking Romaine to the ground the day before, he had decided to treat the warrior with the respect owed one of his professors back in the academy.
A scowl darkened the warrior’s face. “Enough of that,” he rumbled, tossing Lukys one of the practice spears. “I’m no blasted Flumeeren officer.”
“I…” Lukys stammered, his cheeks going red. So much for showing respect. “Sorry…”
Romaine only grunted and hefted the spear. Before Lukys could ready himself, though, the sound of pounding hooves came from below. He turned back to the town and watched as mounted men in Flumeeren uniforms appeared, riding in the direction of the river. Each was garbed in full plate mail and carried shield and lance, armed for war.
Heart suddenly pounding in his chest, Lukys swung towards the river. The mist had melted away with the morning light and the waters were clear, the mudflats between the city and the banks empty of movement.
“Looks like the general’s resuming the morning patrols. It’s usually a half-regiment, different men each day. They’ll cover twenty miles before returning,” the warrior said in answer. “Dangerous after that attack. The creatures could be setting an ambush. But suppose it’s necessary, to keep them from gaining a foothold our side of the river. And looks as though he’s given them some reinforcement.”
Lukys watched in silence as the wooden gates swung open and the riders spilled out onto the mudflats. There were at least fifty, a full regiment. More than enough to handle any stragglers that might still be in the area, even a Tangata pair, should they risk a crossing. Even so, Lukys did not envy them the task of facing down one of the creatures in the open.
Turning his back on the departing soldiers, Romaine hefted his spear. “Ready?”
“What? I—”
Romaine lunged before Lukys could finish. He leapt back, bringing up his spear in a rough estimate of the low block Romaine had shown him the day before. The wooden poles came together with sharp clack.
“Your stance,” Romaine growled, continuing the attack.
Blocking again, Lukys forced himself to be mindful of his feet, of moving through the stances Romaine had demonstrated. He was surprised when he stayed upright, though he knew the Calafe warrior was taking things slow. It seemed the drills were working—he had practiced them during his free time after the last lesson, eager to prove to Romaine he was worth the time.
“You’re getting better.”
Lukys stumbled as Cara’s voice came from behind him. He started to turn, only to receive a solid blow to the hip. Air hissed between his teeth as he staggered back, gasping curses.
“…wasn’t ready!”
“In battle, a warrior cannot afford to be distracted,” Romaine replied, though he wore a grin. Stepping past Lukys, he nodded to Cara. “Welcome back, lass.”
Cara snorted as she walked past, amber eyes fixing on Lukys. He swallowed and dropped his gaze. “Sorry, about yesterday,” he said quickly.
Sorry, sorry, sorry.
When she did not reply, Lukys lifted his head, expecting to find anger on her face. Instead, she smiled. “That’s okay,” she said slightly, gesturing with her bandaged arm. “I shouldn’t have laughed; I don’t know how to use a spear either.”
“Really?” Romaine murmured. He seemed surprised. “Your…parents didn’t teach you?”
Cara shrugged. “How to defend myself, sure. Just…not with weapons,” she hesitated, looking up at Romaine from beneath her lashes. “Would you teach me as well?”
The question seemed to give Romaine pause. Lukys looked from one to the other, then blurted out the obvious: “But your arm!”
“My arm?” Cara glanced down at the offending limb, as though surprised to find it was still there. “Oh, right, well, I’m ambidextrous!”
“Ambi…what?” Romaine asked.
“It means she’s comfortable using either hand,” Lukys explained, frowning. It seemed there was more to Cara than met the eye. He looked to the Calafe warrior. “But still…she can’t—”
“Why not?” Cara interrupted. “Afraid of getting beat by a girl?”
Lukys’s cheeks grew warm, though it wasn’t that. Having the guards watch his ineptness was bad enough, he actually liked Cara. He didn’t want to appear a fool in front of her, at least, any more than he already had. But unable to say as much, he only shook his head.
“No,” he muttered, “but your broken bone, it needs rest to heal.”
“Not to worry.” A smile brightened Cara’s face as she lifted the injured arm and waved it. “I had a good medic. Feels fine to me.”
A long pause stretched out as Romaine and Lukys watched her, and finally she rolled her eyes. “I only need the one hand to wield a spear,” she insisted. “The other is meant to be for a shield anyway.”
“Fine,” Romaine surrendered finally.
Lukys supressed a groan as the Calafe gestured for Cara to collect the spare stave. Pushing aside the emotion, he tried to focus on the bright side. At least he was no longer alone. And Cara said she hadn’t practiced with weapons before. Perhaps she would be just as embarrassed as him—
“Lukys, high block,” Romaine bellowed suddenly.
Flinching, Lukys tried to bring up his practice spear, but he’d been holding it awkwardly and the wooden stave caught between his legs as he retreated. Before he could stop himself, he was slamming into the ground. A groan slipped from his lips as he looked up from a puddle of mud.
“Did I at least get the stance right?”
Chuckling, Romaine offered his hand and pulled Lukys back to his feet. “As you’ve already seen,” he said, addressing Cara, “Lukys here still has a lot to learn. Why don’t you two pair off.”
Steeling himself, Lukys glanced at Cara, but for once she kept the smile from her face, though he still imagined he could hear her laughter, whispering in his ears. He shook his head, dismissing his embarrassment. Cara was just as much a beginner as he was…
Lukys narrowed his eyes, watching Cara as she approached. For the first time he noticed how smoothly she moved, her feet shifting naturally through the stances he had so struggled with the day before, body in constant balance. The breath caught in his throat as he saw the smile tugging at her lips.
“Again, Lukys, high block!” Romaine called, but Lukys hesitated.
“Romaine, I—”
The stave in Cara’s left hand seemed to come alive, leaping for his face, and with a cry Lukys shoved his own spear upwards, barely deflecting the blow. He staggered back, struggling to recover his stance, but Cara still came on. The stave flicked out again and this time Lukys couldn’t get his weapon up in time. A blow struck him in the shoulder, then chest, forcing him backwards.
Witch!
Though the blows stung, somehow Lukys managed to keep his feet. Enraged, he grabbed his stave in both hands and struck back, using the only attack Romaine had taught him. The practice spear thrust out, aimed at Cara’s chest. At the last moment she twisted and the point of his stave slipped beneath her arm, missing its mark.
Faster than thought, Cara dropped her own weapon and grasped his. Lukys cried out as the stave was yanked from his grasp. The scream died on his lips as Cara spun his weapon, the tip flashing up…and coming to a stop just inches from his face.
A smile touched Cara’s lips as she lowered the stave, and Romaine’s laughter rumbled across the rampart. Lukys’s cheeks grew warm and he swung away. A hand on his shoulder stopped him.
“Lukys,” Cara called him back. “I’m sorry.”
Cursing inwardly, Lukys drew in a breath and faced her. She still smiled, but he could see the apology in her eyes. He sighed and smiled despite himself.
“That’s okay,” he replied.
Stones crunched as Romaine approached. “Every child of Calafe learns to fight at a young age,” he explained.
“I…” Cara started, before nodding. “Yeah.”
“Though in this case, it seems young Cara wasn’t entirely lying,” Romaine added. “Those blows wouldn’t have been much good with a spear.”
Red creeped into Cara’s pale cheeks at the warrior’s words, and chuckling, Romaine went on. “Shall we see what I can teach the two of you then?”
So they continued for the rest of the morning, running through stances, spear thrusts, and blocks. The broken arm didn’t seem to bother Cara much, and she needed no help with her balance, but using the stave like a spear seemed to give her more problems. Lukys, meanwhile, found himself growing increasingly frustrated about the repetition. Still, there was method to Romaine’s madness, and as the morning progressed, Lukys found that the moves began to come more easily. Where before he had to think about each step, now the movements became instinctive, natural.
By the time Romaine dismissed them at noon, Lukys had collected a fresh assortment of bruises, but at least he was finally making progress. He wandered through the town, making for the northern gates. The Perfugian regiment had been assigned to the quarry just outside the city, breaking down shale rock into gravels that could be laid on the streets and ramparts of Fogmore to reduce the incessant mud that followed every rain and snowfall. While Lukys had been granted consent to train with Romaine in the mornings, he was meant to join them by noon.
The sound of steel slamming against rock carried down to Lukys and he belatedly picked up his pace, embarrassed that others were working while he was not. Perfugians did not skirt their duties, however much they might loathe their superiors.
As he drew close, Lukys saw the exposed stone was of a deep red. Pickaxes in hand, the other recruits were already working at the rockface. Or at least keeping up the pretence of work. A quick glance at their barrows showed little progress had been made in the hours they’d already been there.
Not that their overseers cared. The general certainly hadn’t chosen his best to care for the Perfugian recruits. The three Flumeerens assigned to watch them had set a table in the shadow of the cliff and appeared to be busy playing cards. As Lukys watched, one even took a swig from a silver flask.
At least they didn’t seem to notice his late arrival. Taking a pickaxe and barrow from the pile, he moved to join the others.
“Peasant!” Lukys flinched as a shout came from amongst the recruits on the other side of the quarry. He lowered his head and pulled back his axe to swing at the wall, but the voice came again. “Finally decided to join us, have you?”
Stones crunched as someone approached. Lukys’s eyes flickered closed and he released the breath he’d been holding. It seemed there would be no avoiding this confrontation.
“Dale,” he murmured, turning to face the recruit. “What do you want?”
“Who do you think you are, peasant?” Dale snarled as he came to a stop in front of Lukys. “Sneaking off, avoiding work. Think you’re better than the rest of us, do you?”
“I—”
“You’re trash, you hear me?” Dale spat, stepping closer and gesturing with his pickaxe. “You’re nobody!”
Lukys reeled back, raising his hands in front of him in a gesture of peace, though the pickaxe he held distracted from the gesture. He was surprised at his fellow’s reaction. Dale and his friends had been cold, even cruel, before. Now though…the man’s face was pure rage. It shone from his eyes, showed in the veins bulging from his forehead, in the clenching of his jaw. Lukys could not understand it.
“You’re right!” he said quickly, eyes on the point of Dale’s axe. “I am nobody. But Romaine is teaching me to fight.” Lukys hesitated, thinking fast. “He could teach you as well.”
“I already know how to fight, peasant,” Dale snapped. “Do I need to show you?” He swung his pickaxe in a lazy arc, forcing Lukys to jump backwards out of range.
He stumbled and almost fell. Anger touched him then and he surged back up…
…just as Dale thrust out with the hilt of his pickaxe. The blow caught Lukys square in his midriff and drove the breath from his lungs. He doubled over, gasping. Laughter sounded in his ears.
The sound cut through the pain like a knife, igniting his rage. Finally he managed to suck in a breath and forced himself to straighten. Dale stood across from him, hands raised as though to accept the cheers of his friends. The smug smile on his lips begged Lukys to take a swing.
Standing almost six feet tall, Dale towered over Lukys. He stood with his feet directly beneath him, just as Romaine had the day before. Clenching his fists, Lukys charged.
Dale saw the danger just as Lukys’s shoulder struck him in the chest. Despite the size difference, momentum was on Lukys’s side and the other man went down like a sack of bricks, the pickaxe flying from his hands. Grinning, Lukys stepped back, satisfied he’d taught the larger man a lesson…
“Bastard!” Roaring, Dale staggered to his feet, face purpled with rage.
Lukys flinched, fear suddenly touching him as his foe swept up the pickaxe and started towards him.
“Enough.” A man stepped between them, hands raised to either side, as though to hold them back.
For a moment, Lukys thought the overseers had finally intervened. Then he realised the man wore the same uniform as himself, the royal blue of Perfugia. The newcomer looked from Lukys to Dale, hazel eyes hard. Light brown hair hung down to his shoulders and he was well-built, shorter than Dale, but no less muscular. It was another second before Lukys recognised the man as another of the noble born recruits—the one he’d knocked over that first day in the plaza, in fact.
A growl came from Dale but the sight of the newcomer gave him pause.
“Travis?” he said, a frown creasing his forehead. “The Fall are you doing?” He tried to shove past, but the recruit held him back.
“I said, that’s enough, Dale,” Travis said, calmly pushing the taller man back.
“The bastard struck me!” Dale spluttered, eyes bulging, teeth bared. He tried to push past Travis again but was rebuffed.
“You insulted him, struck him without warning. You expected the man to roll over?” He waved a hand. “No, never mind. It doesn’t matter.” Anger shone in his eyes. “Don’t you see, Dale? You cling to this belief that we’re superior. But look where we are! We all failed, or we wouldn’t be in this cursed place.” He looked away, seeming to fix on some distant point, beyond the city, beyond the river. “And now that we’re here,” he continued, his voice suddenly low, “we have greater concerns than your bruised ego.”
His words seemed to drain the anger from the other man. For a moment, Dale stood there, hands balled into fists, jaw clenched. Then in a rush he turned away. Lukys let out a breath as he watched the man stalk across the quarry. His heart was pounding in his ears and he was gripping the hilt of his pickaxe so tight his hand had turned white.
Finally he shook himself and turned to his rescuer. The hardness evaporated from Travis’s face as their eyes met, replaced by an easy smile. Stepping forward, he offered his hand.
“The name’s Travis,” he said. “Now, did I hear something about a mighty warrior of Calafe offering to train us?”
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