Page 46

“I don’t see why not.” Rharreth’s gaze swept over her. “You’re small, so it would be best to start with the dagger or perhaps the quarterstaff.”

“But...I am a healer. I took an oath to heal and not to harm.” Melantha clenched her fists, crossing her arms in front of her as if to create a barrier between herself and temptation.

“You took an oath not to harm with your magic. That doesn’t forbid learning how to wield a weapon.” Rharreth shrugged, turning to the training area as if he believed the matter settled. “While I don’t mind protecting you, it would be advisable for you to know how to defend yourself.”

She could learn how to fight. Just like she had dreamed so long ago. Melantha hurried to keep up with him, her new fur boots making little noise on the stone.

Rharreth gave another whistle. “Training is over. Zavni, Eyvindur, please stand guard.”

Rharreth’s shield band stopped what they were doing and, after bowing toward Rharreth and Melantha, they left the training arena, leaving Rharreth and Melantha alone.

“Here, let’s find a weapon that fits you.” Rharreth led her across the area to a small stone door set in the wall. Inside, there was a small room filled with weapons. Swords and shields hung on pegs on the wall. Spears filled barrels. Axes hung on racks. Daggers filled a large stone chest.

Rharreth scanned the room before he walked to a barrel holding staves in a variety of lengths. “Let’s start with a quarterstaff. If you don’t know anything about fighting, it would probably be best to start with something without a blade, even if you could heal either of us if there was an accident.”

The lack of a blade sounded good to her. Even if she was eager to learn, the part of her that had been told for years that it was inappropriate for a healer to fight had a niggling discomfort about learning the art of war. Perhaps she would be less uncomfortable if she learned a weapon like the quarterstaff. She could deal out bruises or perhaps a broken bone, but the likelihood of permanently hurting someone was small.

Rharreth pulled out several of the staves and had her hold them one at a time, until he nodded as if satisfied with the second to last one.

Melantha ran her hands over the quarterstaff. It was some kind of hardwood, polished smooth beneath her fingers.

“How does it feel?” Rharreth studied her, his dark blue eyes calculating, a frown creasing his chiseled face.

“Surprisingly good.” Melantha hefted it, though she was not sure what a quarterstaff was supposed to feel like.

“Then, come.” Rharreth took a quarterstaff for himself, this one taller than the one he had handed to Melantha.

Outside in the training arena, Rharreth had her hold the staff, then he corrected her stance and her grip. After that, he taught her the basic swings.

Melantha swung her quarterstaff, and Rharreth easily blocked. He smirked, raising his eyebrows at her. “You can hit harder than that. You won’t break me. Put your shoulders and back into it and don’t check your swing. It’s on me to either block or take the hit. It isn’t your job to spare me.”

Hit harder? Melantha tightened her grip on her quarterstaff and settled into the stance Rharreth had shown her.

He faced her, his smirk widening. “Come on now, Melantha. Tap into the fire I know is in you.”

This was her chance to finally lash out as she had always longed to do. With a scream of effort, Melantha swung the quarterstaff as he had shown her.

Rharreth blocked, and the shock shuddered up Melantha’s fingers into her arms. But Rharreth’s eyes twinkled. “Good. Again.”

Melantha felt the fire throbbing through her blood, lending strength to her arms. She swung again and again, as hard as she could. Rharreth blocked each one until, finally, he ducked under her strike and swung his own quarterstaff, whacking her thigh.

Melantha let out a shriek, but she kept a hold of her staff. She whirled and struck again, and she found herself grinning.

At that moment, she felt more alive than she had in a hundred years. Maybe even longer than that. Her muscles burned with effort. Her bruises throbbed. Blisters were forming on her palms.

But her blood was singing, and the heat in her chest finally had a release. And, as the heat left, she did not feel worn or empty. Instead, she felt filled for the first time in a long time.