Page 37

37

CHARLIE

T he dragon had taught himself to fly.

Since six AM, Parthar had been climbing up on objects and gliding off them. As a result, though the sun was only just lighting up the sky in the east, I was already wide awake and cranky. I would have loved to go down to the kitchens and beg some biscuits and tea, but the door was locked and I heard low, rumbling voices outside in the hallway. I was under guard again. Under suspicion. And soon enough, I’d be fighting Braimar to the death.

Things were going great.

I’d learned some bayonet techniques, as well as elementary hand-to-hand combat tactics, in basic training. Then, for about eight months, I’d been assigned to train for the Iron Lions, an elite special forces infantry unit. I’d learned a lot of fight techniques there, including how to fight with a knife. And I’d gotten a hell of a lot stronger and tougher. But then, I’d been selected for pilot’s training and left. I still remembered what I’d learned in fight training, but it was unclear how well any of it would translate to a sword fight.

And against the best swordsman out of the entire Skrathan? I didn’t like my odds.

Essa is a dead girl, I’m a dead man. And yet, I didn’t even have the pleasure of her company…

How many times had my mind slipped back to those moments spent together above the ballroom? Each time they did, I felt my blood pulse and my heartbeat quicken. I wanted Essa. If I was being honest, I wanted her in every way.

When my thoughts wandered to Kitty, all I saw was that picture of her kissing that imposter Silver Wraith. And I felt nothing at all. Whereas when I thought of Essa…

But where was she? Could she really believe that I was a spy?

“Oof!”

Parthar had leaped off the bed canopy to glide into my lap, nearly knocking the wind out of me. He was getting heavier.

“Watch it,” I groused.

He squeaked an apology and licked my nose with his hot, gritty tongue. His scaly cheek nuzzled my cheek. The damned little beast was as sweet as he was irritating…

A key clicked in the door.

Wardrobe. Quick!

I thought the words rather than saying them aloud but Parthar obeyed, jumping off my knees and gliding to his place in the wardrobe. I got the doors shut just as the door to the room swung open.

I expected to see Rohree. I’d failed to tell Essa about Parthar before her midnight deadline. Maybe the sprite had told Essa. Maybe this was the end… but instead of Rohree, Ollie and Clua entered, each with a sword strapped at their waist. Ollie held another sword in a sheath. He tossed it to me and I caught it.

“We’re here to prepare you for your duel with Braimar,” the Torouman said. The cold formality of his tone gave me pause.

I glanced past them to the hallway. “Where’s Essa?”

“Not coming,” Clua said.

“Why? Is she okay? Is she mad at me, or…?”

Ollie gestured to the doorway. “Please, Kit. Time is short and we’ve been given the rather difficult task of saving your life.”

* * *

They led me out of the city to a clearing in the middle of a pine forest. A stream ran through one edge and wildflowers dotted its banks. It would have been a lovely scene to relax in—if it weren’t for the high stakes of my situation.

“You have only today to train, and you must fight a man who has trained his whole life,” Ollie said. “Braimar is the greatest swordsman among the Skrathan.”

“Yes. You mentioned that,” I said.

“I will be your master at arms,” Clua said. “Since Ollie is more the size of Braimar, he will be your sparring partner. How much sword training have you had?”

“None.”

My two instructors exchanged a glance. Clua sighed. “Well at least you’re holding the right end of the sword. Now put it down.”

“What?”

“We won’t begin with swords, even these dull practice ones, unless you fancy getting your head split open,” Clua said. “Find yourselves a couple of sticks and we’ll begin.”

I glanced around the clearing. “Will Essa be joining us later?”

“Do you wish to live?” Clua snapped. “Then forget the princess and find some sticks.”

They began at the bottom—with my feet—with Clua instructing me on how far apart they should be which direction my toes should be pointing. In the second hour I was finally able to take a step, with Clua slapping me on the ass every few minutes to remind me to bend my knees. Soon, my legs were aching and trembling—and all they’d taught me was how to take one shuffling step forward and back.

“Is this really necessary?” I griped. “I can box a bit. I know how to handle myself in a scrap. Can’t you give me a few tips and let me… I don’t know… wing it?”

“When you’re building a tower—” Clua began, but Ollie stopped her with a gesture.

“Let’s try it your way,” Ollie said, brandishing his stick. “Go ahead and wing it .”

Trying to remember what I’d been taught so far, I raised my weapon and began circling Ollie. He circled with me, but otherwise remained as still as a cocked mouse trap. With a quick step forward, I gave his stick a smack. He met my blow and we both continued circling.

See? This isn’t that hard, I told myself. Feeling more confident, I struck again, lunging in and slashing toward Ollie’s neck. His stick found my hand, smacking it so hard I dropped my weapon. In a smooth, continuous motion, he whipped his stick back around—and broke it over my face.

“Agh,” I groaned, one hand pancaked over my stinging cheek.

Clua stood watching with crossed arms. “Ah. So that’s how they wing it in URA. Good to know.”

I felt Parthar in my mind. He was mentally stiffing me to see if I was okay. When he found me hurt, I felt his growl.

“It’s okay. I’m fine,” I muttered. I looked down at my hand and was relieved to see it wasn’t bloody, though my face stung and throbbed like hell.

“You’re fine now,” Clua groused. “But if that had been Braimar, the top half of your head would be at your feet right now.”

Ollie looked at the broken off stick in his hand and tossed it aside.

“Find me a new stick, poet, and we’ll start again.”

The drills continued.

Eventually, we took a break for lunch. But even as we sat and ate, both my companions were quiet and cold toward me. I am a spy, and they know it, I thought. They will probably be relieved when Braimar kills me tomorrow…

I could hardly blame them. But it surprised me how much it bothered me. I’d come to think of them both as friends.

I cleared my throat, breaking the tense silence. “So. How did you two learn your sword skills?” I asked.

Ollie didn’t look up from the chunk of bread in his hand. “I have been practicing sword play since I was four years old. It is part of the Torouman training. We are not only councilors to the royals we bond with, we are also bodyguards. Which is why it should have been me with Essa after the ball—and why it should be me fighting Braimar, not you.”

That explained Ollie’s attitude toward me, at least.

“I apologize. It wasn’t my desire to take your place.”

Ollie sighed. “No. I’m glad you were there with her. Otherwise…” he shook his head. “It’s Essa’s fault for giving me the slip.”

I looked to Clua. “How about you?”

“My father was a warrior,” she said. “He trained me from the time I started to walk. The ax is the traditional weapon of dwarves, and he did teach me to wield it, but I’m not as stout as my brothers. The sword always suited me better. My hope was to become a soldier, like my brothers, but my father—may his soul fly—was loathe to see his only daughter in the trenches of Dorhane, so he apprenticed me to the blacksmith before I could enlist. I still train, though, every day. And one day, I will fight.”

“Meanwhile, she picks fights with soldiers at the taverns,” Ollie laughed.

“Only the ones who deserve it,” Clua muttered, but she was smiling.

“Many a young man who has mistreated a bar maid has been humbled by Clua the Terrible,” Ollie said. “I’ve seen it happen. She’s a tremendous fighter.”

A smile dawned on Clua’s face and she gave Ollie a grateful nod. “High praise, considering the Torouman are known to be among the deadliest warriors in the kingdom. Thank you. I do enjoy seeing the shock on their faces when they realize they’re being bested by a lady dwarf.”

I laughed. “Well, I’m certainly glad the two of you are on my side. Otherwise…”

My hand went to my swollen cheek, and the humor that had animated my companions a moment before drained away. The birds still chirped and the sky was still clear, but it felt as if a cloud had passed over the sun.

They know I’m a spy. And they know at this time tomorrow, I’ll be dead.

Will Essa even be there to watch?

Clua took a sip from her waterskin and rose. “We’d best get back to work.”

What followed was four hours of vigorous, sometimes excruciating, training. I learned to circle, lunge, retreat, parry, thrust and slash. The concepts were basic, elementary, even. But I understood why we were drilling them. Like flying a plane in a dogfight, the small details of how things were done were critical. Proper tension in the sword arm when parrying a strike meant you lived; improper technique meant you died. And there were a hundred little details to remember, details Braimar would have drilled into his muscle memory since childhood. Still, by the end Ollie and I had graduated from sticks to blunted swords. We were sparring vigorously, and I was holding my own.

“Good. Now retreat. Bend those knees!” Clua called as I weathered a blistering attack from Ollie then countered, nearly catching him with a thrust. As he circled away from my attack, his foot caught on a root and he fell. He caught himself with his sword arm, and I took advantage of the moment and lunged in, my blade at his throat.

“Yes!” Clua crowed, clapping.

Ollie chuckled. “Well done.”

I felt a wind on my face and looked up to see a dragon swooping down on me. I spun to face it, my blunted sword raised. Othura landed and Essa slipped off his back. An outcropping of rock overlooked the clearing and I realized she and Othura must have been sitting up there. I couldn’t help but smile with relief knowing that she still cared enough to check in on my training.

“How long have you been watching?” I asked.

“Long enough to know your chances against Braimar,” she said without humor. She held a hand out toward Ollie. “Give me that sword and leave us.”

“But—” Clua started to protest.

“Thank you for training him, Clua. You did well. Now go, all of you.”

Ollie rose and handed Essa the sword, then he and Clua departed. Othura also gave us a glance then took wing, retreating to the rocky promontory above.

The footsteps of the Torouman and the dwarf receded. The dragon’s wingbeats were lost to the wind.

We were alone. Me, Essa, and a pair of swords. And from the look in her eyes, she was ready to use them.