Chapter 8

A Vreth with Teeth

Femira gritted her teeth.

She leapt back as Loreli made another overhead swing at her with her wooden training sword. Of all the other students, Loreli moved the quickest. No matter what Femira did the younger girl always seemed to be ready to parry, or easily evaded any attack Femira attempted with her own wooden duelling daggers. The long weapon that Loreli wielded was reminiscent of traditional curved Reldoni blades and was the favoured choice for many of Garld’s recruits. Femira had found them far too clunky, she had realised that once she was within close striking range, usually her opponents struggled to block against her shorter duelling daggers. But not Loreli. Femira managed to step into Loreli’s range, the other girl somehow managed to launch herself away in another direction with inhuman agility, and swing her sword down in a painful whack against Femira’s back.

“Another point to Loreli,” Misandrei called from the edge of the duelling ring. The rest of the students watched from the sidelines. Femira pushed herself back up from the dusty sparring ground. If she had been allowed use of her earthstone, she would’ve whipped a cloud of dirt and debris in her opponent’s smug, pretty face and rushed her. But they weren’t permitted runestones in this match. Loreli had a conceited air about her and she was that kind of beauty that men went to war for; light tan Reldoni skin and distinct red gold hair which she kept tied back in a tight braid when fighting. It wasn’t fair that someone as beautiful as her would be such a good fighter.

“Maybe next time you’ll know not to challenge your betters, vreth,” Loreli said, the last word stated sharply as an insult. In Keiran, vreth were a rare sight and seeing one in the wild meant bad luck, they were symbols of fear. It was the reason that Femira had chosen the name. She had unfortunately learned since arriving in Epilas—almost two months before—that vreth were very common in Reldon and were seen more as vermin; flying black pests that carried disease and lived on the waste of human society. But that fact had not dissuaded Femira from adopting the moniker as her own. If anything it made her more determined to use the name.

“Afraid to be knocked off your pedestal, Loreli?” Femira asked, settling back into a catlike fighting stance. She was still new to the structured forms and stances that all the other novices seemed to be intricately familiar with. Until recently the only stance she knew was; hold the blade with the sharp end pointing at your opponent. She had also learned that the quickest way to get better was to spar with the more experienced fighters. This had meant taking a lot of smacks with wooden swords, and a lot of insults from the big-headed recruits that thought themselves too good to be training with a novice like her. They couldn’t understand why a highborn foreigner with no training in fighting and even less in runewielding was permitted to train with the bloodshedder recruits.

They would be even more confused if they find out that I’m not Annali.

The bloodshedder recruits were handpicked from the ranks of the Reldoni army for Garld’s elite training. No amount of money or influence got a person here—only skill. Learning that had given Femira a self-satisfied grin.

Femira launched at Loreli in another attack, but the other girl’s footwork was so unfathomably tricky that she seemed to be teleporting from one side of Femira to the other. Loreli hit her with a hard jab to the midriff, if they had been using real blades the point would have gone right through her.

“Another point, Loreli.”

The hit left Femira breathless for a moment.

She’s just so fucking fast!

Loreli swung at her again, striking her shoulder. It’s not just speed, Femira knew, it was years of practice and training that had given the other girl foresight that Femira just didn’t have. Loreli could anticipate what Femira would do next before she even knew it, it was a strategic game to the other girl. Femira knew she had to be less predictable, she needed to find a way to surprise Loreli. She wouldn’t let the time of the match run without getting at least a single point.

On her next advance, Femira went to lunge for Loreli’s chest—the same attempt she had made on a few occasions in the bout already. Loreli evaded as Femira expected she would, stepping back just enough to be out of range but still close enough that a strong push off her back leg would launch her back at Femira for an attack. However, instead of facing Loreli as she sprang forward, Femira spun to the side and lashed out with one her wooden daggers—catching the other girl in the shoulder—then allowing her momentum from the spin carry her into a jab with her other dagger into Loreli’s back. The jab to her back, forced Loreli to fall forward on her face in the dusty earth. There was a collective gasp from watching recruits, they had obviously not expected the newcomer to land any points against the best among them. Femira allowed herself a few seconds to revel in their surprise before readying herself into her fighting stance when Loreli jumped back to her feet.

The girl had a light covering of dust on the front of her black and red uniform and in her red hair. Not nearly the amount of dust that coated Femira’s own uniform. Loreli did not grimace or smirk, the girl’s face as dead as stone.

“Two points to Vreth,” Misandrei called out.

Loreli surged at Femira with inscrutable ferocity that all Femira could do was parry with both daggers against Loreli’s unrelenting swings, driving her to the edge of the duelling ring. She managed to sidestep and press her own attack, Femira was a quick learner however Loreli—it seemed—was faster for when Femira attempted another feint and spin attack, she responded with a drop to the knee leaving Femira slashing at air where Loreli’s head had been. Loreli struck hard against Femira’s leg, tripping her up and knocking the wind out of her. Femira spluttered and struggled for breath. Shamefully, she felt her eyes watering as she finally managed to suck in short ragged breaths.

Loreli was already walking away from her to the edge of the ring, “She’s incapacitated, she can’t continue,” she said to Misandrei. Femira tried to crawl to her feet and with her short frazzled breaths, she couldn’t claim otherwise.

“Loreli: Seventeen, Vreth: two,” Misandrei announced, calling the match. Loreli was already gone from the sparring yard by the time Femira had finally managed to pull herself together. The other recruits were already petitioning Misandrei for their next bout. Her arms and legs burning from both exertion and the hits of Loreli’s sword, Femira left the duelling ring and rested on the sidelines to analyze the next match. Loreli had bested her by fifteen points, but that didn’t matter because if it had been a real duel—with real steel blades—Femira would have been dead on the first point.

“You did well,” Garld said stepping next to her. As usual he was wearing his stiff black uniform. He didn’t often come to the sparring yard or oversee any part of her training personally but he would appear occasionally to check in with her. His pet Keiran girl.

“I lost,” she said.

“Loreli has been training with the sword since she was a young child. She has over a decade more experience than you.”

“She’s also the strongest and fastest of all the recruits, even the men,” Femira added as if trying to add to the justification of her loss to him.

“Did you enjoy the fight?” He often asked her strange questions like this.

“Yes,” she answered truthfully. She might be battered and bruised now, but she could feel herself getting better with each match. Learning to time her attacks better, to make the right footing and the right timing. Those seconds after she made those hits on Loreli still left her with a smug sense of pride.

“Why did you challenge Loreli? Drawing the shortest grass meant you could have chosen anyone, why her?”

“Because she’s the best. Everyone knows that,” Femira replied. Garld simply nodded, he understood. Femira was beginning to suspect that the greying man was the first person to ever understand her desire to learn more. He understood that she needed to be the best, and true to his promise nothing had been held back.

“Prince Landryn returned yesterday,” He said. Femira took a few seconds to sort through the ridiculously long list of highborn names she had learned over the past few weeks.

“King Abhran’s third son?” she asked.

“Second,” he corrected her, “You’ve met him before, to an extent.”

“He was at Altarea,” she recalled, in all the chaos and confusion of that evening she couldn’t remember exactly what he looked like.

“He remained behind after the attack to oversee the occupation, and to re-establish the Reldoni Highlord’s authority there.” Femira hadn’t known that Altarea was once part of Reldon and that dead King Armenia’s grandfather had seceded from Reldoni rule half a century ago. Back then the stormguards were an elite class of soldiers, the militia of trained stormguards had overthrown their Highlord and seized power for themselves. All previous attempts to reclaim Altarea and the highly lucrative Osiri mine had been squashed against the high walls of the palace, the stormguards raining death from above. Until Landryn’s assault.

“You will attend the Prince’s court today,” he said, “It is important that Lady Annali is seen to be supporting the Prince.” Femira nodded, she still wasn’t entirely certain why Garld had chosen her—of all people—for this facade. All that she and Annali had in common was the colour of their skin.

“What will I need to do?” she asked warily.

“For the most part, just be silent and be seen. Lady Annali has had no appearances in court since our arrival here, the other highborn will be curious for a look at her.” The thought made Femira itch, she had spent her entire life hiding in shadows well out of view of people, especially highborn.

“You have read over the journals I had sent to your rooms?” He asked. She gave him a pointed look, he knew that she couldn’t read very well yet. Her progress in that regard was slow, but she had quickly realised that if she wanted to advance her knowledge of stonebreaking, the answers were more quicky found in books, than in a person’s head. She reluctantly replied, “I’ve been trying”—she really had been—“but I’m not making sense of them.”

“You will spend an extra hour per day with your tutor until you improve,” was all he said on it although his tone sounded unimpressed, “You know how to reach Judgement Hall?”

“The big domed building at the top of the hill?” she asked, pointing toward it. Epilas was a large enough city built on the precipice of a peninsula with ocean to the east and south, and the bay to the west.. As big as Altarea was, from what she could guess, but so far all Femira had seen of it was this small section of the walled barracks where the bloodshedder recruits trained. It was the closest barracks to the hill with all the big fancy buildings on the lone hill rising up from the city. Impossibly thin towers and networks of arches connected the buildings on the hill and at its heart was a massive white domed structure. The entire city itself was an enormous fortress. With the hill of lavish buildings and sprawling sets of barracks inside an inner wall made entirely of wood. The rest of the city was contained by a larger outer wall of white stone. That wall didn’t make any sense to Femira. Why bother with a stone wall like that if a squad of stonebreakers could just come along and blow away a big hole in it. The answer, Femira guessed, was because wood is expensive, stone wasn’t. Meaning the people inside the wooden wall are all worth protecting and the folk behind the stone wall are worth shit but we’re going to pretend that the wall will protect you.

“Good, you’re finished here for the morning,” he said, holding up his hand when she opened her mouth to protest, “go clean up and make your way to Judgement Hall for court. Aden will take you.” Femira nodded and turned to leave.

“And Vreth, remember to stay silent. I don’t want your crass tongue giving you away.”

“Crass, me?” she replied, “wouldn’t fucking dream of it, sir.” and performed an exaggerated soldier’s salute.

“I mean it, Vreth,” he said sternly, “I’ll trust you to open your mouth when you’re capable of reading Annali’s journals and get an idea for her voice. Until then I want you to keep your mouth shut. Now go and change into a clean uniform, it’s widely known now that Annali is training with the bloodshedders, but even so, a highborn like her would sooner take fen-salt before stepping into court covered in dust.”

Femira wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that the real Annali took fen-salt—skaga as she called it—a major part of Lichtin’s operation was getting skaga into the noses of highborn. Nothing to be made in getting street dogs like you hooked on the stuff, he’d say, but those rich fuckers in the palace. Once they’re on it, the gold keeps flowing. But she didn’t tell Garld that fact, he was military and from what Femira had learned, these military types disapproved of things like that. Instead she nodded, saluted again—for real this time—and left.