Chapter 9

Reldoni Ways

The duelling ring was one of four that occupied the main courtyard of the bloodshedder’s barracks and Femira’s room was in the large stone building that overlooked the courtyard. From what Femira had gathered, all bloodshedder recruits had their own private rooms. Unlike regular soldiers who had to sleep in rows of bunks in the other barracks. The bloodshedders got special treatment because they were superior, they were the elite force of runewielders and many of the recruits had runestones of their own and were skilled in using them for combat. From what she had learned there were only about one hundred fully trained bloodshedders in action, with about three times that many were recruits like her.

Their skills in runewielding specifically was what had gotten them selected for the advanced bloodshedder training in the first place. Large groups of recruits watched their peers sparring in the duelling rings and would do so at all times of the day and late into the evenings, always learning and honing their skills. Femira herself had already spent many long evenings—exhausted and bruised from her own daily matches—watching the other recruits fighting.

When she arrived at her room, Aden was waiting for her. He was a classic Reldoni youth, light tan skin, dark hair and no beard. Aden was her assigned tutor and another bloodshedder recruit.

It was not known among the other recruits the extent of “Annali’s” ignorance of Reldoni politics or culture, she couldn’t even read common tongue—despite being highborn. Aden was chosen personally by Garld to assist in Femira’s rapid induction to everything that the real Annali should know. Why Garld trusted Aden with this task and to keep discreet about it, she didn’t know but his faith was well placed because it didn’t seem that anyone else suspected her to be a fraud.

He was not alone today, accompanying him was Jazerah, another bloodshedder recruit that he was usually inseparable from. The two were the closest thing to friends that Femira had come to since arriving, they reminded her a little of her brothers—and for that reason she resisted allowing herself to become too close to them. Jaz was wickedly handsome, his long dark hair usually tied back and had a tightly shaven face like most other Reldoni youths she had met. Both of them were tall too, despite being a few years younger than Femira, they towered over her short Keiran stature.

“You see, told you she wouldn’t be long,” Aden said as she arrived. He was sitting on her bed while Jaz reclined on the desk chair. Having lived so long with nothing to call her own, Femira didn’t consider these things to be hers exactly, this was just a space she slept and studied in. Seeing the two young men in her room didn’t bother her no more than when people would walk past the shelter her brothers had made in the alleyway behind the fishmongers.

“You look like shit, Vreth,” Jaz said, his gaze taking in her filthy uniform.

“I challenged Loreli,” she grimaced, walking over to her trunk.

“Ouch,” he whistled, “she’s done me twice—and not the good way. I’m not in any rush to draw a listing against her any time soon. Can’t see why anyone in their right mind would choose to challenge her.”

“Annali likes to take the difficult path,” Aden chimed in, his unusually high pitched voice always making him sound younger than his eighteen years. Femira had unlocked the trunk and was already sifting through her meagre possessions for a clean uniform.

“I like to be the best, and to do that means beating the best,” she corrected him, “and for the thousandth time—call me Vreth, Aden.”

“I can’t call you that,” he fretted awkwardly on her bed, “it’s not right.”

“It’s what I choose to be called,” she replied, taking out the black and red jacket and trousers.

The women's bloodshedder jacket was longer than the mens and had clips to strap in shoulder pauldrons, she was going to court not battle so she wouldn’t need those today. But then again, they did make her look stronger, more imposing. Considering most Reldoni loomed over her, it might make her look less like a child.

“Vreth isn’t a good nickname,” Aden continued, “they’re vermin. They sneak around in the shadows and—” he shuddered, and cut himself off. Aden was a little more than afraid of vreth, “—not like you at all, Annali.” Oh Aden, if only you knew.

“If she wants to be called a vreth then let her,” Jaz chided him, then turning to Femira, “you can sneak into my room any night you like, Vreth” He winked as she stepped behind a partition to change. She barked a laugh, “I think Loreli might be more your type, Jaz.” She was no stranger to comments like that, she had lived in a crewhouse with a gang of thugs and known criminals, these military types were a hundred times more respectful.

“I’ve tried,” Jaz said with a smirk, “but I reckon she’d prefer a bit of you inside her than me, Vreth.”

“You reckon she prefers girls?” Aden asked, his face fully flushed. Discussing sex made him uncomfortable, a fact that Jaz loved to torture him with.

“Oh absolutely,” he said, “watch how she pines all doe-eyed for Captain Misandrei next time she does drills.”

“So you don’t actually know that she’s into girls,” Femira said, strapping in her shoulder pauldrons. They did make her look stronger.

“Not wanting to sleep with me is evidence enough, I would say,” Jaz replied.

“That would include the vast majority of women in the barracks then,” she sniped, adding the leather forearm guards for an extra intimidating appearance.

“Well yeah, obviously—we’re soldiers, the job attracts that kind of woman.”

“I think you’re a bit off the mark there Jaz,” she replied, moving to strap in her greaves also.

“I’m right about Loreli—ok, seriously, Vreth. What’s the deal?” Jaz said waving a casual hand over her uniform, “you’re not going into battle.”

“He’s right,” Aden piped in, eager to latch onto the change in conversation, “it’s court—not war. I don’t know how it’s done in Altarea, but usually only the guards tend to be armoured.”

“I’ve never been to court,” she said curtly, “So I don’t exactly know what the fucking dresscode is.”

“Your uniform is fine,” Jaz frowned, “just lose all the extra bits.”

She reluctantly unfastened the greaves and bracers, but left the pauldrons, which had the bloodshedder’s shield insignia on them. She wanted people to know that she was a bloodshedder recruit.

“You’re coming too, Jaz?” She asked.

“My father wants me to start attending. I think he wants me as a contingency heir in case my moron of a brother gets himself killed in battle,” Jaz said, “and when Aden told me you were making your first appearance today… well, I couldn’t miss that. I’ve bet him a silver mark that you won’t make it through the whole thing without saying ‘shit’ at least once.”

“You might as well give him that silver mark now, Aden,” she said. These highborns got very upset and offended by words, like they don’t ever have to take a shit.

Together the three made their way to Judgement Hall. Femira hadn’t even realised there was a third inner wall and portcullis gate that separated the fancy hilltop buildings from the surrounding barracks.

Don’t even trust your own soldiers.

Both Aden and Jaz were armed with long curved Reldoni blades, sheathed at their hips. Femira had never owned any weapons herself, the closest thing was a set of climbing spikes she had once used to stab one of Lichtin’s grunts who had tried to get a bit too friendly with her. She hadn’t killed him, or even stabbed too deeply. It was more of a warning jab, like when a cat bites you when it doesn’t want your affection. Swords and daggers were far too expensive and she had spent most of her life more concerned with spending any money she came across on feeding herself. It amazed her how so many of the bloodshedder recruits scoffed at the meals in the mess halls, it was free food! You don’t even have to pretend to be interested in any weird gods or anything like that. You just show up and eat, no questions asked. Not even checking if it was your second or third helping.

“You’ll have to get yourself your own blades soon, Annali,” Aden commented when he caught her spying his, “Swordsmaster Vadym says that you must find a weaponsmith that perfectly understands your needs.”

“I’m fine with borrowing from the barracks armoury,” she replied. Even if she had any money to spare on a set of her own daggers—or a flamboyant shiny blade like Jaz—why would she bother? The barracks had plenty that she could borrow any time she liked. Well not exactly any time. Strictly speaking she could only take them during training drills and duels. Femira had tried on a few occasions to slip the daggers back to her rooms unnoticed but the bloodshedder’s quartermaster was a ruthless and beady eyed man, scribbling away on his ledger, always noting whenever she had them and for how long.

“That just won’t do, Vreth,” Jaz said, unsheathing his sword. It was a pretty thing but not worth the fifty silver marks it had likely cost him—or more accurately—his father. “Old Vadym is right about this. You need to be so in tune with your blade that it moves as an extension of yourself. You need to be inherently familiar with its weight and balance,” he slipped easily into fighting stance and flourished the blade, “that’s just not something you can do when you’re changing weapons every day.”

“And what happens if it breaks?” She asked, then badgered on before he could respond, “or gets stolen? You’ve built your whole form around only being able to use just one particular sword.”

“Form is beginners stuff, Vreth,” Jaz said and she felt herself feeling a bit hot in the face. She didn’t like it being noted that she was still a beginner, especially not when she was finally starting to win duels.

“If you want to advance,” Jaz continued, “if you want to beat Loreli. You’re going to have to get your own blades. Train with them everyday until they move as part of you.” Femira didn’t respond. She was annoyed because deep down she knew he was right, she just didn’t like to admit it because it didn’t matter; she couldn’t afford her own.

Not yet at least.

She still had the chip of stormstone hidden away in her trunk. She just needed to suss out a suitable buyer for it. She wasn’t exactly sure what going rate for stormstone was in Epilas, they were rare even in Altarea where they were mined. Lichtin could probably flog it for ten gold marks there, so it only made sense she could make even more here. She was confident that any of the other recruits would happily pay that amount or more for the stone. But something held her back, so far in her runewielding training, Misandrei had focused primarily on teaching her to use her earthstone, the others left neglected as she didn’t have one of her own anyway. She could come forward and tell them she had it, but something held her back. The Reldoni had invaded Altarea for their stormstone. If they were willing to take down an entire city just for the stuff, then it’s not crazy to think they wouldn’t just take it from me. So she kept quiet and hoped that an opportunity would arise to either sell it quietly—or better yet—learn how to use it herself.