Elyon's Blades, page 4
part #1 of The Daughters of Elyon Series
The man’s sneer grew more pronounced. “A peasant duel a noble? Don’t insult me with your stupidity.”
Ailith opened her mouth to respond but instead gasped aloud when the Commander’s grip tightened to a seemingly impossible extent. Later, Ailith would swear the woman’s fingers actually grated against bone. The thought flitted through her mind that those fingers were definitely going to leave distinctive bruises when all was said and done.
All was quiet for a moment, and if she hadn’t been watching for it, Ailith would have missed the moment when the nobleman imperceptibly readjusted his grip on his sword hilt.
Sábria noticed the movement as well and was ready with her block when he viciously slashed toward her throat without any verbal warning whatsoever. It was a coward’s move to attack an opponent in a duel without both parties saluting one another and setting themselves before the fight. Since he’d begun with such a disgusting lack of chivalry, she was no longer bound by the strict protocol of an honorable contest between nobles.
She parried his blow easily and followed up with a swift kick to his codpiece. Because the piece was metal, something she’d anticipated, she used the top of her foot to kick upwards to avoid injuring her toes by landing a direct blow with the tip of her boot. The gesture, the meaning of which wasn’t lost on any of the onlookers, eloquently showed her disdain for the man and his ill-bred manners.
His grunt of pain told her she’d done enough damage to get his attention. She followed with a quick tap to the tip of his sword, testing his reaction time and follow-through. He wildly deflected her sword, obviously expecting her to come in with a full-on swing as he would have done.
His reaction was interesting enough that Sábria slashed a second time with a harder blow. He again blocked wildly, leaving himself open to a thrust.
She refused to take advantage of the opening, though, because she had a difficult time believing a man in his position, with, she assumed, turns of training in swordsmanship, would overreact to her move as blatantly as this one had done. She took her time, keeping her distance and feeling out his fighting style, thinking he might be setting her up for a trap by opening himself up the way he had.
Moving to the left, she watched the lazy way he pivoted on his right foot instead of stepping lightly as any seasoned fighter would have done. His style might have been fine for the battlefield, where powerful men and women swung at opponents with double-handed haymakers, but not here, not now.
For no reason that she could fathom, he suddenly grabbed his hilt with two hands and moved in on her, thrashing right, left, and right again, backing her up with each blow until he thought he had her on the run. To any seasoned fighter, the sound of sword meeting sword was slightly off as she cushioned each blow rather than meeting it solidly, as many fighters would have done.
He mistakenly took that as weakness on her part—an inability to meet his strength with a matching strength of her own. Sensing triumph within his grasp, he returned to a one-handed grip as he growled and redoubled his effort.
She continued to move to her left, giving her the offensive advantage in a fight with two right-handed warriors. It also gave her a defensive edge over his more powerful backhanded swings. Her bafflement was evident as she studied this man who was no warrior and who seemed to have no clue as to what she was doing or why.
His movements were clumsy. She would have said lazy if it weren’t for the tremendous amount of energy he expended with his ham-fisted fighting style. Her bafflement turned to disgust as, with each successive blow, his thin lips lifted in a nasty grin, exposing bleeding gums and rotting teeth, sure signs of Rukilla dust addiction.
That didn’t change the fact that his clumsy fighting style was extremely dangerous because it was so out of control and unpredictable. She’d been in enough fights to know there was no guarantee a lucky blow wouldn’t kill her outright. Arrogance and overconfidence had killed too many warriors in her time, and with that thought in mind, she decided she needed to end this charade.
She planted her feet and blocked his blows, watching his confusion when she no longer moved in what he’d obviously thought of as a fearful retreat.
Slashing across his midsection, she pulled the blow at the last second. Just as she’d anticipated, he blocked the attack with the same exaggerated movement that opened him up to a well-placed thrust. She’d pulled the blow to align the tip of her sword with his chest, and when his sword arm swung up wildly, she closed in and thrust her sword through his heart.
With wide eyes and mouth gaping in shock, he fell forward onto his knees.
When she jerked the sword from his chest, his body slowly toppled forward. She took two steps back to avoid him falling onto her legs.
Both sides watched in silence, and a few warriors groaned when his face bounced off the cobblestone entry fronting the Temple.
Looking up at the scarred man, whom she assumed had just become the de facto leader of the Dreyuthan delegation, Sábria waited to see what his reaction would be. Had she just precipitated a war between the two nations? Would this peace delegation end in failure because she’d claimed her right as Arch Priestess of the Daughters of Elyon to protect a battered woman?
To her surprise and relief, the dangerous, obviously battle-hardened warrior dipped his chin and congratulated her with a deep, baritone voice. “Well fought, My Lady.”
“Thank you, My Lord—?” She paused, hoping he would introduce himself, unlike the idiot she’d just killed.
The second horseman, an aristocratic-looking gentleman whose well-worn sword hilt suggested he, too, had fought in many battles, edged his mount forward and eloquently gave the introduction. “My Lady, may I introduce His Grace, the Duke of Ravenkind?”
She blinked stupidly, wondering why a duke would serve beneath the man lying at her feet. “But….” Her fingers flicked toward the prone body, followed by a quick, bewildered glance down at the man she’d just killed.
The second man bowed slightly to her and, with his palm covering his heart, supplied the answer she was searching for. “I apologize for the belated introduction. That was His Royal Highness, Prince Ewell, our Queen’s younger brother.”
Sábria stiffened and turned livid eyes on Ailith.
Ailith grimaced and nervously pulled on her ear. “I told ya I should probably be th’ one to fight him, Milady.”
The Duke chuckled and dismounted. Handing his reins to his second, he pulled off his glove and offered his hand to the Arch Priestess. “Have no fear, My Lady. If I know Queen Sophia, which I do very well, indeed, you can expect to receive a bouquet of flowers as thanks for honorably answering Prince Ewell’s challenge of your authority. On behalf of our Kingdom…” he put his hand over his heart and bowed slightly, “…may I offer my apologies for his boorish behavior.”
“While there’s no need for an apology since he’s the one lying face down on the cobblestones, Your Grace, I thank you for your reassurance.”
“Please, I’d be honored if you’d call me Levan.”
“Sábria.”
Levan turned to Ailith. His voice almost sounded jovial when he asked, “And now, for you, young warrior. Do you wish to stay or return with us?”
Shirin released her hold, and Ailith bowed low. She glanced at Sábria and then out at the assembled Dreyuthan warriors. Returning her gaze to the Arch Priestess, she quietly said, “I’d like to stay if I could.”
Not sure she wanted such a troublemaker in her order, Sábria stepped closer and stared into Ailith’s eyes. “You understand we’re an all-woman order and that if I allow you to join, it is a lifetime commitment?”
“Aye, Milady.”
“And do you understand you’ll never have relations with a man again?”
The look Ailith turned on the Priestess would have been comical under different circumstances. “There’s no again, Milady. Every one of these soldiers knows that if they tried to put their prick between me legs, I’d cut it off and shove it down their throats.”
There was a lively chorus of, “Aye, that she would,” and lots of hooting and laughter at her words.
One man from the center of the ranks yelled, “Come over here, and I’ll show you what you’ll be missing, you skut-brained wench.”
Ailith growled and pushed past Sábria, knocking her aside in her haste and throwing herself into the ranks of the Dreyuthan soldiers. She ignored the Arch Priestess’ shouted orders to stop and return immediately. The male voice taunting her was more than merely familiar. It belonged to the nob she’d pulled off countless young women as he’d held them down and raped them.
The nob registered the rage on Ailith’s face and turned to run, but the men and women behind him closed ranks, pinning him in.
Ailith tackled him, driving him to the ground and pummeling him until someone grabbed her by the collar and dragged her off. She caught a glimpse of the barely contained fury in Sábria’s eyes before the Priestess shoved her into the Commander’s arms. “Get her to my office, and you personally keep her there until I arrive.”
Shirin nodded and dragged Ailith out of the circle of soldiers.
Knowing she probably shouldn’t, Ailith pulled to a stop and spoke to the Duke. “Yer Grace. With th’ Prince dead, if ya need to promote a Subcommander to even things out again, then think on Sergeant Dingus. Ya won’t regret it.”
Not waiting for a response from the Duke, Shirin jerked her away and marched her through the open gate. They crossed the outer bailey, ducked through the archway into the inner bailey, and continued across it until they came to the Citadel doors. As they started for the stairs, Shirin growled under her breath so anyone walking or standing nearby wouldn’t overhear. “Arch Priestess Sábria is livid with you, and you need to know what will happen unless you turn around right now and rejoin your fellow Dreyuthan warriors. First, you haven’t yet been accepted into the order, so it’s not too late to change your mind. Second, if you still wish to petition for entry after I tell you what’s going to happen, then you’ll wait in the Arch Priestess’ office until she arrives.”
The Commander pulled Ailith to a halt at the top of the stairs. “There’s no doubt in my mind if you choose to wait, she’ll do as she’d do with any of her people who blatantly and openly disobeyed her the way you did. She’ll whip welts into your back and legs, and then maybe,” she tightened her grip on Ailith’s arm and shook it to make sure she had her full attention, “maybe she’ll listen to your petition to join the Temple.”
Shirin opened the door to the Arch Priestess’ office and dragged Ailith inside. Pulling the young warrior around until they faced each other, she spoke through gritted teeth. “When that happens, if you struggle or fight with her, I will take over and whip you until you decide it’s no longer prudent to struggle, and then the Arch Priestess will finish what she started. Any questions?”
Ailith swallowed hard and nervously eyed the woman’s solid shoulders and arms. “Just one.” Her voice shook slightly when she spoke. “In Dreyutha, if someone’s whipped, they use a bullwhip or one with nine leather cords with small stones attached to th’ ends. If that’s what she’ll use, then I’d rather go back to Dreyutha and….”
Shirin’s shoulders relaxed, and she softened a bit. “No, Ailith. We’re strict here, but we’re not cruel.” She reached behind her and took a leather crop from the wall. “With this, nothing more.” She raised her brows. “Although, these do hurt quite a bit more than you’d expect.”
Ailith pursed her lips and nodded to the woman who stood a head taller than her five foot seven. “Okay, then.”
Pointing to a spot in front of Sábria’s desk, Shirin indicated that was where Ailith should stand.
Ailith obediently stepped to the indicated spot, clasped her hands behind her back in the parade rest position, and waited for Sábria to arrive.
Five
Taking a moment to get her temper under control, Sábria returned to where Levan waited with a half-grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He moved to a private spot beneath a nearby tree and beckoned her over. “There are a few things I think you should know about Ailith.”
Sábria looked into the tree’s canopy and chuckled, “Only a few?”
His grin broadened into a full smile that brought out two small dimples on either cheek. “Well, quite a bit, actually. She’s a handful, but I guess I don’t need to tell you that. She’s strong-willed, can be abrasive, and definitely has a temper. But she’s also one of the most unique warriors I’ve ever had the privilege to train. It’s not that she tries to be different. She just doesn’t always have a filter on what she says, mostly when she’s nervous or frightened.”
“I think I saw a bit of that when I spoke to her earlier today.”
A far-off look came into his eyes, and he shook his head. “I remember the first time I met her. We were recruiting new soldiers, and this wee mite of a thing was waiting in line with the rest of the hopefuls. I was the training master back then, and when it was her turn, she came forward, half-starved, malnourished, and said, ‘I’m here t’ be a warrior. Where do I get me things?’ When I asked her why she wanted to join the military, she sniffed the air and said, ‘Cuz ya got food.’”
Having taken on many starving waifs to feed and shelter before moving them to safer environs, Sábria understood Ailith’s response. “Where was her family?”
“All dead. We had a fever sweep through the Blacktip Mountains, and practically her whole village died. Anyway, I felt sorry for her and liked her spunk, so I put her with the junior trainees, the youngest ones. I think she was around ten turns at the time. She was mouthy and stubborn and got into fights on a regular basis. After the first sevenday, I wanted to strangle her and throw her back.”
“Why didn’t you?”
He broke a dead branch from the tree and began absently snapping it into little pieces. “There was an old man in the training division who took her on as a project. Well, he was a trainer, but because he was too old to fight anymore, he doubled as one of the cooks. He saw something in her, believed she had the potential to become a great warrior one day.”
He shrugged. “Maybe even a great leader, although in our army, it’s unheard of for a peasant to rise above Subcommander. That’s not the only thing keeping her from leadership, though. Every time she earns rank, she does something to get demoted. Anyway, he spent time with her, learned her quirks, and as the turns went by, he taught me to appreciate her for who she was. She’s not great yet. She’s only nineteen, but I’ve come to agree with him that there’s a lot of potential in her. The problem is, with her personality, I think she’d be a better fit here, with you, than with me and my army. Our discipline can be somewhat—”
Sábria looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “Brutal?” At his nod, she asked, “Are you sure you’re not just pawning your problem warrior off on me?”
“Honestly? If it doesn’t work out, I’ll take her back with open arms. There’s something else, though.” He looked down at his boots and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I know a little about the Daughters of Elyon. You’re strict disciplinarians, and like us, you believe in physical punishment. I just hope you don’t break her to the point where she loses that humor, that cheeky side to her that’s allowed her to survive in a brutal environment that even some men can’t endure.”
Now Sábria glared up at the man. “I don’t break my warriors, Your Grace.”
He held up a placating hand, “Perhaps I misspoke. I know you’ll discipline her, probably quite a bit at first, because if you don’t, you’ll regret it later on.” He raised his brows to emphasize that point. “But, well, if you could just maybe be patient and appreciate her for who she is, I think she’ll be an excellent addition to your Blades. Because from what I’ve heard, you’re a strict but loving sect. Like a family of sorts. Something she’d never find within the Dreyuthan army.”
“I haven’t accepted her petition yet, and after the way she’s disobeyed me several times this morning, when I get through with her, she may not want to join after all.”
He shrugged, “Perhaps.” Walking her back to where a warrior waited with his horse, he stopped and held out his hand.
When she grasped it, Sábria looked down at the body of the Prince. “I am truly sorry about your Prince, but, well, I mean no disrespect to Dreyutha, but was he really an example of the quality of swordsmen your kingdom produces?”
That brought on a bark of laughter that morphed into a hacking coughing fit. When he caught his breath, he rested a big hand on her shoulder. “Let’s just say he never felt a prince needed to attend weapons practice like us mere mortals. As a consequence, even my most junior warriors handle a sword better than our not very lamented dead Prince Ewell.”
“Thank the Goddess for that. Have a safe journey home, Laven.”
“May the Goddess bless and keep you, Sábria.”
She remembered something she’d wanted to ask, and before taking her leave, she looked him squarely in the eyes. “One last question. I see the man who brought her to the Temple last night standing among your ranks. Why wasn’t he punished for going against the Prince?”
He raised his brows, “Who do you think put him up to the task? Which reminds me.” He glanced over his shoulder and grinned. “Dingus, come up here.”
When Sergeant Dingus trotted forward, he stopped and stood at rigid attention. The man actually had the temerity to grin at Sábria and wink.
She smiled back, and as she turned to go, the Duke pointed at Prince Ewell’s horse and raised his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “Subcommander Dingus. I believe your mount awaits you.” A loud cheer greeted the man’s promotion.
Sábria walked back to her troops and stopped next to Subcommander Calit, who’d assumed command of the twenty Blades after Shirin left. “Remain here until they leave, then come inside.”
Calit thumped her fist to her chest. “Yes, My Lady.”
With a last look back at the Dreyuthans, Sábria headed to her office, dreading the discipline she’d have to mete out to one very headstrong young warrior. It was a part of her duties she rarely had to perform since most of the newer recruits were terrified of stepping out of line, and the older ones had learned not to. And to be honest, her subordinates usually administered whatever punishment was coming to the offender. Remembering Ailith’s blatant disobedience, her temper rose. Not this time, by the Goddess. Not this time.
