by Mark August
Her right hand came up with an open palm and slammed his chest. Kincaid's momentum put him on his backside in the dust, his sword still in its sheath.
“Don’t take your eyes off your opponents, ever.”
Kincaid stumbled to his feet and brushed himself off.
“If you fight, you must commit yourself to win.”
Kincaid’s embarrassment smothered his anger. He wanted to use his rage and let it burn. Instead, he calmed the tumult of passion and mirrored her pose.
He stared her in the face. “Again.”
Respect glinted in her eyes. Kincaid wasn’t a spoiled noble giving up at the first defeat.
“Draw your blade and try to hurt me.”
Kincaid bent his knees and advanced his right foot to shield his weapon draw from another grapple. Tiberia circled and watched. The blade rasped from the metal of the sheath’s mouth. Leather-wrapped steel in the palm of his hand didn’t feel as good as he hoped. The scrutiny of the squad leader made each movement awkward and unpracticed.
Why wouldn’t she attack?
He longed for the burning rage to take over, but his muscles tightened as he matched her circling movement.
She took a half step back and made no move to engage him. He waited with the sword held up in what he thought was a ready position. If he stayed, she'd stride forward and teach him a lesson.
Nothing happened. And Tiberia didn’t draw her sword.
“When you fight, don’t give up the initiative.”
Kincaid nodded and moved forward into the attack. Fighting with his sword couldn’t be different than his brawls at the shop. Keep feet on the ground for support and put balance over the toes for agility. The weight in his right hand threw him off. His left hand didn’t know where to go for balance or defense.
She let him close without drawing a weapon. Confusion multiplied his frustration. Squelching his conflicting emotions with calculated caution, Kincaid’s mind raced through his possible mistakes. He placed his body within arm’s reach and snapped a low, wide cut. A probe toward her unarmed stance would give him something.
As his arm swept wide, she exploded into action. One impossibly-fast step put her inside of his weapon arc, and the momentum of his swing carried his arm. Tiberia punched his elbow to disrupt his attack, and his arm collapsed from the blow. The sword blade clanged to the ground in submission.
Hands balled into fists as anger seeped into his veins. Bring the fight to her. Make it personal. If she could handle him with a sword in his hands, an unarmed attack would be futile. As he changed his mind, Tiberia continued her appraising gaze.
“You are not swinging a long blade or mace with wide arcs. Those weapons need a shield to protect you from what I was doing. A shield push before an attack keeps the opponent off balance.”
Fists unclenched as the teaching unfolded. Kincaid only needed to be told once.
“You need to fight with your strengths pitted against an opponent's weakness. Otherwise, you end up in a battering match where the strongest wins. Do not fight this way.”
“I understand.”
“Not yet, you don’t. You’re not dueling. When you draw your blade, you’re fighting for your life. Keep your arms in close, then end it as fast as you can.”
“I—”
“Talk less. Listen harder. Today’s beating was free. If you come back tomorrow morning, we’ll begin. And bring your money.”
Kincaid nodded. He waited until she moved away before collecting his sword. As he picked up the blade from the ground, Sholeh stood near him, and she handed him a rag from her belt.
“You will ruin the blade if you do not clean it up before placing it in your sheath.”
“Thank you.”
“Do not thank me. I hope you see the dangers of this path.”
“I need to be back tomorrow.”
“By all that is holy.”
“I will live up to my promise, Sholeh.”
“I know you will. You realize I will be the one to bury your body.”
“Not fair.”
“Likely true.”
The pair walked around a practice field to watch the warriors spar in the morning sun. Spears and crossbows responded to shouted commands in a martial symphony.
“I will buy you breakfast, Kincaid.”
Fifteen
Attius - Planning
Attius Atros stormed into the Great Hall. His face was impassioned enough to ignite the nearby tapestries. Plans churned in his mind to regain control of magic in Caesea. Servants scurried from the smoldering explosion.
He tore his cloak from his neck and threw the flowing red garment on the seat at the head of the table. The silk material slid off the high-backed chair and pooled on the floor. Duke Atros paid it no notice. As he spun away, his sheathed sword cracked against the leg of the table. He placed his hand on the pommel to regain control.
“The Atros family has a true sorceratti.” The woman’s voice was neutral and confident.
“We do. And I nearly lost control of the daughter destined to protect us.”
Attius turned toward the one woman who would not back down from his rage nor cower from his outburst. If there was ever a person in history born to match his character, it was the woman who was his wife.
Livia stayed seated in her cushioned chair. She was unfazed by his explosion and waited for him to restart the conversation. Always practical, always calculating. They ruled the city together as equals.
“Vedette knows Cormac worked on a project to capture wizards and control them.”
“Does she think you are planning to imprison her?”
“She asked. But no, she doesn’t. However, the most renowned wizard in the capital is sitting in chains magic can’t break.”
“Interesting.”
“Which part?”
“All of it, Attius. In one meeting, our daughter discovered our darkest plan. All along, I thought it was a foolish move to jail the magi, but when you are full of yourself and your scheming, you can be insufferable.”
“I’m glad the servants left, Livia.” His voice descended into a low growl.
She continued, disregarding his threatening tone. “I’m sure they have their own thoughts and concerns. They still walk by a room nearly destroyed by the powers of magic. They aren’t worried about a discussion between a wife and her husband.”
“My strategic thinker and wise counselor.”
“You didn’t ask me when you set this plan into motion.”
“The magi brought an assassin into our house and tried to take our daughter’s life. What was I supposed to do? We could have lost everything and changed the balance of power.”
“Yes, which is why we must examine the consequences, Attius. This isn’t easy, and we can’t even afford to lose pawns. Each piece has its place. Some of our plans will have people who aren't cooperative.”
“You’re an amazing woman, Livia.”
“Flattery won't win the heart of your daughter back.”
The Duke dropped himself into his seat at the head of the table next to his wife. He looked into her deep brown eyes. Those eyes. Attius could spend an entire day lost in their depths and exploring her mind. Attius wondered what the next phase of life would be with her. Her face showed the wrinkles of age, and gray strands shot through her hair. He called them lines of wisdom, and he needed her more than ever.
“You’re right.”
“Thank you for noticing.”
“We should have discussed the plans about the magi and wizards.”
She lifted her mug and took a sip of her green tea imported from the east. After placing the fine china back on the saucer, Livia gazed into his eyes.
“How do I get our daughter back?”
“Attius, I don’t think you need to. A foreign assassin attacked her. Ask her to protect the family from the forces none of us understand.”
“Vedette was very fond of her tutor. When she asked to see him, I thought she’d understa
nd why I imprisoned him.”
“But the chains he forged were to deny wizards their magic.” Her matter-of-fact tone interrupted his review of his now-failed plans.
“We need to figure out how to use the story to our advantage.”
“Start by letting her understand the place of power we are in right now. Tell her the importance of her role in our family, and I think she will get over the crush on her tutor.”
“Crush?”
“Our relationship started with much less than that.”
“I think we turned out amazing.”
“Of course.” A flush warmed her cheeks. “However, she spent a great deal of time with Magi Cormac. He’s a powerful man who can use magic. She’s not the first sorceratti to fall for her tutor.”
“You know what scares me?”
“Our daughter getting married?”
“No, the reason I had Cormac forge those chains.”
Sixteen
Kincaid - Practice
Kincaid struggled with his weapon belt when he heard the gasp, “Kincaid, what do you think you’re doing?”
Damn, the door hinges were quiet. No point in hiding his actions while Liane looked down her nose at him.
“Hey, I'm getting dressed. Shouldn't you knock?”
“Getting dressed or armed?”
“Um, yes?”
“Did Sholeh get you the sword?”
“I—"
“I will kill her. She knows you better than this.”
“I'm not planning on dying, Liane.”
She tapped her foot on the floor and placed a finger on the side of her cheek. “This is why you’re coming in late?”
“Do I have to answer?”
“Damn you, Kincaid. You can’t fight the entire world by yourself. You can’t change the world either.”
The sword hung awkwardly at his hip as he drew himself up to his full height. Even if he got to his toes, Liane was always taller than him. She wouldn't back down now.
“I don't see how we have a choice. If we do nothing, Master Barnet loses the shop. Change is the only thing I have left to try.”
“Foolish risk, not change, you dummy. You think you can take on these thugs?”
“They respect strength.”
“But your swordplay won't inspire fear. Listen, you'll become the example of what happens if people resist.”
“Someone has to do something.”
“Someone doesn’t have to be you. The city can deal with this.”
“Yes, because they stopped them from getting to Master Barnet's door. They paid for my hospital bill, right?”
His sister couldn't control her anger as it spilled into her body language. She threw her hands up and paced across the small room, and her green eyes lit with rage.
“I’m going with you.” No room for questioning that tone of voice.
“No way.”
“I need to see what you are doing. I may or may not kill Sholeh.”
“I have the money, Liane.”
“You saved money to start your own shop, brother. Those savings were for your dreams. Please tell me you aren't sacrificing your future.”
There was no point in lying to his sister. He kept silent.
“I'm coming with you.” Before Kincaid opened his mouth with his counterargument, she continued. “We aren't negotiating this.”
Resigned to his fate, Kincaid pulled his cloak around his shoulders and concealed the length of his blade. His sister glared at him as he covered his weapon.
The travel to the practice grounds was silent. Liane ignored his feeble attempts at small talk, and the brother and sister settled into a fast pace across the city.
The guards formed up by squads and responded to the morning roll call. Kincaid waited at his familiar spot and prayed Sholeh would skip a morning with him. He didn't want to see the combustion between Liane and Sholeh. But he also accepted there was nothing he could do if his friend showed up.
Before he could breathe a sigh of relief she hadn't arrived, the blademaster stormed toward him with a scowl on her face.
“Kincaid, are you trying to be thrown into prison?”
“Tiberia, this is my sister, Liane.”
“I don’t care if this is your fairy godmother. You don't pay enough to end my career.”
“I—”
“No more of this, Kincaid. I don't know why you spend the money on your blade work. The guards think I'm stupid for trying.”
“That bad?”
“No, stupid. Worse. You'll get yourself killed in a real fight.”
“Thank you, Tiberia.” Liane had a smirk that wouldn't come off her face.
Kincaid's heartbeat thundered in his ears. His eyes darted between the two women. He refused to surrender.
"I'm ready." His right hand gripped the pommel of his blade until his knuckles turned white. His left hand threw aside his cloak to give him room to draw the weapon.
Tiberia smiled from the corners of her mouth and nodded. “He loses every time, but he has the determination of a warrior.”
Kincaid drew the blade with a straight pull and kept the length low and close to his body. The past two days taught him valuable lessons surviving on this battlefield. He prowled forward to test the defenses of the day.
Liane backed away from the training field as the pair circled. Kincaid carried his bare blade with some skill, but the dexterous stride of the blademaster spoke a different language. Kincaid would not have a chance against this trained warrior.
Leading with a high feint, Kincaid reversed the swing low. For the first time, he forced the instructor to take a step away from him. The circling continued. Her eyes squinted as she assessed each move. She calculated his progress.
Kincaid's pride created the gap in concentration. Tiberia pounced at the hole. She slapped his arm wide, and her grip clenched down like shackles. Kincaid found himself in the painful position of letting his blade go or cracking his wrist.
The blade fell into the dirt. He pretended not to hear the snickering of the guards off to the side of the practice field.
Kincaid didn't dare a glance toward his sister. Three paces and he could scoop his blade from the ground. Those three paces would be an eternity against the blademaster.
Instead, he stepped back two paces and grabbed his blackwood cane. Master Barnet's cane. The surprise move gave him enough time to return to a fighting stance. The wood warmed to his touch, and the balance was perfect from tip to end. More than art, his master had created a weapon.
For the first time, Tiberia drew her long blade. The ring of metal on metal demanded attention as the guards noted the change. Kincaid felt no fear.
Her probing attacks met the cane as he deflected the blows away from his body. He kept his feet moving until he was next to his blade. With a quick push to drive the next attack away, he gripped the pommel in his off-hand. Now armed with sword and cane, the young man switched from defense to offense.
The offensive was short. Her blade weaved a wall of steel. The whispers of the blows drove his feet backward, and Kincaid's attacks became frantic. One failed parry, and he'd lose a hand. The slap of the flat side of the blade on his wrist ended the fight. His blade raised a cloud of dust as it clattered, and the blademaster's sword locked against the blackwood cane. He'd lost.
"Kincaid, are you okay?” Liane said.
Kincaid still had ten fingers on two hands. The only wounds he carried were the injuries to his pride.
"Fine. Just fine."
Tiberia used a rag and cleaned her blade before returning it to its sheath. "You think too much, Kincaid. You can’t stay in a fight long. Too many others have more skill and strength. You can’t match that.”
Kincaid turned and walked away.
Seventeen
Vedette - Mother Talk
Vedette wandered the family compound for hours. Imprisoning a magi. Denying him magic. Assassination attempts within the household. A father's plan.
Her fee
t carried her back to her suite without the conscious thought of her destination. The metal catch on the storm shutters flipped upwards with pressure from her thumb, and she threw the heavy wood open. Daylight streamed into the room and warmed her face.
Brisk air kissed her cheeks and tempted her to experience the moments of falling through the air. The pavement was simply five stories below, and a torrent of magic could take her away from the prison of her station. A choice awaited: freedom or life as a sorceratti.
No choice at all.
Vedette reached out to the arcane forces with her mind and soul.
Doubt evaporated in the intensity of power coursing through her veins. She had freedom from within. The soothing power begged for release, but she savored the building pressure within her soul.
The deep blaze of magic rushed to magnify her senses. Each hair on her arms brushed the molecules of air. Specks of floating dust in a ray of light appeared as boulders in her vision. Birdsong blocks away deafened her hearing. With more power, she could push her senses farther.
The knock thundered against her enhanced hearing, and she narrowed the flow of magic. Defensive and offensive uses of her magic swirled in her mind as she considered her options. Vedette expected no one to visit at this hour, and she was ready to fight. At least she couldn't sense magic nearby.
Another set of knocks rapped on the door, insistent for recognition. Vedette moved toward the door and gave it a push.
Her mother stood in the doorway with perfect posture practiced with decades of power. Her hands clasped in front of her and across her hips. One eyebrow raised in question.
“May I come in?”
“Mom, you don’t need to ask that.”
“It appears I do because you’re standing in the doorway, blocking all other options.”
Vedette blushed, wanting to curtsy. But she stepped away from the entrance and signaled for her mother to enter.
Livia entered the room on silk slippers, making no noise with her stride. Except to Vedette, who could hear them like armored boots.
Her mother paused in the center of the room and took in the environment. This was the first time her mother had been in the suite since the attack. Livia’s posture didn’t change, but the furrows on her brow deepened.