“Greeting, members of the Imperial Army. I am Commander Luon, leader of the Harrier regiment, the fastest and fiercest warriors in Issalia.” The statement stirred the crowd, but the woman continued, refusing to be influenced. “I present to you the current Harrier champion, Liziele Mray.”
The crowd roared even louder than when Buddig won his duel. A tall figure stepped out onto the field, standing nearly as tall as the previous champion. Liziele had thick shoulders, muscular arms, and powerful thighs. At first glance, Brandt thought a man had entered the dueling grounds, but he then realized Liziele was actually a big, powerful woman. Her dark blue armor left her biceps bare, her forearms covered by blue-tinted bracers. She stopped beside Luon, standing more than a head taller than the commander, and crossed her arms.
The crowd quieted and Luon bellowed, “This week, we bring a new challenger to the field, one who hopes to make Squad Three proud. Please welcome Jacquinn Mor.”
Brandt’s mouth dropped open at the name. His eyes then found her, moving through the crowd, ducking under the rope, and striding onto the field. No, no, no. He shook his head. We are supposed to blend in and observe.
He was not surprised. He knew Quinn well enough by now. She would never be satisfied as a subservient soldier. Quinn’s spirit was among the things he loved about her. He just hoped her spirit wouldn’t find them trouble. Not now. Not here.
Quinn stopped near the center of the sparring ring, and her stance mirrored her opponent’s with her arms crossed over chest with a glare challenging anyone who dared to meet it. However, Liziele stood a foot taller than Quinn and outweighed her by a hundred pounds. The memory of Grange losing to Buddig stood fresh in Brandt’s mind, and the physical differences between Quinn and her opponent were even more significant than the previous bout. I hope you know what you’re doing, Quinn.
16
Duel
Quinn emerged from her tent dressed in her full armor. A week of training had broken in the leather. Twice, a healer had come by and healed Quinn’s blisters despite her insistence that she did not require healing. Apparently, it was standard practice.
Her helmet rested in the crook of her arm, the pale blue plume that ran down the center fluttering in the breeze. Ilsa, one of her tent mates, stood and walked over.
“So, you are actually going through with this?”
Quinn turned toward her and nodded. “I said I would. I make a habit of following through on my commitments.”
“Juvi was much bigger than you. Strong and brash, too. She was skilled and almost bested Liziele. However, I believe that loss was why she deserted.” Ilsa’s eyes drifted toward the ground. “I don’t think she had ever lost before and being beaten like that…in front of everyone. Well, it created a crack of doubt in her confidence. The woman just sort of crawled into her shell, refusing to talk to any of us. And, then, she was gone.”
“I heard about the lashings. I’m sorry you had to endure such torture.”
Ilsa shook her head. “The whip hurt, but the pain faded.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “The shame of it all…being stripped to your smallclothes and driven to tears in front of your fellow soldiers. It lingers.”
Quinn put her hand on Ilsa’s shoulder. The girl lifted her head and met Quinn’s gaze. “I’ll not break so easy, Ilsa. Whatever happens today, win or lose, I will remain steadfast. You can trust me.”
Ilsa smiled, the first smile Quinn had seen directed toward her since joining the Harriers. In fact, Ilsa had initiated a real conversation with Quinn. Another first, despite Quinn spending most of her waking hours with the girl. With the barrier between Quinn and Ilsa crumbling, perhaps the other girls might begin to accept her.
Quinn knew her own faults. She tended toward isolation and kept others from getting too close. However, having others relentlessly treating her as an outsider had left her lonelier than she wanted to admit. Perhaps my relationship with Brandt has changed me. She sighed. I miss him. Another thing she hated to admit.
Cleffa strolled over with a raised brow. “You trying to talk her out of it, Ilsa?”
Ilsa shook her head. “Not at all. I just wanted to let Jacquinn know that Squad Three is with her. She will hear no cheer for Liziele from us, right?”
Cleffa gazed at Quinn with narrowed eyes. “Do you actually think you can win?”
“I once knew someone like Liziele,” Quinn said. “While not quite as big, she was fast, strong, and a natural athlete. This girl had everything you might wish for in a warrior except for one. If Liziele lacks that one thing, I might have a chance.”
A snort came from the squad leader. “What thing do you mean?”
All the girls from Squad Three had gathered during the exchange and now surrounded Quinn and Cleffa. With an intense glare, Quinn moved closer until her nose almost met Cleffa’s.
All fell quiet in a moment of tension, the silence broken when Quinn whispered, “The will.”
Cleffa’s brow furrowed as Quinn backed up a step. “What?”
“I have the will. Does she?” Quinn spun about, her squadmates parting to create a path as she marched through camp and headed toward the sparring grounds.
“The will?” Cleffa yelled from behind Quinn, “The will to do what?”
Without stopping, Quinn spoke over her shoulder. “Whatever it takes.”
Quinn left the words behind her as a lingering testament for all who heard them. Quinn was determined to gain the faith of the girls in her squad. While she could not say exactly why it was so important, she wanted them to know she was nothing like Juvi. She would not break. She would not shame them nor betray them.
The crowd had already gathered around the sparring grounds, leaving Quinn on the outside. Rather than fighting her way to the front, she stood alone and considered how to defeat a taller, stronger opponent.
The training Quinn had received at the Arcane Ward focused on quickness and worked best when combined with an element of surprise. In her duel with Darnya, Quinn was powered by a personal grudge, but she held no such grudge against Liziele. Without vengeance to drive her, Quinn needed something else.
Girls from the Harriers filtered into the crowd, some giving her a nod as if to offer her a bit of courage. Others ignored her. It didn’t matter. She would make her mark in the ring.
The Infiltrator commander walked past Quinn. He was tall, muscular, and impressive. However, the man trailing him was even more imposing – a walking giant who caused the crowd to shy away as he passed them. The man’s height, build, and obvious arrogance reminded Quinn of Wyck.
When Quinn interrupted Wyck’s assassination of Archon Varius, she had faced a much larger, stronger opponent. In addition, Wyck was wearing armor and wielding a sword while Quinn had nothing but a knife. If not for Everson’s Chaos trap, Quinn would have died that day. I wish I had one now, she thought. Although, using Chaos magic when surrounded by an army whose mission is to end Chaos forever might not be the best idea.
A handsome young man dressed in Infiltrator armor passed by. Standing six feet tall with broad shoulders and dark hair, the man reminded Quinn of Iko. Her thoughts turned again and she wondered what role Iko might play in the struggle to come. His unexpected appearance in Sol Polis had nearly spoiled everything. However, she did find some solace in the memory of beating him. Her fist clenched at the thought of doing it again.
Shouts and cheers came from the crowd, joined by the distinctive clacks of wooden weapons colliding. Hearing the ruckus made Quinn’s stomach tremble with anxiety. The match continued for no more than a minute before the cheering reached a crescendo. As it died down, the crowd parted before Quinn. Two Infiltrators walked through the gap, each holding an arm of the handsome man in black. He was unconscious, his drooping head flopping with each step. A string of red spit swayed from his lips and his toes left trails in the dirt as the soldiers dragged him by.
When Quinn turned back to the sparring ring, Commander Luon was entering with a confident gait. She welco
med the crowd and announced Liziele as the current champion. Liziele stepped into the ring with one fist raised, bringing a round of enthusiastic cheers. Quinn knew she was next. There was no turning back, so she took a deep breath and walked through the gap. She crossed the rope barrier and found a thousand pairs of eyes watching, measuring her, underestimating her.
“Today’s challenger for the Harrier sparring crown is Jacquinn Mor.”
The cheers at her name were few and lacked spirit. The only thing Quinn heard was those who laughed. Her opponent, Liziele, towered over Luon, who was slightly taller than Quinn. They expect me to fail and fail badly, Quinn thought. I might feel the same way if I were them. She slipped her helmet on and pressed her lips together in determination.
“Warriors, choose your weapons.” Luon gestured toward the weapon rack.
Liziele strode toward it, covering the ground in three easy strides. A moment later, she turned from the rack with a longsword in one hand, a shield in the other.
As I suspected, Quinn thought as she moved to the rack and considered a strategy. Quarterstaffs, shields, bucklers, and swords of different lengths were among the options. A shield and sword would provide the best defense, and she had grown used to the combination over the past week. However, she needed every advantage she could gain in this bout, something Liziele might have had less experience facing. That left only one choice – the same choice Quinn had made over a year earlier when she was at the military academy. With two short swords in hand, she turned and faced her opponent.
“When I give the word, you will begin. The duel ends when I say it’s over and not before then.”
Liziele nodded, as did Quinn. The crowd grew quiet, the thumping of Quinn’s heart filling her own ears.
Luon backed away and shouted, “Duel!”
The duel ends when I say it’s over. The words replayed in Quinn’s head. Broken bones won’t end this fight, nor will someone stepping outside the ring. Something occurred to Quinn, a thing she had never considered before a duel. What if I die?
Liziele snarled and attacked, her sword slicing for Quinn’s torso. Quinn raised a sword to block the strike. A clack sounded and Quinn staggered. Another strike from Liziele fell at an angle and Quinn raised both swords, crossing them to block it. Even then, the impact was tremendous and sent a shock through Quinn’s shoulders. Again and again, Liziele attacked, forcing Quinn backward with her powerful swings. The woman’s long reach and longer sword made it impossible for Quinn to get near enough for a counterstrike.
When Quinn felt the rope at her back, she blocked a swing and then dove, rolled, and came to her feet as Liziele spun to face her. Quinn made a quick thrust and pelted the woman in the hip before she could get her shield around. Liziele’s longsword followed and Quinn ducked, but the glancing blow off her helmet sent her staggering.
The ringing in Quinn’s ears and spots before her eyes forced her to blink and back away. Her vision cleared just in time to respond to another swing. Liziele then charged forward and thrust her shield out, smashing it into her face. Pain exploded, and all went black.
Brandt held his breath while Quinn fought.
Her oversized opponent was relentless, driving Quinn backward and keeping her on the defensive. Even when Quinn dodged a blow and was able to tag Liziele with a thrust, the woman seemed unaffected and only attacked harder.
Liziele charged Quinn, her shield smashing Quinn in the face and lifting her off her feet. Brandt gasped as Quinn landed hard, three strides away. He pressed against the rope but, somehow, was able to restrain himself from running out to heal her.
He squeezed the rope and stared at Quinn, praying she was all right. After a moment, she rolled onto her side and pushed herself off the ground.
Blood covered her face, running from a gash in her forehead and from her swollen nose. She staggered, but still held both swords.
Luon stepped between the two warriors, facing Quinn. “Do you yield, Jacquinn?”
Quinn shook her head and Brandt noticed the look in her eyes as they shifted from blue to steely gray. “Never.”
“Your nose is broken,” Luon said. “Are you sure you wish to continue?”
“Yes. Unless Liziele is afraid.” Quinn’s grin, with her teeth bloody and blood tracking down the side of her face, was perhaps the scariest thing Brandt had ever seen.
“Liziele is in trouble,” Brandt said aloud.
“What?” Jorreck was incredulous. “Look at that girl. She’s getting killed out there.”
“Jorreck’s right,” Roy agreed. “One more hit and the new girl is finished.”
“Want to bet?” Brandt asked.
“Sure. I could use another silver.” Roy grinned.
“Done.”
Luon turned to Liziele, who nodded without removing her eyes from Quinn. The commander then backed away and shouted, “Resume!”
Liziele appeared fresh, balanced, and ready. Quinn was a mess, her face covered in blood, her breathing ragged, her stance wobbling. Liziele advanced, and attacked. Quinn ducked below the blow, spun, and smacked the taller woman’s knee. A grunt came from Liziele as she took a backhand swing toward Quinn who blocked the strike with both swords. When Liziele thrust her blade out, Quinn twisted, and it slid past her. Quinn then launched an overhand strike. Brandt gasped. With Liziele’s reach and height, the woman was too far from Quinn for the blade to connect.
He didn’t expect her to throw it.
The wooden sword sailed over Liziele’s shield and smashed into the woman’s nose. She lifted the shield to cover her face as she stumbled backward. Quinn charged.
Leaping high, Quinn drove both heels into the taller woman’s chest. The impact added to Lizieles’ momentum, taking the tall woman off her feet. She landed on her back and slid across the dirt. Quinn stood, collected her sword, and took a ready stance.
Liziele sat up, wincing in pain with one hand on her ribs. The woman’s face was even worse than Quinn’s – the skin torn away from the side of her nose to her cheek while blood oozed from her nostrils. She kept her hand on her ribs as she stood, wincing mightily.
Luon stepped between them. “Do either of you forfeit?”
Liziele shook her head. “I do not.”
Quinn grit her teeth. “Never.”
Brandt shook his head, but couldn’t stop a grin from forming. That’s the girl I love.
Quinn glared at her opponent. From her behavior, she knew the kick had hurt Liziele’s ribs – a pain Quinn knew well. This time, Liziele advanced cautiously with her shield held in front of her torso for protection.
Switching tactics, Quinn darted forward and slashed low. Liziele parried the strike, and Quinn’s other sword followed with a thrust that met Liziele’s shield. When Liziele countered with a backhand swing, Quinn ducked and spun, her sword connecting with the same knee she had hit earlier. Liziele grunted and staggered back. Quinn went for the kill.
With a flurry of crossing attacks that Liziele blocked with her sword and shield, Quinn pressed her backward. Quinn then paused, gasping for air, seemingly out of breath. Liziele took the bait and drove at Quinn with a thrust. Quinn twisted around it and thrust her sword past her opponent’s shield, striking Liziele’s sore ribs with full force. The sickening cracking of bones carried up the length of Quinn’s wooden sword, the gasping cry from Liziele the last sound before she collapsed.
Liziele lay on her side, gasping for air, her bloodied face twisted in agony. The area had fallen to stunned silence save for the whimpers from Quinn’s downed opponent. Luon moved in and bent over Liziele. After a brief word, the commander waved and called for a healer.
As the healer ran in, Luon turned toward Quinn. “Now, that was a duel to remember.” Luon then grabbed Quinn’s hand, lifting it high and facing the crowd. “I present to you, Jacquinn Mor, our new Harrier champion.”
The crowd erupted with shouts and cheers. Money began exchanging hands, but even the losers seemed impressed.
The Harrie
rs from Squad Three pushed through the crowd, ducked under the rope, and encircled Quinn, patting her back, hugging her, and congratulating her. Suddenly, the girls hoisted Quinn upon their shoulders, carried her through the crowd, and paraded her back toward the Harrier camp. The mob of girls surrounding Quinn cheered her name the entire way.
Euphoria lifted Quinn even higher, leaving the pain of her injuries behind.
17
Subterfuge
The night was still, as were Percy and the archers in his party. A distant, warbling call of a jackaroo echoed in the pre-dawn twilight at the eastern horizon. Time passed, and the dark outline of the ridge materialized as the sky behind it slowly grew brighter. He was positioned between the same two boulders on the same trail as he had been three mornings prior.
Four pale glowlamps gave faint illumination to the prison wall below. Curiously, the lamps had not been charged for many hours, the glowstone powder settled at the bottom. Near the lamps, Percy could just make out the guards on duty. He stared hard at one guard for some time, but there was no movement. Perhaps he fell asleep. Just as well. There is no escape now.
It had been a long night. At Percy’s suggestion, the army had advanced the last few miles during the night and without the use of steam carriages to pull the catapults. Mollis had resisted the idea, but Brillens insisted and refused to bring his musketeers unless Mollis took precautions, among which included sending scouts ahead to sweep for traps.
The army had advanced eight miles during each of the first two days before camping for a night. On the third evening, Percy and a woman named Riva Lorric led a small squad of rangers ahead of the primary force. Percy took the group along the narrow trail to their destination. Covered in darkness, the rangers then descended to the canyon floor and swept the area from the trail to the canyon mouth, leaving only the thousand feet nearest to the prison wall unscouted. They then marked the safe zone with a long line that ran across the road and beyond before sneaking back to the narrow trail where they now waited. Percy, Riva, and the other rangers remained ready with bows to make sure nobody escaped by taking the trail.
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