Skirts & Swords (Female-Led Epic Fantasy Box Set for Charity)

by L. P. Dover

He calmly shook his head and his complete lack of agitation caused me to take pause. Was it possible he couldn’t free my thoughts? If the council had bound me, then probably all of them would need to reverse it. And they wouldn’t do that. Because they had convicted me.

  I might have asked how the process worked, but I was too furious to pursue a conversation with any kind of composure. And it didn’t matter. Because I was staying bound. I let out a guttural growl and clenched my jaw shut.

  I could have run back to the village right then, but they would never release me. I had nothing. I glanced down the mountain. I couldn’t get back to the village if I’d wanted to; I had no idea where I was.

  I stared at my palms, some spell-bought map carved into my skin, and was hit full force with the knowledge that I didn’t even know where I was going.

  I was about as low on options as I could get. If not for Chevelle’s desire to skip out on Council business for a few days, or whatever we were doing here, I’d already be imprisoned. I could only hope that with the dreams, with the mountains, with wherever my family’s map was taking me, I could remember more, could break some part free. It was all I would have in my captivity. It was the mountains or nothing. I could see no other way.

  It was days before I spoke to Chevelle again, though he didn’t seem to mind the lack of conversation. He just rode as he always did, quiet with intermittent glances in each direction, and as if I weren’t even there. In truth, he hadn’t appeared to notice my behavior at all.

  When I finally broke the silence, we were navigating a narrow pass. “How long will we be riding?”

  I was purposefully nonspecific in my question, not wanting to reveal that I had no idea where we were headed. If he'd been under the false impression that he'd had to take me, I wasn't about to mess it up only to be dragged back to the village. Especially after everything that had happened.

  My horse quickened its pace to ride alongside his and I made a mental note to learn how to control it on my own. The constricted path forced us close together, our stirrups and legs occasionally touching as we rode. Chevelle nodded at my hand and I held it out, palm up.

  He indicated a spot on one of the mountains. “We are here.”

  I tried not to let my disappointment show. The information would only have helped if I either knew where I started on the map or where exactly the end point was. But at least I knew we were closer.

  We came through the pass and our path widened, but the horses didn’t separate as I had expected them to. I decided I’d had enough of that. “How do I control Steed?”

  I could see the humor in Chevelle’s eyes at my phrasing, but he kept a straight face. “Just think of where you want him to go and lead his head so.”

  I concentrated on turning his head left and we were instantly spinning, the unexpected twirl throwing me half from my saddle.

  Chevelle caught my arm and righted me on my now still horse. “Maybe not so severe next time.”

  My face heated, but I focused on the horse’s head again, turning it back to our course, and gave him a small nudge with my heels.

  I was cautious after that, but it became easier to control his movement as we rode. I practiced guiding him, eventually even maneuvering back and forth between the rocks jutting up from the ground and the prickly brush patches dotting the mountainside. I was still afraid to try kneeling when we stopped for the evening, though, having a full-scaled imagining of the scene when he rolled on top of me at the attempt. I slid down and stretched my legs, glad for a rest after the hours of tensing every time the horse changed direction.

  The evenings were getting cooler and I ran my hands brusquely over my arms to warm them.

  I started as black swirled around me, but quickly realized Chevelle had thrown a cloak over my shoulders. He turned in front of me to hook the clasp, his dark eyes piercing as he stood so close, looking into mine.

  My heart stuttered as he leaned toward me. Our faces were unbearably close as his cheek slid alongside mine, his mouth at my ear. I was frozen as he spoke low, his breath on my neck sending a shiver through me.

  “Stay. Still.”

  He was gone. In an instant he’d moved, so fast I had to catch up with what had happened. He had pulled the hood of the cloak over my head and was standing several feet in front of me, his back to me. I was trying to understand what had happened when two men came into view.

  I hadn’t seen them the moment before; they must have been concealed, or camouflaged by magic as I had been days ago. They were dressed in long robes and I recognized the tassels hanging from their necks. Council members. I wasn't familiar with the elves, though; they must not have been from the village.

  As they approached Chevelle cautiously, I examined their insignia but remained unable to identify them. Even if they weren’t from the village, they were still council members, and I had a sudden urge to go to them, to find some way to unbind me. And then I remembered my warning to be still.

  “She’s not going back.” Chevelle’s tone, level and uncompromising, caught my attention. I pushed the hood back to better hear them.

  The one on the left glared at me as he hissed, “You’re protecting her when you know what she’s capable of?”

  I flinched at his words. He wasn’t a regular council member, his robes were more ornate, his numerous tassels interwoven with color. Grand Council?

  My eyes fell to the other. He acted as if he did not know I was present, staring solely at Chevelle when he spoke. “Her mother slaughtered your clan, your family. Why release this terror—”

  The man’s words were cut short as his face contorted in pain.

  Chevelle’s back was rigid, every visible muscle tense as he faced them. The second councilman struggled to remain standing as blood poured from his nose. I gasped and Chevelle threw a quick glance over his shoulder at me. I couldn’t catch my breath; his eyes were as black as onyx.

  He focused again on the men as they eased away, the first helping the other by his arm, both bowing slightly toward Chevelle as they stepped backward, the injured one stumbling against uneven ground.

  He stood facing them until they spun and disappeared, and then he turned to me. When I saw the look on his face, I instantly knew the cause of the devastation. I still couldn’t remember, but I knew what I had heard was truth.

  My mother had killed his family, his entire clan. He’d been there in my dreams, in my memories. He had saved me. His family was there as well. The people running and screaming and dying, his clan. I recognized the cloaks now, too. The same as those I’d just seen. Grand Council. They’d been circling my mother to stop her from killing the northern clans. I didn’t know why she’d wanted it, and I didn’t know how I knew, but I was certain. Suddenly, I didn’t want my memories back. What I had was already too much.

  I couldn’t fathom the pain Chevelle had suffered, surely a hundred times mine at the loss of my mother. His mother … his father … each member of his family? How much loss had he endured? Tears were streaming down my face.

  Chevelle took a step toward me and I was hit with fear, recoiling at some imagined retaliation. He must have despised me. That was why he’d become my watcher.

  He dipped his head, turning to walk away at my reaction. I started to open my mouth, but the words choked me. I wrapped myself tighter in the cloak, and Chevelle began constructing a small shelter for me.

  I was his responsibility, but surely he loathed me. How could he not? I thought back to the scenarios I had envisioned after the memories of my mother being killed came back to me … what I would do to those men if I were to ever find them.

  Now I remembered the truth; they were saving the North. I couldn’t say I didn’t still want revenge, though. What he must feel toward me for taking so much from him. My mind was reclassifying every look he'd ever given me, everything that had happened since I’d met him. Why he didn’t look at me as I lay under the tree in the meadow, explaining why Fannie had struck me. Why I wanted to learn transfer mag
ic … to get my mother’s things. The look he gave the pendant on my neck … my mother’s pendant. Of course he’d volunteered to be my watcher. I had taken everything from him.

  My thoughts began to muddle as my mother and my dreams and my own life twisted together. I still couldn’t retrieve my memories; I only had the last long years, which seemed a haze now. It seemed as if the only thing clear were the days since Chevelle had walked through Junnie’s door.

  I thought of how I had cursed him when I found out he was my watcher. The hate in my voice when I demanded my memories back. The memories of his family’s murder. My mind writhed in anguish through the night, but as I emerged from the shelter late the next morning, I was resigned. I would continue my journey with him and let him return me to the council for sentencing without resistance. It was all I could do.

  I found him sitting on a rock, facing the door of the shelter a few feet away, distress apparent in his features.

  “Thank you,” I said, indicating the shelter with a tip of my head.

  He nodded, but his face didn’t quite return to the serene mask it usually wore.

  My stomach knotted and I placed my hand there, realizing I’d not eaten for nearly a day.

  “I’ll get you some food,” he said, a fire lighting beside the rock as if of its own accord when he strode off.

  I sat close to it, warming myself as I waited for his return. It was only moment before he was back, fresh meat roasting over the flames. We ate in silence and mounted the horses as we had each day before, but it was obvious nothing was the same. How could it ever be?

  I was racked with guilt as we made our way up the mountain. I rode behind him, glad at least I had learned to control my own horse to do so.

  I found myself paying more attention to our surroundings, since it had become so uncomfortable to look at him. Small patches of snow had started to appear, and the vegetation became dark, leathery greens. Occasionally the sun would break through the mist, making me squint, and I would appreciate the calmer, hazier atmosphere. Gloom, as they called it at home, in the usually sunny village where I would spend my eternity. I wondered where I would be kept as a captive, if there would be windows, if I was unfit for public view.

  Chevelle picked up speed after we passed through the more difficult part of the trail, and for the rest of the day we rode too fast. I continuously struggled to keep up with him on our rough path. I was sure I knew the cause of his hurry; he’d decided he wanted to get this journey over with, end it and return me to the council for my punishment, to be done with me.

  We rode late into the evening, well past sunset, and I wondered if he would stop at all. I was contemplating possible ways to sleep on a horse when we finally stopped. We were riding through a small pass, the moonlight barely lighting our way, and Chevelle’s horse disappeared. My head swiveled, searching for any sign of them, when my own horse turned beneath an overhang and stopped beside his, so dark I hadn’t seen it until we were there. Chevelle tossed a small flame, giving us enough light to dismount. The horses walked to one corner as we stood in the other.

  “Frey,” Chevelle turned to me as he spoke, “Yesterday … the council trackers …”

  Trackers? I tried to focus on what he was saying and not let my mind run wild with the new information.

  “They will send someone … for what I have done.”

  I thought of the councilman’s face, distorted in pain.

  “We should continue your training,” he said.

  “Training?” I could hear the dread in my own voice.

  “Practice. You need to be able to protect yourself.”

  I remembered his words from before the revelation that had ended my magic lessons. Fighters. A chill ran down my spine as I nodded my assent.

  “We will work again at first light and possibly as we ride.”

  As we ride? How serious was this? I didn’t want to answer my own question. I was a fugitive. And now it appeared Grand Council was looking for me. I had no idea what my punishment would be. This wasn’t the village. This would be far worse than anything High Council would have planned.

  “What will they do … if they … if I can’t protect myself?”

  His face was grim. He didn’t intend to reply, and I suddenly didn’t want him to.

  We settled onto the floor of the small den, our backs against the wall, the rock overhang blocking the moon.

  “That is my flame,” Chevelle said, “try to extinguish it.”

  And my training began.

  Chapter Nine

  Ruby

  Early the next morning, even before first light as promised, Chevelle woke me for training. Gone were the games we had played. These lessons were intense and stressful, on my part anyway. I’d been unable to generate magic on task, so he’d started lunging at me with weapons, sticks, fire, forcing me to respond to protect myself. After each attack, he would come right back at me, and if I tried to repeat a tactic for defense, he would overpower my magic and push me to find a new maneuver.

  It wasn’t long before I became winded. “Mount up,” he announced. When I started to climb on my horse, he shot off like an arrow, almost knocking me to the ground. I glared at Chevelle, but he was ignoring me, already atop his own horse and starting on his way.

  Growling in frustration, I pulled Steed’s head around with magic and pressed him back to me, climbed up, and clicked my heels hard to catch Chevelle. He was riding fast again and I was not looking forward to the day, sure it would be worse than the already miserable morning. I rode up beside him, planning a snide remark about the trick, but was distracted by a black stone in his hand. It was odd shaped and just smaller than the size of my balled fist. Onyx, I thought, though I’d never seen the stone that big.

  “Be prepared at all times,” Chevelle said, indicating the rock. “This will come at you from every direction. It is the only way you can learn to respond quickly. You need to use your defenses on instinct.”

  I really didn’t want to play anymore. But before I could protest, a black rock was hurtling toward my face. My hand jerked up to swat it away and my arm stopped as if it hit a wall. The rock slammed into me; I was fairly certain my nose was bleeding from the impact. I tried to slow my horse, but apparently I no longer had control of him.

  “Again,” Chevelle warned.

  The rock was coming for me a second time. I tried to duck out of the way but the wall was there once more, blocking me from moving. I cursed as the stone struck the side of my face.

  “This isn’t fair,” I complained. It seemed he was holding me in place just to strike me.

  “It’s the only way, Freya. This is for your protection.”

  “I highly doubt they will pummel my face with rocks,” I spat out.

  “No,” he said calmly, “they will bind you and burn you alive.”

  A shiver ran down my spine at the vision of Grand Council cloaks circling around me. It was convincing enough, but he went on, “You will not know their thoughts; you must be ready for any attack.”

  I nodded in understanding, even though part of me was certain there was a less painful way.

  The rock was coming at me again, smacking my cheek this time. The irritation at it had me itching to burn something. The volley continued, and I was sure that whenever my anger showed, the rock came harder, faster, so I tried to control the emotion, or at least hide it. Eventually, I found the easiest defense was to stop the stone by blocking it with another object. His magic was more powerful than mine so I couldn’t counter it, and he’d prevented me from ducking away.

  When I was blocking about half the attacks successfully, he pocketed the stone and progressed with sticks, water, fire, anything he found on the trail. We were still riding too fast and I was exhausted from the mental and physical exertion when he switched to full body attacks. By nightfall, I wasn’t able to fend off anything that came at me and he mercifully stopped the horses beneath another hollow in the mountain. I was practically asleep as soon as I s
lid off my horse.

  The next morning I woke to the sound of rock against rock. There was no sign of Chevelle or his horse and I sat up, rubbing my sore legs.

  Out of nowhere, the rock wall of the hollow struck me in the face.

  “Damn it!” I screamed, my voice hoarse from just waking. The wall was coming at me again. “Okay, okay! Let me up.”

  Chevelle’s camouflage dissipated and he stared down at me, disappointed.

  “Where’s your horse?” I smirked, trying to buy some time.

  He smiled slyly as I was attacked from behind, his horse nipping the back of my head and yanking my hair.

  Ugh. I swatted it away and ran my hand over my face, sure it looked like a rotted pear, mottled with bruising and scratch marks.

  “Drink this,” Chevelle said, offering me a hide flagon. I’d swallowed a mouthful before the taste hit me.

  “Gah, that tastes like cat pee smells.”

  He smiled. “It will help with the healing.”

  Why bother? I wondered. I was sure it would be another day of bombardment with mountain fixtures … maybe whole trees this time. My eyes narrowed when I thought I saw him trying to hold back a smile at my irritation. If this trip was some kind of punishment for what my mother had done … but then I stopped, because I knew there was nothing I could do about it. Nothing.

  Chevelle threw me a piece of dried meat and jumped on his horse. “You’d better get started,” he said, “it’s going to be a long walk.”

  As he kicked his heels, I spun toward the corner where my horse had been. Yes, had been. He was galloping up the mountain now, just over a hundred yards away. I tried to think quickly, keep the anger from slowing me. I pulled Chevelle’s horse by the tail with my magic, planning to stop or slow him enough to jump on. A tree branch came from nowhere and smacked me flat across the face. His horse whinnied as they rode away.

  “Why always the face?” I yelled at his back.

  Thwack! A second branch, this one more like a whip, struck me from behind. A fierce growl escaped me and I took off, running at full speed in the direction my horse had gone.