‘Ree. You held your own against someone bigger and more knowledgeable than yourself. Someone’s obviously taught you how to compensate for your size. And what Zander here lacks in precision, you have in bucketloads. Your main problem …’ His eyes narrowed fractionally as he assessed her, before concluding, ‘Inflexible. You didn’t adapt to his style. You assumed you knew what he’d do – based on your own past experience, I assume – and acted accordingly. But every swordsman is different. Every person is different. You learn your opponent in every fight, and learn fast, or else you lose.’
Ree nearly objected that she’d only ever fought one person before, so it was hardly as if she’d had much opportunity to be flexible – but she restrained herself. Because the weaponmaster was right. He knew what he was talking about. And if she were to have any hope of progressing beyond this point, she had to learn from everything he told her. So she simply thanked him, and heard Zander echo it. Bryan studied both of them a moment longer, then nodded.
‘You’re both decent enough for first-timers. I don’t utterly despair of making something out of you. And to that end …’ He stood back, expression challenging. ‘Let’s see you do it again.’
After that, it was nothing but fun. Bryan corrected Zander’s grip, and showed Ree how to counter that unusual move, and then they fought each other again. All the while her smile lingered on her lips, despite how it made her cheeks ache. This was exactly what she wanted. What she’d hoped for. And she never wanted to go back.
They might make you, said the small voice of doubt inside her, but she suppressed it sternly.
I am never going back.
Too soon, the session was over. Bryan lined them back up before taking his place at the front of the group.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘None of you are being shown the door today.’
The collective sigh of relief in the yard was audible. Though Ree tried to stop it, her gaze slid to the red-haired girl. You were hoping she’d fail, weren’t you? her conscience whispered. You’re a horrible person.
‘We will continue to monitor your basic skills throughout the week,’ Bryan went on. ‘Those of you who survive it will go through an intensive training and assessment process in all varieties of combat: armed, unarmed, single and melee. You will learn and be tested on the standard forms of swordplay and rudimentary battle tactics, as well as wrestling and archery.’ Ree’s stomach plunged. ‘After seven weeks, Captain Caraway will assess you one-on-one and identify those of you he feels have the potential for further training. Any questions?’
Again, utter silence gripped the recruits. Then one of them, braver or more foolish than the rest, spoke up.
‘Sir, I understand it’s traditional to learn the forms. But are they really that valuable, when the people we’ll be fighting aren’t likely to know them – or if they do, won’t necessarily stick to them?’
‘Don’t look down on the classical training,’ Bryan said. ‘The fashion these days is to fight as a sellsword fights, quick and dirty. But the best swordsman I ever taught could have wiped the floor with any sellsword and still had the stamina to spar with me afterwards.’
‘Who was he, sir? Your pupil?’
‘Lord Myrren Nightshade,’ Bryan said. ‘He could have been the best in the world. But sadly…’
Ree ducked her head, uncomfortable. Everyone had heard the rumours, but given where they were, no-one liked to ask any questions.
No-one except Farleigh.
‘Sir, is it true he murdered his own father?’
‘Killed, yes.’ The words dropped softly into the sudden silence. ‘Murdered, no.’
Ree had almost forgotten the scruffy brown-haired man. She glanced up; he hadn’t left his place by the wall, shoulders resting casually against the stone.
‘What does that mean?’ Farleigh demanded.
‘It means that in some circumstances, a man’s intentions can outweigh his actions.’
‘That’s just an excuse,’ Penn put in, the habitual frown deepening on his face. ‘I don’t know where you’re from, but I was always taught that murder is murder. Killing is wrong except in law or at war – that’s pretty much the first lesson my parents ever taught me.’
Ree shook her head. Yet he’s joined the assessment programme …
‘It’s not that simple, though, is it?’ she said. ‘There’s self-defence. Or defence of someone you’re sworn to protect. Like the Helm with the Nightshade line,’ she added pointedly.
‘Exactly.’ There went Zander, leaping to her aid again. Well, maybe leaping was the wrong word. Sauntering, perhaps. She found she didn’t mind it so much this time. ‘I mean … by your standards, Avens, Captain Caraway murdered Owen Travers. Traitor or not.’
‘Which is obviously nonsense!’ Farleigh added. ‘No-one could call Captain Caraway a murderer. He was a hero!’
The brown-haired man had been listening to their conversation with a grave, interested look on his face, but at that he shook his head. ‘Tomas Caraway was no hero, believe me. He was a bit of an idiot who happened to get lucky.’
Farleigh scowled. ‘What do you know about it? Who are you, anyway?’
The stranger gave him a faintly apologetic smile. ‘Tomas Caraway.’
But – but where’s his coat? Ree bit her lip, hearing her stunned embarrassment reflected in the shuffling feet and unnecessarily cleared throats around her. This was Captain Caraway. The man who’d discovered the previous captain’s treasonous plans and single-handedly rescued Lady Ayla from false imprisonment. The man she’d have to impress if she were to have any chance of achieving her dream. And she’d been standing there judging him on his hairstyle.
‘The best that can be said of me is that I never lost sight of what the Helm is for,’ Caraway said into the silence. ‘First and foremost, we aren’t warriors or kingmakers or law enforcers. We’re protectors. If you want to join us in Darkhaven, you’d do well to remember that.’
He glanced over at Bryan, who gave him a nod. There was respect in it, but also something else. Shared history, maybe. A mutual wry acknowledgement of … something.
‘Quite so, Captain Caraway, and thank you for coming along,’ the weaponmaster said. ‘See any promise in this bunch of reprobates?’
Caraway shrugged. ‘I’m sure a handful of them will do well in Darkhaven – once they’ve learned that there’s more to being a Helmsman than wearing a striped coat.’
He didn’t even look in Ree’s direction as he said it, but the blood heated her cheeks all the same. Awareness of it doing nothing to improve the situation, she flushed even hotter and dropped her chin to stare steadfastly at the ground once more. Curse her thin skin. She’d bet none of the others were blushing like awkward teenage girls.
‘Want to show them how it’s done, boyo?’ Bryan said. Not the proper way to address the Captain of the Helm, but she heard Caraway’s grin in his voice.
‘Why not? I can probably get in a defence or two before you disarm me.’
At that Ree had to look up, despite her embarrassment. Bryan and Caraway were facing each other in the centre of the yard, swords in the ready position. They exchanged a nod, the salute of men who spared little time for frivolity. Then Bryan lunged, brutal and heavy, nothing like the careful practice lunges he’d demonstrated so far – Caraway caught the blade on his own and wrenched it aside – and Ree forgot everything else, because they were good. This was nothing like watching the other trainees spar, or what she’d been doing with Zander. This was a kind of art.
After an intent, breath-holding interval, she realised that as well as engaging in a genuine attempt to disarm each other, they were demonstrating the forms. Never the same one twice. It was like that game Ree had played as a child, where you took it in turns to name cities or birds or trees as quickly as possible, and if you repeated one you were out; a grown-up version, played at swordpoint. She found herself naming each form under her breath: Firestorm, Red Dawn, Harvest Corn, one she didn’t recognise
– and then Bryan went for a Cascade of Ice, and even as Caraway twisted nimbly out of reach she was biting back a protest –
‘Well?’ Bryan turned to her suddenly, eyebrows raised. Hard to tell how he could have heard that quickly suppressed cry above the general cheering and clamouring, but he had. ‘Excitement getting too much for you, girlie?’
Her spine stiffened. But he called Captain Caraway ‘boyo’, she reminded herself, it’s not aimed just at you …
‘No, sir,’ she said aloud. ‘It’s just, I – I believe you already did the Cascade of Ice. Sir.’
Bryan stared at her without speaking; beyond him, a slow grin was dawning on Caraway’s face.
‘Glad to see someone’s paying attention,’ the captain said. ‘My round, Bryan?’
The weaponmaster snorted. ‘Looks like it. You’d better keep an eye on this one, Breakblade.’
‘I intend to.’ Caraway glanced at Ree with approval, and she felt herself blush again – but this time, she didn’t care.
Later, buzzing with the feverish energy that had been ignited in them by the day’s events, most of the trainees found their way to an inn. This time, buoyed by praise, Ree went with them. Inevitably the conversation lingered on everything that Bryan and Caraway had said and done, and in particular their duel. It had inspired everyone, Ree realised. It was probably meant to. They’d been given a glimpse of what they could be, if they were good enough. And from there, talk moved to the surprise appearance of the captain himself.
‘Why did Weaponmaster Bryan call Captain Caraway “Breakblade”?’ the red-haired girl – Saydi – asked with a pretty frown. She’d come along with everyone else, all giggly and fluttery; still riding on the crest of the day’s excitement, Ree was able largely to ignore the minor aggravation of her presence. ‘It’s an odd kind of name to give the Captain of the Helm.’
‘They call him that ’cos the weapons of his enemies shatter when he fights them,’ one trainee suggested, but another shook his head.
‘Nah. S’because even when his sword breaks in half, he’s still better than the other guy.’
‘I’ll tell you the real reason,’ Penn said. ‘Tomas Caraway was known as Breakblade because his sword was broken in half when he was thrown out of the Helm. And he only got back in because his lover put him there.’
Silence fell amongst the trainees. Then one of them said, ‘Well, I heard Captain Caraway killed Owen Travers with a broken sword –’ and with that, the lively discussion started up again. Ree stayed quiet, watching Penn. He was glowering into his ale cup, face dark with loathing – but she couldn’t tell if it was directed at Captain Caraway, his fellow recruits or the whole damn world. Either way, she couldn’t see why on earth he’d want to join the Helm if that was how he felt.
‘Doesn’t like us much, does he?’ Zander’s amused voice said in her ear. ‘More wine, Ree?’
‘All right. Just a little.’
He reached across the table for the bottle, and she spotted the design tattooed on the back of his left wrist. She’d noticed it earlier, but she’d been too busy concentrating on the lesson to really take it in. Now, she caught his arm for a closer look.
‘This is pretty,’ she said, touching it with a fingertip. The pattern was like an abstract flower, eight petals with small circles in between them, picked out in black ink against his brown skin. Zander raised his eyebrows at her in mock disapproval and removed his wrist from her grasp.
‘Pretty, no. Attractive, I’ll allow you. Or striking, at a pinch.’
‘Sorry,’ she said with a grin. ‘So what’s the significance of your extremely rugged and manly tattoo, Zander?’
‘Family tradition. My father has one the same.’ He smiled back at her, but she detected that same hint of constraint that had coloured his voice when they spoke about their home towns. And, sure enough, after a moment he pulled his sleeve down over his wrist and turned the conversation to another topic. Very adroitly – she didn’t think anyone else would have noticed – but again, she found it odd.
Soon they were talking about the weeks ahead, comparing notes on the different disciplines they’d be studying. Once some of the boys had admitted their own weaknesses, Ree didn’t feel so bad about her archery – even when Penn tried to needle her about it. What did bother her, though, was Saydi. Time and again, the other girl made remarks that showed her ignorance of combat and weaponry, until Ree found herself wincing along in sympathy. And so, once they were back in the fifth ring and she and Saydi had peeled off from the group towards the women’s barracks, she couldn’t help interrupting the other girl’s flow of chatter with the question that was burning in her throat.
‘What are you doing here, Saydi?’
‘Me? What do you mean?’
‘I mean, this is important to me. I’ve wanted it my whole life. But you …’
You make me look bad, she wanted to say. The boys don’t take you seriously, and that means they don’t take me seriously either. You’re ruining this for me! But Saydi was already looking hurt, so Ree shook her head.
‘Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Just …’ She hesitated, then took the plunge. ‘You didn’t set out to join the Helm, or even become a warrior. You obviously have some skill, or you wouldn’t have got through the first day, but why don’t you start with ordinary training and see how it goes? I mean, you’re obviously not prepared for this …’
Saydi giggled, though more nervously than usual. ‘How do you know?’
Because you have perfect fingernails, you’re covered in lace and you don’t know a feint from a faint. ‘The conversation back there … have you ever trained before?’
‘My father taught me a bit, before he died. After that I taught myself.’
Elements. Ree shook her head. ‘You’re going straight in at the hardest level. No point making it more difficult than you have to. If you want to be accepted as part of the group and not some kind of – of sideshow –’
She bit her lip, immediately knowing she’d gone too far. But Saydi didn’t retaliate. They’d reached their corridor by now; the other girl mumbled something, then hurried off towards her own room without even looking in Ree’s direction. Ree felt guilty for an instant, but only an instant. Because what she’d told Saydi was true: this was the most important thing she’d ever done, and she couldn’t let anyone ruin it. Particularly not a girl who was exactly like every one of the silly marriage-obsessed females she’d left behind. She’d had enough of that kind of thing in her life already.
Yet somehow, the evening had lost its lustre.
Once the new cohort of recruits had left the yard, Bryan and Caraway ambled around it picking up all the practice weapons – because every wooden sword would need checking for notches and flaws before it was used again. The whole point of a practice weapon was to leave no more than bruises, not to embed a cloud of splinters in some hapless youth’s face. Of course, this kind of thing wasn’t Bryan’s job, and certainly not Caraway’s; yet the captain always claimed he liked to carry out mundane tasks every so often, to give himself time to think, and Bryan himself had a very particular reason for wanting to stay behind.
He was hoping that Caraway would bring up the subject first, but the lad remained frustratingly silent all through the process of gathering the weapons. Once they were stacked up, he settled down to check them over; Bryan stood off to one side, arms folded, and waited.
And waited.
Until finally, he didn’t have the patience to wait any more.
‘So, what did you think of the new lot?’ he asked, keeping his tone deliberately noncommittal. Caraway lifted a shoulder without looking up.
‘No better or worse than any other intake. Hard to assess much beyond basic skill on the first day, you know that.’
‘True. But we’ve never had an intake quite like this, have we?’
‘Have we not?’
‘I’d say not, given that it contains two girls.’
‘Were there girls? I didn’
t notice.’ Caraway’s head was bent, but Bryan caught his lurking smile.
‘Damn it, Tomas!’ he snapped. ‘You could at least take this seriously!’
The smile faded. ‘What makes you think I don’t?’
‘Because you’re acting like it’s nothing out of the ordinary, when you know damn well it is!’
Still crouched on the ground surrounded by wooden swords, Caraway glanced up at him. ‘You thought it would unsettle me, didn’t you? You thought I’d see those girls and start fretting over it, wondering how to tell them without being cruel that they were in the wrong place – because I’m a nice lad who doesn’t like to hurt people’s feelings, but there’s no way a woman can perform the tasks required of a Helmsman.’
Since that was exactly what Bryan had thought, he could only nod.
‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ Caraway said, returning to his task. ‘But I see no reason to turn them away.’
As simple as that, eh? Bryan ran a hand over his scalp, unsure whether to be amused or exasperated. ‘You think they can do the job?’
‘I don’t know. But I don’t see the harm in letting them try.’
‘Owen Travers would have thrown ’em out straight away,’ Bryan muttered, and Caraway cast him another glance.
‘In case you hadn’t noticed,’ he said with deceptive mildness, ‘I’m not much like Owen Travers.’
Bryan dismissed the obvious with a flick of his fingers. ‘I know you want to do things differently, Breakblade, and I respect that. But I still think you’re not allowing this issue enough weight.’
‘Why not? Why do a couple of girls make so much difference?’
‘Because the Helm are men! Always have been! If one of these girls is good enough to pass the training and you end up accepting her into the Helm, it’ll cause chaos in the ranks. Surely you know that.’
‘Actually, I don’t,’ Caraway said. Pushing the last practice sword aside, he got to his feet. ‘Women have been training alongside men in the fifth ring for much longer than you or I have been here. It’s not as if a female warrior is a new idea to any of my Helmsmen.’ He frowned at Bryan’s sudden grin. ‘What?’
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