by Gwen Hansen
"He's impressive," Sheila replied honestly.
''I thought so, too,'' the archer admitted. “But then, I'd heard of him before. When Nemor led the Ninth Regiment, they were the most feared of all of Dynasian's troops.”
''He seemed very sure of himself.''
"That comes from being a fighter. And it's a safe bet he's a good one. Did you see how quickly he got his hand away from Quiet Storm? Anyone else would have been gored."
"But you don't trust him," Sheila guessed.
Kara loosened her braid and began to brush out her long, brown hair. "The point is the unicorns don't trust him. Pelu thinks he's poison."
Sheila knew that among the unicorns' powers was the unerring ability to sense danger. Illyria had not even trusted Sheila until Quiet Storm had given her his approval. The unicorn's violent reaction to Nemor was a warning that could not be ignored.
"Well, if we know he's dangerous, then what's the problem? Illyria can just say we're not going to join forces with him,"
"It's not that simple,'' Kara answered. "Illyria doesn't trust him any more than Quiet Storm does, but she wants to get into Dynasian's fortress and free the unicorns. She thinks she can use Nemor to get us in.”
"He doesn't look like the type who's easily used," Sheila said thoughtfully.
Kara gave her hair one last stroke and settled down to sleep. "That's the general opinion."
Sheila turned at the lazy tone. “You don't sound very worried,"
In the moonlight she could see Kara's grin. "One enemy's like another . . except this one's handsomer than most Her voice trailed off, and Sheila was sure she'd fallen asleep until she added, "There's only one thing about Nemor that worries me: How did he ever get so close to the camp before the unicorns sensed him?"
* * *
Sheila was up early the next morning, mostly because she was starving. With all the previous night's commotion about Nemor, no one had bothered to go hunting, and supper had consisted of flat loaves of bread and a stringy yellow plant that Pelu assured them was edible.
She found Darian cooking a porridge by the fire and giving Pelu dark looks. "And don't expect me to eat any more of whatever that was," he was saying to her. "You wouldn't dare feed anything that tasteless to the unicorns and you know it."
"No one forced you to eat it." Pelu told him, grinning. She was wearing a tunic sewn from the new material, Its sky-blue weave brought out the blue of her eyes and that, combined with her delicate build, somehow made her look young and very innocent. No one would ever take her for a warrior.
"Want breakfast?'' Darian asked Sheila. "I guarantee it's an improvement over last night."
Sheila accepted a bowl of the porridge as Pelu neatly stepped behind Darian, grabbed his wrist, and applied pressure.
"Do you apologize for all your nasty comments about dinner?" the healer asked sweetly.
Darian twisted against her grasp, found himself unable to break free, and swore under his breath.
Pelu waited patiently until he apologized.
"You'd better learn to choose your opponents more carefully," Illyria said with a laugh as she came upon Darian rubbing his wrist and glaring at Pelu. She sat down beside Sheila, helped herself to her brother's cooking, and winked at her youngest rider. "Well, at least he can cook."
Myno strode over to the group, a vision in saffron. Nanine had fashioned a longish tunic for her that hung in soft, graceful folds. But even Nanine's skill couldn't diminish Myno's powerful presence. Sheila was sure that if you dressed Myno in a twentieth-century lace wedding gown, she would still look as if she were about to charge into battle. "I want everyone over here now!" she barked.
Nanine and Dian came up from the stream, and Kara materialized from wherever she had been. Morning Star, her curiosity aroused, poked her head into the circle. "Not you," Sheila said fondly, and pushed her away.
Meanwhile Myno had begun. The day's mission, she announced, was for the band to split up, go into Ansar and the surrounding villages on foot, and gather as much information as they could about the Sareen, Nemor, and Dynasian's fortress. "Nanine and Pelu, you'll go into Ansar; Darian, the village just north of the city; Kara, Illyria, and I will cover the settlements in the hills. Dian and Sheila will remain in camp."
"Why?'' both girls cried at once.
“Because," Illyria answered, "after yesterday, I'm nor going to risk either one of you being recognized. And since Nemor found us, there's the possibility that someone else will. I don't want to leave the unicorns unguarded."
Sheila couldn't believe it. Two days in a row, stuck with Dian!
"Don't worry," Myno said, "I'll leave you plenty to keep you busy."
Within an hour the others had taken off and Sheila and Dian were left staring at a lengthy list of things to do. First they had to clean up after breakfast, then each girl was to do the sewing on the tunic that Nanine had cut out for her; there were saddle girths to be mended, and swords to he polished. And that was just the morning. The afternoon, Myno had specified, was to be spent in sword practice.
Sheila moaned as she envisioned the day ahead. "You know what this is, don't you?" she asked her fellow laborer. "This is Myno finally getting us back for that night when we were arguing about the saddles."
Dian shrugged. "It doesn't matter what it's for. Let's just get it over with."
They spent a good deal of time cleaning up after breakfast. Darian had managed to burn the porridge to the bottom of the pot, and it took forever to scrub it off in the cold stream.
As she had the day before, Dian barely spoke a word to Sheila, and as far as Sheila was concerned, that was just fine, But both girls had a pleasant surprise when they went to Nanine's tent and found the tunics she had cut for them. Nanine had worked hard to make sure that no two were the same, so that the riders wouldn't look like a troop.
Dian loved the color green and Nanine had left her a long, light green tunic, slit high at the sides. Even Sheila had to admit that Dian looked lovely when she slipped it on.
"I'll have to cut it," Dian said wistfully as she stared at tier reflection in the water. "I mean once we really start riding again."
Sheila wouldn't have that problem. The tunic Nanine had cut for her was short and woven from a lavender fabric so soft it reminded her of flannel. Sheila had never really liked lavender before, but this shade seemed just right with her auburn hair, tanned skin, and hazel eyes. For the first time in weeks she felt pretty, and she couldn't help wondering what Darian would think when he saw her.
* * *
The afternoon was half gone by the time Sheila and Dian had worked their way down Myno's list to "sword practice." This was the part of the day Sheila had been dreading. The truth was, she liked sword lessons when they were with Illyria or even Myno. Illyria had given her Danan's old sword, and gradually Sheila had relaxed enough to realize that using the sword well had more to do with skill and speed than with strength. But she had never worked with Dian before. All she knew was that everyone in the camp agreed that when it came to weapons, Dian was a natural.
"We'll work down by the stream," Dian decided. "The ground's level there."
Grimly, Sheila tightened her hold on her sword and followed Dian. Both girls had remained in their old tunics for this, knowing they would wind up sweaty and probably dirty as well.
"Now," Dian said with a superior tone, “why don't we start with basic drills.''
Sheila had done hours of basic drills with both Illyria and Myno, but she wasn't about to tell this to Dian.
"Front thrust, retreat, block, and upper cut," Dian ordered.
Sheila did as she was told, following Dian's motions. In spite of herself, she had to admit that Dian was really good. Like Illyria and Darian, her cuts were smooth and sure. The sword never wobbled or tilted at odd angles. And though they were practicing four separate moves, Dian had a way of blending them into a seamless whole.
They practiced basics until Sheila thought her arm was going to fall off.
''Good,'' Dian said at last, "Let's see you spar.”
"Now?" Sheila panted. "Give me a minute to catch my breath."
"I can just see it," Dian scoffed. ''In the middle of a battle you'll look up at Dynasian's soldiers and say, 'Could I have a minute to catch my breath, please?'”
"Forget I even asked," Sheila said angrily. "I'm ready whenever you are.”
Usually when they sparred, the warriors would warm up with a set of prearranged moves, with one person attacking and the other defending. Dian dispensed with that as she announced, "No rules. Open fight."
"Fine," Sheila said, though the thought of going into an open match against Dian rattled her. She knew Dian was going to try something; it was just a question of what.
Dian took her by surprise by fighting fairly. The problem was, she was about five times better than Sheila and, unlike Illyria and Myno, had no qualms about using her full strength against a less-skilled opponent. Dian’s sword whirled and met Sheila's with a ringing blow. Then before Sheila could counter the move, Dian was attacking again, relentless and tireless.
After a while Sheila lost count of the number of times she either had the sword knocked out of her hand or found herself knocked off her feet. When Dian finally managed to accomplish both with one move, Sheila decided she had had enough. Her teeth ached from being jarred so hard, and her left arm was shaking so badly she could barely close her hand around the sword's hilt. The worst part was that she hadn't scored a single hit on Dian. Not one.
She blinked back hot tears as Dian came to stand in front of her. "Get up," the other girl ordered, "you're not done."
“Yeah, but you are," said an angry voice behind them. "Maybe the reason she's having such a hard time is because her teacher isn't very good." Darian planted himself between Sheila and Dian, his sword drawn. "I don't think," he said to Dian, "that you'd like me to give you the kind of lesson you just gave her."
"You're interfering," Dian said angrily.
Sheila got to her feet, feeling a mixture of relief and embarrassment. The last thing she wanted was Dian thinking she needed Darian to protect her. "I'm fine," she announced. ''And . . . and I'll continue, if you want.''
"Why?" Darian asked. "So you can get even more worn out and discouraged?"
"Darian, please!" Sheila couldn't believe he was being so dense about this.
"I need practice, too," he announced with a cocky grin. "So I'll fight either one of you."
"You're acting like a bully, and you're pampering her!" Dian said.
"If you want to fight me, draw your sword," Darian replied, his own sword balanced lightly in front of him. "I'm waiting, o great teacher.''
"Well, then, you'll wait!" Dian spat. Without another word, she grabbed her sword and stalked off toward her tent.
"I wish you hadn't done that," Sheila said when they were alone.
Darian now stood staring into the stream, as if the scene with Dian had never happened. "Catch your breath," he said, without looking at Sheila. "Then pick up your sword and we'll see that you learn something."
“Darian, I'm serious. If Dian thinks you’re protecting me ...”
"What Dian thinks doesn't matter." He turned to face her, and for once there was no spark of humor in Darian's dark eyes. "What matters is that you learn to fight without losing the confidence you’ve built so far. Beating you into the ground isn't the way to do it. Now, pick up that sword and stop wasting time."
Sighing, Sheila picked up the sword again. With a sense of surprise she realized that the blade felt completely natural in her hand, as if she had used one all her life. Illyria had once promised that eventually the sword would feel like an extension of her arm—and now it was happening.
Still, she was extremely relieved when Darian announced that they would start with the prearranged combinations. "I'll attack, you defend," he said.
He began slowly, so that Sheila could follow the movement of his sword and meet it with her own, Darian's sword carved precise lines through the air, and though Sheila could rarely anticipate where the next move would come from, the blade was so perfectly controlled that she felt safe. Darian could stop the sword a hairsbreadth from her skin. And though he could have easily disarmed her or knocked her off her feet, as Dian had, he never took advantage of his strength.
Gradually, as he saw that Sheila was calmer than she had been with Dian, Darian picked up speed. Sheila parried his blows as quickly as she could, whirling to meet the sword that darted at her from above, below, and all sides.
"Easy," Darian said, his voice reassuring. "Don't let me make you rush your own moves. Fight your fight, not mine.
Sheila took a deep breath and concentrated on controlling her pace. She had no sooner gotten a grip on that than Darian called a break to explain that she was giving him too many openings. Then he let her work the attack and, as he defended himself, showed her how to correct the mistakes she had been making.
Bit by bit they advanced to more complicated patterns. Occasionally Darian would throw in an unexpected strike or show her a different way to use the techniques she was already familiar with. Like Illyria, he was demanding without being intimidating. He never ret her relax enough to be caught off guard and yet, Sheila realized with a sense of surprise, she was actually having fun.
When Darian called for a rest sometime later, Sheila was breathing hard, soaked with sweat, and even more sore than she had been with Dian. But her eyes were shining and she was laughing.
"Better?" Darian asked.
"Much better."
"If you keep practicing, you're going to be a terror,” he predicted.
Sheila put her sword back in its sheath. "You're a good teacher."
"That's because I was lucky enough to have a good one.”
"Illyria?''
"Not exactly," he said quietly. "But we had the same teacher. Our father."
Sheila didn't know what to say. Neither Darian nor Illyria talked much about their home She had a feeling that everything—and everyone—had been destroyed by Dynasian's troops. Now, with Darian so quiet, she didn't dare ask.
Finally Darian broke the awkward silence. "You know," he said, the mischief back in his eyes, "one of the I most important things my father taught me is that you've got to cool down properly after practice."
His glance slid from Sheila to the stream.
Sheila looked at the water and then back at Darian.
"Oh, no you don't," she said, understanding him all too well. She turned to run, but didn't get very far. She was exhausted and Darian was faster anyway.
"You won't need this now." Darian removed her sword from her belt as he caught her. Laughing, he picked her up and carried her to the stream.
"No!" she shrieked. "I'm too tired to swim. I'll drown. Darian, put me down now!"
"As you wish," he said with mock gallantry, and threw her into the stream.
Sheila felt the deliciously cool water close over her, and for a moment stayed beneath the surface, hoping to give Darian a scare. When she could no longer hold her breath, she sat up, sputtering, and tried to look angry.
Darian stood on the bank watching her. "I don't think you drowned," he observed.
"No thanks to you." Sheila stood up, intent on vengeance, and sat down again with a splash as the weight of her soaked tunic combined with the current to bring her down.
Darian gave up all pretense of control and doubled over laughing.
"I don't care how good you are with a sword," Sheila said, hoping she sounded angrier than she actually was. ''I'll get you for this,''
"Yeah? What are you going to do? Hide my sandals?"
With a very undignified screech Sheila rose and lunged toward the shore, determined to at least soak him. But Darian beat her to it, arcing into the stream with a graceful dive.
"Show-off," Sheila muttered.
A moment later he surfaced beside her. Sheila sent a jet of water into his face and swam for the opposite bank.
It was no use. Darian pulled even with her, swimming with strong, smooth strokes. "Admit it," he told her in a smug tone. "You really wanted to go swimming with me."
Sheila just rolled her eyes. She was too tired to give him the satisfaction of an argument. But they swam together until it was nearly time for dinner, and secretly she couldn't help wondering if he was right.
7
Visitors
One by one the women returned to the camp. That evening they gathered around the fire to report on what they had found.
"Before any of you tell me about Nemor," Illyria began, "Kara has some news.”
The archer's face was drawn as she spoke. "I spoke to a woman today who recognized my description of Lianne. She said that she had seen a chain of captives being led to Dynasian's fortress, and one of them looked like my sister."
"That's great!" Sheila said.
Kara shook her head. The others were silent.
"It's not great?" Sheila asked.
"We all know how Dynasian treats his captives," Myno said sharply. The tyrant was feared throughout the empire for his cruelty, and as an escaped slave herself, there were few who knew it better than Myno.
Illyria looked at Kara with both sympathy and a resolve to face the truth. "If we do take the fortress and find Lianne-"
"I'm not sure I want to see what we find," Kara finished, and strode from the fire.
Pelu started after her, but Illyria stopped the healer, "Let her go. Kara will be all right, but she needs time by herself. And I need to know what all of you found out about Nemor."
It seemed everything he had told them was true. He had been one of Dynasian's ablest and most trusted captains when he suddenly resigned. No one knew what explanation he gave the tyrant, but it must have been a good one, for few men left Dynasian's service alive. Nemor disappeared from sight for a while, then1 approximately a year later, he showed up in one of the villages outside Ansar and began to build the rebel group the Sareen. Since then he had mounted a series of daring raids on Dynasian's troops. To Sheila, he sounded like some kind of Robin Hood, stealing from the tyrant’s caravans and soldiers and giving to the poor. The people considered him a hero—and their only real hope for overthrowing Dynasian.