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Two days later, Viper leaned on Lorel’s bare arm and a new pair of sturdy wooden crutches. His pine tree was the best friend in the world. She’d somehow convinced Karisu that he should get out and absorb the sunshine.
It felt so good to be out in the open air – and out of the lonely bed. They’d explored the stone streets in front of grand mansions, the crushed-shell streets of the merchant’s quarter, and even the muddy edges of the lake with houses on stilts. He hadn’t believed her, but his gyrfalcon was right. The architecture of the town amazed him.
Sedra-Kei’s outskirts fascinated both of them. Merchants and messengers, fighters and beggars; people traipsed in and out of the city, ignoring each other as if they were the only people on the road.
He could tell who the locals were. The neighborhood natives wore hats. Everyone else kept one eye on the sky.
Birds of amazing colors flitted above the crowd. Red-and-purple birds dropped nuts on people. Orange birds swooped between travelers and squawked like they wanted to blow out everyone’s eardrums. Pale green birds released – fragrant things.
Lorel hopped aside to avoid a large dose of stinky bird perfume. “Fraying turd bird. Go crap on somebody else.”
Viper laughed. “We ought to buy hats.”
“Really big hats.” She plucked at her shirt’s frayed hem. “And you was right. We need new clothes, too.”
“We’ll go shopping as soon as we sell a couple of gemstones.”
“More fraying bargaining. Makes me tired just thinking about it. Hey, look.” She pointed north, high in the sky. “Look at the size of that bird.”
“Biggest I’ve ever seen.” Viper shaded his eyes to see it better. “And the bluest. I wonder why it’s circling.”
A passing merchant noticed Lorel’s pointing finger, looked up, and screamed shrilly. He abandoned his wheelbarrow and ran into the nearest building as fast as his scrawny legs would carry him.
People in his path paused, looked into the sky, and fled for cover.
What was wrong with them? It was only a bird. “Do you suppose there’s a local superstition about blue birds?”
Lorel simply shrugged. “Hey, look. It’s diving. What’s it after? I hope one of them turd-birds.”
The blue bird dived, becoming larger. And larger.
More people ran past them, racing into town, panic on their faces.
The bird’s wings were translucent instead of feathered.
His breath caught in his throat. “It’s a dragon.”
“Can’t be.” Lorel leaned back and glanced at him. “Dragons are only in ghoulie tales.”
The dragon swooped like an eagle plummeting for the kill. It landed hard, grasped a fleeing merchant in its front claws, and took off on the rebound. Its enormous wings beat furiously until it was a hundred paces above the ground.
The man screamed weakly, as if he’d already given up.
Viper shuddered. “I’d hazard this is our ghoulie tale.”
Blue wings glided in a slow, low circle.
The creature was incredibly beautiful, more graceful than a dancer, more sedate than a shaman. He couldn’t tear his gaze from it.
With a flick of its paw, the dragon tossed its wailing victim into the air. Its mouth snaked out and snapped around the man’s waist.
The merchant shrieked louder, but suddenly his wails ceased.
It didn’t seem real. The whole attack felt more like a strange, drifting dream. Dragons couldn’t drop out of the air and eat people.
One blue paw seized its prey’s legs, the other his head. The dragon slowly devoured its victim in midair.
An arc of blood splattered on the ground twenty paces in front of them. Viper blinked at the red splotches, and looked back up at the dragon. “I can hardly believe what we’re seeing.”
Lorel shook her head. “I can’t believe it. Once we get home, everybody’s gonna call me a liar.”
Finished with its snack, the dragon beat its wings hard, gained altitude, and began to circle again.
“Amazing,” Viper whispered. “Trevor would have been enthralled.” And horrified. And taking notes faster than his pen could lay down ink. Trevor had talked about dragons almost from the day they met. How he missed the old man.
“Come on, kid.” Lorel scooped him up, crutches and all, and dashed to safety between the stone buildings. “I ain’t ready to go fighting dragons. That’s gotta wait ’til I’m a warlord.”
“Put me down, turybird. No dragon could land in the middle of the city.” Not in a narrow alley like this one, anyway.
“Betcha it could, kid, if it wanted to.” She continued to trot down the hard paved street. Her every step jarred his bad foot until he wanted to scream.
“No one else is running around acting scared. We’re safe here.” Safe enough, anyway. Being carried hurt more than getting eaten would.
He wiped sweat off his forehead with his sleeve.
“You ain’t too tired, are you?” Lorel paused and studied him. “The healer said to be careful. We don’t gotta see the whole city in one day, you know.”
“I’m fine, don’t fuss.” His foot hurt so much it had gone numb. “Put me down.”
She hesitated, but gently set him on the ground in a wide street lined with modest homes.
People were walking along as if they hadn’t noticed the attack. Maybe they hadn’t. His turybird had carried him a blasted long way.
He checked the sky. No dragons in sight. Maybe it had grabbed a cow and gone home.
Now he just had to keep Lorel too busy to notice how badly the pain in his foot was eating at him.
To distract her, he pointed one crutch at a tall stone wall that didn’t fit the neighborhood. Three tall towers stretched above the wall. “I want to see that building. Who would build watch towers in middle of a city?”
Lorel shrugged and shuffled along beside him. He couldn’t remember the last time she had walked so slowly. He glanced up at her, but her face was impassive. He couldn’t guess at her thoughts, which seemed strange. His pine tree usually wore her emotions on the end of her beaky nose.
The rambling mansion beyond the wall bore no signs or crests. It looked ancient, the rock worn away by centuries of rain. It bothered him that there were no plants inside the wall, only sand and graveled paths. On the outside, someone had scoured off the ever-present moss.
“What on the deathwind is it?” He peered through the ornate bronze gate. “That’s not a private residence.” He turned and, speaking in Duremen-Lor, asked a passing guard about the building.
The guard bowed and smiled politely. “That’s the House of the Gyrfalcon, a sword school of the highest degree.”
“Weaver speed the Shuttle,” Lorel crowed in Zedisti. “I understand that much Duremen-Lor. I been looking for this place. This is the school I want to join.”
Viper translated for the guard, and the guard’s replies to Lorel.
The guard glanced at the building, but looked away quickly. “To enroll, you must go in and ask for a trial, which could be anything from exercise with a student to a duel to the death with an instructor.” He shook his head. “If you’re good enough, the House might take you in.”
Viper glanced at Lorel, who still looked ecstatic. He rolled his eyes.
The guard nodded sympathetically. “Their fees are outrageous, unless you agree to be demonstration bait. But that’s often fatal, because the instructors don’t care if they kill their victim, student or not.”
A swordsman strutted past them, paused at the guardhouse, and swaggered through the polished gates.
Lorel sighed after him like she’d fallen in love. “But they’re the best, ain’t they? Gyrfalcon House puts out the best warriors?”
“Yes.” The guard looked up at the towering mansion. “That’s true, if the student lives long enough.”
“Thunderer protect us.” Viper glared at the gate and tried to hide a shudder. A school that didn’t mind killing its stude
nts sounded like a school for assassins, not warriors.
The guard nodded and walked away.
Viper turned to Lorel, but could think of nothing comforting or helpful to say. Obviously she couldn’t join a horrible school like this one. Maybe he should ask around and find a sword school that taught its students instead of trying to devour them.
“I’m going to do it, kid.”
“What?”
“I’m going in there and ask to be a student.” She paced a few steps, halted, and looked back at him. “You coming in to be my witness? They say in the taverns it’s tradition to have a friend witness the trial.”
“You can’t be serious.” He slumped against the wall and covered his eyes. His foot pounded in time with his heartbeat. “You’re crazy. Who are you going to get to translate for you? I can’t stay with you all of the time.”
“These schools all talk lots of languages, even Zedisti. I asked. And my Duremen-Lor ain’t all that bad.” She glared at him impatiently. “You coming or not?”
“I’m with you.” He scowled up at her. “But I think you’ve lost what few brains you ever laid claim to.”
“I gotta do this, kid.” She didn’t look at him directly. “I gotta start making my own decisions.” She turned and stalked away.
Since when had he tried to make decisions for her? Hadn’t they always worked as a team? But he leaned into his crutches and followed her to the gate’s guardhouse.
The young woman in the guard booth watched them with laughing eyes.
“I have come to ask for a trial,” Lorel said in careful – and obviously rehearsed – Duremen-Lor.
Viper glared up at her. So much for the accidental discovery of this school. He’d been led by the nostrils like a hungry bahtdor hatchling.
The guard nodded and unlocked the gate. She motioned them in, locked them in, and resumed her post.
“I don’t like this,” Viper whispered.
“Too late now. Shut up, kid.”
They strolled up the gray gravel path to the grayer stone mansion. A tall man met them on the stairs. “What do you want?” he asked in a bored tone.
“I have come to ask for a trial.” Again she spoke in rehearsed Duremen-Lor.
He pointed at Viper. “And this?”
Oh, he was a ‘this’ now, was he? And Lorel wanted to learn sword work from them? She certainly wouldn’t learn anything about honor. Or manners, for that matter.
“My witness,” she said in flat Zedisti.
The man nodded and switched languages smoothly. “You may call me Master Clercmauri Osprey. I am the dean of the Gyrfalcon Sword Academy. Come.” He led Lorel down a winding corridor.
Considering how fast the sword master walked, they must be headed deep into the building. Viper hustled his crutches to keep up with them.
After several minutes of limping at a warrior’s pace, he knew he was in trouble, but he wasn’t willing to shame Lorel by showing it. He’d said he was well enough to travel the city, and his honor demanded he continue on.
His bad foot tingled and grew cold. That was a relief. His armpits burned like raw meat over a campfire. Had he lost all of his traveling callouses? Could armpits get calloused? He’d never tried to crutch along at high speed for any distance before.
Spots danced before his eyes. He fought to draw enough air to keep moving, but he couldn’t fill his lungs. Eventually, he couldn’t hide the fact he couldn’t breathe. Didn’t this corridor ever end?
Clercmauri paused and glanced at Lorel.
She patted Viper’s shoulder. “How about I–”
The halt was enough to let him gasp in some air. “Don’t you even offer to carry me.”
Clercmauri smirked at Lorel, but waited for Viper to catch his breath.
Though he glanced at back occasionally, the sword master led them at an amble down another corridor, which opened into a sand-filled courtyard surrounded by stone boxes. He thumped a small gong with his fist.
Twenty people filed into the yard and stood along the walls.
They’d been waiting. Was it an ambush? What else did they have planned? How could he warn Lorel?
Clercmauri stalked to the center of the sandy courtyard. “The witness will hold your weapons.”
Lorel nodded, unbuckled her sword belt, and handed it to Viper. He slung the belt over his shoulder and prayed the swords stayed in their sheaths, and that the sheaths didn’t get tangled in his crutches. He’d die from embarrassment if one did.
“That is the Witness Post.” Clercmauri pointed at an enormous stone chair Viper had mistaken for an empty planter box. “Sit, boy.”
The man had his nerve, ordering him about like a puppy. Was everyone here so rude?
Lorel might fit right in.
The seat of the chair was level with his collarbone. It smelled of old sweat and hopeless terror. Why would a witness be afraid?
He hoisted his crutches and Lorel’s swords up onto the seat. He hauled himself up and sat cross-legged, fully aware that the dimensions of the monstrous chair made him look as big as a toddler’s baby doll.
His bad foot thumped against rough stone. Orange agony hurtled from his foot to his groin. He forced himself to not react. Not in front of all these warriors. Screaming like a murdered coney would ruin what little credibility he’d earned.
He sat up straight and nodded regally at the sword master.
“A challenge has been called,” Clercmauri shouted into the square. “A trial is sought. Shall the challenger be tried?”
“The challenger shall be tried,” the onlookers chorused.
“Who shall judge the challenger?”
“I shall.” A slender, iron-haired woman strode forward. “I am Master Farouh Nighthawk.” She turned to Viper. “Who is the challenger?”
“Lorel Gyrfalcon.” He couldn’t very well name her ‘Lorel Turybird’, no matter how tempted he was.
Lorel’s jaw dropped.
Farouh glared at him. “How dare you call her Gyrfalcon inside the House of the Gyrfalcon?”
“When did you first give her that name?” Clercmauri raised his hand to silence Farouh’s anger. “She seemed as surprised at the name as we.”
“The first time… About a year ago.” Viper glanced at Lorel, but focused on the sword master. “But I never said it aloud. I always called her by friendship names, not nice ones either. She’s too mean.”
Clercmauri nodded. “Childhood names are past. Shall the challenger be so named?”
Some the spectators hesitated, but most spoke up. “The challenger shall be so named.”
“You’ll have to earn the name to keep it,” Farouh said to the room at large.
Lorel nodded and settled into a ready stance. The muscles in her bare arms flexed. Threads from her torn sleeves straggled down her arms.
A small boy brought out a pair of long wooden blades. He went to Farouh, who indicated that he should go to Lorel first.
Lorel examined the swords carefully before choosing one and nodded thanks to the child.
Farouh jerked her head higher and settled her hands on her hips. “Why did you take that one?”
“The other one is warped, and the grain is wrong,” Lorel said. “It’ll break under pressure.”
He’d taught her that, during one of their early lessons. He was amazed she’d remembered.
Farouh grinned, and the expression transformed her lined face. She sent the boy for a new sword.
She’s a handsome woman, Viper thought in surprise. She’s not as old as she looks when she frowns.
The child returned with a pair of weapons, handed off one, and dashed out of the way. Farouh saluted Lorel with the new wooden sword.
Lorel saluted both masters, then the bystanders. How amazing. He’d finally taught her some manners.
“Well done,” Clercmauri murmured. “Begin.”
Farouh lunged in attack, smacking Lorel on the hip before she could parry.
Blood seeped down Lorel’s trouser
leg.
She’d drawn blood with a wooden sword? Through cloth? On the first blow? This was not good. He wasn’t big enough to carry his turybird home, not even when he had two healthy feet.
Sword above her head, Farouh attacked again.
Lorel yanked her sword up, turned the blow. The blade whisked past her shoulder.
Farouh stepped back.
“One,” Clercmauri said calmly.
Another lunging strike, and a new red streak flared on Lorel’s thigh. She dropped and rolled out of range before springing back to her feet. Sand clotted her bloody wounds.
Farouh closed in and swung the sword two handed.
Viper lost count of the bruises on Lorel’s ribs. His heart pounded so hard he felt dizzy. Did the girl even have a chance?
Lorel parried awkwardly, knocked a blow off its path. The blade swept past her head.
Farouh stepped back.
Sweat beaded on Lorel’s face.
“Two,” Clercmauri said.
The older woman leapt forward and battered Lorel like a wicker dummy.
After three blows, Lorel jumped back, and lunged in from the left.
Farouh struck Lorel over the shoulder. The flat of the sword rebounded against Lorel’s head.
Lorel dropped low and whipped her sword against Farouh’s shin.
Farouh collapsed to one knee, with her injured leg thrust out stiffly. Broken bones twisted under her skin.
His turybird had managed that? She really was a gyrfalcon.
“Seven,” Clercmauri called. “Farouh, can you handle the pain? Apologies, I withdraw the question. Captain, send for the healer.”
Farouh leaned back in the sand and glared at Clercmauri. A light sheen of perspiration glowed on her face.
Blood and sweat trickled down Lorel’s skin. She handed her wooden sword to the servant boy, and staggered toward Farouh. “I know how to set that.”
When had his turybird learned to set a broken bone? She’d been keeping secrets.
“Let the healer deal with it.” Clercmauri waved her back. “Lorel Gyrfalcon. You are well named. I’ve never seen an applicant break a master’s leg before. Were you showing off? You needed only five points to be accepted as a student.”
Lorel knelt in the sand and laughed breathlessly. “You forgot to tell me that.”
Sorcery's Child (The Mindbender's Rise Book 2) Page 25