Blood Winter: Immortalibus Bella 3

by SL Figuhr

  The doctor lifted her chin up, doing a quick inspection. Finally, he let go and turned to a table covered in the instruments of his trade, including dirty bandages and bowls of water, along with jars of various sizes and material. He selected one, scraped out a paste strongly smelling of goose fat and put it in a smaller clay jar.

  “Use this three times a day, keep the area clean and free of dirt. Next!” he called out.

  Tamzin was not to be put off easily. “What’s in this?”

  “That, young lady, is not your concern. Do you want help or not? If not, I have others who are more appreciative and will use it if you won’t. I’m not wasting my medicine on ungrateful former,” he stressed, “slaves.”

  She glared at him, wrapping her hand around the jar and standing up from the stool. “If this doesn’t work, I will be back.”

  He didn’t even bother to reply, only beckoned impatiently to the person behind her who was waiting for her to leave. The young woman strode from the room, and joined the throngs of people flowing in all directions through the hallways, chatting away.

  “The advisor has boards set up in the receiving rooms with notices for open positions needing workers.”

  “I told my daughter they wouldn’t want women, but she defied me and signed up anyway.”

  “Disgraceful.”

  Tamzin scowled at the backs of the two gossiping women who walked in front, making it impossible for anyone to get around them.

  “What’s even more humiliating is they accepted her! I told her, I did, she was ruining her chances of finding a decent husband if she insisted on doing a man’s job.”

  “They won’t like that. A man wants a woman what will obey him, and keep a tidy home and bear his children.”

  Tamzin felt her blood heat up; she couldn’t take any more of their chatter. “Excuse me! I need through!” She shouted behind them and shoved them apart.

  They squawked in outrage, yelling after her about her rude behavior. The young woman ignored them, already out of hearing distance. She peeked into rooms as she passed, until she had found the area everyone talked about.

  The white-blonde, blue-eyed female stalked inside, moving around those who meandered about. She ignored the looks sent her way, some admiring, some in displeasure.

  It seemed every guild had a representative who sat behind tables draped in fabric, with their guild symbols displayed. Slowly she walked past, scrutinizing each one. They were comprised mostly of men who sat talking to potential apprentices, who had a tendency to deliberately ignore any female who approached looking for information or to join. Tamzin saw one of the parchment merchants, who was a guest of the duchess’s, sitting behind a table. A small sign showed books, a quill, and ink pot. Small, neat writing underneath proclaimed: Colin Dugan, Professor of Learning, Royal Academy. Many people cast glances his way, with only a few of the more curious daring to venture over. As the woman moved throughout the connecting rooms, she saw one filled with artisans, which had a few females present. The last room was set apart, the royal weapons hall.

  From inside came the clash and clang of metal, the taunts and yells of men, and a few women. Tamzin pushed her way through the crowd until she was a part of the front row.

  A man with a luxurious white mustache stood on the room’s wood platform against one wall, bawling out orders. Older men in rusted, dented armor performed mock battles.

  “What’s going on?” the young woman asked a mature male next to her.

  “They’re reforming the royal army, and looking for recruits. Rumor has it the officers’ positions won’t be filled by nobility alone. Anyone who proves their worth can be promoted.”

  “What about those others? In back?” She yelled to be heard over the roar of the crowd. She had to repeat herself as the man had turned back to cheering.

  “Sheriff’s office, royal palace guards, all recruiting too.”

  He ignored any other questions. After the current demonstration, the white mustached man invited those interested to ask questions, to sign up, or to try their hand in mock battle, using wooden training weapons.

  The crowd’s blood was high with adrenaline, and thoughts of glory and heroism shining from many of the men and boys’ eyes. The young woman ignored the group of females who gathered in a cluster to one side, giggling, whispering, and flirting. She sneered briefly, then weaved through the crowd to get closer toward the middle of the room.

  A small group of six men around her age had picked up swords, shields, or staffs, trying to prove their masculinity against each other. The white-blonde observed them and the older men. The combatants had a mixed look of farmers and merchants’ sons. After a moment, one arrogant guy managed to knock down the rest. He held his sword and shield up and bellowed in victory, preening for the ladies.

  Tamzin saw a giant of a man approach behind him, at least two heads taller and a stone heavier, built of solid muscle.

  “Try me, pup, and see if you’ll be so cocky when you battle a real warrior.” The challenger’s voice was deep, with a thick accent.

  “Sure, gramps,” the youth sneered.

  They faced off, saluted, and began. The youngster charged, and the big man stepped aside, applying a boot to the kid’s backside as he flew past. His friends whooped and hurled taunts. The young man scrambled up, face red, anger sparking in his eyes. He tried a few different tactics, all easily rebuffed by the big man. After a few minutes, the watchers, along with the cocky youth, realized the older man was playing.

  “You son of a bitch!” He finally yelled in frustration and let his rage loose. He hacked and stabbed in blind fury.

  It didn’t take long before he was on the floor, groaning in pain and hurling curses at his opponent.

  The big man contemptuously turned his back. “War is not a game for untrained children, and those with more ego than talent,” he addressed the crowd.

  A few of the older men nodded, adding their support. Meanwhile, Tamzin had picked up a shield, and found a wooden sword whose balance wasn’t too horribly off. She strode into the circle, stopping before the big man. His eyebrows raised in inquiry.

  “Hahahahaaa! Hey, cutie! This ain’t the place fer you. There’re better jobs a good-looking young thing like you can do for the army.”

  “Stupid females. See what happens when a woman becomes advisor?”

  “Get out of the ring before your pretty face gets ruined.”

  “You wish to fight?” the big man asked.

  “I’m not here to look good,” Tamzin spat back, taking up an attacker’s stance.

  “Wood weapons can still cause damage, and I will not pull my strength because you are a woman,” he warned her.

  “Shut up and fight,” she answered, and feinted.

  He batted aside her attack easily, and the force with which he did it had her boots sliding on the stone floor. A new circle quickly formed at their backs, bets, insults, and taunts flying fast.

  Tamzin attacked again, once more easily rebuffed. The heckling grew louder.

  “Come on! Finish this! He doesn’t even have to try, and she’s no good.”

  “Told ya women can’t fight!”

  “I got a better sword I can teach you how to use.”

  The young woman ignored them, as they were right, she was barely trying. But then again, she was trying to draw her opponent out. She made a few more incursions, barely missing a blow meant to knock the shield out of her left hand.

  She set her face determinedly. She could see in the big man’s eyes he didn’t expect her to have more fight in her than what she was already giving, but he wasn’t about to let his guard down either until their bout ended. Tamzin could respect that. It was more than most of the men she had fought in her brief life had given her. They usually were so arrogant and egotistical, not thinking a girl could beat them, they never treated her like a worthy opponent.

  The white-blonde knew she had to end their fight soon. Her hands and arms ached from holding sword and shield,
and absorbing blows. Then she saw her opening, sure the man didn’t realize his mistake.

  She launched a series of attacks, using not just the weapons, but her body as well. Tamzin saw surprise flit across the man’s face, and let a small smile of satisfaction cross her lips. It was gone a moment later in a grunt of pain. Her shield splintered as she raised it to block a blow. She turned her face away and down while turning in a half-circle and bringing her sword around in an arc, the smack of it meeting flesh barely heard over the crowd.

  The big man gave a grunt, arching his back while one leg went numb, causing him to slip to one knee. His sword arm came back as he used the flat surface of the shield to keep himself from crashing face-first to the floor. Tamzin’s left arm collided with his muscular right, and she let hers slip under and then around, pinning his outstretched arm to her left side. She used the pommel of her sword to hammer on his wrist, causing him to drop his weapon.

  A moment later, before she could kick his sword away, she found herself heading toward the floor. He had let himself fall on his left side and twisted his body to end up on his back. The move sent the young woman flying. Tamzin collided forcefully with the floor, and a wrenching in her right shoulder had her yelling out in pain. She was also facedown, with her right arm and sword trapped underneath her and his weight keeping her prone.

  The men and boys cheered louder, and she could hear some calling for the big man to “finish her.”

  “Bastard,” she spat, eyes flashing icy cold.

  For a big man, he was lithe and quick. Before she could completely recover, he rolled off her and she forced herself to flop over on her back. Before she could contract her stomach muscles and get up, his booted foot landed on her wrist, immobilizing her arm. He leaned over, relieving her of the sword.

  Tamzin wasn’t giving up easily; she made a fist with her left hand, her right shoulder blade and arm grinding into the stone floor.; She half-rolled up and over to punch the side of his knee closest to her with all the strength she had. He yelled in pain and collapsed, further grinding her right arm into the stone. The man was splayed out on his left side, clutching his right leg. She couldn’t pick the sword back up, unable to get her numb hand to respond.

  She dragged herself up to a sitting position, clutching her right arm.

  They were both breathing heavily, dripping sweat, staring at each other, the noise of the crowd around them hazy, far off, as if coming from a great distance. A slow smile curled the man’s lips up, amusement glinting in his eyes, and he inclined his head to her.

  “Shall we try round two? Or declare this a draw?” his voice rumbled out.

  “Sign me on to the army, and we can have all the rounds you want,” she replied.

  He frowned while leveraging himself up, careful not to put too much weight on the leg with the knee she had punched. He held a large, callused palm out to her, helping her up.

  “I’m Franz. It is not a wise decision, and I am not in a position to do such a thing. Besides, you would be the only female. You would not last a day once the men got ahold of you.”

  “Tamzin. I can handle myself. Let me worry about them.”

  He shrugged his massive shoulders and pushed through the crowd, making sure those gathered around let her through as well. It didn’t take long before new combatants stepped in the ring, and most of the crowd ignored them. Her opponent led her over to the man with the white mustache. He was too engrossed on the current battle. The big man hailed him.

  “Sir Dalton, I have found another worthy candidate who fights well.”

  Brown eyes regarded her disdainfully. “No females. I don’t care how good they claim to be, or what that damn duchess thinks. There will be no female knights in my army. And if you dare suggest it again, you can find another job.”

  Rage boiled inside the woman. “Listen, asshole, maybe you can’t see well. I fought him to a standstill—nothing those other pansy men trying out have been able to do.”

  The few men on the platform with him sniggered. He turned the full force of his gaze on her. “I said I don’t take females, or pansy men. Now leave, before I forget you are a woman and have my men take you out back and teach you what happens to those who insist on joining groups where they are not wanted.”

  Tamzin opened her mouth again, but found herself being dragged off by the big man. “Get your hands off me or we’ll have round two right now.”

  “I am saving you,” he replied, managing to drag her outside the room before she stomped on his instep. His heavy boots protected him, and he slammed her back against the wall with one hand around her throat, insultingly easy. He leaned his weight into her to keep her from striking back.

  “Listen!” Franz’s voice rumbled menacingly. “You want to be a warrior that badly?”

  “Yes,” she gritted out, doing her best to master her rage.

  “I know of a group. But it will not be with the army.”

  “What the hell good is that?” she asked.

  “Maybe nothing, maybe another way in. What have you got to lose?” he asked.

  She seethed silently a moment. “Fine, take me to them now.”

  * * *

  Despite the horrid weather conditions and the fear of starvation, there was brisk movement up and down the nobles’ street. Tamzin squinted her eyes against the sun bouncing off the snow and ice, not wanting to be blinded. As they approached the bridge, she reached out and yanked on Franz’s sleeve.

  “Hey! You said you were taking me to a female warrior group. Where the hell are they? In the woods?”

  He half-turned. “You’ll see,” was his maddening reply.

  Large wood and iron-bound gates stood open to the right. The narrow cart track chipped out of the high snow banks led past them. As they walked, they passed paths shoveled out to allow people and animal movement. What little could be seen of the dwellings did not inspire confidence. They seemed shabby, in desperate need of repair. Franz led her past a stone mansion, abandoned scaffolding hung with icicles, waiting for spring so repairs could continue. A strong crosswind buffeted them and brought the sounds of shouts. As the two rounded a corner of the mansion, a hastily erected wooden barracks could be seen. Before it was a frozen sea of icy mud. Farther behind them rose the mountain peaks.

  She thought there were black dots scaling those sleek rocks, but couldn’t tell for sure due to the sun. Women, in groups of twenty, went about various training exercises. The mud slush was further churned by a group attempting attack and defensive maneuvers. A tallish man with short cut, thick dark hair and deep brown eyes shouted out encouragement, advice, and occasionally a sarcastic comment. Franz led them around the edges, over to the man. Tamzin could see a fair number of the women wore slave collars. Her demeanor became wary, ready to run if this was a nasty trap.

  Franz hailed the man, who made a gesture of acknowledgment, but didn't take his eyes off the group before him.

  “Master Eron, I have brought you another recruit.”

  The man took his eyes off the women to give her a swift once-over before returning to the task at hand.

  “Freeborn?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Tamzin answered, continuing on, “and I will stay that way.”

  The amusement in Eron’s voice pricked her anger. “We have a mix of free and slave here. Those who are slave know they will have their chance to become free and are treated well. The free know they will not receive special considerations, and the slaves are to be respected. All the women must learn to work, live, and train together, no matter their status.”

  “Work? Who the hell has time for that? You can’t be a decent warrior if you have to worry about providing food and shelter for yourself.”

  A smile crept briefly across the man’s face. She wanted to punch it off.

  “The royal advisor, Duchess Illyria, will be your patron, should you decide to join. She will provide all that is necessary. The only work she requires is what is needed to become a warrior.”

 
“What's the catch? Come on, there’s always a catch. I’ve already tried the royal army, and the asshole in charge made it very clear there will never be women soldiers,” she persisted.

  “The ladies here are preparing for a personal battle. Some of the nobles are training squads of warriors for a tournament in a year’s time.” Eron noted how her arms were still crossed beneath her breasts. “They will meet in battle. Whichever squad has the most members alive in the end will be declared the winners.”

  “Wait. So you’re pitting women against men. How many squads of men?” she demanded.

  “Ten squads total, including this one, made up of one hundred members. Still sure you wanna join?” A smirk curled one side of his mouth up, his eyes saying he expected her to refuse.

  Tamzin swallowed hard. She wanted to be a warrior, defending against evil and wrongdoing. That meant battle, against real armies, not in some nobles’ senseless tournament because they were bored. She cast her glance over the women. “What happens to the winners?”

  “They gain their freedom, if slaves. The right to keep their armor and arms, and prize money.”

  “The losers?”

  “They get turned over to the army, and become a part of it.” Eron’s smirk turned a bit twisted.

  “That won't help the women if they lose. They’ll be a constant target of the men,” Tamzin spat out, the anger she always carried inside her at the unfairness of the world toward women slowly building.

  He shrugged, as if it wasn’t any of his concern what happened to them if they lost. “Or you could try and beg either the sheriff’s office or the royal palace guard to take you on. But I doubt they’ll be any more amiable to the idea than the army was.”

  “They any good?” Tamzin jerked her chin toward the women. “They have any chance of winning?”

  “There’s always a chance,” his dark eyes turned enigmatic, “but the final outcome will only be decided on how much and how willing a person is to fight for it; even when the odds are unfair.”

  She looked at him then, and before she could change her mind, said, “When can I start?”