The Mighty One

by Jenny McKane

  The crowd started dispersing. Avalon yawned. It had been another intense day, and she was tired. They had to be up at daybreak to complete yet another training mission.

  Every part of her body ached. She desired nothing else than to lay her head on her pillow and fall into a deep slumber. She yawned again.

  “Getting too tough for you, Lund?”

  She turned her head quickly to the voice. She should have known. Everard Varr was standing there, gazing at her with that mocking look in his eyes. Why was he continually baiting her? Of all the people in this room, he had chosen to talk to her. It was really getting quite tiresome.

  “I’m not the one that had to pull out of the swim today,” she said sweetly. “What happened, Varr? Did your leg start to cramp?”

  His face darkened. She had obviously touched a sore point.

  He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We all have our weaknesses,” he said, his eyes narrowed. “So, I am not the fastest swimmer, but I hate to tell you this, Lund, you are not the fastest runner. An old Stromel woman could run faster than you, at a pinch.”

  Avalon felt her stomach tightening. “I won the sprint yesterday,” she hissed.

  “Just,” he drawled. “And that was only because you were competing against the lower few. If I had had been running against you, you wouldn’t have even started. The dust from my feet would have clouded your vision.”

  “I could stay here listening to your nonsense all night,” she said, her face impassive. “But I must be up early, Varr. It’s called discipline – something you obviously have never mastered, judging by how late you stay up.” She smiled. “But then, I wouldn’t expect anything else, considering where you have come from.”

  His eyes narrowed. “At least I got here on my own merits,” he said. “Not because my father pulled some strings.”

  Avalon stared at him. “How dare you,” she said. “I got here through hard work, Varr. My father had nothing to do with it.”

  He scoffed. “You expect me to believe that? The daughter of a high ranking Jarle, who also happens to be the Minister for the Military?” He scoffed, again. “You have had it easy, Lund.”

  Avalon’s fist clenched. Don’t do it, she thought to herself. He isn’t worth it. Just walk away.

  She turned on her heel, striding down the hallway.

  “Daddy’s girl,” he called after her.

  She froze. She turned around and calmly walked back towards him.

  “What did you say?” she said, her voice low.

  “You heard,” he smiled, gazing down at her.

  Her fist connected with his jaw with a satisfying smack.

  “That’s enough!” yelled the commander, separating them. “This has gone far enough. Both of you in my office, now!”

  ***

  “Well, Avalon, what do you have to say for yourself?”

  Avalon hung her head, unable to look the commander in the eye. And it wasn’t because she was ashamed of herself. It was because she knew that she wouldn’t be able to keep her satisfaction from showing in her face.

  The commander sighed, leaning back in his seat. “This is unacceptable,” he hissed. “Striking a fellow recruit. Do you really think this is the way to get through your training? I should have you taken off the program, immediately.”

  Avalon gasped, staring at him. “He provoked me,” she said, her voice trembling.

  “I don’t care what he said to you,” the commander continued, his lips thin. “Haven’t you realized yet that this training is as much about self-control as it is about learning the skills to fight? What happens on a real mission if someone angers you? You don’t think, Avalon. Your passion is commendable and could get you far, but only if you learn how to control it.”

  She could sense Everard smiling beside her. Oh, how he would be enjoying this. He had deliberately set her up, she knew that now. He had been trying to get under her skin from day one.

  “Wipe that smirk off your face, Everard,” the commander said. “Don’t think that I don’t know what you have been doing. Nothing gets past me.”

  Everard’s smile disappeared.

  “I don’t understand,” said the commander, staring from one to the other. “You are two of the most able recruits to the Grey Guards I have seen in a long time. You could both go far. I have tolerated this competition between you because I thought that it would bring out the best in both of you and make you both strive to win. But I see now I have had it all wrong.”

  Avalon could feel her legs shaking. No, please. Please don’t kick me out of the program. She could just imagine trying to explain to her parents. Her father would simply never talk to her again, and he would certainly wash his hands of any ambitions that she had to fight. He couldn’t afford to be embarrassed by her.

  And she had to fight. It was the only thing that she had ever wanted to do; the only thing that gave her life any meaning. She had dreamed of becoming a Grey Guard of Agnoria since she could remember. To fight on behalf of the Jarle, to keep the peace in this great land and stamp out any insurrection that threatened it, was all that she lived for.

  And now, it was all threatened because she couldn’t control her temper. Because she let an upstart from the country, who lived among the Stromel, anger her—she, who could trace back her bloodline as a part of the Jarle for centuries. She couldn’t help glancing quickly at Everard, hatred filling her eyes.

  The only sound in the room was the soft sound of the commander tapping his fingers against his desk. He was frowning.

  “I will think on it,” he said eventually. “I am unhappy with both of you.” He stood up, indicating that the meeting was over.

  “Please, Commander, you don’t understand…” Avalon swallowed painfully. “I know what I did was wrong. I won’t allow it to happen again. I have been working hard on controlling myself, and I understand that I cannot let anger rule me on a mission.”

  “Do you, Avalon?” he said, staring at her. “I’m not so sure, but I do know that all your hard work here will be for nothing if you don’t get a grip on it.” He stared down at his desk, frowning. Then his face cleared, slightly. “You say you want to work on controlling your anger?”

  “Yes, of course,” said Avalon, hope entering her eyes.

  The commander stared at them both, thinking. Then he sat back down at this desk.

  “I might just have the very thing,” he said, staring down at some papers. He extracted one and read it through quickly. “It is an unconventional way to handle this situation, but it may work. I have a mission, in the Far North, near the Outlying Zone. Sensitive work. It requires skill and patience. It also requires two of my best operatives, working together closely.”

  Avalon could feel her heart start to thud. What was the commander saying? Was he saying that he was going to send her on a mission, even before she had completed her training?

  The commander flicked the paper back onto his desk. “I want you both for it,” he said. “It will be the two of you, working together, to gather information on some insurgency. Teamwork is paramount; you will have to rely on each other to survive. If you both cannot put your rivalry aside and work together, you will both be dead.”

  The commander smiled. “It’s that simple, really. If, by some miracle, you both get through it, then you will have learned the very necessary skill of self-control that is the essence of a first rate Grey Guard.”

  Avalon stared at the commander, her eyes widening. “You are going to send both of us on the mission?”

  She could feel Everard’s excitement coursing through him. “I won’t let you down, Commander,” he said.

  The commander smiled at him. “Wrong. What you should have said, Everard, is, ‘We won’t let you down.’ There is no ‘I’ anymore. You two are a team, and if you can’t work together, you die.”

  Avalon cleared her throat. “We won’t let you down, Commander.”

  The commander smiled, again. “That’s the spirit,” he said d
ryly. “And now, you both need to get some sleep. I am pulling you out of training, effective immediately. At first light, you start the journey north.” He looked at them. “Dismissed. Hail Agnor.”

  “Hail Agnor,” they both repeated. Then they got up and walked out of the room.

  Avalon couldn’t believe it. She was heading out on her very first mission, tomorrow. And it was all because she hadn’t controlled her temper. Because Everard Varr had driven her to the brink! Her heart soared, then plummeted slightly.

  Everard Varr. They were partners now. They would have to rely on each other in everything. How was it possible? The commander was right, as he always was. This would test her beyond measure.

  Because she simply had never felt such hatred toward another person in her life. And now, if she didn’t learn to get over that, all her ambitions would be dead.

  She turned to him. “Guess we had better get some sleep then,” she said. “Partner.”

  He stared at her. “Guess we should…partner.”

  She smiled, silkily, then turned and walked away. Everard Varr was not going to ruin her chances. She would learn to work with him… even if it killed her doing it.

  Chapter Three

  The horses sped along the country tracks. There had been a lot of rain in this area, and the ground was muddy. Avalon had to concentrate, to keep her horse’s hooves from skidding. She had learned to ride when she was five years old, and she prided herself on her skill.

  They had been on the road since daybreak. A group of five – three Grey Guards, smart in their uniforms, Everard Varr, and herself. The Grey Guards had nodded hello but had not said much else. They had not stopped for a break yet, and lack of sleep, mingled with excitement at what lay ahead, overwhelmed her.

  The dream had come to her again, in the night. The same one that had tormented her since childhood. But last night, when all she wanted was unconscious slumber to numb her mind, it had returned so vividly she had woken in a sweat, panting.

  She stood at the edge of a river. Sunlight playing on the water, turning it into crystals.

  In the sky, a strange creature hovered over her. A creature with wings unlike anything that she had ever seen. It spoke, without using a voice. Somehow, she would just hear its words.

  “You must find the path,” it would say, over and over.

  “What path?” she would answer, frustrated. But it would never answer her.

  The world would shift, and suddenly, she was no longer by the water. The creature was gone; the sky dark and ominous, the color of a fresh bruise.

  Before her, was a strange building, with two towers on either side. She would start to walk towards it, even as terror overwhelmed her. As if her feet were commanded, and she had no choice but to obey them.

  The doorway was simply two curtains. She would reach out to part them.

  Inside, candles burned, the wicks flickering. Cushions with strange patterns lay on the floor. In the center was a statue of a woman. Compelled, she would start walking towards it. But no matter how far she walked, she never reached it. It always stayed just ahead of her.

  Then, an old woman would materialize in front of her. The woman had long, white hair, and bright, blue eyes. She wore a long, flowing robe of purple, with a cloak of the same shade, its hood pushed so low she could barely see her face.

  The woman never spoke.

  And then, it would start to dissolve and crumble around her. She would reach out, towards the woman, screaming, as the earth opened, and she slid down, down, down…

  Avalon frowned as she thought of the dream. Always, the sense of terror and foreboding would stay with her after she had it, through the next day. She felt it now, even through her excitement. It was unfortunate, that today of all days, when she was heading on her first mission, it was clouding her.

  She screwed up her face and dug her heels into the horse, spurring it on. The wind whipped against her, like blades. Could she go faster? Anything to outrun the dream.

  ***

  At noon, they stopped at a roadside hut selling drinks.

  Avalon slid off her horse, stretching her legs. She glanced around. The countryside had changed, just a little; they had been riding all morning through forests, but now, open plains stretched before them. The air was colder. Soon, they would be climbing into the mountains.

  She glanced at Everard. He looked as tired as she felt; there were dark rings underneath his eyes. He didn’t look at her, as he wandered away, squatting to gaze at a plant. He carefully examined its leaves, frowning.

  It was probably better that they had little chance to talk after the altercation last night. She was still angry with him, and she didn’t trust herself to not let that slip. She would have to dig deep within herself to find the patience to work with him so closely.

  She was not going to ruin this chance. She would find a way.

  She walked to the hut. A woman in a faded brown dress was serving. Her hair was scrapped off her face into a hasty bun on the top of her head. Her face looked tired.

  But she smiled pleasantly enough at Avalon, handing her the drink without meeting her eye. Avalon remembered from the Grey Book that people of the Stromel never looked the Jarle in the eye, in natural deference. Avalon studied the woman curiously. She would have to get used to being around the Stromel. Part of her training at the Academy had involved study of their customs, mannerisms, and their dialects. Although they spoke Agnorian, the same as the Jarle, they had many different words and a strong accent, which changed from district to district.

  Avalon noticed that the Grey Guards barely acknowledged the woman at all. They took their drinks without thanking her, but she didn’t look offended, not in the slightest. The Stromel had always been the serving class, Avalon reminded herself. Since the dawn of history. They were happy in their place, as the Essential History constantly said. It was natural.

  They mounted their horses again and were back on the road. They made good use of the wide-open plains to gain time, and their riding was unhindered by terrain here. When they started climbing into the mountains, it would be slower and tougher.

  Avalon glanced at Everard again. This time, he turned to her, and he smiled that same arrogant, smug smile that so infuriated her.

  She had been dealing with men like Everard her whole life, it seemed. Nothing was different here.

  ***

  They had first tried to stop her when she was six years old.

  Asfrid, their nursemaid, had brought her and her older brother, Saul, to the park to play. Mother was out lunching with her friends, as always; she rarely took the children anywhere. That was why they had a nursemaid, she would say with a smile, when Avalon begged her to come.

  Father was at work. They rarely saw him. He had an important job. He worked at the Palace, which overlooked Grey Square, in the center of the city.

  So Asfrid would take them to the park. Saul always found a group of other boys to play swordfights with, and Avalon was supposed to sit and play with her doll, but she would stare longingly at the boys as they yelled and fought. Why couldn’t she join them?

  This day, she waited until Asfrid was distracted by her book. She left the doll on the ground and ran to the group. She hovered on the fringes, waiting for them to notice her.

  “What do you want?” sneered one boy with bright red hair, who was staring at her.

  “I want to play,” Avalon said.

  The boy scoffed. “You? You are just a girl. You don’t know how to fight with a sword.”

  By this time, the group had stopped playing and were watching the exchange. Saul had walked up, his face red. “Avalon,” he hissed. “Go away. Go and play with your doll.”

  But Avalon had stood her ground. She wanted to play. Saul didn’t know, but when he wasn’t looking, she would take his wooden sword and practice in front of the mirror. She had watched the boys many times, and she had seen the Grey Guards practicing as well.

  She could fight. They just had to give he
r a chance.

  “No,” she said stubbornly. “I want to play! Please, Saul, please.”

  Saul had shrugged. “One fight. Then you have to go.”

  The group watched, as she picked up a sword. The boy with the bright red hair grinned. “I’ll fight you,” he said. “It will only take a minute.” He raised his sword, ready.

  Avalon took a deep breath and raised hers. Then, they raised their wooden swords and started fighting. Avalon remembered the way that you were supposed to move the sword and how to get the advantage over your opponent. Soon, she had the upper hand.

  The boy with the bright red hair wasn’t pleased. He fought back, but she was quicker. With a deft move, she lunged, catching the tip of his sword with her own. It catapulted out of his hands, landing with a thud several feet away.

  No one spoke.

  The boy walked up to her slowly. Then, he punched her in the stomach, causing her to double over with pain. She found it hard to breathe.

  “Go away,” spat the boy. “We don’t want you here.”

  The group all walked away from her, even Saul. She collapsed onto the ground, desperately trying to catch her breath. Why had he done that to her? They had been in a fair fight. She had gained the upper hand.

  Asfrid was upon her. “Oh, miss!” she exclaimed, helping her up. “That was very naughty of you! Why aren’t you playing with your doll, like you are supposed to be?”

  The tears had come then. Hot, salty tears that stung as they slid down her face. She wiped them away fiercely.

  That night, at the dinner table, Father had lectured her on the proper way to behave. Young ladies played with their dolls; they didn’t engage in swordfights with boys. It wasn’t proper. He never wanted to hear of her doing it again.

  But Avalon had done it again. When no one was looking, she would practice. One day, she would be a warrior, and they couldn’t stop her.

  Not Father. Not Saul. Not the boy with the bright red hair.

  It was the first time that she had to prove herself—but she had never cried since.

  ***

  Shadows were falling across the land, and dark clouds scudded along the horizon. It was slow going. They were picking their way up a mountain, through rough terrain. The horse’s hooves would skid, sometimes, and they would have to wait until the animals’ footing was firm again.