by A. L Butcher
I hear him telling me what to say. “You have less than 5 bluits to leave our ship.”
“Good. Now, hold up one hand and when I tell you to, start counting down. Five, four, three, two, one.”
The leader smiles at me and shakes his head, holding up one of his hands, pulling some of his claws down, and I realize he has left five. Slowly, he begins lowering one at a time.
“He is mocking you. Don’t show any fear. I’m close.”
He’s close. That’s all it takes for my fear to ease. I have watched Rone train. He is strong, limber and very fast. These invaders are stiff, I suspect slow, but they appear very strong as well.
Rone and the others break through the door and there are a lot more of them then there are invaders.
I watch Rone walk up to the leader like he has not a worry in the world and it is then that I see the full power that Rone holds. They are at a stand off, neither backing down. As the invader is standing taller, straighter, Rone is simply relaxed, calm, cool, showing no fear at all. Rone reaches out with such speed that I never even see his hand move. Gripping the invader and tossing him to the side.
The room erupts in panic and those of us that cannot help, humans, begin backing up. Kegan reaches out and pulls me towards him. Friendlies jump the invaders. They have all of them pinned, but Rone and their leader are locked together.
Rone begins hissing and the enemy hisses back. It looks over at me and then pushes Rone. It charges at me. Florescent saliva drips from his mouth.
I push against Kegan, breaking free of his grasp. If it is going to attack me, I don’t want Kegan and Bree to be involved as well. I feel the impact, but then nothing else.
I wake up and Kegan is standing over me. I smile. “I thought you said we would never be hurt here?” I give him a teasing raised eyebrow.
“I never said we couldn’t be hurt, but I did say this. Did you feel an ounce of pain?”
It’s then that I remember that thing coming at me. I shiver.
“No. Why did it want me?”
“Because you are connected with Rone. Thankfully, Rone is stronger than the rest of them, because although his face twisted, he kept coming.”
I reach for the left side of my chest, remembering something sharp piercing my skin. I felt it, but it hadn’t hurt.
“Is Rone okay?”
“Are you okay?”
I smile. I have never been better. Kegan had been right about not judging a book by its cover. This species had given me a life that I had only dreamed of. They had given me Kegan. And in a few months, a biological child as well. Hopefully, Bree won’t mind having a little brother.
I catch movement on the other side of the door. It’s Rone. I smile at him and mouth ‘thank you.’ He nods and moves on. It’s an understanding between us. If it hadn’t been for my stupidity and him finding me, I never would have known happiness.
* * *
About the Author: Crystal G. Smith was born in Doniphan, Missouri. Although she no longer lives there, she continues to call Doniphan her home. She is married and has two beautiful children and two dogs who continue to keep her motivated daily.
She currently works as a nurse and loves working in geriatrics. When she isn't working, hanging out with her family, or reading, you can find her in front of her computer coming up with or finishing another exciting and more than likely sexy story. She has published roughly 14 novels, novellas or short stories since February 2013.
Connect with the Author:
http://crystalr022.wix.com//sisterauthors#
“Stand down!” the Redsun guild mercenary barked, his eyes flashing fiercely. “Carlisle, stand down!”
Carlisle barely heard him past the heavy whistle of her panting and her heart pounding aggressively in her chest, and she did not acknowledge him. She hovered over her opponent, a younger apprentice, with her face only a couple of inches from his, and the sweat dripped off her chin onto his cheeks. The man that Carlisle had just bested in combat could feel her hot breath on his skin and the pinch of the edge of her blade pressing into his neck. He was more than prepared to yield to her, if she would allow him to speak.
“One last time, Carlisle. Stand down!”
The instructor roared at her now, desperate to be heard. She was in that zone, the same one her namesake uncle and father would always venture into during combat. Fortunately, his words finally reached her this time. Carlisle stood up straight and stepped away, releasing the other guild apprentice.
The instructor approached her, frowning. His azure tabard, which bore the emblem of a flaming red sun, billowed in the wind.
“That’s your last practice fight, Carly. It’s time you head down to the office of the guild mistress. She’ll let you know if you’ll be promoted or passed over. If she selects you, I want you in my unit. I fought with your uncle. It would be an honour to fight with you as well.”
“If?” Carlisle thought. How could the guild mistress pass her over? She had never lost a fight against her peers, and had only seen a couple of draws. Besides, the Redsuns were a family legacy. That was why she was there. It was in her blood, and it was what the majority of her family had expected from her; everyone but her father. He had tried to make it into the guild at her age, and, unlike her uncle, had failed. Carlisle had asked him about it, but he had refused to discuss it with her. He had told her that he did not want it to influence her decisions. He had also suggested that he would be willing to talk, once she had completed her apprenticeship.
“I’ll be on my way then, Master Sylvan,” she said with a hint of gratitude in her voice. “It has been a pleasure training with you.”
“The pleasure has been mine as well. There is a lot of your uncle in you. He would have been proud of all that you have accomplished here,” the instructor stated, smiling.
His smile faded as Carlisle turned to go. There was also a lot of her father in her, and that would prove to be a problem. Chances were that he would not see her again, despite the fact that she was the best fighter he had had the privilege of training. It was a shame really, but not for her sake. Master Sylvan had no doubt that the guild’s loss would be some other more deserving group’s gain.
* * *
Carlisle approached the bench outside of the guild mistress’s office, butterflies fluttering in her stomach. A trickle of sweat rolled down her cheek as she nervously dropped onto its cracked, wooden surface. She glanced over at Elliot, another potential graduate, on the opposite end of the bench, his brown eyes apprehensive. He was sweating like a pig, but that was not just a matter of nerves. The day was hot, scorching hot, the kind of dry heat that parched your throat on contact and made it difficult to breathe.
Carlisle and Elliot sat in silence, both of them on edge. A lone fly buzzed about them, another aggravation amongst many, and Carlisle’s armour creaked almost as loudly as the bench did when she leant back against the building’s stone mortar. Usually, its smooth surface was refreshingly cool, but not today. Today, it was almost as warm as the air, baked by the sun that beat mercilessly down on their heads.
Elliot coughed anxiously, breaking the silence, and then let out a sigh. In a subconscious display of his discomfort, he started to chew at his thumbnail. The fly that buzzed about settled momentarily on a tree stump, just beyond their reach. Carlisle leaned towards it, shifting her weight in the process. Once more, her armour and the bench creaked in response.
“So this is it, Carly,” Elliot breathed, staring fretfully at his hands. “The big moment that we’ve both been waiting for.”
A large pink scar stood out on his left palm, a memory that he would keep from his apprenticeship at the Redsun Mercenary Guild, whether he was promoted to standard guild membership or not.
Carlisle shrugged, but felt badly for him nonetheless. While she had a few small reminders of nicks that had healed over, she did not have the kinds of scars that Elliot did.
“I just want to get it over with,” she murmured tensely as she watched t
he fly dart from one side of the stump to the other. It did not appear to be bothered in the slightest by the energy-sucking heat.
Elliot laughed, his voice higher pitched than normal.
“Yeah, what do you care? You’ve had your spot clinched since you got here. I watched the trainers’ faces on that first day you walked through the door. They knew a good thing when they saw it, and they say Minerva favours women, especially the talented ones. Since that day, you’ve managed to beat every single one of the trainers at their own game, turning their tricks against them effortlessly. Most teachers don’t expect their students to outwit them before the lesson is supposed to be done.”
Carlisle detected jealousy in the tone of Elliot’s voice, and pretended to ignore him. He was exaggerating, as usual. Carlisle had been a better than average student, perhaps even the best in her class, but she had suffered her share of knocks and bruises, just like any other guild apprentice. She kicked at a pebble, aiming for the fly. She missed. Elliot continued.
“I’ve had to struggle to keep up with the lessons, the drills, and the aching muscles, but at least I never gave up,” he muttered with frustration. “I can only hope that that will be enough to get in. Three years. It had better be worth it.”
Carlisle grunted in agreement. Elliot had not had much of a natural talent for sword-fighting, but he had fought fiercely, using deception if necessary, and had manipulated his way through several classes where possible. He was the type who might be refused acceptance to the guild and manage to talk his way into the position he had just been denied, after the fact. That was not a talent Carlisle possessed, and she was not prepared to offer him any sympathy.
Without warning, the guild mistress’s door swung open. Avery, another classmate, walked out in silence, with his teeth clenched. He stormed past Elliot and Carlisle towards the barracks, refusing to acknowledge them. A voice beckoned from beyond the door. It was forceful and raspy, but definitely female.
“Carlisle of Feltrey.”
Carlisle rose to her feet. She appreciated the fact that the guild mistress was using her full name. Many people insisted on shortening her name to Carly, to give it a feminine touch, but the uncle whom she had been named for had died in the Scourge War, and she preferred to have his memory respected.
Merely getting to a standing position was a struggle and she brushed at the sweat on her cheeks and chin with the back of her arm. Straightening her blue and red tabard, she took a deep breath and pushed her way through the guild mistress’s door. The fly that had been tormenting her and Elliot buzzed past her, flying wide loops around the large room within.
Carlisle found the figure behind the desk startling, as always. She had rarely seen the guild mistress, mostly from a distance during her three year apprenticeship to the Redsuns, and this was the first time that the young woman had met Minerva in person. She found the tense and withered figure before her disturbing.
“Well, don’t just stand there! Shut the door! You’re letting flies in,” the wizened woman croaked.
Carlisle jerked to attention, and quickly slammed the door. The guild mistress flinched, looking somewhat annoyed. She gestured at a chair.
“Come on. Sit down. I don’t have all day,” Minerva snapped.
The younger woman tried not to stare as she took a seat. The woman before her had probably been an impressive warrior at some point in her life. Now she looked weathered and permanently tired, aged beyond her years. Her skin had been stained and puckered by too many hours in the sun. Her eyes were cold blue steel, lacking any sign of compassion, which had been robbed from her by a hardened existence. Her hair had been dyed an unnatural black, undoubtedly an attempt to hide another sign of aging, and therefore weakness. At one time, Carlisle might have seen her as a formidable opponent. But now...?
Minerva’s eyes narrowed, almost as though she could read Carlisle’s mind, simply by seeing the expression on her face. Her thin lips quivered into a cold, knowing smile.
“I’m afraid that you won’t be hearing the words that you were hoping to hear from me.” Minerva laced her gnarled fingers together and leant forward slightly.
“I’m sure that you weren’t expecting this, but I’m afraid that the Redsun Mercenaries will be refusing your entry into the next level of the guild. Of course, this doesn’t mean you must leave us. You are welcome to stay and repeat your apprenticeship, if you wish, but I can’t guarantee that you will gain entry as a standard mercenary at the end of that term either.”
Carlisle sat frozen in her chair, stunned by the guild mistress’s declaration. As a distraction during that awkward moment, she watched the fly circling slowly on the wall. She was completely taken aback, both embarrassed and enraged to the point where she could not move or speak. It was an effort for her even to breathe, and she could feel her cheeks growing hot and red.
She finally forced herself to pull her eyes away from the fly, and to face Minerva. The guild mistress gave her the hint of a smile, with a certain measure of cruelty to it, before continuing.
“You look surprised by this news, but there is an explanation. We cannot deny your skill with a variety of weaponry, and you certainly show no lack of discipline, but a mercenary is more than that. A proper Redsun needs to be ambitious and bloodthirsty. You have to yearn for the kill, and be willing to strive for it at all costs. You are motivated by honour, but there is no honour among our kind; we cannot afford it. At one stage in the guild’s existence, we would have tolerated one like you amongst us, when we were still building strength. Those types of concessions are no longer necessary. In addition to that, the competition has grown increasingly fierce, particularly from the rival Bluestar guild, and we have been forced to become more...fussy in choosing our members.”
Minerva hesitated as the fly landed on the desk before her. Carlisle finally found her voice.
“I don’t understand,” she said quietly. “What of keen spirit and brotherhood? What of the willingness to follow a code of duty...”
“We are not Templars,” the older woman interrupted sternly. “I’m sure those things have their place in other groups, but not here. They are not necessary amongst our kind. A true mercenary would have recognized that by now. You are not made of the right mettle. We are not warriors for a cause. We are a business and our members are professionals. We do not exist by your lofty ideals, and if you were meant to be one of us, you would have shaken them off by now and started living by ours. To be a Redsun, you have to be willing to fight dirty. You need to believe that the ends justify the means. Your instructors have not provided me with any evidence of this. An approach like yours could damage the guild’s reputation. Our employers want cut-throat bringers of death who do their bidding, whatever that may be, in exchange for gold. Morality just gets in the way.”
“I’ve proven my worth here, even if you choose to deny it,” Carlisle challenged. “Another guild will take me on. I’ll go to the Bluestars.”
Minerva’s lips tightened and her eyebrows rose.
“Are you honestly that ignorant? By all means, go ahead and try. Image is a huge factor in our line of work. To draw in clients, they have to be convinced that we will get the job done. They look for a given package, someone with a soldier’s spirit and a willingness to perform no matter what the parameters. You offer outdated gallantry and self-righteousness. Someone like you would only handicap a guild.”
While still expressionless for the most part, Carlisle’s brow was now slightly creased. She stood up, towering in an intimidating manner over the shrivelled woman.
“So you are saying that I’ll never make the cut because I won’t sell my soul. You would have me give up everything that I believe in. I can’t be accepted on the basis of the positive that I can offer.”
The guild mistress sat back in her chair, her body language suggesting that she would not yield to the apprentice’s demands.
“No.”
It was a simple enough statement.
Restraini
ng her rage, Carlisle turned and walked silently towards the door.
“Despite this fact, there is still one way,” Minerva murmured.
Carlisle’s hand was inches from the door latch. She hesitated. She heard the veteran mercenary rise behind her, clearing her throat.
“You could challenge me. Anyone in the guild, from apprentice to one approaching retirement, has the right to attempt to win my title by right of arms. Fight me successfully in a battle, and slay me, and my position is yours. Of course, nobody has ever accomplished this from your ranking before. Very few have ever dared to display that kind of ego and bravado, but the option is yours, if you so choose.”
Carlisle breathed deeply, knowing that if she committed to this, it might be the last thing that she would ever do.
“Of course, if you choose not to, don’t slam the door on your way out the way you did on the way in,” Minerva added with a hint of malice.
Clenching her eyes shut, and giving herself a little internal shake, Carlisle faced the guild mistress again. She opened her eyes once more, and adjusted her sash and tabard. Then, she reached for her sword and waited for Minerva to draw hers.
“Mistake number one,” intoned the guild mistress, as she slid her weapon from its sheath. “You have now lost the advantage of surprise. A proper Redsun would have faked me out, and attacked me before I was prepared to defend myself.”
Carlisle gritted her teeth, adjusting her grip on the hilt.
“Attacking without warning would have been dishonourable,” she spat.
The two women began to circle one another at the centre of the room. The intrusive fly slipped noisily in and out of the middle of this angry dance. It attracted Carlisle’s gaze momentarily. Minerva sprang.
“Mistake number two!” the older woman laughed. “Never let down your guard.”
There was a clash of metal as Carlisle’s blade leapt up to parry her opponent’s weapon at the last second. Locked in this position, Carlisle glared at Minerva.