A Glimmer on the Blade

by Rachel E. Baddorf

  “Is that viper Corin making himself comfortable?” Nekobashi asked without taking his attention from his weapon.

  “He seems to be doing well enough. I think he can take orders.”

  He swept the glaive down in a strike designed to cleave a man’s skull. “Doesn’t mean he’ll take yours. In the islands, when you find a viper in daylight, you kill them before they have a chance to slip into your bed at night and strike.”

  “Alcyenne assured his loyalty to the prince. If it turns out he is on Shaiso’s side, we can learn Shaiso’s plans...” She folded her arms. She had been over this before. She wasn’t the only one to agree to the strategy.

  He kicked an imaginary foe in the stomach while tripping another with the pole end of the glaive. “In the islands, you kill the viper for all the men and women he killed on other nights, and all the men and women he will someday kill.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Are we going to have a problem, Dragon Nekobashi?”

  “I’m not the one you should worry about, she-dragon.” He whirled the glaive over his head. “Sweet dreams.” His attention never raised from the weapon in his hands. “Good watch to you.”

  Anoni passed him, moving on through the trees with her back nonchalantly turned as a message she didn’t fear Nekobashi. She would deal with Nekobashi if it came to that, but she hoped he wouldn’t do anything rash.

  She came out of the trees onto a bluff covered in beach grass. The huge sun was just starting to slip out of sight amid the flaming colors of dusk. She sighed, settling into a sitting position. Her disguise was familiar, almost as comforting as her chain mail, but the magic always tired her. A bitter smile twisted her lips. She had trained as a man, keeping her true identity a secret to most of the Oruno students and the public. The masters knew, and some had been angered to be teaching a girl. But they had been sworn by Master Gurin not to tell and the masters took oaths seriously. A hollow feeling of loneliness welled up as she studied the red sun bathing softly on the horizon.

  She missed Gurin. She slipped his last letter out of her belt pouch. It was dated last autumn and had arrived three days ago. The script of the letter was faded, but legible in his unmistakable calligraphy. She let her eyes trail over the phrases, and in her mind’s eye she could see him at his writing desk: a tall forbidding man with dark brown skin, with the hair graying at the temples, his face full of stark angles and plains. He might be considered handsome, but anyone observant would read his face as that of someone intense and serious because they had seen too much pain. He would have been stern with concentration as he crafted the letter. Over the years she had lived with him, she had seen him do it many times. The words unfolded on the paper, graceful as a crane’s wing.

  “...The students this year are undisciplined. It is regrettable that you are not here to provide a good example to them...Master Rhoikes has taken Dermostin for his pupil, and Lord Aleo has renewed the city hunt with this year’s students. His soldiers grow accustomed to cooperation with the students...Master has begun construction in the final level of the Forge. He maintains this new level would challenge even you.

  Someday soon you should prove him wrong...”

  She understood that these mundane comments about the college were his way of saying he missed her. He had brought her into the warcollege, taught her and led her, molded her and loved her. And she had loved him back. She missed his crafty sense of humor, which had devised the perfect punishment for students caught speaking badly of their relationship—that of special inclusion into one of their bruising dawn training sessions. She would give her third best dagger to feel Gurin’s arms around her at that moment. But, she thought, hugging herself, it was enough to know he had somewhat forgiven her for leaving Oruno.

  The letter crumpled in her fist. There had been no other choice. Emperor Ventirus had died and Alcyenne had sent that damned letter to her. She remembered it word for word. No salutation, no explanation of how Alcyenne had known she was at the warcollege. Just “The prince will not survive to take the throne. Markham Shaiso and his father Highlord Fadarin Shaiso have set in motion a plan to kill the prince. If you still love Corinado, you must return to Aquillion and help me stop the Shaisos.” There had been no choice at all. Gurin could not understand her feelings for the prince, even less than she could, but he understood honor and perhaps that was enough. So she’d left her lover-mentor to return to the land of her birth and give the bastard Shaisos another chance to finish what they had started in the galleria with the rain barrel. She’d brought her best friends and allies with her and they’d begun a conspiracy of light to infiltrate the Dragons aided by what relics the temple could supply and financed by their raids of imperial treasuries. The network of conspirators stretched far and wide connected by the spider web of magic communion stones anchored in Anoni’s moonpearl mail shirt.

  This was the moment of truth when all their planning would pay off and Anoni herself would match wits and strategy against the Shaisos. She really hoped she didn’t get anyone else killed. Taking a deep breath, she tried to shake off her loneliness. Gurin couldn’t help her and there was much work to be done. She concentrated on her communion stones looking for the one she wanted, the one that felt like Alcyenne. Alcyenne’s wizened thoughts opened to her, the faint smell of incense seeping through. Hello Scion.

  How is the Ordeal going?

  Anoni heard Alcyenne snort through the connection. We almost lost him...Twice in one day he escapes death. The Goddess smiles on us.

  Anoni frowned. What happened?

  Do you know why there are so few theomancers in Aquillion?

  Anoni sighed. Whatever story Alcyenne had would take a while, but they usually bore fruit. Alcyenne would not be hurried. I know many were killed by the Sawgrass plague.

  Not killed by it, killed fighting it. Any channeling of power, be it the Goddess or Ozuk, multiplies the probability of death by sevenfold. Any oscillation, any fault in the spell and the power can knock something out of balance in the theomancer’s body and kill them. Too much power overwhelms the fundamental energy connections that bind a body together. If you had entered the temple you would know this.

  Anoni rolled her eyes. I repeat the question. What happened? I thought Corinado was safe in the chamber.

  No one ever said it was safe, Scion.

  Anoni could tell she would get no straight answer from her. How is Franco? He and Stellys have the guards stationed at both entrances. They have...a what is it called?...A perimeter around the temple tower on most of the connecting levels.

  All right. I’ll check in on them tomorrow. Goodnight then, thought Anoni.

  Good luck.

  What? No blessing from the Mother Goddess?

  She is always watching over you. And you’ll need more than divine intervention to get you through the next days. Alcyenne’s chuckle rasped inside Anoni’s skull.

  What is that supposed to mean? What are you not telling me?

  Goodnight Scion, Alcyenne thought smugly.

  Wait! Tell me what you mean!

  The link broke, severed at Alcyenne’s end, leaving silence.

  Cursing under her breath, Anoni contemplated contacting Stellys. But the temple’s second in command was just as closed-mouthed with temple secrets. It wasn’t worth the energy. There was a rustle as someone walked out of the forest. She turned to see Vansainté.

  “How are things back home?” he asked.

  “Franco has the defense in hand. But she’s keeping secrets again.”

  “Our Lady of Mystery.” Vansainté shrugged. “I don’t think she can help it.”

  “I’d feel better if I knew what that old hag had planned,” she said, coming even with him, then taking the lead back to camp.

  “Don’t look at me, she’s not my goddess. My goddess is easy to understand,” Vansainté said, dodging a branch she let go behind her.

  “She’s not my goddess either,” she said doggedly, pushing through ferns, letting the flickering light
of the campfire guide her back.

  “You have her relics. You do her work.”

  “They’re just tools, Vansainté. I have my reasons and they have nothing to do with some invisible, eternally dreaming, plotting but ineffectual religious concept.”

  “You know you sound like my niece Jensa right? The five-year-old. Your goddess believes in you, Anoni. And her temple has expectations of you.”

  She swallowed her reply as they stepped back into the camp clearing. The Dragons were sitting around the fire, sharpening weapons or checking tack. More than one head raised from a task to look at her, the other Dragons went still, waiting for the answer to the silent question. She gave them a surreptitious nod to let them know everything was okay in Aquillion.

  “Later,” she said, patting Vansainté on the shoulder as he went to talk to Yupendra. Her attention caught on Corin Deviida. His tent lay like a dead bird, poles sticking up at odd angles and canvas in a pile. He circled the mess, trying to figure its workings, running his hands through his hair and talking to himself. All the other tents had been put up. While the men were not openly laughing, they studiously ignored his obvious agitation. Sighing, Anoni went over to the fire where Tevix was putting the last touches on the stew.

  “Three wanes say he breaks and asks for help,” he said, jingling the silver coins in his hand.

  “Too soon,” she replied. “A gold moon and two crescents say he sleeps out under the stars. Hopefully the cold and dew will go far in bringing home his new position.”

  “You’re on.”

  Tevix sent Giovicci out to gather the sentries.

  Nekobashi came into the clearing and began serving himself. Indicating the prince’s observer with a flick of the head, he asked in a loud voice, “Is that ujonfa ready for a break from construction?”

  Corin went still, waited until Nekobashi had moved off, then drifted over to the fire as Anoni dished up her dinner. It was rich and meaty, fragrant with onions and rosemary.

  Mildly, Corin picked up a bowl from the pile. “Dinner would be...pleasant. What did he call me?”

  “Perhaps you should stay out of Nekobashi’s way. He’s an eastern islander, and has no love for nobles,” Anoni said, taking up her own bowl and filling it with stew.

  “Ah.” Corin took a moment to familiarize himself with the workings of the ladle before getting the stew into his bowl. “But what exactly did he call me?”

  Anoni surprised herself by patting him on the shoulder. “Trust me. You don’t really want to know.”

  “If he hates nobles so much, why did he become a Dragon?”

  “You ask him, boy,” Tevix said, chuckling as he took a swig from his bottle of wine. The other sentries arrived. Corin backed out of the way as Anoni ceded the space for the men to get their dinner. Anoni savored the stew, knowing that their food would progressively degenerate in taste as the quest went on.

  “Nekobashi is a great glaive fighter in the islands,” Anoni managed between mouthfuls. “Just because his glaive isn’t a sword, don’t underestimate him. You can tell the prince that he fights well.”

  The sound of hoof beats on the road brought her head up. Across from them, Giovicci quietly set down his bowl and drew his sword. Next to him, Wix didn’t bother to put down his spoon, simply sticking it in his mouth and unsheathing two small knuckle knives.

  “But isn’t loyalty more imp—”

  She cut Corin off with a shake of her head. They waited to see if the rider would pass them on the road up the coast. The hoof beats changed, muffled on the forest loam, and were now accompanied by the cracking of the underbrush. Anoni gave her bowl to Corin with a low voiced “hold this, will you?” and unsheathed her sword.

  The angry snarl of a hunting hound sounded in the forest. She took a few steps away from Corin to give herself room. A dark-cloaked rider on a black stallion crashed into the clearing, missing the tents by inches. Without slowing, the rider rolled off the horse, landing in a ready position with a dagger drawn as the horse jumped the tents on the other side of the clearing and disappeared into the forest, the sound of branches rustling following it. The rider’s hood obscured any facial features.

  The Dragons started forward, Anoni in the lead, shouting, “Who goes there? Put down your—”

  Vansainté grabbed her arm. “Hold! Everyone hold!” The stranger turned to track him as he stalked forward. “I should beat you for that trick!”

  The Dragons watched as the stranger threw back the cowl revealing Copelia’s pouting face. “How did you know it was me? I went through all that trouble. It was really like Gamon’s entrance in the third act of Summerwine. I went to see—”

  “I bought you that cloak,” Vansainté said in disgust. “Call back your horse. I’d hate to see one of father’s Delkeran bloodstock go over a cliff in the dark. And get that dog in here.”

  “Sentries, take your food with you.” Anoni said. Giovicci put up his weapon with a grumble. He, Wix, and Arjent took their food with them for the evening watch. Yupendra unstrung his massive long bow and sat back down, firelight shining off his bald head as he shook it. Nekobashi shot Anoni a dirty look and stalked back into the trees, though it was not his watch.

  Copelia put two fingers in her mouth and whistled. A curly gray-furred hound almost the size of a pony came trotting into the clearing. He woofed a few times before settling down next to the men, sniffing them. Tevix patted the dog on the head and gave him a bit of meat from the stew. Vansainté grabbed Copelia by the elbow and dragged her over to Anoni. The hound trotted along behind them, chasing their shadows.

  “I thought you got her horse,” Anoni said dryly. “Hi Dog.” She patted him on the head. He licked her hand and arm, enthusiastic tongue none too careful of aim. He had a long and noble name, which was nearly unpronounceable to the western speaker and thus mostly answered to Dog.

  “Copelia, we went over this. You can’t come to Asteri with us,” Vansainté growled.

  The young woman wrestled back her arm, frowning. “I won’t let you and Ryelis go out alone. No way on earth,” she said, defiantly.

  Vansainté ground his teeth in frustration, growling, “Our parents left me in charge of you and you will go back in the morning!” The siblings glared at each other, faces only inches apart. Anoni could see the resemblance. Both took after their mother with the gray eyes and straight nose.

  “I’ll follow your trail. You can’t stop me.” Copelia turned an imploring face to Anoni. “I can help you. You’ve seen me on the trail, I can keep up.”

  “Go find your horse,” Vansainté ordered. The girl went to edge of the clearing and let out a complex whistle. Anoni moved closer to Vansainté.

  “Would she follow us all the way to Asteri?” Anoni asked in a murmur.

  “Yah, the damn girl rides like Mishi herself. Better than me, if you can believe it. Stubborn as a rock.”

  Anoni noted Vansainté sheathing his sword awkwardly with his left hand, and sheathed her own blade in one motion, as much a reflex as breathing. The comparison gave her a stinging awareness of what she owed him. “I suppose we can’t let her stay outside camp in the wilds, especially after we pass Lyceo. Even that monster of a hound won’t keep the Ozuk off her. But you are responsible for her. I don’t want the men going all strange over a woman in camp.” Vansainté raised a laconic eyebrow at this. She ignored this gesture, instead asking, “Will we need to pick up extra supplies for her?”

  Vansainté paused before he answered Anoni’s question to watch the stallion walk calmly out of the forest and butt his head against Copelia’s shoulder, whickering softly. “We have more than enough supplies. I just hope she can keep her head in the Safiro Wilds. It’s a very dangerous place,” he said.

  “Her reputation will probably be ruined in Aquillion, going out into the wilds with a bunch of strange men and spirit beasts,” she said, fighting a grin. “Don’t worry. Delkerans aren’t going out of style. The chance to be heir to your father’s horse trading empire wi
ll make any merchant son trying to court Copelia in the district swallow any gossip this trip will generate among the merchant families about Copelia’s character.”

  Vansainté looked pained. “Mishi is a trickster. Our father would kill me if he knew I let her do this.”

  “I think the great Paol Caruda would understand. He survived you and your brothers. He let you go to warcollege. You know, we could just tie her up and leave her for the bandits...I have a feeling I’ll wish I had before this is done. Copelia,” she called. “Picket the Delkeran with the others. You’ll share a tent with your brother.”

  Copelia squealed with delight and led the horse to the others, unsaddled the stallion, and started rubbing him down.

  “Impress upon her the importance of staying out of my tent at night. Any ‘sleepwalking’ accidents will be met with painful surprises,” Anoni muttered and went to retrieve her stew from Corin. This development would add to her headaches, but the girl would be safer in camp than trying to keep up. Mila and Paol Caruda had invited the young Ryelis Mizrahi into their home after learning he had no family in Oruno to spend Holy week with during her and Vansainté’s first year at warcollege.

  Mila, a wily mother of five, had known almost immediately that Anoni disguised as Ryelis was not what she seemed. That wise lady hadn’t pushed her, and had accepted her like a cousin when she finally confessed her story. Mila was the closest thing Anoni had had to a mother since her own mother had died in the Sawgrass Plague when she was six. Reminiscing on those days, it took her a few moments to realize that Corin had a wooden posture.

  Scraping the last of the stew from the bowl, Anoni asked, “What?”

  “I do not understand. To me you say, ‘fall behind and die in a ditch,’ and to her it is ‘oh I hope we have enough food for her.’ She wanders into an official imperial mission, and she’s given a place to sleep, while I...what? Why? She can’t be but sixteen summers.”