“For the present, you will remain here,” he answered. “You are free to do as you please, so long as you remain within Treygon’s walls.”
Disappointment seeped in. I’d really been hoping the plan was to return to Laytrii.
“You are displeased.”
My head snapped up. “What?”
He nodded toward me. “You are dissatisfied.”
“Wait, how’d you know that?”
I didn’t think I’d shown too much on my face, so how had he—
Oh, yeah. Duh, the Joining. He can read your emotions like a book now.
I offered him a weak smile. “Sorry, you took me by surprise. I knew about the Joining and its effects and everything, but when you said what I was feeling out loud—well, you took me surprise, is all.”
He made no reply. After a brief, uncomfortable silence, I asked, “So…what were you saying a minute ago?”
“I was saying freedom is yours,” he went on, finishing his explanation, “so long as you heed the commands laid down for your protection. And there will be certain requirements.”
“Requirements? You mean like chores?”
“No.” He shook his head, but I thought I caught a glint of humor in his black eyes. “No, not chores, but duties. The time for training has arrived. You will begin tomorrow.”
With that, he got to his feet, signaling our audience was at an end. Well, maybe he thought that explanation was sufficient, but I didn’t!
Jumping to my feet, I blurted out, “What kind of training? They told me someone was supposed to help me with all this magic, Artan stuff.” A brow rose suspiciously. “Don’t tell me that’s you?”
“Nay, my lady. Simathe leave matters of that nature to fairies and Moonkind. Your training here will be what others receive.”
My eyes sprang open. “You mean Simathe training? Like, as in to be a warrior?”
“Precisely.”
“What on earth for? I’m not a warrior. I’m…well, I’m not exactly the Artan either, but that’s what you all seem to think, and—”
“It is for your protection, Lady Hannah,” the warrior-lord cut in smoothly, “and a necessity, I assure you.
“Come, I will escort you to your chamber.”
Capturing my elbow in a firm hold, he ushered me efficiently out of his room and toward mine. I had no choice except to submit and go along with him. Apparently, his word was law around here, and once he made up his mind, his decisions were final.
It looked like I’d be starting warrior training tomorrow.
Disaster
Yawning, I opened the door the next morning to admit a young man bearing a tray of food for my breakfast. After placing it on the low table I indicated, he bowed, exiting the room as silently as he’d entered. Alone, I stared sleepily at the tray, wondering why it’d been brought so early.
Oh yeah, warrior training or something.
Frowning, I went to make my bed, wishing I could burrow back in for more sleep. I didn’t dare, though. If I’d learned one thing during my time spent in Aerisia, it was that the Simathe High-Chief got what he wanted. If I failed to show up, he’d doubtless come drag me out of bed himself. No point in arguing. Besides, I was betting since we were Joined, he knew whether I was awake or asleep. Added to that, he probably also knew when I left my bedroom.
I smiled wryly as I crossed to pick up the tray. Or if I stayed in it.
Fine. He could have his way: I’d come down for training. He probably wouldn’t be happy with my performance, though. I wouldn’t call myself heavy, but I sure wasn’t skinny, either. Nor would I ever dare call myself an athlete. Barely even fit. I did jog some, but that was about it since I’d graduated high school and left mandatory P.E. classes behind.
Back in school, however, I had taken archery and done well. My dad was an avid bow hunter, and mastering the craft had been a way of bonding with him. I realized the bows here at Treygon and those used back home by my dad and me would probably be different, but I used to be a pretty good shot. Maybe the Simathe lord would let me stick to archery practice. If he did, I might not make a complete idiot of myself.
After eating, I sorted through my clothing a second time. What did one wear for warrior training, anyhow? The best I could come up with was either my jeans or the divided skirt I’d worn on the ride here, paired with my T-shirt from back home. I laid the jeans and skirt across my bed and was standing over them, trying to decide, when someone knocked. Barefoot, I padded across the cool, stone floor to answer.
“Yes?” I opened the door a crack.
“My apologies, Lady Hannah.” It was the same young Simathe who’d delivered my breakfast. “The High-Chief sends this to you. It just arrived from the Spinners.” An awkward bundle, heavy and large, was handed through the door.
I thanked him and closed the door, leaving him to go about his business. Hefting the unwieldy package over to the bed, I dropped it and bent to unfasten its leather strap. Peeling away the oilskin covering, I reached in, withdrawing a wide, leather belt. Following this were several others items, which I spread out on the bed.
Wow. Somebody must’ve known about this in advance.
The parcel contained two changes of clothing, both of them obviously intended for warrior training. One had a jerkin of hardened leather laced up the front with leather cords. It had room to accommodate the curves of a woman’s body, was thick enough to offer some protection in battle, and was also lined on the underside with soft linen. Next came a knee-length skirt of heavy, canvas-like fabric. A wide leather belt buckled around the waist, and gauntlets waited to close over my wrists. The other getup was a little more practical, perhaps: a little more me. Dark breeches—two pairs, black and brown—were paired with a long-sleeved shirt, over which went a thick, quilted vest fancifully embroidered with swirling designs.
I could see how all the pieces could be interchangeable, but since it was a warm day, I simply went with the first getup. Maybe I was subconsciously drawn toward it because it reminded me of the leather jerkins I’d seen some of the Simathe wear. Maybe I was hoping to blend in?
Yeah, because an American woman in her early twenties can really blend in with a group of immortal warriors with midnight-black hair and eyes. Right. Great plan, Hannah.
Well, at least I won’t stick out like a sore thumb, maybe?
You’re a woman! Of course you’re going to stick out like a sore thumb! Better get used to it. That ain’t changing for awhile.
Oh shut up, I grumped. It’s the best I can do.
Shoving mental arguments aside, I went ahead and got dressed, feeling all the while like the world’s biggest fool, especially when it came to tying up the leather sandals I’d chosen to complete my outfit. I thought they’d look cool, with their straps crisscrossing halfway up my calves. Despite their initial novelty, I grew frustrated after struggling with the laces for several minutes.
“I wish Sammie were here,” I sighed, dropping my forehead onto an upraised knee. “She wouldn’t have any problem with this.”
True, my older sister could tie and untie knots like a sailor. She was also good in the man department. I would’ve given anything for her advice both on tying these sandals and on handling the challenge of being the only girl on a training ground full of accomplished warriors. Male warriors.
“I so don’t wanna do this,” I groaned, thinking of all the horrible ways it could end.
But what choice did I have?
My mood lightened when I finally managed to figure out the sandal laces and get them tied properly. Feeling proud of myself, I buckled on the wide leather belt as I walked over to check my reflection in the mirror.
“Good night!” I exclaimed, catching sight of my reflection in the polished glass. “I look like a freakin’ fantasy warrior chick!”
I really did, so much that it was almost creepy. I’d never been the sort to read thick fantasy novels, play Dungeons and Dragons, or visit those conventions where geeks ran around in elaborate co
stumes. Dressed up like this, though, I’d fit right in with that crowd.
Who’s the geek now?
I couldn’t help a bitter laugh.
At least it’s not by choice.
Knowing I should probably get out there before I got in trouble with my teacher, I hurriedly brushed out my hair then pulled it back into a high ponytail, letting the layered ends skim the base of my neck. Again, I debated over my necklace, trying to decide whether or not to wear it. I decided I should, especially when a strange feeling of loss settled over me at the mere idea of removing it.
At any rate, judging by the small, golden hoop I’d seen in Ilgard’s ear—and which he was never without—I figured some jewelry must be okay. Several of the other Simathe, including the Chief Captain, wore a piece exactly like their High-Chief: a single golden hoop in their left ear. I wondered if the earring was some private mark of distinction in the Simathe culture.
Soon I was fully dressed, sans weapons. None of those had been provided, even though everybody else around here always seemed to be packing them. Even the younger Simathe who served kept a dagger hanging in plain sight from their belts. Weapons were also flaunted on walls, in hallways, and above doorways as the fortress’s preferred décor.
I didn’t find the constant show of force very soothing. Then again, the Simathe culture was a warrior culture, and it wasn’t like anybody had bothered to ask my opinion.
And it’s not like they will. Oh well. Guess they’ll give me something to work with when I get out there.
When I left my room, I was only mildly surprised to find a warrior standing outside my door, waiting. “This way, my lady,” he said, and I fell into step beside him, assuming he’d been sent to escort me to the training grounds. He led me through parts of Treygon I hadn’t yet seen until we emerged outside in the main courtyard. I followed him through this, then a gate, and down a lane that wound between some outbuildings, heading toward what must be the training grounds. As we approached I first hesitated, then stopped abruptly.
Uh oh.
“My lady?” prompted my guide, breaking into my stream of thought.
Jolted out of my trance, I dashed forward, hurrying to catch up while keeping my eyes on my feet. What I’d already seen was enough to tell me that what I’d figured would be a difficult training session was now going to be impossible.
Please let him be different. Please let him be different, I begged whatever powers might be listening. If the universe has any pity, he’ll be different.
I dared myself to lift my eyes and check. It took a moment to pick out the head Simathe from among the other tall, black-haired men, but my guide was steering me straight toward him and it wasn’t difficult to see—
The universe has no mercy.
My stomach sank. Embarrassed, uneasy, wanting to hightail it to the safety of my room, I hung back while my guide walked right up to the knot of men who were holding a wooden bow they seemed to be discussing. While he stood there waiting to inform his lord of our arrival, I shifted my weight from foot to foot, wondering if I could feign sickness to get out of this. Before I could concoct a plan, they’d acknowledged his report and he, saluting them in Simathe fashion, offered me a bow before taking himself off.
The others ignored me for a bit…which was fine by me, because I was frantically trying to come to terms with what I was seeing. It hadn’t been so noticeable at a distance, probably because, as a race, the Simathe had a distinct, bronze coloring to match their alien eyes and hair. This, together with the fact that they spent so much time outdoors, meant their skin was tanned nearly as dark as the leather they favored. However, as we got closer, it hadn’t taken me long to figure out what I was seeing wasn’t leather at all.
Why, oh why, do men feel like they have to take their shirts off if they’re doing anything outside? Why couldn’t the Simathe be different? Why?
It’s not like I was a prude or anything, and it wasn’t like I hadn’t seen shirtless jocks before in high school and at my local gym. However, for the life of me, I couldn’t help staring at the broad back presented by the High-Chief, a back as deeply tanned as his arms, with muscles rippling under the surface of his skin.
Right then, I couldn’t help wishing desperately that these men didn’t have to be so…well, male. It was more than the chiseled builds. It was more than the fact that I was the only girl in a pack of half-dressed men, although I know that added to my discomfort. I think what made it the hardest not to stare was the scattering of marks and scars across their skin, evidence of the hard lives they lived. These guys weren’t gym-crazy hulks or steroid-puffed athletes. They were fighters, soldiers, strong men who lived hard and fought harder. They were warriors who killed.
I tried not to shy away as the High-Chief approached me, and I definitely tried not to stare at a particularly nasty scar jagging its way across his left shoulder and disappearing into his armpit. However, I couldn’t help wincing at the awful sight, and glanced up in time to see the man’s face stiffen as he caught my reaction.
“My lady,” he said coolly. “This way, please.”
He motioned me to precede him to the spot where his companions waited. I carefully took a step out before going past, making sure our bodies didn’t come in close proximity. Surrounded by him and his warriors, I felt absolutely dwarfed. The shortest of them was a full head taller than I was. My heart was pumping double-time. It was a relief when Ilgard handed me the bow. At least it helped hide my trembling hands.
“Your bow, my lady.” He accepted the arrow proffered by another man, passing it into my hands. “And arrow.”
“Target practice?” I forced a weak smile.
“Aye, come this way.” They led me over in path of a large target. “Would you care for a demonstration?”
Ha! At last a chance to prove my worth.
“I know how to do this,” I said airily.
Clearly, the man thought I was a total incompetent. I’d show him. Little did he know archery and I were old friends. Now, if only he and his crew would back off and give me some breathing space. The way they were standing there all packed in together, watching without saying a word, was making my anxiety worse. I’d never felt more judged in my life. For once, though, I refused to fail. I could ignore the half-dressed men. I could deal with the silent critics. I could strike a blow for women in both worlds…
Ordering my brain to stop my hands from shaking, I fitted arrow to bowstring, calling into play every bit of skill I’d learned from those years training at school and with my dad. Slowly, I raised the bow. Peering down the shaft, I carefully lined up tip with target, taking my time. I wanted this first shot to be good. I had something to prove to these men, as well as to myself.
Unfortunately, at the exact instant I was ready to shoot, Ilgard—already too close—shifted a step nearer. His chest nudged my back, and at the light touch I practically jumped out of my skin. My fingers released prematurely. The arrow darted from my bow, landing harmlessly in the dirt a few feet away.
I lowered the weapon, feeling heat rush to my face. Anger, born of humiliation, swelled. If any of them had dared so much as smirk, I would’ve lost it right then and there. Maybe they sensed my ire. Nobody said a word. Detaching himself from the group, one of the men went to retrieve the stray arrow, handing it back with a kindly, “It was a good attempt.”
I was not in the mood for platitudes. Shooting him a venomous glare, I snatched the arrow from his hand. “It was not a good attempt.”
“On the contrary.”
Ilgard this time. I spun to face him, hackles raised, ready to do battle, only to nearly slam into him. That didn’t alleviate matters any. I stumbled back, turning the full force of my wrath on him.
“It was a bad shot, and it was all your fault!”
“My fault, my lady?”
“Yes, your fault!” I retorted, shoving loose hair out of my eyes. “You knew I was nervous, and you deliberately bumped me to break my concentration!”
&
nbsp; “Why would I do that?” he asked. “Your attempt was not bad. You merely lack improvement on your aim.”
“My aim was fine!” I shouted. “I would’ve made a bull’s eye if you hadn’t interfered!” I jabbed angrily at his chest with a forefinger.
He didn’t respond, but his features hardened to granite. Silence filled the air. All of a sudden, I realized it was quiet. Much too quiet. Looking around, I noticed all action on the training grounds had ceased. Every black eye within range was now trained on us. On me, to be exact. Even the horses seemed to be glowering in my general direction.
Crap. What have I done now?
I felt sick, and glanced up very timidly at the High-Chief. Something told me no one in their right mind treated him this way, and there was I—a stranger, brought to Treygon for his protection, treating him with such disrespect. And in front of his subordinates, no less.
My finger fell and I slunk backward, peering nervously from face to face. No mercy was to be found. Stooping, I rescued the bow and arrow I’d flung away in the heat of anger.
“I—I’m sorry,” I said quietly as I rose. “Really, I am.” I couldn’t make myself meet the warrior-lord’s black gaze. “Should I—should I try again?”
The stillness was oppressive. At last the High-Chief lifted sinewy forearms, crossing them over a broad chest.
“By all means.”
His voice could have melted steel, and I won’t even mention the look he was probably giving me. I didn’t have the courage to meet it.
Almost in tears, I turned away from him and back to the target. It was no use. If I’d thought I was nervous before with only five men watching, it was unbearable with every warrior present silently observing. All I could feel was the hot displeasure in those black, black stares, though no one said a word.
I fumbled with the arrow. I dropped it. I couldn’t hit the target’s outside ring. I couldn’t hit the target at all. My mind was a blank, and no reflexes kicked in to help. The harder I tried, the worse things got. Finally, Ilgard mercifully took the weapons from my hands and pointed me to a seat on the grass some distance away. At my departure, the men dispersed, going back to whatever they’d been doing before their alleged Artan made an utter fool of herself. Slumping onto the grass, I locked my arms around my legs, pressing my face against my knees to hide the tears I fought.
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