Quinn slid to the ground, exhausted. The blade slithered from her sweaty palm, making a dull thud on the sand as it landed flat. She sobbed between heaving pants, unused to so much physical exertion and mental effort. Unbidden, the bawl of her tutor, a master in swordcraft called Tarik, jabbed in her ears.
“Get up, girl. You cannot rest now. Do you think that you can rest on a battlefield? Do you believe the men of Everfell are going to stop swinging their swords so that you may catch your breath?”
“There isn’t going to be a war!” Quinn yelled at him. They’d had this argument already.
Tarik chortled, “If you think that, then you’ve been going around with your eyes and ears closed. I thought you were an empath? You’ve been living with the baron Sammah for all your life have you not? And you think that we will never have another war?”
Quinn rolled her tongue around her dry mouth, looking for any bit of moisture to dampen her parched throat. There was none, and she knew that Tarik wouldn’t let her properly rest until the end of the session. The man was practically a slave-driver, and since Quinn has been passed into his care three days ago, all she’d known were tears and pain.
“Answer me, girl. Are all men in Everfell peaceful? None of the lords at all show malice? Not even that cruel fellow…what is name? Shimmer?”
Quinn was so exhausted, she couldn’t even giggle at his slip with the lord of Sevenspells’ name. “Shiver. His name is Shiver, and he’s the Lord of Sevenspells.” Quinn thought about the disgusting old tyrant briefly. Yes, he’d wanted war, but none of the others had, not as far as she’d known.
“How influential is he, this Shiver? Are the other lords weaker than he, likely to follow his lead, yes?”
“Vance is still on the throne.”
Tarik rapped her on the head with his wooden sparring sword, and Quinn yelped in pain. Her hand darted to the back of her skull, and she patted at her hair gingerly. She drew her hand back, inspecting it and expecting to see blood. There was none, and she was disappointed.
“If you think that he will be on the throne forever then your are even more foolish than I first thought, girl. Now, get up. Stop thinking about your next drink. And your next meal. There are no dinner breaks on the battlefield, girl. Have you learned nothing from me, yet?”
“You’ve taught me how to be exhausted.”
Tarik grinned, “I like a little courage, little lioness.” He looked up and down, “And you’re losing some of baby fat that you had.”
Quinn was indignant. “Baby fat? You’re mistaking me for someone else.”
“The stories about Everfell, and their court? I heard they do nothing all day but throw meat and wine down their throats. Isn’t that true? And you lived there?”
Quinn laughed impulsively. “If was one of those courtiers, I wouldn’t even be here. I was Baron Sammah’s adopted daughter. I spent most of my years in Everfell as a maid. At nights, I cleaned bedrooms and emptied chamber pots. You’ve probably heard of the court ladies in their sweeping ostentatious gowns, on the arms of lords embroidered in finery? At the banquets you mentioned, I was serving them. You want someone who was overburdened with weight and self-importance, then you need to send a message to Sammah.”
“Just Sammah? Not even baron or father? Where’s your sense of loyalty, girl?”
She hated it when Tarik called her girl, which was the only name the swordmaster appeared to have for her. Quinn’s response was venomous. “My sense of loyalty to Sammah was lost when I found out he wanted to mate with me.”
“Ah yes, but that’s understandable, isn’t it? The baron is an apath, he has no understanding of the way people react to such things. How can you hold that against him?”
“Hold it against him? If I ever see him again, I’ll slit his throat!”
“Ah, violence. Of this, I approve, though your skill with a blade and your lack of upper body strength mean you’re very unlikely to be slitting throats any time soon, girl. Pick up a blade. Enough talking, you’ve had your sneaky rest. We’re going to work on your footwork, which is appalling. I could have my toddlers run circles around you and trip you in the sand before plunging this sword into your throat.”
Quinn was horrified, but she did believe Tarik. He was Farn’s weapons master, and had been for three decades. The man was old, but no one would mistake that for Tarik being slow. He was trim, lean, and his skin was leathery from the years he’d spent out in the sun training his students. He hated war, and Quinn could understand why after so many of his students had died on the battlefield in the last war. That he’d still be training children after such heart-breaking loss, was astonishing to Quinn, until he’d told her that skill with weapons was his gift. He would be replaced by another gifted when he died, but whether he chose to or not, Tarik would teach. His reasoning was sound; if someone less skilled with the blade were to teach, then more could die. Quinn picked up a blade.
All they seemed to talk about in Sha’sek was war, when everyone in Everfell avoided the topic. Quinn wasn't sure which side to believe now, but the more she heard in Sha’sek, the more she thought the war was an inevitability.
Quinn found it hard to concentrate as Tarik resumed their practice. His bawling was never-ending, telling her to shift her feet to the left, then to the right. Making her pivot, making sure her shoulders were in line with her leg; taking the correct stance so should have the right momentum to defend his swings. She lost balance time and time again, and he slipped in beneath her defences enough times to make Quinn cry tears of frustration. As her eyes watered, the stinging blinded her. She couldn’t counter anything; she threw the sword away in frustration.
“I can’t do this, Tarik! I’ll never be a fighter.”
Tarik didn’t stop his swing, and his wooden sword crashed into her shoulder. Quinn reeled from the blow, shrieking in pain as she felt the wooden blade crunching her bone. Even as she collapsed to the sand once more, she knew a bone was broken. What was he thinking?
Quinn’s howl of pain was enough to bring people running. Tarik dropped to her side, only looking apologetic as healers began to work on her. She looked desperately at their faces for a glance of Maertn, but her best friend wasn’t there. Neither was Ross. After their brief meeting when she had seen the council, they had been separated. She had been put under Tarik’s care, and she was told that Ross was in another building entirely; she wouldn’t be allowed to see him for some time. Quinn knew that Maertn was under the tutelage of another master, but she had no idea where Ross was, and though no one had lied to her about his wellbeing, she still feared for his safety.
“So, you train me for war, and then what? Nothing, that’s what. I’ll be able to swing a sword like all of your other minions, then be kept at the back and used to manipulate emotions of others, just like Nerren was. You’re wasting your time, Tarik.”
“What if our lines are broken? What if there is no defence, and you are left on your own facing a dozen mercenaries from Everfell? Could you take them all at once with your abilities? Do you want to be known as the empath that got taken down screaming without a fight? I may not know you, Quinn, but I’ve met you. Open your eyes to the world, girl. I know you’re a fighter. You wouldn’t have survived Sammah if you weren’t.”
Chastised, Quinn glanced up at a healer. “Nothing is broken. She will be sore for the next few days. Go easy on this side.”
The healers departed, and Quinn was left in the training yard again with her master. Tarik was leaning against a wall, regarding her coolly. The next decision was hers. Quinn leaned down for a sword. She didn’t realise how weary she was though, and she stumbled over into the dirt. She stayed, panting, on her hands and knees, hoping that Tarik would laugh at her. The swordsman was giving her one-to-one lessons, thankfully, and Quinn suspected he resented the fact that he was being made to concentrate on such a poor student. Quinn tried to change the topic, diverting attention from her so she could rest more. “You keep mentioning Sammah. What was he like? Did you know him?”
Tarik pushed himself off the wall and sat cross-legged in front of Quinn, so Quinn adopted the same pose. “Don’t mistake this for leisure, girl, we’ll be adding this wasted time on to the end of your session. You understand me?” Quinn nodded, just glad to be able to get a break for a short time. “I would love to say that Baron Sammah was a nice man, the kind of person liked by everyone, and an able fighter. He was none of these things. I was glad when they sent him away from Farn.”
“Why, was he so terrible?”
“It wasn’t anything he directly did to me. He was just so rotten compared to everyone else around him, you know?”
Quinn didn’t know, and shook her head.
Tarik sighed. “Most students brought to me have some fundamental good in them. I only get nobles; highborn families, those able to pay my prices.” Tarik caught Quinn’s jaw dropping, and laughed. “Yes, that includes you. The Baron Pax himself has paid your tutelage. You think I’d tolerate your pathetic skills for free? No, girl, you cost twice as much as a normal student, though I will tell you that for free. Anyway, this distracts us. You wanted to know about your Sammah? Know this: Sammah is a vile man. I’m not surprised he was stirring up war in Everfell. I couldn’t begin to count just how many feathers he’s managed to ruffle in that court. I wouldn’t be surprised to see him die at the end of a noose. Don’t misunderstand me, girl, I don’t blame him in any way for being the way he is. Like I said, he’s an apath. He was born like that. Still, some people take liberties with their ability, and he is one of them. I’m relieved to say, you’re not one of them. You haven’t tried once to read me, have you?”
“No, master.”
“And why not?”
“Because I haven’t felt the need to.”
Quinn thought that answer didn’t deserve any further justification, but Tarik raised his hand, gesturing for her to carry on. Quinn cleared her throat and continued. “Well, I’m just not threatened here. I should be scared of you, scared of everything around me. I’m just…not. When I was younger I used my abilities when I had no control over them, and when I was forced to. Now that I have the choice, I’d prefer not to.”
“Even if using it meant the difference between life and death?”
Quinn couldn’t suppress her smirk. “You’re not going to kill me, master.”
“No, but you’ve freely admitted that you’re in a strange place and amongst strange people. Just because there are gifted like you here, don’t assume that you’re safe, girl. That’s stupid, and is likely to get you killed. The baron is grateful for you and what you bring to his court, but others aren’t going to be so accommodating. You’re a threat to their position and their futures. I would start being a bit looser with that ability of yours, if it’s not going to drain you. What have you been taught about it so far?”
Quinn’s hopes perked up. “Can you teach me about that, too?”
Tarik laughed, and the hollow noise was tinged with sadness. “No Quinn, I can’t. No one alive can teach you about what you are. Nerren died at the end of the last war, as I’m sure you already know.”
Quinn sat back in the sand, deflated. “Is it true that Nerren is likely to be my father? I’ve been told so many things, but Sammah’s research said that the empathic ability can only be passed by heredity. Am I his daughter?”
Tarik shrugged. “I’m not knowledgeable in this. I’m a master with the blade, Quinn. If you’re feeling brave, you can ask Baron Pax whether he will let you speak to any of his scholars. They must have information you can use in the libraries. You’re here to help our cause, so anything that helps you, will help us as well.”
“I can’t ask him on my own. Can you come with me?”
“I’m not your nursemaid girl, you should be able to go to the baron on your own.”
“I can’t, can you see? I haven’t seen him since I got here. I’m not sure I can just present myself to him and make demands.”
Tarik seemed to contemplate this for a second before responding. “Okay, girl, I shall make you a deal. Your friends who came with you? They are both fine. One of them has been studying with the healers, and he’s meant to be seeing the baron tonight. So, you pick up that sword, get to your feet, and actually put some effort into one of these lessons, and I’ll take you to see your friend. Maybe then you can go and see the baron together, and you can ask these questions about your father. Do we have an agreement?”
Quinn didn’t respond with words, instead she threw herself to her feet, grabbing her sword and holding it firmly in her fist.
Tarik laughed. “If only you were always so keen.”