The sky to the south was clear for the first time in weeks, but displayed the cold blue of a winter day. From the center window of the main chamber of the guest quarters, Secca could see the topmost branches of the trees across the boulevard bending in the wind.
Her eyes went to the mirror on the table, the mirror that had shown skirmishes continuing in Dumar and snow piled even deeper across the Sand Pass, and that Sturinnese ships yet patrolled the coast of Liedwahr south of the Shoals of Discord. Lord Robero sat in his gilt chair and frowned, and the sorcerer Belmar was riding somewhere with his players and lancers, a force that had grown in size to resemble the armsmen of Sturinn. And Secca was sitting in Elahwa, doing nothing and going nowhere—and she had done nothing in three weeks but sit and watch.
She had to do something.
With a snort, she pulled the riding jacket off the peg on the wall and stuffed herself into it, then walked out of the doors, with a brusque nod to Easlon and Gorkon as she passed. One of them followed, but she didn’t look back to see which as she marched down the wide stairs and then back along the corridor to the doors opening out onto the rear courtyard.
Once at the entrance, Secca fastened the riding jacket more tightly before she stepped out into a cold and stiff breeze that swept across the rear courtyard behind the guest quarters. She glanced across the expanse of gray brick paving toward the barracks, then began to walk swiftly toward the red-painted door that was supposedly an armory of sorts.
Each step clicked on the brick paving, reminding her again that she needed new heels on her boots. She probably should have considered that before she left Loiseau, but she had to admit to herself, if not to anyone else, that she’d had no idea what she had been riding into or how long everything would take.
A group of lancers from Loiseau stood a good fifty yards beyond the armory door. All of the lancer rankers straightened as they saw her, but Secca merely smiled. She turned and opened the red-painted door, trimmed in black, and stepped inside.
A broad-shouldered woman with short-cut white hair and muscular forearms looked up from a pedal-driven grindstone as Secca closed the door behind her. “Yes, lady?” The gray eyes twinkled.
“You are the armorer?” Secca ventured.
“Such as there is,” admitted the older woman.
“I was hoping,” Secca continued, “that you might have some blunt practice blades.”
“For your lancers?” The armorer shook her head. “All I’d be having are rattan ones, and most lancers be not happy with such. Rather they would break bones and claim pride than learn.”
“You have a pair?” asked Secca.
“More than that.” The armorer slipped toward a rack in the left rear corner of the room. “Let me see…Four pair and one.”
Secca smiled. “Might I see them?”
“Of course, lady.” The armorer brought forward a pair and set them on the smooth and clean, but battered, bench to the left of the door through which Secca had entered.
As Secca began to try each of the practice weapons, the armorer brought the others to the bench as well. Secca hefted each. The smallest was still longer than the saber at her belt, but about the same weight, if of different balance.
“Could I borrow this pair?” asked the sorceress.
“You may have them so long as you like for all that you have done.” The armorer smiled. “You may also change either for another set, if they be not to the liking of your lancers.”
“One is for me.” Secca picked up the pair, then turned toward the door. “The other may be exchanged.” She smiled. “Thank you very much.”
“I hope they will suffice.”
“I’m sure they will.” One way or another. Secca opened the door and stepped back out into the chill winter day.
Before taking three steps along the barracks row, Secca caught sight of a captain in the green of Loiseau. “Captain Drysel!”
Drysel—an angular young man a good head and a half taller than Secca—turned quickly, then inclined his head. “Yes, Lady Secca?”
“I have found some practice weapons—they’re not blunted iron, but rattan. I would appreciate it if you would spar with me.”
Drysel bowed his head more deeply and nodded, looking down at Secca. “As you wish, lady.”
“Captain…I am in a foul temper. Please do not humor me more.”
“Ah…yes, Lady Secca.”
Drysel was one of the newer captains, a younger son of a cousin of Lord Robero’s consort Alyssa, and the last officer to come to Loiseau. He’d been picked by Anna, but Secca hadn’t seen him or sparred with him before, nor had he seen her work with a blade. She wondered if she were making a mistake, but decided that if she were, she would pay for it, and if she weren’t and Drysel were as arrogant as his attitude indicated, he would. “These are not iron, and I would prefer we avoid head cuts. Other than that, if you can strike, do your best.” Secca extended the longer weapon. “You may exchange this for another from the armorer if you wish.” She inclined her head toward the black-trimmed red door.
Drysel took the rattan weapon, hefted it, then nodded. “This will be fine.” His smile as he looked down at Secca was almost patronizing.
Secca set the rattan weapon down, then slipped out of the riding jacket. While it wasn’t too restrictive, and she’d certainly worn it in battle, she didn’t want to be hampered at all. Then she unfastened her own real sabre and scabbard. She didn’t want that banging her legs and getting in the way. Across from her, the young captain also took off his jacket, folding it carefully, almost as if it were a gesture to her. He left his sabre and scabbard on his belt.
The group of lancers who had been standing farther away began to edge toward Secca and Drysel, and Secca could hear a few of the words they exchanged.
“Captain…never crossed blades with her…”
“…only those wooden things…”
“He’s good…she’ll be lucky that way.”
Secca could feel anger rising in her, and she wondered why she was so touchy. Wrong time of her season? Or something akin to what Anna had felt—where people condescended to her because she was small, but simultaneously deferred to her because she was a sorceress? Secca pushed the thought away, taking a deep breath and positioning her feet on the smooth bricks. The snow and rain had washed away any grit, so that she wasn’t likely to slip.
Across from her, Drysel squared his shoulders, then tested his footing by scuffing his boots on the bricks.
The two moved forward, Drysel watching Secca’s rattan blade far more than her eyes, Secca aware of all of the younger man’s movements.
Almost casually, Secca feinted toward Drysel’s left shoulder, then pulled back. Drysel’s weapon did not move. She tried another feint, this time toward his left thigh.
He eased to his left, blade still in guard position.
Secca feinted left, then ducked and swept under and inside his weapon and tapped Drysel on the right shoulder, almost before the taller captain blinked.
“Quick…she was…”
“No force in it…”
Secca pushed that back. It wouldn’t have been right to use full force on a captain who was just trying to avoid either being struck or striking his commander. She wanted to shake her head. She wouldn’t have had the problem if she had been a man. She’d seen enough lancers try to strike Jecks, Rickel, Himar, and others.
Drysel feinted, and Secca offered a half-parry, as if she didn’t know his move were a feint, then came over the top of his weapon and forced it down into the bricks before dancing back.
Still, the young captain avoided striking directly at Secca. If she struck him, under those conditions, she would be unfair, and she might even hurt him.
So she concentrated on his weapon, deciding to see what she could do to make him look silly, since he was clearly wrapped in his own superiority.
With his next half-thrust, she ducked and came up under his weapon, putting her full weight, if momentarily, behind her weapon, and taking her hilt against the rattan with enough force to drive the weapon out of his fingers. With a smile she stepped back and beckoned for him to retrieve it.
Drysel frowned momentarily, flexing his fingers as he retrieved the practice weapon.
Secca could sense his grip on the rattan blade was firmer, but he was obviously determined merely to defend.
After another series of engagements, blade against blade, Secca hammered his weapon into the bricks with enough force that, in order to hold the weapon, Drysel went almost to his knees.
As the captain straightened and stepped back, Secca caught some of the murmurs from the onlooking lancers.
“…he won’t strike…see…she knows it…”
“…she won’t either…won’t take advantage…”
“…trying to disarm him…done it once already…”
In the next set of exchanges, Secca managed to force Drysel’s blade higher and more to the side, then slammed her blade into the side of his weapon just above the hilt. As Drysel’s practice weapon seemed to bend in his hand and then drop to the bricks, Secca tried to break the momentum of her follow-through, but even so, her rattan slammed into his upper arm.
She stepped back. “I’m sorry, captain. I was only trying for your weapon, not for you.” As she watched, she could see blood oozing through the fabric of Drysel’s sleeve.
Drysel concealed a wince. “I know, lady. That was obvious.”
“I am most sorry,” Secca apologized again.
“That is all right.” Drysel started to bend to retrieve the rattan weapon, then paused, with a less-well-concealed wince.
“I didn’t…” Secca stood back, taking a deep breath, wondering what she could say. She shouldn’t have let her temper, even focused into the weapon, get the better of her. Just because she wasn’t big…everyone seemed to think she was fragile.
“So…you are beating up on your officers, lady?”
Secca turned to see Alcaren standing there. “I was trying to get some exercise. I’m not used to the rattan, and I didn’t realize…” She broke off as she saw the amused expression in his gray-blue eyes. “Perhaps you would like to take Captain Drysel’s place, overcaptain?”
“And if I injured our sorceress, then where would I be?” Alcaren shrugged.
“The same place you are now—waiting in Elahwa.” Secca’s words were as chill as the wind she scarcely felt.
“I can see you will not accept my deferral.”
“Not at the moment,” Secca replied.
“Then, if you will allow me, captain…” Alcaren stepped toward Drysel and scooped up the blade off the gray bricks.
“Captain Drysel?” Secca said.
“Yes, lady?”
“I am most sorry for being overzealous. I would appreciate it if you would have Chief Player Palian look at your shoulder. She is a fair healer.”
“If you would allow me to watch for a moment before I do?”
“Of course…but not too long.” Secca turned toward Alcaren, who had not bothered to remove his riding jacket.
“Limitations, lady?” asked Alcaren.
“No head thrusts. I might still have to sing, and you might need to give orders.”
“Most fair.”
Alcaren was even more cautious than Drysel, parrying Secca’s exploratory cuts, but not attempting to slip by her weapon or begin an attack.
The Ranuan followed the same pattern as Drysel had, except Alcaren was willing to attack Secca’s weapon, and she was the one who almost lost her rattan blade. After the first set of exchanges, her fingers tingled, and she circled, flexing them as she did, trying to get more feeling back into them.
Abruptly, Alcaren stepped back. “A moment, Lady Secca, while I remove the riding jacket.”
Secca nodded, stepping back and taking a deep breath. She noticed that there were more onlookers, mostly SouthWomen, easing forward from the northern wing of the barracks.
Alcaren finished folding the jacket and stepped forward with a nod, then began a tightly focused series of attacks, always at Secca’s weapon.
She slipped aside, then managed to strike his weapon with fair force before falling back.
They circled again.
Secca could feel the dampness all over her body, despite the chill wind, and she could see the sweat beading on Alcaren’s forehead.
She feinted, then struck upward under his weapon, but he recovered and came slashing down. She pulled his rattan blade to the side, and almost drove it into the bricks, but, again, he recovered, and was on the attack again, and Secca had to circle back.
For a moment, they were almost hilt to hilt, but Secca managed to disengage before his superior strength literally lifted her off her feet.
Even so, he pressed the attack so fiercely that Secca had no choice but to slide his blade. The rattan did not slide as smoothly as did steel, and the effort sent a jolt down her arm. She danced back, barely avoiding a slashing thrust that, while possibly not intended, swept toward her right thigh, then stepped inside and used the comparative roughness of the rattan to help his weapon along.
While Alcaren staggered for an instant, he was back on balance almost before Secca was.
They circled again, and Secca began the attack, but had to back off.
Alcaren returned the favor.
How many times this continued Secca did not know, only that she wondered how long she could continue. Yet she’d started it, in a way, and she hated to be the one who called the match—if that was what it was.
Abruptly, Alcaren eased back. “You…are more…dangerous than you look…” he said between gasps.
“So…are…you.” Secca wished she weren’t breathing so hard, but keeping up with the bigger and stronger overcaptain had taken everything she had.
“I…am sorry,” Alcaren continued quietly. “I did…not…understand.” He grinned. “I will be…very sore in many places…because…I did not.” He paused. “You have made…your point, lady—pardon…my pun, and I…would humbly…suggest…that…we cease before…you render…me…unfit for…duty.” The grin was strained.
Secca straightened, still breathing heavily. “I accept…gratefully…your advice…”
After a moment, she slowly bent to recover the riding jacket, although she was sweating all over, and dared not don it until she cooled off. Then she refastened the sabre and scabbard to her belt.
Alcaren slowly followed her in reclaiming his own jacket. Then he bowed.
Secca bowed in return.
“Like cats…they were…”
“So alike…because…”
Secca couldn’t hear the last words, because Wilten moved in front of the South Woman who was talking and stepped toward Secca.
“Lady Secca?”
“Yes, Wilten?” Secca smiled politely.
“It has been some time since I have seen you work with a blade. You use it like the best of lancers now. Even the men saw it.”
“Yes…the overcaptain and I did put on quite an exhibition. I trust our form was good enough to inspire the lancers?”
“It was most inspiring.” Wilten’s smile was warm. “It was also most impressive to the SouthWomen and their captains.” The Defalkan overcaptain laughed. “It matters not to them how impressive we men are, but how impressive you are.”
Secca nodded. “I do hope they were impressed.” She paused. “If you will excuse me…?”
Wilten bowed.
The redheaded sorceress turned and walked across the courtyard toward the main guest quarters building, still carrying the rattan exercise weapon. She was going to be sore in more places than she wanted to count, but no one was going to see that, especially not Alcaren.