Alex Lidell - The Cadet of Tildor

Savoy pushed her into the shadows and wrapped his black cloak around her shoulders. His blond hair disappeared under a dark hat he produced from nowhere. His hand reached for a sword that was not there and he looked at Renee. She shook her head. There was no way to steal one from the manor. They’d have to do with the knives they brought. Savoy nodded once, and slid out to follow Khavi, whose paws crunched on the frozen grass.

Manicured grounds gave way to an untamed forest. Renee’s initial indignation at the duke’s careless abandon of his backlands changed to suspicion. The dense, wild vegetation, an inky black tangle in the dark of night, discouraged trespassing. Leafless branches struck Renee’s face and snatched at her clothes. She pulled her knife from under her dress and cut away the underskirt.

A quarter hour into the hike, the dog stopped at what seemed a random clearing in the woods and scratched at the frosty ground.

Renee crouched and felt a prolonged crack. “It’s a door.” She pulled up on a wooden edge.

Steep, slippery stairs led them underground. The air, heavy with mold and moisture, hung like fog. Renee lowered the hinged cover over their heads, shutting away the moonlight. The door clicked shut and flashed with a small speck of blue.

Cursing, Savoy tried in vain to reopen the exit. They were trapped.

Darkness hugged them. Savoy’s breath warmed the back of her neck. “Wait.” He halted her with a hand on her shoulder.

She felt him crouch, then heard a muffled crunch, like glass breaking beneath cloth. Savoy moved in front of her, a small pouch glowing blue in his hand.

“Light sac,” he whispered. “The Mage Council divined them for the Seventh last year.”

The stairway spiraled down, yielding to a lantern-lit corridor. A pair of leather bracelets lay discarded on the floor of a small alcove to their left. On closer look, Renee saw blue tinted metal strips interwoven with the leather bands. Mage work. She tossed the thing back into the corner.

Khavi jogged forward, his claws ticking against the stone. The walls were uneven here, far enough apart in some places for several men to walk abreast, in others so narrow that only one person could pass at a time. After a while, Renee and Savoy spilled into a wider, main corridor.

“Memorize the layout,” Savoy whispered. His voice was calm. “Keep it basic. Count the paces. Note odd markings.”

She repeated his words in her head. She and Alec had practiced mapping this past autumn—she shook her head; was it truly so recent?—but basics were easier at the Academy, when her heart wasn’t pounding in her chest and she wasn’t counting footsteps that echoed against underground walls.

Savoy’s hand halted her again. He pointed to his ear, then forward to where another hall joined the main artery from the east. Stuffing the light sac into his boot, he pulled out his knife.

Renee had to close her eyes to catch the approaching footsteps. Once she did, they seemed deafeningly loud. Several paces ahead, Khavi froze in his tracks, turned his head, teeth glowing with reflected light.

“I heard you taming the wild child,” said a gruff, self-satisfied voice.

“Life’s small pleasures,” answered a baritone. “I told ’em months ago that market’s ripe for eight-yearers, if you train ’em right.”

Savoy, expressionless, held up two fingers.

Renee’s hands curled into fists. Gripping her knife, she stepped forward toward the junction. It was two on two, with surprise on their side. The footsteps grew louder. The speakers were nearing. Little longer until confrontation. Renee looked at Savoy, realizing that she had passed him and now held point.

He motioned her behind him.

Renee’s heart sped. Someone close cleared his throat. She took a quick breath and found Savoy’s eyes. “Let me,” she mouthed.

His lips tightened—and Renee’s heart sank. Was he recalling her loss to Tanil? Or her panic over a paper ? Or her struggles during the Queen’s Day dinner? She waited, motionless, and had just resigned herself to rejection when Savoy raised his brows and nodded, flattening against the wall behind her. Renee grinned. She twisted the knife in her hand, aligning the blade parallel with her forearm. She could hear rough breathing closing from the right. An instant later, two sloppy, bearded men stepped out, one of them scratching his armpit.

Now! Renee pushed away from the stone and gripped the first guard’s tunic. They crashed into the opposite wall, the wood baton falling from his belt and skittering away. The man’s wide eyes grew larger still when her forearm pressed against his jugular. The knife felt hot in her other hand. All she had to do was plunge it into her immobilized prey. She hesitated. His lip curled.

A thud against her back slammed through her. She twisted around to see Savoy pull the second guard off her back and snake an arm around his neck.

Renee’s opponent used the moment to wrench himself free and now circled her. She cursed silently, watching his shoulders. He was unarmed but carried twice her weight. This fight she’d win on speed—she knew enough to understand that now. She feinted with her knife. He recoiled and swung his fist, raising his elbow too high and exposing his ribs.

Renee saw the opening, saw where her blade must plunge into real, living flesh. And wavered once more. Flesh was a far cry from the pads they used in the salle. The opening vanished.

“Get it done,” Savoy’s voice demanded. “Or I will.”

The guard rushed her, pinning her against the wall, his toothy snarl catching the dim light. Decayed breath hit Renee’s face. He grabbed her wrist and slammed it against the stone. She cried out. He grinned, prying the weapon from her fingers. Now armed, he trailed the point of her own knife down her body. The blade stopped at her chest, pressing until a small crimson circle soaked the cloth by the blade’s tip.

Blood drained from her face. Her eyes jerked in search of Savoy.

He met her gaze with a challenging one. Letting his now limp victim slide from his grasp, Savoy crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall.

Renee swallowed.

The guard holding her smacked wet lips together. “I like fiery kittens,” he hissed, leaning closer. A smile distorted his mouth. He licked her cheek. “Salty.”

That did it. Renee’s knee shot up between the pervert’s legs, sending him yelping to his knees. He groped for her, the knife slicing the air in wide, clumsy strokes. On its downward swing the blade bit into her arm.

A surge of anger roared through her. Her hand grabbed the guard’s wrist and snapped it backward. Her fingers forced the knife from his. She flipped the blade parallel to her forearm, twisted around, and slit his neck.

The world stopped. The silence of finished battle settled around her. The knife in her hand was wet. A man dead.

“Clean off the blade,” Savoy said.

She crouched over the body and wiped the blood off against her dress. Bile rose in her throat.

“This is what you signed up for.” Savoy took her shoulders and turned her toward him. “Let me see to your arm.”

She frowned at the gash he was wrapping with a ripped hem of his shirt. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“At the moment, I doubt you’d feel an amputation.” He secured the knot. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather we not leave a trail of blood.”

They moved on. With two bodies behind them, time pressed. Khavi ducked into a side passage and led them, by Renee’s sense, eastward. Twists and intersections grew more frequent. Savoy stayed ahead, jogging the straightaway, pausing before corners and turns. She caught his rhythm. Stop. Look. Clear. I go. You go. Count the paces. Remember the turns.