Alex Lidell - The Cadet of Tildor

“Feeling better?” Jasper asked when Savoy finished depositing the contents of his stomach on the salle floor. Thin scorch marks, like a spiderweb of black silk, streaked from the spot where Jasper’s hand had touched him and the mage’s energy had funneled into his body.

Savoy had chosen his enemies poorly.

The alley wall pressed into Renee’s back.

“Looks like I got me lucky,” the man slurred again, wiping his mouth with the hanging hem of his shirt. He approached, reeking of wine, sweat, and tobacco. The light of the alleyway behind him dimmed as the crowd grew—drunkards and gutterscum eager to see a struggle.

Renee sidestepped, but the man’s arm blocked her and trailed across her stomach. When she screamed for help, a damp, calloused hand clamped over her mouth and nose. She gasped and twisted, fighting for air.

“You’ll purr soon enough, wench,” the man slurred. He pushed forward until he sandwiched her to the wall. A pus-oozing pimple on his neck jiggled at her eye level.

“Aw, Nino, we can’t see nothin’,” whined a deep, unsteady voice. Other shouts joined the complaint.

Nino’s free hand grabbed Renee’s hair and jerked her toward the middle of the alley. She fell onto packed dirt, the impact jolting the air from her body. The original half dozen spectators had doubled. Still more trickled in. They encircled her and Nino. His hand groped forward, seizing the front of her tunic, and the fabric bit the back of her neck and tore. The sound of ripping cloth triggered hoots and whistles. Cold air brushed the exposed skin of her right shoulder and breast. Nino grinned, sniffed the cloth in his hand, and advanced again, eyes bloodshot and ravenous.

Renee should have died in childhood. But she had not. Death happened to other people. It happened to enemies, like the guard she killed while rescuing Diam. It happened to good people, like her mother and Riley. But not to her. Yet here it was, staring her in the face. She would die not from an army or a bandit’s sword, but from a mob of cloudy-witted drunks in pursuit of momentary desire. It wasn’t glorious. It wasn’t meaningful. It wasn’t fair.

The thick, sickening crowd swayed before her, crushing any hope she had of escape.

“You are mine,” Nino confirmed, as if reading her thoughts. “And then theirs.” He grinned up at his friends and then back down at her. His eyes shone. “And then you are dead.”

A memory swam before her eyes. You are dead. Her sword arm tightened in remembered agony and disgrace. That will be the last time anyone here lets go of a weapon, continued the voice in her head, and cold green eyes pinned her. Am I understood?

She recoiled from the memory, suddenly more horrified at finding herself cowering on the ground than by the rotten-toothed men surrounding her. She met Nino’s eyes, accepted the impossibility of escape, and rose into a fighting stance, redefining victory. “As are you.”

She spun. Her foot gained momentum as it cocked under her body and extended into Nino’s gut.

He gasped before roaring obscenities, less imaginative ones than she had learned from the Seventh, and swung at her head.

Ducking the blow, Renee rammed the heel of her hand into the man’s jaw. In her side vision, she saw Nino’s friends approaching the melee, teetering on the line between enjoying the spectacle and wishing for a piece of it. Her time was short. She struck her elbow against his ear just as hands grabbed her from behind. They forced her to the ground. She noticed blood trickling down Nino’s head, and smiled. Then a ham of a fist jammed itself into her nose, and despite the general shouting, she heard the crack of bone.

Renee swallowed blood and continued kicking until the men secured all her limbs. It took four of them to pin her. Nino towered above.

And then came the growl. A menacing, inhuman growl that spoke of blood and shredded flesh. The sea of drunks froze. The growl came again, and the mob parted before a large, white wolf whose teeth shimmered in the dusk. Renee gasped when she met the animal’s savage eyes. For the first time, she truly appreciated what Khavi was.

The dog—no, mage-wolf—stepped toward her. One by one, her captors let go and moved away. Khavi turned and stood guard. Nino too retreated toward the safety of the masses, but the wolf snapped his jaw and Nino froze in place. Renee understood the lout’s fear. Grateful as Renee was for Khavi’s appearance, not even she could bring herself to reach toward his grizzled fur. Rising to her feet, she held closed the flapping tear in her tunic and eyed the crowd.

The wolf licked his teeth and settled onto his haunches beside her. The gathered crowd shifted from foot to foot, but remained where it stood. Maybe they think I’ll get torn to pieces, Renee thought, examining her options. Khavi stretched his nose to the sky and howled.

Time stretched on in impasse until, without warning, Khavi rose and trotted away. Renee swallowed and started after him, but someone grabbed the back of her shirt and by the time she twisted free, the wolf was spans ahead. The mob opened to let him through and closed behind him, all gazes trailing the animal. All except one. Nino’s eyes remained on Renee, his expression contemplative.

The silence that had settled on the alley was short-lived. Within moments, grunts, hoots, and obscene exclamations reclaimed the air. The drunks returned to Renee and she raised her fists, ready for action.

“Renee!” Diam’s high voice ripped through the crowd, sending fresh panic through her. The bloody bond! He had seen through the wolf’s eyes and was now rushing into a drunken mob. She shouted for him to leave, but his voice grew closer and louder.

Her heart raced. The frustration and stupidity that had spurred her sprint through Catar’s alley now endangered the boy it was her duty to protect. The mob would wreck him for sport. And it would be her fault. “No! Go back!” she called. “Run, Diam! Please!”

But the crowd shifted again.

Khavi returned. With Diam.

The boy panted and clung on to the scruff of his wolf’s neck. In his other hand, he clenched a sword much too large for him. Savoy’s sword. “Here. Brought. This.” He gasped the words one by one.

Renee grasped the hilt. A coolness from the steel seeped into her nerves as she examined the alley from behind the weapon’s tip. The circle of unsteady slobs resumed meaningless motion. Nino melted into the crowd and now issued his threats while safely wedged between two well-chosen gorillas.

“Diam,” Renee said, not taking her eyes off the crowd. “Hold on to Khavi and walk out of here just like you walked in.”

“I wanna stay.”

“Me too.” Alec’s voice carried over the dull roar. Elbowing men out of the way, he emerged at Renee’s left and stood by her. Blue flame hugged his hands and wrists, bright against the grim sky.

The departing sun cast long shadows onto the alley ground. Silhouettes of beast, fighter, and mage extended in a triangle in front of Renee. A gust of wind swept her bare skin, but she made no move to cover herself. Her spine lengthened and shoulders settled square atop it, while the rhythmic beating of her heart filled her ears. Drawing a breath, Renee stepped forward and extended her sword to Nino’s throat.

The man attempted to retreat, but the thick crowd left little wiggle room.

“Nino,” she said, enunciating the syllables through the muffle of her broken nose. The sword tip nipped the tender skin over his trachea, and droplets of blood snaked down his neck.

“Who are you?” he whispered.

“She’s a wench no better than she ’ot to be, you sod,” sneered a man beside him. The certainty in his voice faded when she turned to him. He reached toward his pocket, but Renee’s sword caught the underside of his wrist. She kept her touch gentle and precise, just as Savoy had taught her, the razor edge of her steel poised along the man’s veins. He froze in place. The wind blew, bringing a whiff of ammonia so potent that even Renee smelled it. Glancing down, she saw urine soak the man’s shoes and trickle into a puddle on the ground.