Alex Lidell - The Cadet of Tildor

Fisker barked a laugh and rotated slowly to keep Renee in sight. “King Lysian wore swaddle cloths when I took up the sword.” He jerked his chin at Savoy. “I watched this disease grow, saw as his Family connections bought him escape from justice. But you want proof of your own, girl? Look at his deeds today, choosing to save a Viper boy over capturing the Madam herself.” He shook his head and held up his mangled hand. “I know the gods’ truth just as I know they chose me to correct their error.”

Renee gave up reasoning with a madman and tightened her grip on her sword. She slid toward Fisker, searching for an opening.

Fisker took the first move, slashing at her neck. Renee stepped in and parried the attack, her arm numb from the force of the impact. Had she moved a hair slower, he would have shattered her defenses. She took a breath to steady herself.

“He swings his blade like a club,” Savoy said behind her, a calm confirmation to her own conclusion. “Play—”

“A different game,” Renee finished for him.

Fisker slashed with wild fury and no pause, forcing Renee to dance from side to side to avoid getting cleaved in two. The strikes were crude but powerful. Very powerful. Fisker had decided to kill her.

Renee slid right to avoid another attack. She waited until the man’s blade whistled through the air, and closed in, crowding him. His greater reach turned to disadvantage in close quarters. Renee’s blade nicked his arm.

Blood dripped through Fisker’s sleeve. His eyes flashed and he growled like a bear whose wound stirred more rage than pain. Cocking his foot, Fisker kicked Renee. The heavy boot sank into her abdomen. She couldn’t breathe. She stumbled backward and lost her balance. Gasping, Renee rolled as she fell, racing to avoid the point of his blade. She got her legs under her just as Fisker’s sword struck. It hit the floor where she had fallen a heartbeat earlier. Shifting her weight to her arms, Renee spun with her leg outstretched, sweeping Fisker’s ankles out from under him.

Fisker toppled backward. Swinging his sword in savage arcs, he took several seconds to re-settle into a fighting stance. It was unfair that he could buy himself time for composure and Renee could not, but it was what it was. Fair was for the training salle.

Renee’s heart sped, feeding on her fear. Breaths chased each other in her chest. Another moment and she would be fighting herself as well as Fisker. To calm herself, she lunged in with a combination Savoy favored in their morning drills. Fisker danced from parry to parry, too busy fighting her off to offer an assault, and losing wind with each motion.

The momentum was hers. Renee’s hand tightened on the hilt, the tip of the sword aiming into his gut. Savoy shouted a warning but the words drowned in the hum. Renee drew a calming breath and let herself feel the rhythm of the fight. The rhythm she was setting. Her grip softened, giving her arm the freedom to adjust in mid motion. The guardsman may have started the bout, but now it belonged to her.

In her mind, she was fighting on the sands of a salle. Finesse returned to her fingers, her breath supporting her moves. The lives hanging on the outcome of the match faded from thought. This was about the song of attacks and parries, the conversation of the blades that was meaningful in itself.

The lunge at Fisker’s gut changed in mid-motion. Her wrist bent, tipping the blade up. The steel shaft of her sword sparkled with reflected light and pierced her target under the jaw. Blood bubbled from the wound. Renee watched it without understanding.

A sharp pain erupted above her elbow and she jerked away. Fisker’s sword slid free of her arm and clattered to the ground. The guardsman followed his weapon. The fight had ended with both partners hitting their mark. His heavier strike pierced her muscle clear through; her gentle one went little deeper than the skin of his neck, severing the artery that pulsed there.

Renee cleaned then sheathed her blade, while in the corner, the little girl who would prevent a war stuck her thumb into her mouth.

“How do you feel?” Healer Grovener pressed his fingers against Renee’s wrist.

“Trapped.” She pulled away. In her time out of a cadet’s uniform, she forgot the limitations of the rank. Deportation back to the Academy the moment she and Savoy brought their charges up out of Catar’s underground had come as a crude blow. Once the Crown’s Healer had made the recommendation, not even Savoy stood up for her right to stay in the fight.

“Did headaches awaken you again this night?” Grovener’s pen hovered over his notes.

“No,” she lied. “Have you news from Catar?”

“I pay no mind to such matters.” His pen scratched paper. “Your visitor may know more than I, however.”

Visitor. She had been allowed none until now. Renee turned to the opening door. “Sasha!”

The girl hesitated in the doorway. Outlines of fading bruises still marred her face and she wrapped herself with her arms, but she was here, outside her quarters and braving the world. “I’m not so naive as to believe the Vipers castrated, but I don’t think they will target my family again any time soon,” she said quietly, a ghost of a smile touching her face. “Thanks to you.”

Renee vaulted out of bed, dodged the Healer, and threw her good arm around her friend. They held on for several heartbeats. “You’re safe now,” Renee whispered into Sasha’s shoulder before pulling back and guiding them both to the cot. “And Catar? How much blood . . . ” She trailed off seeing the other’s head shake.

“None. It was beautiful, Renee. The Crown’s forces”—she grinned, emphasizing the phrase that once more included Renee—“extracting our cousin from the heart of the Vipers’ lair sent a message that a troop of soldiers never could. Lys halted military action as soon as he had Claire, face and blood both saved. And to ensure his intentions sank in, he also seized the infrastructure of Predator competitions.”

Renee frowned at the word choice. “He closed the games?”

Sasha bit her lip. “No . . . It’s not so simple. Those games—”

“Hold up Catar’s economy. I know. If they dissolve, economic chaos will rein until the Vipers think up something equally vile to fill the void.”

Sasha’s eyes widened. “I see my Lys is not the only one who moved beyond seeing the world in white and black. Your thinking is right. The games will go on, but under the Crown’s management.”

“The fighters?”

“Volunteers and convicts.”

Renee nodded. As good a solution as could be made.

Sasha went on, “Of course, Lord Palan tried to use his presence in Catar to leverage a larger portion of the veesi market for himself, but that’s hardly news. And I understand there is a newly registered boy mage who has provided vital insight into the operation.”

“Jasper.” Renee made a note to find the boy upon her release. She owed him that much. “What of Commander Savoy and the others?”

“They trickle back. Savoy and Diam should arrive by morning.” Sasha played with the bedspread and spoke to the floor. “Your lord father is here. He has been waiting to see you.”

A jolt ran down Renee’s back. She wished to believe that concern brought her father to her bedside, but the conversation with Lord Palan echoed in her head. He had claimed the Family’s innocence in her mother’s death. He even dared imply that her father stood to benefit from the accident. It was ludicrous to weigh the word of a criminal against that of her father, but she was yet to catch Lord Palan in a lie. She scrubbed her hand over her face. “Sasha, do you have a ring I could borrow? The bigger the better.”