Brian McClellan - Forsworn

“My utmost thanks,” Duke Leora said, shaking Nikslaus’ hand firmly. “We appreciate everything you hunters do for us. And you, as well, Duglas.”

The tall master hunter gave a short nod.

How could grandfather play this so coolly? Was he that used to lying to government officials? Had he moved Norrine’s hiding spot in the night? Erika’s grip tightened on the hilt of her small sword. If she had to stand here passively for one more minute while Longdogs ransacked the family property, she would scream.

“My good duke,” Erika found herself saying suddenly, “do you fence?”

“A little,” Nikslaus said, taken a little off guard.

“Would you care to join me for a round?”

Duglas crossed his arms skeptically and grandfather said that sounded like a wonderful idea. Santiole gave a soft, exasperated sigh.

The corner of Nikslaus’ mouth lifted slightly. “Certainly. Do you have a blossom I could borrow?”

Santiole somewhat reluctantly supplied him with a blossom for the tip of his sword and Nikslaus handed his jacket and gloves to Duglas. Santiole took up a position behind Erika.

The mistress-at-arms leaned in close to Erika as she brushed by and whispered, “Let him win.”

Erika took a deep breath. Of course. That’s what she intended. A good way to distract the duke for a few minutes, nothing more.

Her heart pounded as she took up a dueling stance. Any minute the Longdogs might come running across the field, shouting that they’d found the girl. Everything would be ruined. Erika would go to the headsman and the Leora house would be disgraced. She wondered how many men Nikslaus had brought with him and whether Santiole and the house guard might be able to fight them off.

She dismissed that outright. Nikslaus was a Privileged. He’d probably kill them all before they had a chance to draw their swords.

Deep in her thoughts, she responded to Nikslaus’ salute by instinct and only barely parried his first thrust. He was inside her guard within two moves and scored a touch against her left breast, not far from where she had been branded as a powder mage.

Hardly a coincidence, she suspected.

Nikslaus returned to the post. “You seem distracted, my lady,” he said, gesturing for them to begin again.

She tried to regain her focus, forcing herself to relax as he came forward. Their swords crossed several times before he scored a touch on her arm. “Just tired, is all.”

“You do look like you could use some rest,” Nikslaus said. “That should be enough for now.” He returned to take his jacket from Duglas, and Erika heard him say quietly, “I thought her tutor said she was good?”

“Once more,” Erika said before she could stop herself. Behind her, Santiole swore quietly.

Nikslaus turned toward her, brow furrowed. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, my lord.”

The duke raised his sword and advanced. Erika parried his first thrust and immediately returned with a riposte that touched the wooden blossom on the tip of her sword against Nikslaus’ chest.

“Well,” Nikslaus said in surprise. “Again.”

Erika scored three more touches against his chest and one just inches from his groin before Nikslaus retired for good. His cordial manner seemed strained and he nodded graciously in defeat. “Very good, my lady. You’re a far better swordsman than I.”

“I’ve had an excellent teacher,” Erika said, looking to Santiole. The mistress-at-arms grimaced. Erika could practically hear her thinking, you should have let him win .

“Of course, my own studies have been toward sorcery.” Nikslaus tugged his Privileged gloves on over his fingers. “I don’t have much time to practice fencing. Duglas here is much, much better.”

Without a word, the tall master mage hunter stepped toward Erika. He drew his sword and took the blossom from Nikslaus, fixing it to the end of his own. Erika swallowed hard. Duglas was far taller with a much greater reach, and his sword was several inches longer than her own.

“Now, I don’t think….” Santiole began.

Nikslaus cut her off with a raised hand. “Let us see how you do, my lady. He’ll be gentle.”

Duglas seemed to unwind his tall frame. He slid forward like a snake moving to strike, sword lashing out while not one bit of his body remained within reach of Erika’s blade. He batted aside her parry and slapped the blossom against her throat hard enough to leave a welt.

Stunned, Erika put a hand to her throat. He dared strike her like that? That wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair! She advanced on him as quickly as she could, sword flashing. He caught her thrust once, twice, and the third time batted it away with startling ease, stabbing the blossom against her ribs.

Erika could feel her face growing red. He had the range on her, but he also had startling speed. His form was more disciplined. Santiole would tell her to acknowledge defeat graciously when she was so clearly outmatched. She raised her sword.

“That’s enough of that,” Duke Leora cut in. “Erika, I think you and Santiole should prepare for our journey. Remember, we’re leaving in just a few hours for Norport.”

Erika lowered her sword. “Yes, grandfather.” She snatched her jacket and stalked toward the manor. She could hear Santiole’s footsteps behind her.

“Don’t you ever do something like that again,” Santiole hissed. “That man would have torn you apart.”

Damn Duglas for humiliating her like that! Damn Nikslaus for encouraging it. “I will kill him,” Erika vowed.

“Don’t be stupid. As good as you might be some day, you’re not going to be that good,” Santiole said. “He’s a Longdog’s kennelmaster for a reason.”

Erika stopped and looked back at the two men as they spoke with grandfather. Nikslaus was watching her. She wanted to carve that miserable smile off his face. “Maybe so,” she said. “But I’m going to make sure that Norrine makes it to Adro. It’ll humiliate them both. And they’ll never know it was me.”

The sound of hushed voices immediately sent Norrine scrambling out of her makeshift bed for some kind of cover. She was fully awake in a matter of moments, snatching for her blanket, the left-over crust of bread from her dinner, and anything else that might betray her presence.

Da had always told her to sleep light, ready to sit up from her bedroll and shoot an unlucky deer that might have strayed across their blind. She’d put the advice to good use for the last couple of weeks on the run, avoiding a close encounter with a hunter and another with a farmer out searching truffles with his pigs.

But now she would be caught like a rabbit in a snare. She snatched up her penknife, all her supplies clutched in one arm. Last night, Santiole had told her of a place to hide. Could the old woman be trusted? She ran to the far wall of the stable, where Santiole told her a trick would open an old false wall. Norrine tugged at a broken beam, trying to find the latch. Nothing happened.

Norrine tugged again without any result. How had the mistress-at-arms done it last night? This was the right beam, wasn’t it? Norrine’s tugs became more frantic. She couldn’t remember how to open the hidden compartment.

Norrine kicked at the straw she’d been sleeping on, destroying evidence of her bed, and scrambled up the ladder to the second floor. The loft was suffused with the sweet smell of dry hay. She hoped it was enough to cover the stench of her unwashed clothes.

She scrambled between two hay bales, worming her way into the stack just as the stable door below was pushed open with the rasp of sliding wood.

“You hear something?” an unfamiliar male voice asked.

A female voice answered, “Yeah, the rattle of rocks in your stupid head.”