Richard Ford - The Shattered Crown

He moved in again, this time determined to force her on the back foot. She parried his first set of blows easily, then spun, ducking a swing and bringing her own sword in to take him in the ribs. Merrick managed to dance away just in time, much to the delight of the other Sentinels. They were laughing now, excited by the display.

As Merrick skipped away, Kaira took the initiative, following him and unleashing a volley of swings and cuts. Now it was Merrick’s turn to parry and dodge, and the sound of their wasters clacking together filled the practice square with a staccato beat.

On they went, trading blows; ducking, swinging, spinning. The click-clack of their wooden swords grew faster. They were both sweating, the chill of the afternoon air doing nothing to cool their flesh. Merrick’s arrogant smile was gone, his brow was furrowed, his jaw set. Kaira in her turn glared at him with a steely determination, willing him to make that one mistake that would seal her victory.

They paused a moment to get their breath, eyeing one another with a hunger, comfortable with their game. It was these moments she cherished, seeing Merrick fully alive, sharing the thrill of combat with a true exemplar.

Then they were at it again. This time, as they went through their swift routine of thrust and parry, she saw a gap, the smallest chink in his defence and went for it. It was a reckless move, one that left her own defence open, but with luck he would spot it too late. Her wooden sword cut in, sweeping over his arm, to press against his throat. Had it been a keen blade it would have opened his neck and spilled his lifeblood to the ground. She allowed herself a smile, but Kaira’s brief elation disappeared as at the same instant she felt the press of his blade against her stomach. For all she had slit his throat, he had opened her guts. They were both dead.

Merrick grinned as the Sentinels began to laugh, making noises of approval, some even clapping the display.

‘Just can’t separate you two, can we?’ said Garret.

Merrick raised a suggestive eyebrow at that but Kaira shook her head.

They stayed to watch the sparring continue, Merrick chatting easily with the other Sentinels while Kaira stood quietly to one side. Leofric was beside her, seeming to prefer her stern silence over the brash camaraderie of Merrick and some of the others. It wasn’t the first time, and she felt some pride that he so obviously respected her skill and wanted to follow her example. He still had a long way to go, but his attitude was promising.

When they were done, Garret gathered them all round.

‘A good showing today — I’m seeing improvement. Take a rest, then I want everyone out here at eight bells in full dress.’

Normally by eight bells they would be patrolling the halls and grounds of Skyhelm, but they nodded their assent and went about their business.

Kaira took the time to wash and pray as she always did. Not many of the other Sentinels staunchly observed the faith of Arlor, but she was meticulous in her adherence. She may no longer have been a Shieldmaiden, but she was still the spear hand of Vorena; still a protector of the weak and a tool for her divine vengeance.

Later, the Sentinels gathered in the training square well before eight bells. Garret was already waiting for them.

‘Right,’ he said, standing in their midst. ‘We all know how this works — no hanging around on ceremony. No endless prattling oaths. Kaira, Merrick, step forward.’

Kaira moved up with Merrick at her shoulder. As Garret produced two medallions, gleaming in the torchlight, she knew what this was about.

‘Kneel then,’ said Garret. ‘We haven’t got all night.’

Kaira dropped to her knee in an instant, but Merrick was slower about it. More measured. She wondered briefly if he might be having doubts, but when she glanced across she saw he was grinning.

Can’t help drawing it out for the crowd. Typical.

Garret crossed to Merrick first; if he was annoyed at the show of reticence he didn’t show it. ‘Merrick Ryder, do you swear to defend the bearer of the Steel Crown unto death?’ He recited the words as though he had done it a thousand times and was bored to the hells with them.

‘Aye,’ said Merrick, the grin still on his face.

Though Kaira knew that was not the proper response, Garret placed the medallion around Merrick’s neck anyway.

‘Kaira Stormfall, do you swear to defend the bearer of the Steel Crown unto death?’

She paused for a moment before answering.

Stormfall? Could she accept entry to the Sentinels under that name? Had she the right to be known by it any more?

Garret shifted uncomfortably. Kaira knew she must give an answer and now was not the time to agonise over a name.

‘I do,’ she replied, head still bowed.

As the medallion was placed over her head the rest of the Sentinels said, ‘Skyhelm, and the queen,’ in unison, their voices echoing around the square.

And with that simple ceremony, Merrick and Kaira were full members of the Sentinels.

There was no celebration afterwards, no words of congratulation, no further rites to observe. Kaira found the simplicity of it strangely comforting. Coming from a life of cloistered ceremony and religious fervour it was liberating to be amongst a group of warriors as dedicated to their credo as the Shieldmaidens, but without the constant burden of dogma.

She collected her sword and shield and, with Merrick at her side, took to the wall of Skyhelm to patrol its outer boundary. Merrick was strangely silent as they went about their task, causing Kaira to wonder what he was thinking. Despite his aloofness she sensed he took some pride in the honour that had been bestowed on him. For her own part, Kaira felt relieved to be part of something again.

Yet when she looked south over the city to the statues of Vorena and Arlor, she felt a pang of regret. A tiny part of her still yearned to be over there, training with her sisters as they prepared themselves to face Amon Tugha, now that it seemed he could not be stopped.

And when he finally reached the walls, would they be enough to stand in his way?

Kaira Stormfall guessed they would all find out soon enough.

They were exhausted to a man, each face dour, brows furrowed, jaws set. None of them had signed up to put down their own people like this, to purge an uprising with shield and baton like they were facing a foreign horde. Might not have been so bad if it was only men who were coming at them, but it was women and children too, wild and starving. It was plain to anyone with eyes in their head these people were desperate, that they needed help, but there weren’t no help to give. The grain stores needed to be protected and it was down to the Greencoats to do it.

Nobul Jacks had no complaints about that part — he’d put his mark on the contract and had his duty to carry out. He’d done dog-work before; grim and bloody work in the name of the king and the Free States. There’d been no glory in it back then and there weren’t none now. Best just get on with the job and hope it didn’t haunt you in your sleep.

Rest of the lads weren’t handling it so good, though. As they sat beside the huge warehouse amongst dozens of other Greencoats, Nobul could see they were nervous. Hake’s eye twitched so hard it was like the whole side of his face had a mind of its own. The old man had seemed to deteriorate in the last few days of scrapping, showing his age more than ever, and Nobul guessed the business at hand certainly weren’t helping with that.

Bilgot might try to hide it, but the fat bastard was as scared as anyone. Probably more so. With his darting eyes it looked as though he expected trouble at any minute — and trouble he couldn’t handle. For all his bluster and lip he was a bloody coward, but then hadn’t Nobul spotted that from the start? The ones as made the biggest noise usually had the smallest stones.