David Weber - Wind Rider's Oath

"My feet are freezing !" she'd whispered to Garlahna.

"Hah! Only your feet?" Garlahna had laughed. "Sweetheart, I came to Kalatha in early winter. I froze my sweet young arse off-not to mention something a bit higher!"

"You would have to mention that!" Leeana had groaned, reaching down to tug uselessly at her chari's hem as another cold breeze blew up it. She was accustomed to long skirts or trousers, and the predawn wind's chilly kisses on places it had no business kissing made her wish desperately that she was wearing them now.

"Oh, stop whining!" Garlahna's cheerful snort had robbed the words of any offense. "I bet you don't even have icicles down there yet!"

"No, but they're forming nicely. And why can't I even wear shoes ?" Leeana had moaned, too miserable, for the moment at least, to remember her aristocratic pride.

"Anything that doesn't kill you will only make you stronger," Garlahna had replied with an oddly sympathetic chuckle. "That's what they told me , anyway! And even if it weren't true, it's a matter of tradition." She'd shrugged. "Personally, I always figured it was just our way of proving how much tougher than mere men we are."

"I'd rather have warm feet and let them sneer at me for being weak," Leeana had muttered back.

"Hush!" Garlahna had said, and Leeana had looked up to discover that they had just joined at least forty or fifty other war maids.

At first, she'd assumed that mandatory morning calisthenics for everyone must be part of the same bizarre, self-mortifying philosophy which had denied her shoes. She certainly couldn't think of any other reason for so many women, of all ages-she even saw Dalthys and Johlana among them-to be standing around semi-naked and barefooted in the icy predawn wind! It had taken her several shivering minutes of listening to scraps of other conversations to discover that most of them had chosen to be there. That they actually enjoyed these "brisk" morning workouts together.

At that moment, Leeana had begun to seriously consider the possibility that all of those who insisted any woman had to be mad to choose to be a war maid were right.

Unfortunately, unlike the lunatics who'd been there voluntarily, Leeana had had no choice. Nor, she'd discovered, had Garlahna. It didn't seem to bother the other young woman particularly, but as Leeana's "mentor," she was expected to lead by example. Leeana suspected that it would have bothered her a great deal, if their roles had been reversed.

She'd still been standing there, shivering as she looked woebegonely about herself in the gray half-light, when Erlis and another, younger, war maid with chestnut hair had come bounding energetically up. Erlis had a whistle, which she had immediately begun to blow with revolting vigor, and thus had begun what was quite possibly the most hideous single morning of Leeana Hanathafressa's life.

Leeana had always been an active girl. She'd ridden virtually every day of her life, from the time she could walk. She'd been an energetic hiker, and she and her maids had enjoyed swimming-at least when it was warm enough for the water not to turn them blue the instant they jumped into it. But she'd never been particularly interested in exercise for exercise's own sake. For her, physical exertion had been a way to get from one point to another, or a secondary cost of doing something that she enjoyed.

Erlis obviously came from a completely different tradition. It had been the first time Leeana had ever encountered a carefully planned exercise regimen, and she'd hated it. And not just because she'd been cold, miserable, and hungry, either. Leeana was accustomed to being good at what she did. She most emphatically was not accustomed to being clumsy or inept, and she'd felt both of those things as she attempted to emulate the war maids around her.

It had lasted for a seeming eternity, but that had turned out to be just long enough to prepare her for an even more humiliating experience. At least the physical exertion had warmed her up, and it had also loosened up her muscles. Which was fortunate, since Erlis and the chestnut-haired woman, who turned out to be Ravlahn Thregafressa, had descended upon her for the promised "evaluation of her general physical skills."

By the time their exam-finally-came to a close, Leeana had concluded that she had no "general physical skills." She'd done her best, and at least her examiners had maintained grave, nonjudgmental faсades as she strove to meet their demands. But it had been evident to her that her life as an indolent aristocrat had left her woefully underequipped with the physical skills a war maid required. The only area in which she'd felt she'd performed with something approaching adequacy had been the sprints they required of her. She supposed that she'd done at least semi-adequately in the longer runs, as well, but that was about the best she could say.

At least they'd released her in the end and allowed her to stagger off under Garlahna's guidance, limping on her bruised-feeling, bare feet, to the mess hall for breakfast. Back home in Balthar, Leeana had normally made do with hot chocolate or tea, a croissant or two, butter, some honey, perhaps, and a few pieces of fruit, when it was in season. But here in Kalatha, she'd found herself devouring a third huge bowl of honey-laced porridge, and then wondering where she could find just a little bit more of it for dessert. To her amazement, she'd actually felt almost human again when she finished.

Her relief had been brief, however. They'd given her a half-hour, or so, for breakfast to settle, and then Garlahna-that traitor she'd thought was becoming her friend-had borne her off to face Hundred Ravlahn in the training salle. The only real blessing had been that there'd been no one there besides Garlahna and Ravlahn to witness her fresh inadequacy.

It hadn't really been her fault, and she'd known it. She'd never been trained with a bow, although she was an excellent shot with the light crossbows with which Sothōii noblewomen hunted birds and small game. And however radical Tellian Bowmaster might have been, it would never have crossed his mind to have his daughter trained in swordsmanship, or in the most effective way to open someone's belly with a dagger. Nor, for that matter, had it ever occurred to him to teach his only child the finer points of using a garrotte, or throwing a knife or throwing stars.

Her abilities when it came to hand-to-hand combat without weapons had been even more rudimentary-not to say laughable-than her clumsy efforts with the various wooden training weapons with which Ravlahn had provided her. The one thing Leeana had been able to say with a certain forlorn pride at the end of two and a half grueling hours, was that she'd never stopped trying. Her efforts might simply have served to demonstrate that she was about as dangerous to another human being as a newborn kitten, but at least she'd tried . And, she thought miserably, she'd ended up with the bruises, the bloody nose, and the split lip to prove it, too.

She'd hobbled off to the mess hall, still under Garlahna's escort, in time for lunch. Which, she'd discovered, she'd needed at least as badly as she had breakfast. She'd ravened her way through three heaping servings of buttered potatoes, baked beans, and fried chicken and been wondering wistfully if she quite dared to ask for a fourth helping of the potatoes, when a youngish-looking woman in a neat gray gown came over to her and Garlahna.

"Leeana?"

"Yes?" Leeana had looked up from her mostly empty plate suspiciously, her spoon still clutched in her hand, and something about her expression had made the other woman smile.

"I'm Lanitha," she'd said.

"Oh." Leeana had lowered her spoon. "The archivist?"