Fortune and Fate (Twelve Houses) (15 page)
Read Fortune and Fate (Twelve Houses) Online
Authors: Sharon Shinn
Wen was a little disappointed, but she grinned at him. “That’s all right. I can tell who the fighters are. I just thought you might know—” She shrugged. “Something about them that’s important,” she ended lamely.
“Well, I know who I don’t like,” he said.
That was more like it. “Who? And don’t point. We don’t want anyone to know we’re talking about them.”
“That big man. Who doesn’t have any hair. He’s mean.”
Wen glanced casually at the large bald fighter who, even at the meal break, was practicing his two-handed swings. He was one of the better combatants on the field, certainly one of the more experienced, and she’d mentally put him on the list of finalists. “Everybody seems mean when they’re fighting,” she said.
“
You
don’t. And he’s just—he reminds me of Howard.”
You
don’t. And he’s just—he reminds me of Howard.”
She knew it was a common thing for a private guard to include a few bullies and outright sadists—the soldier’s life attracted folks who reveled in violence. But the best soldiers had no taste for cruelty. They could be ruthless; it went without saying that they were willing to kill. But they never killed lightly, or enjoyed it, or found excuses to inflict pain. Tayse had always been her idea of the perfect soldier, extraordinarily skilled, absolutely fearless, yet deeply thoughtful. Tayse would not tolerate a vicious man in his barracks.
Neither would Wen. She nodded at Bryce. “Thanks for telling me. We don’t want men like Howard in our guard.”
He gave her a shy smile. “Maybe I’m wrong.”
She shrugged. “And maybe not. Anybody else you don’t like?”
“No, not really. Oh, but I’ll tell you who I
do
like. That mystic woman.”
do
like. That mystic woman.”
She gave him a sharp look. “What? Who’s a mystic?”
“The woman over by the fence, cleaning off her shoe.”
Wen let her eyes travel around the yard until they came to rest on the woman Bryce had indicated.
Huh.
She was a few years older than Wen, a few inches taller, and a few pounds heavier. She’d acquitted herself well enough, but Wen had considered her a little too slow to ever make a top-flight soldier. But if she was a mystic . . .
Huh.
She was a few years older than Wen, a few inches taller, and a few pounds heavier. She’d acquitted herself well enough, but Wen had considered her a little too slow to ever make a top-flight soldier. But if she was a mystic . . .
“What’s her power?”
“I can’t tell. Does it matter?”
“I guess not.” Wen watched her awhile longer. The woman carefully checked her sword and carefully sheathed it before joining the others at the lunch cart. Thoughtful. Cautious. Both good traits in a guard. “Anybody else? What do you think of that boy over there? Looks like he’s not much older than Ginny.”
“I think he’s smart,” Bryce said.
“And that man? The one with the red vest?”
She led him through the fifteen or so she’d picked out as her best prospects and found that—with the notable exceptions of the bald man and the mystic woman—their impressions mostly tallied. She couldn’t decide if she should be more pleased with Bryce or with herself for their ability to read other people.
After the lunch break, she slipped back into the yard, paired up combatants again, and chose the big man as her own opponent. She hadn’t gotten this close to him before, and now she focused on trying to determine personality through fighting style. He was reckless, and he wasn’t intimidated by the fact that, if she hired him, she’d be his captain. In fact, the sneer on his face as he bored in for a mock kill made her think he probably had no high opinion of female soldiers and probably wouldn’t take orders from her all that well. It was a problem she expected to have with most of the men, at least at first. Once she’d defeated them all a few times on the practice field, she’d have earned their respect.
She knew that because that was how she’d been forcing male soldiers to respect her for pretty much her entire career.
This fellow was pigheaded, though; she could read it in his face. As she led him through gradually more brutal exercises, breaking through his defenses every time, his sneer grew more pronounced. He couldn’t believe she would continue to outfight him; he was determined to smash her down. His swings became wilder and his intention more obvious. The second time Wen stepped hastily away to avoid having her skull split in two, he gave her a wolfish grin.
“Afraid?” he said, his tone taunting. “Thought a professional like you could beat back any of us.”
“Careful,” she warned. “You’re pushing it to the point where one of us is really going to get hurt. I’d just as soon not have my shoulder broken the first week I try to get my guard in shape.” What she really meant was,
I’d just as soon not have to open up your guts right here in front of everybody,
but she was trying to phrase it politely.
I’d just as soon not have to open up your guts right here in front of everybody,
but she was trying to phrase it politely.
“Hazard of the career,” he said, and swung mightily.
She didn’t even try to parry. She ducked back, waited for the momentum to carry him too far, and then darted in to carve the right side of his rib cage open. He howled in fury and staggered sideways, clapping a hand to his bloody side. “You bitch!” he cried. He took a few stumbling steps toward her, but she wasn’t worried. A man like him couldn’t fight with a wound like that. Tayse could have—Tayse could have cut her down if his right arm had been sawed off, and Justin wouldn’t have even bothered slowing down for such an injury. But this man was made of weaker material.
“I thought I made it clear that no one was going to try to kill anyone,” she told him calmly, as he gasped to a halt before her. Everyone else had stopped fighting to watch the encounter. “Looked to me like you were trying to land a real blow.”
“You crippled me!” he cried.
Wen motioned over the footman who had been assigned to her, to carry messages, run errands, and look after her money. “You’ll be paid for your time and inconvenience,” she said coolly. “But I think it’s time you were gone.”
He blustered, cursed, and threw down his borrowed sword before stomping out of the yard. His performance put everyone else a little on edge, but Wen allowed no trace of her own temper to show on her face. “Back to partners,” she called out, and the fighting began again.
Before long, she picked her way through the grunting bodies and singled out the mystic woman. “Take a few rounds with me,” she said, and the woman’s opponent peeled away. “What’s your name?” she asked as they fell into position.
“Moss,” the woman replied.
It was a strange name and she was a strange woman. Her hair and her skin were pale, but her features were not particularly delicate. She had round cheeks and a squat nose and a full mouth hardly defined at all by her wispy shoulder-length hair and practically invisible eyebrows. There was a look of stolidity to her, as if she clumped around in heavy work boots and heaved newborn calves out of stalls.
“Take a swing,” Wen invited, and they were engaged.
Moss was strong, but a little slow. Wen could have killed her three times over. Yet the woman kept hacking away, apparently not tired at all from a half day’s hard exercise. Endurance was as good as skill much of the time, and Wen could probably improve Moss’s ability enough to make her a decent fighter. Never a great one, though. She just didn’t have the speed.
Wen signaled that the bout was over, and Moss immediately desisted. “You’ve done a little fighting,” Wen guessed.
Moss nodded. “Not anything fancy. Just protecting myself and my people.” When Wen raised her eyebrows at that, Moss continued willingly enough, “Used to run caravans across Gillengaria. Had to fend off bandits from time to time.”
“Ever lose a cargo?”
Moss shook her head. “No.”
“I have a delicate question,” Wen said, and wasn’t surprised to see Moss’s face shutter up. Wen glanced over her shoulder; no one was near enough to hear. “And you don’t have to answer. But someone just whispered in my ear that you might be a mystic.”
Moss’s face grew even harder. “Mystics aren’t too welcome in Fortunalt.”
“They say the queen’s a mystic and so is her consort,” Wen said. “A lot safer to possess magic these days than it was before the war.”
Moss’s pale green eyes narrowed. “Are you saying you wouldn’t mind?”
Wen shrugged. “I’d like it. I got used to working with mystics, a few posts back.”
Moss hesitated a moment, then nodded abruptly. “I am. I don’t talk about it much. It’s never been a safe topic.”
“What can you do?”
“Lift things. Move them.” She jerked her head toward a pile of unused gear at the edge of the yard. “Could shift all those swords to the other side of the fence.”
This was a new one on Wen, who had mostly been familiar with shape-changers and readers and fire mystics, but she could instantly see such a power had possibilities. “You don’t have to demonstrate now, in front of everyone, but I’d like to see that sometime,” Wen said.
For the first time, Moss offered a tentative smile. “I don’t mind saying it’s a skill that’s come in handy more than once. Though learning to master it when I was a little girl—” She shook her head. “I was in for more than one beating.”
Wen instantly made up her mind. “Would you take a job with the House guard, if I offered?”
Moss’s face closed up again. “I’m not as good as most of the others. I saw that.”
“You’re not,” Wen said honestly. “But sometimes things matter more than raw talent. I can make you good enough—and you can bring me something extra. But you’d have to be loyal. You’d have to cut your other ties and make this House and this serramarra your foremost consideration. I’d hope you’d make it a lifetime service, but at the very least, you’d have to commit to one year.”
Inside her, a voice was screaming with laughter. Demanding a year of service from others when she herself could barely promise a month! Preaching loyalty, when she had spectacularly broken her own oath! The gods, as she had always suspected, had a malicious sense of humor.
But Moss was nodding, her movements jerky but her pale eyes alight. “I will,” she said. “I’ll practice every day. I’ll fight hard. You’ll see. You’ll be glad you trusted me.”
Wen already was.
Chapter 9
THE VERY FIRST DAY SHE’D BEGUN RECRUITING, JASPER
Paladar had invited Wen back to his untidy office to discuss what she’d found. She quickly learned that he expected her to come by every evening and make a report. She was surprised but, in general, approving. If she reported daily, she would tell him small details she might otherwise forget to mention. Those details might mean something to him that they did not mean to her.
Paladar had invited Wen back to his untidy office to discuss what she’d found. She quickly learned that he expected her to come by every evening and make a report. She was surprised but, in general, approving. If she reported daily, she would tell him small details she might otherwise forget to mention. Those details might mean something to him that they did not mean to her.
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