The Dark Throne (43 page)

Robin stared up at Luca with hero-worship written across his face. “Aye, captain.”

“And stop calling me captain,” Luca muttered, sheathing his blade.

As I watched Robin gaze at Luca’s retreating figure, I was suddenly very certain that Robin wasn’t concerned about looking pretty for the
lasses
. I hid a smile and busied myself with wiping down my plain blade, sliding it back into the sheath at my hip. I looked up at Robin’s bright laugh.

“Observant,” he said, raising one eyebrow. “Or I was just blatant for a moment. I couldn’t help it.”

I smiled. “My prom date was one of my best friends in high school, and let’s say he appreciated that my gown was reminiscent of Audrey Hepburn more than the fact that I filled it out in all the right places.”

“I only understood half of that, but are you suggesting we are going to be friends?” Robin grinned.

I smiled. “It looks like a good possibility.”

Another sharp whistle commanded us to rotate partners. Robin saluted me with two fingers and moved off to the next practice ring.

Luca ran the northern vanguard through our paces. We sparred with three more partners before the first long break, and then the Valkyrie joined us for a discussion on the tactics of a battle fought from both land and air. I listened more than I talked, and I enjoyed watching Luca take command of this little group of warriors. By the end of the afternoon, even the older warriors among them looked at Luca with respect, and though he was sometimes taciturn when he gave his orders to the group as a whole, he won them over through individual interactions, like his aside with Robin.

At the end of our group discussion with the Valkyrie, Luca conferenced with Finnead and Elwyn. Niamh’s winged
faehal
, a delicate yet muscled roan mare, shook her head and flicked her tail restlessly. Niamh soothed her, stroking her muzzle with one hand while she watched the ground commanders. I wondered if Calliea had told the twins that the Valkyrie were to defer to the leadership of the ground force’s commanders; then I brushed the idea away. Though Calliea wasn’t as forward as the leaders of the vanguards, there was no doubt that her Valkyrie had their own loyalties to her.

When Luca returned to us, there was a gleam in his eye that kindled an answering spark in my chest. We all straightened and hands went to hilts without conscious thought. “First test,” he said. “A battle against the southern vanguard, and then we will fight the western guard.”

“Why are we fighting twice?” a short but solid female fighter asked.

Luca grinned. “Well, the winner is to fight Finnead’s lot, and of course that’ll be us.”

A riot of laughter and war cries erupted from our small group—from the sheer wall of sound I would have guessed us to be a group of fifty, not two dozen.

“There are no rules other than remembering that these are our brothers and sisters,” Luca said when the cheers died down. “Don’t draw blood intentionally. If you have a blade to bare skin, let them yield. We all must still fight when we ride out. But the best way to prepare for a true battle is to train realistically.”

We all nodded, our eyes intent on Luca.

“You are all skilled individually, but fight
together
. Fight as a
pack
. That is how we win.”

Finnead’s vanguard had ranged into a huge circle, encompassing the practice fields and archery lines. The Valkyrie quietly joined the ground forces, their mounts watched over by Calliea and the fighters of her wing.

“Flying is matchless, but there’s a certain satisfaction to fighting on foot,” Niamh said with a smile, unsheathing two long, thin blades.

“Twin blades for a twin. How fitting,” commented Robin as we spread out over our half of the battlefield. My heart beat double-time in excitement; Robin and Niamh stood to my left, and Luca to my right.

“No time for courtesy, Tess,” Luca told me, hefting his blade.

“I take that to mean kicks are allowed?” I replied.

Before he could answer with anything more than a grin, Finnead stepped forward, standing halfway between the two lines of warriors. He raised his arm, looked from the southern vanguard to the northern vanguard, and swept his hand downward in the starting signal. Exuberant war cries rose above the field as the two lines of warriors leapt toward each other; from our side, I heard the howl of a wolf echoed by Sidhe throats, cutting eerily through the tumult.

I’d almost forgotten the exhilaration of sprinting with a sword in my hand, stretching my legs and looking ahead to the foe. I found my anticipation still edged with a bright sharp fear, though I knew there was no true enemy on the training fields. The two vanguards surged toward each other and crashed together like a great wave upon a cliff, the sounds of blades meeting blades ringing through the air. Dust kicked up by our feet rose like fog, wreathing our legs and twining about our flashing swords.

The two vanguards were well matched, which was as it should have been: the size and speed of the Sidhe warriors were much the same. My first opponent was a bright-haired woman with a cobalt handprint across her face; we danced and parried within the chaos, the numbers still even in those first few moments, dictating that every sword had its opponent. She darted forward with a quick jab and I leapt back, barely avoiding the tip of her blade. I quickly countered, lunging into a complex attack, which she deftly blocked. We locked blades and I bore down on her, finding in surprise that I seemed to be the stronger of the two of us. Her eyes widened slightly and I let a little grin play on my lips. She stumbled, and before she could recover there was a blade laid delicately along her neck—a blade that wasn’t mine. My opponent pressed her lips together and sheathed her sword, raising her hands in the universal sign of defeat as she walked toward the sidelines of the practice field. I glared at Robin.

“That’s two for me,” he said, grinning.

“Another moment and my blade would have been at her throat,” I snapped, hefting my blade and watching the sparring warriors about us warily.

“Our captain told us to fight as a pack!” called out Robin cheerily, diving back into the fray. He leapt into another pair’s duel, promptly pressing the point of his blade into the back of the southern fighter’s neck. My irritation vanished as I found myself drawn into his orbit, becoming part of a whirling storm of blades that grew larger and larger, a pack that singled out the southern vanguard’s warriors mercilessly. Elwyn realized our strategy and tried to gather the remnant of her vanguard, but we had become an inexorable force, with warriors guarding the backs of those actively fighting, two of our warriors to every member of the southern vanguard. Luca joined us after he dispatched Elwyn’s largest warrior to limp toward the boundary of the circle. I dimly became aware of shouts of encouragement from the outer ring—it was like a sporting match, with members of the
vyldgard
calling out for their teammates.

There was only a half-dozen of the southern vanguard still in the fight. We pressed in on them, over double their number—even with our dominant strategy, there were still some of our fighters watching from the sidelines, wiping trickles of blood from shallow cuts and nursing some bruised pride. I laughed and hefted my blade in my grip. Elwyn glimpsed me through the wall of warriors pressing in on her small band. She pointed her blade at me and I gladly obliged her, leaping into the little ring and locking swords with the leader of the southern vanguard. She had more experience than I in swordsmanship, and it showed. I struggled to block her sword, pushed to the limits of my speed and knowing that she’d prevail when I slowed. But just as I tired, my strokes becoming less crisp, less forceful, Elwyn suddenly faced not one but three fighters: Robin’s red hair flashed to my left and Luca pressed in from the right. Elwyn lasted impressively against our onslaught, but even as fast as she was, her blade simply couldn’t block three weapons at once, and she yielded with Luca’s broadsword pointed at her breastbone. She grinned at us, eyes flashing.

I emerged from the focus of fighting Elwyn to find only one pair left sparring, and I blinked to clear my vision before my mind confirmed that I wasn’t seeing double. The twins were fighting, Niamh and Maire both wielding long twin blades. Robin raised his sword, grinning as he stepped forward, but Luca shook his head. Robin obediently faded back into the circle of northern fighters, and we settled back to watch the epic display of swordsmanship. The twins were not tall, but they moved like great cats, their limbs liquid and boneless as they leapt at each other, teeth bared, meeting and clashing and whirling away to circle each other again. They wielded their blades too fast to see clearly, pivoting and pirouetting with arcing flashes of silver, their white-blonde manes wild with their sweat and speed, tawny skin slick and gleaming. I wiped sweat from my own brow and caught Robin’s eye; I glanced at the twins and gave him an appraising look. He grinned and shook his head.

Even the twins could not fight forever, though they sparred on their own for what seemed like just as long as the rest of the battle. One of the twins—I’d lost track of whom was who—launched an attack too quick to follow, leaping into the fierce movements, her blades singing through the air. Her sister fended off the onslaught and it seemed as though she might recover, but the attacking twin didn’t relent, increasing in speed, pressing faster and faster until with a wild cry of triumph she slid a blade past her sister’s guard and pressed the edge against her neck.

The defeated twin grinned up at the victor. In the moment of celebration, Robin leapt past me and slid his blade to within a hair’s breadth of the triumphant twin.

“Are you with northern or southern?” he asked her, eyes gleaming.

“I’m Niamh,” she said, injured pride in her voice. “I’d thought you would recognize
me—
I’m only in your wing, after all—”

Robin’s eyes flicked to the twin sheathing her blades. He caught the swallowed laugh and quickly lowered head. With a twist of his wrist, he neatly drew a single drop of blood from the tender skin at the throat of the victorious twin. He grinned at her scowl.

“You’re Maire,” he said, raising an eyebrow, “and you were about to take me as the last casualty of the fight with that little ruse.”

Maire tossed her head and sheathed her blades. “It would’ve worked, too, had my lovely sister been able to contain herself.”

Niamh laughed. “One cannot blame you for trying, sister, but equally you cannot blame me that your vanguard could not stand up to my pack of wolves.”

Maire grinned. Robin thrust his sword into the air and Niamh threw back her head and howled. I looked at Luca as the other warriors of the vanguard took up the howl. A shiver slipped down my spine. If I closed my eyes, I would have sworn I was truly standing among a pack of wolves. Luca nodded slightly, a half-smile on his lips, but I glimpsed an undercurrent of sadness in his eyes as he stood among his vanguard, listening to them howl to the sky in victory.

I slid closer to him, not saying a word, hoping that he’d understand I stood next to him as both a warrior in his vanguard and a friend. Again there was that slight nod, and he straightened his shoulders as the howls shuddered into silence, and the vanguard turned to him as one.

“We live and we die as one,” he said in a voice that carried over the entire field. “Well fought.”

The fighters remaining on the field dissolved into little knots and groups as we walked toward the perimeter to reunite with those of our number who hadn’t made it through to the end of the skirmish. The cuts and bruises were examined, at first to ensure that none of our fighters needed the skills of a healer; but then it became good-natured ribbing, with those who had made it through to the end commenting on the injuries and ill fate that had befallen those who’d found themselves on the sidelines. I grinned and shook my head when I heard Robin exclaiming over a friend’s scratch with dramatic flair.

“He’s a bit loud for my taste, but he’s a good fighter,” Luca said as we passed a water skin between us.

I chuckled. “I think his sharp tongue made it essential for him to become skilled at fighting.”

Luca toasted me with the water skin. “Probably true.”

I stretched my legs idly. “So we get to skirmish the western vanguard now?”

“Don’t sound so eager,” Calliea said with a grin as she approached us. “Though I suppose I’d be eager too, if I routed another group like that.”

“Our
captain
gave us a very good strategy,” I replied. “One that our fighters embraced whole heartedly.”

“Well, we have plenty of light left, so rest up before our skirmish!” she said, twirling a little dagger end-over-end idly.

I tugged at my shirt, peeling the cloth away from my sweat-soaked skin. The strange air of the Deadlands pressed down around us, oppressive and heavy. I wished for a breeze and wondered how much effort it would take Vell to permanently change the weather of this grey and desolate place. I wandered over to the Valkyrie camp, letting my eyes rest on the beautiful winged
faehal
. While on the ground without a rider, they folded their huge gleaming wings along their back, reminding me of the swans that I’d watched gliding over the lake as a kid. They seemed well adapted, for all that they’d had their wings for less than a fortnight. Most of them wore no bridle, and though I couldn’t see them clearly under their wings, the
faehal
wore slim little saddles. It looked like some of the riders had rigged extra straps along the side of their saddles for extra security in the air.

“Is there any kind of quick release to the straps?” I asked curiously as Calliea stroked her mount’s pale neck.

“Depends on the rider,” she replied. “This is uncharted territory, so we’re learning as we go. Some riders like leg-straps, but I prefer one about my waist, and yes, mine does have a release I can manage with one hand.”

“No reins,” I commented.

“Don’t need them,” Calliea said brusquely. “They’d only get in the way.”

My mind supplied another question, but before my lips formed the words, the Sword suddenly awoke, its power expanding painfully in my chest, the sheath on my back rattling with intense vibrations. Calliea’s
faehal
pranced backward nervously as I doubled over, gasping.