Chapter Two
Her name was Marina.
A big, buxom, smelly woman, the only other woman in the group of hopeful recruits at Blackchurch who were trying to fill one of the few coveted spots in the newest training class. Athdara had managed to survive three rounds with male recruits, but Marina was going to be much more of a challenge.
She wanted a slot, and she wasn’t going to give up easily.
Marina was a big woman to begin with, but she’d had a most unique life that had seen that size nurtured and developed.
Born in an ancient city across the sea known as Rome, she had been the child of a merchant.
Her father had no sons and had therefore put her to work on his merchant vessels, loading and unloading goods from the rough docks along the Mediterranean Sea.
Marina had never learned the gentle arts of womanhood, and was therefore only technically a woman.
She had big muscles and big hands, and she wasn’t afraid to use either.
On this afternoon, Athdara finally had to face her.
The hopefuls, known colloquially as “dregs,” had gathered on this last day after nearly four weeks of intense screening and pre-training.
They weren’t really instructed on what to do or how to do it because the Blackchurch trainers wanted to see what their natural talents were.
There were full-fledged knights who had seen much rigorous training, and there were also young men straight out of the countryside who were more power and brawn than skill and brains.
These hopeful groups comprised people who felt they had the grit necessary to complete Blackchurch training.
The guild had a strict screening method that would weed out most of them.
As one of the Blackchurch officials said, wanting to be trained by Blackchurch was not the same as being talented enough to be accepted.
Athdara hadn’t come this far to fail.
“Well?” Marina said, breaking Athdara from her reflections. “Shall we finally see who will be trained at Blackchurch?”
The dregs had been enjoying a rare and brief rest period on the edge of Lake Cocytus, the body of water that all of Blackchurch was built around.
Named after a lake in the ninth circle of hell, it was a fitting feature in the midst of the guild’s training grounds.
Buried in the hilly Exmoor wilds, the field that the dregs were training upon, and had been for weeks, was at the edge of the lake but on sloping ground.
In fact, men had been known to roll right down into the lake, and it was anyone’s guess if they would be rescued.
If the trainer felt like it, they would.
But if not…
Athdara had no desire to end up in that lake.
“I suppose it had to come to this,” she said, pushing herself off the mashed, wet grass as she sat up. “Marina, may I ask you a question?”
“Ask anything.”
“Did you ever think you would reach this point in your life?” Athdara said. “I mean learning to fight at a place like this, in a country that is not where you were born, amongst men who feel you do not belong here. Did you ever imagine this?”
Marina grinned, pulling tight the leather forearm protectors that she always wore. She pulled them so tightly that her forearms were permanently deformed as a result.
“Aye,” she said, looking around at the men rising from the ground now that the rest period was over. “I knew I would come here. Blackchurch is spoken of awe even in my country.”
“How did you hear about it?”
“A passing merchant whose son hoped to be trained. And you?”
“My father knew Lord Bottreaux.”
Marina stopped fussing with her arm protection. “You never told me that.”
“You never asked.”
The big woman frowned. “Then why must you be a dreg?” she said. “You fight better than any woman I have ever seen. If your father knows the Lords of Exmoor, why did he not simply ask them to admit you?”
Athdara sighed heavily and looked away. “Because my father is dead.”
Marina’s gaze lingered on her for a few moments before she made her way over, standing close enough to cast her shadow over Athdara.
“We’ve never spoken much, you and I,” she said quietly. “We’ve spent weeks in competition. I only speak to you because you are a woman, and if I speak to a man, they believe things about me that are not true.”
Athdara looked at her again. “What do they believe?”
“That I am looking for a husband.”
Athdara laughed softly. “This would be the last place I would look for a husband,” she said, her attention moving to the group of men, now mostly on their feet.
“Knights and farm boys and everything in between, all of them searching for something, but not a wife. How arrogant to presume you have come here for a different purpose.”
Marina nodded at the assessment, her focus returned to Athdara. “What are you searching for?”
Athdara thought on that a moment before lurching to her feet.
“Revenge,” she murmured.
Marina watched her go, heading toward the top of the rise where they’d been training—a big, carved-out area filled with mud and damaged dreams where they’d been pitted against one another, run through exercises with very little instruction, and other things to test not only their skill but their judgment.
Athdara de Ghent was one of the few who seemed to have it all.
She wasn’t like Marina. Even Marina knew that.
While Marina was built like a man, Athdara was long-legged, shapely, and strong.
She was also quite beautiful, with dark hair and flashing dark eyes, and a mouth that curved into a lovely smile that was a rare sight indeed.
But she brought with her pain and torment.
Everyone could see it. Every blow she delivered had agony behind it, and every breath she took was filled with fire.
Revenge, she’d said.
Marina wasn’t surprised.
It would make their bout most interesting.
The trainers were beginning to gather all of the dregs, arranging the next series of battles that would see the winners pitted against winners of other battles.
They would go down to the very end for the finest two recruits out of thirty in the group.
That meant whoever triumphed in Athdara and Marina’s bout would have to fight men from that point on.
Marina was enthusiastic to do it. Athdara was merely resigned.
The two Blackchurch trainers responsible for the group of dregs weren’t trainers in the true sense.
They were really scouts, men who had recruited many of the dregs and now were the first line in a long and arduous vetting process for actual recruits.
Men who went by the names of Cutty and Halsey had gathered the dregs who hadn’t fought that morning, and immediately moved Athdara and Marina into the center of the field.
They were allowed to select clubs, and some of the men tittered in anticipation, for several of them had already placed bets on this particular fight.
Marina held the advantage simply because she was so large, but Athdara was faster.
The winner would be the one who wanted it most.
Athdara knew this. She’d been waiting for this moment ever since she came to Blackchurch, the moment when she would actually fight her way into the training ranks.
Marina was nice enough, and having another female in the group hadn’t been unpleasant, but that was where it ended.
It was going to be either Athdara or Marina, and Athdara was determined she would be the winner.
That meant she had to take Marina down hard at the very first, but she knew that she couldn’t do that with pure strength. She was going to have to use her wits.
With their clubs selected, Cutty whistled loudly between his teeth, and that started the bout.
Grinning, Marina charged in Athdara’s direction, and Athdara knew her first strike had to be her best. She’d learned from her father and brother how to stand against an enemy and how to use brains over sheer strength.
Milo had been particularly good at that.
Therefore, she had a plan in mind as Marina ran at her with her club wielded high.
Athdara stood her ground as Marina came closer.
And closer.
Just as Marina was within striking range with the club, Athdara spun out of her way and lifted her weapon in the same motion.
By the time she completed her full rotation, Marina had already run past her.
But she hadn’t gotten far; swinging the club with all her might, Athdara cracked Marina on the back of the head, and the woman fell like a stone.
Out cold, she landed face-first in the mud.
The group of dregs collectively gasped in shock.
When it became clear that Marina wasn’t going to rise, Cutty went over to her and rolled her onto her back with a boot.
She would have drowned had they left her facedown in the mud, but she was obviously out.
The woman was done. Both Cutty and Halsey peered at her for a moment and poked her with the toes of their boots before turning their attention to Athdara.
“Well done,” Cutty said. Then he pointed. “Go stand with the other winners.”
Athdara was shaking. There was a large part of her that had wondered if she was capable of besting Marina, so the fact that the woman was still unconscious came as something of a surprise.
In fact, Athdara held on to that club in case the woman decided to rise, but she didn’t.
A couple of dregs ended up carrying her off the field and over to the grass.
Once a recruit was carried from the field, they didn’t return. Everyone knew that.
Athdara was rather sorry that Marina wasn’t going to return.
She’d enjoyed the camaraderie. It was a rare thing in the world she lived in, a solitary world where she was fighting for a cause that no longer existed, seeking revenge for something that had left her and Nikolai the sole survivors.
Her life was a lonely one, and Marina had at least been someone to talk to, someone who was more like she was.