Chapter 18 | Sephania #2
As I walk down the hall and my mates follow, I hear Antones mutter, “I have a feeling I’m going to regret this damned repayment.”
The lad bounces off my shoulder as I slam into him. Stumbling back, he trips over the foot I planted behind his ankle. His arms pinwheel and he goes down hard on his ass, wincing as his tailbone crunches on the hard mat.
It’s the same fucking mat I fought on as a youngling, riddled with holes and sword slices and boot marks. Dusty, grimy, disgusting.
The man is more of a boy, can’t be more than fifteen, though he swings a blade well for someone of his stature and age.
Reminds me of a young Rirth, except he doesn’t have the same inherent anger simmering on his countenance.
If he did, I’d see it right now after embarrassing him in front of his gaggle of comrades.
They’re thirteen to sixteen as well, a mix of boys and girls who took up the sword, and even two interfolk who decided enough is enough. Future Gilded Ghosts recruits, perhaps?
The watchers “ooh” and “ahh” and laugh when Skent goes down.
I lean forward and reach down to offer Skent my hand. He recoils. With a sigh, I roll my eyes. “Take the hand, boy. I won’t bite.”
More hooting from the watchers. I glance across my body and see Vallan standing stoically with his arms crossed, Garroway smiling to himself at the scene. Then his eyes widen—
As Skent gets the wise idea to try and pull me down onto the ground with him while I’ve looked away for a split second. I feel the weight of his pull, my momentum carrying me.
One of my hands falls on his forehead, over his eyes, and I use it to shove the back of his skull into the mat and roll over him, bringing his hand with me.
Skent yelps as his arm dislocates once my somersault is complete and I’m back on my feet in a fighting stance.
His yelp turns into a sobbing whine, and I don’t offer him my hand again. “I know, I know, it hurts. Never turn your back on an enemy and all that. It was my fault, Skent. Vallan, if you could?”
The group watching has gone quiet. They didn’t expect the boy to have as much courage or stupidity as he does.
I admire it, and I say as much when Vallan squats behind Skent’s supine form.
“You did your best. It might have worked on someone your size and experience. But I’m older, stronger, and heavier than you. ”
One of the boys watching whistles and says something crude when I mention my size, which earns an animalistic, scary hiss from Garroway, and turns the boy’s face pale.
I make Skent stare up at me past his tears, distracting him. His arm hangs loose and awkward, and he sniffles and opens his mouth to respond—
Crunch!
—just as Vallan sets his shoulder in its socket.
Skent howls. He falls onto his back, clutching his fixed arm and kicking his legs like a toddler throwing a tantrum.
His wailing brings Ant into the sparring room, who looks at the mat with concern. “What happened here?” He reels when he sees Vallan getting up from the mat, leaving Skent’s side to rejoin the spectators. “Don’t tell me you let that giant monster fight a fifteen—”
“No, Antones, it was me,” I interject before he can get any ideas. “Skent is the boy’s name, yes? He got a wily idea and it backfired on him. Vall was only helping, old friend.”
Ant looks sullen but accepts my words. “Please try to refrain from permanently scarring my lads, Sephania”
I snort. “Your lads? You make them sound like property when you say that.”
He rolls his eyes, flaps a hand at me, and limps away with his cane clacking on the gravelly ground.
Skent crawls to take his place among the onlookers. I point to two others who are wielding real swords and look ready for action. “Let’s see if you two have the same bravery and cunning your friend Skent has, eh?”
I step onto the mat, swords drawn wide. Out the corner of my eye, I notice my offhanded compliment has made Skent stop whining and now he’s tearfully smiling, getting a few shoulder bumps from his friends as well.
Good. Break them down to build them back up. Just like Skar, Vall, and Garro taught me—and did to me.
The twosome is a girl and boy, and they look related. I instantly recognize their tactics as they come at me from the sides, trying to flank me, which is smart. They’re sharp-eyed, using real steel like me, and mean business.
The boy charges in from the left.
I skitter into the guard of the girl to the right, closing the gap and surprising her by getting out of the boy’s reach. He swings at air, I parry the girl’s fumbling strike.
My eyes follow the boy’s feet, my gaze never making it to the girl as she leaps back and regroups to charge. Her attack is clumsy, with little force, easy to clank away with a swing of my longsword. I have my shortsword ready for the boy, and I see his feet slide wide to come at my side.
My blade punches forward, evoking a gasp from the boy as he stops short and goes upright to avoid getting stabbed in the throat. He bats my sword away and tries to immediately riposte overhanded—
Which I anticipate. He only finds air when I drop to my knees, evading the girl’s two-handed swing at my torso at the same time. It whooshes two inches over my head, thankfully missing my hair, before clanging against his comrade’s sword as they meet in the middle, in the space where I’d just been.
My shortsword flips in my hand and I smack the flat of the blade against the boy’s calf, ringing out with a thwap and bringing him to one knee. He yips, grunting—
And I charge forward from my knees before the girl can regroup and try to stab me in the back. I hear her let out a huff of exasperation as I evade her again, and she’s close behind with her sword swinging.
My elbow crunches into the boy’s sternum and sends him on his back. I barrel over him, kicking his sword away, and spin just in time to parry the girl charging at my back.
Our swords rattle and spark, rasping off one another. I have all the advantage and she quickly realizes it—size, height, reach, plus I have two swords to her one.
The audience is silent, eyes wide, watching intently as the two younglings put on a show with the old legend lady who just newly arrived. I get the feeling they might be the best trained in their class, and I’m impressed.
I’ve broken a sweat, my breath is slightly elevated.
The girl wails with frustration, finding no weakness in my defense. She grabs her sword two-handed once again so she can swing it quicker—
Which is her fatal mistake.
Something crunches into my thigh and I seethe, baring my teeth at the girl. I don’t need to bother looking back to know the boy has regained his footing and has planted a boot behind my knee.
I’m forced to my knees, my strategy thrown out the window and instinct taking over. Luckily I’m an elegant faller, and I can anticipate maneuvers with the best of them thanks to the preternatural speed of men I’ve fought like Skar, Lukain, and the two mates watching me right now.
A presence behind me, a presence in front, both falling at the same time toward my head and shoulders.
My swords cross in an X over my head and I duck—
Cla-clang—
Parrying both falling blades at either end simultaneously, and holding the rattling steel.
I flex, bellow, and push up with my biceps, reversing their momentum and flinging their blades skyward.
My longsword and shortsword spin out of the X and bat left, right—flat, flat, smack, smack—crashing into the girl’s side and knocking the wind out of her, flipping behind me to smack the side of the boy’s face as he leaned forward too much and was thrown off-balance by my reversal parry.
They both totter and flop backwards, falling onto their backs.
It was a blurring moment of intense action, too fast for many of the onlookers to see.
I notice the narrowness of Vallan’s and Garroway’s eyes when I rise and look down at the two combatants.
They don’t seem pleased I put myself in danger, yet Vallan didn’t come to my aid with his bloodsight, so perhaps I didn’t put myself in as much danger as I felt I had?
“You,” I say through a hard breath, pointing my shortsword down at the boy.
“Watch your left hip. You broadcast your swings wide every time you come in.” The girl gets the point of my longsword aimed over her head.
“Practice with a lighter sword, lass. Your arms haven’t muscled up adequately for that big thing, making you need to use two hands to get any kind of force behind your blows.
That won’t suit you well in a battle. I know it looks fabulous with a hellion swinging a greatsword, but try a shield and shorter blade. ”
The boy is bleeding from his nose, which he wipes with his forearm. The girl grabs at her ribs, wincing. They both nod in unison at my instruction, and rather than arguing or debating, they simply say, “Yes, Battlemistress.”
I firm my lips. “Battlemistress?” My grin breaks out. “Sounds better than Hellwhore or Bitch-Queen, I’ve got to say.”
The audience laughs. They move onto the mat and help their friends up. I give the boy and girl a small bow, inclining my chin toward Skent off to the side. “Good work, everyone. I’m impressed with your training.” I sheathe my swords at my hips and turn to my mates, leaving the room with them.
“Was that necessary, silverblood?” my surly giant asks once we’re in the adjacent hall.
“Watch, Vall, they won’t stop talking about it for weeks,” I answer.
“That’s what this was? Proof of your prowess? Accolades for the Battlemistress, so the whelps won’t ever forget it?”
I roll my eyes and punch him in the shoulder. My heart is racing, sweat lines my brow, and I’m fired up. “No, you big oaf. It was motivation, so they remember the day they were beaten and keep training harder to get better.”
Garroway scoffs in my defense. “Aye, don’t be a sour ass, brother. It was motivation. Ever heard of it?”
I chuckle and nudge him as we walk down the familiar corridors toward the back halls of the Firehold.
My eyes meet each mate in turn, half-lidded as the adrenaline in my veins fights its way through my system.
“Besides, my big brute,” I say, “you two might end up being the lucky recipients of all that sweaty motivation, and I’m sure you won’t be complaining then. ”
I finish with a wink over my shoulder, disappearing into the shadowy recesses of a nearby room. My words and slyness shuts Vallan up fast, and the sounds of his heavy boots hot on my heels rings pleasantly in my ears.