Chapter 6
When I’d woken up the previous morning, my biggest concern was seeing Torgrin again and whether he would think the sword I’d made for Lord Warwick was worth what he was paying for it.
I never imagined that I would lose control of the Darkness in the middle of the street in front of witnesses.
When I’d seen those barrels hurtling towards the little girl and her mother, I had let my instincts take over.
I still didn’t know how I did what I did. The Darkness was always with me, but I never let it roam too far, even just to experiment. Trepidation kept me from it, and after seeing what had happened to Millie and what Cillian had revealed about his wife, I knew I had been right to fear it.
I’d never met another Cursed woman in all the years I lived along the Red River. There were whispers about Cursed healers like Cillian’s wife and Millie, but no-one dared to name names knowing the penalty was death.
The first rays of light appeared in the sky as I lay in the hay. I rose to unpack some food and clothes from Nightmare’s saddle bag and checked that I hadn’t forgotten my bow. There was something else I needed before I left. The problem was it hung in the shop next to the forge where Cillian slept.
I took Nightmare with me and left her down the street out of sight.
Then I entered the shop as quietly as possible, approaching the armour and helmet that hadn’t been collected.
I had written up the order for myself under another name.
I included my measurements, and additional details like a fully closed helmet.
Not having complete visibility created extra risk, but I needed to conceal that I was a woman.
My body was solid and tall, and while my wrapped breasts and the curve of my hips could be obscured under armour, my face would give me away.
My high cheekbones, small nose and full lips were too feminine to try to pass as a young man.
I would keep my helmet on for as long as possible, and only hope that I wouldn’t be forced to reveal my identity.
I muttered and swore under my breath, failing to be quiet as I struggled into the chain mail and armour without help.
Cillian could storm in at any moment and demand to know what I was doing.
My frantic movements eased when I only had the helmet left. Cillian’s skill as a blacksmith impressed me even more when the helmet’s visor snapped into place with the flat hinges he had designed. Everything fit perfectly, and the extra weight was manageable.
I mounted Nightmare and waited on the street, watching as the sky lightened.
Three men on horseback rode towards me, their armour clinking with each movement.
They were talking loudly, far too loud for this early in the morning, their voices filled with excitement.
As they passed, they greeted me with cheerful smiles.
None of them seemed to think it was odd that I was already wearing my helmet, and they didn’t notice when I rode close behind them.
As we passed the forge, I tried blending in with the other riders but couldn’t resist taking one final glimpse back.
Cillian was sitting in the opening with a massive hammer beside him. My gut wrenched at the sight of him willingly risking his business and life to keep me safe when I was about to walk into danger, risking everything for a chance at vengeance.
My pulse was racing. Would Cillian recognise the armour and Nightmare?
Even in this limited light, Nightmare’s colour and sheer size stood out.
We were at the gates when I heard him shout my name, and I twisted in my saddle to see him standing in the middle of the street, his hammer hanging limply at his side.
The wounded look on his face would haunt me forever. My chest tightened as I inhaled deeply, trying to push the guilt down. I urged Nightmare forward, heading into the walled fortress of Murus.
The gates to the fortress opened to a small courtyard where we waited. Two enormous iron doors stopped us from going any further. The group I joined was the first to arrive, but soon, others filed in and our numbers grew.
The crowd swelled around me, leaving little space in the courtyard.
Scores of Murus hopefuls were about to put their fighting skills to the test. There was a stirring of anticipation in the men around me as the heavy internal doors gradually opened.
Eager contestants cheered, then became frantic as soldiers shouted commands to dismount immediately and make a line at the door.
As I passed through the doors on foot, a young soldier gave me a red armband with the number twelve on it.
He instructed me to tie it to my left arm.
We were corralled into the internal training grounds where the terrain we were to compete on was solid dirt – compacted by soldier’s boots as they honed their skills every morning.
Soldiers and servants placed rough wooden benches around the perimeter for the audience to watch the tournament.
Flourishing green ivy clung to the fortress’s stone walls surrounding us. Every window looking onto the arena had a black iron balcony with an assortment blue flowers spilling over the sides, miraculously blossoming in the dry Murus heat.
Standing on the broadest balcony was Atlas. He looked down at us, his arms spread wide on the railing, a boyish grin on his face.
The excited chatter quietened as a large contingent of armoured soldiers marched into the courtyard. They stopped abruptly before the balcony where Torgrin now joined Atlas.
In unison, the soldiers raised their visors, then beat their shielded chests once with a fist and a loud, ‘Huh!’
Atlas and Torgrin beheld the militia they had amassed. The captains tipped their heads ever so slightly, and with a clang of steel, the soldiers dropped their armoured arms to rest at their sides.
‘Welcome, competitors!’ Atlas’s clear voice reached me across the gathered men. ‘I hope you kissed your mother goodbye this morning, for this may be the last time she sees you with all your limbs,’ he said with a mischievous smirk.
The Murus men chuckled and made crude remarks at Atlas’s words, but the soldiers remained silent. I caught Torgrin’s disapproving shake of his head as Atlas stepped back to allow him to speak.
‘There will be no loss of limbs or deaths today if you all fight with honour.’ Every soldier stood a little straighter when Torgrin’s dark stare fell on them.
‘Defeated fighters will concede and leave the arena. We will deal with anyone who doesn’t.
’ The faces around me no longer held any trace of humour.
Atlas smirked, the curve of his lips sharp and satisfied. His eyes swept over the crowd, taking note of the way the crowd shifted under the weight of his friend’s cold stare. He seemed to savour the unease.
‘You’ll follow our soldiers to the barracks,’ Atlas said, his voice smooth, almost lazy. ‘Wait for your number and colour to be called.’ He bestowed one last grin on the crowd before he turned away.
The barracks courtyard was small, forcing us to stand almost shoulder to shoulder with our horses. Nightmare gave a small warning kick to a spotted mare that got too close.
I took the measure of those around me, noting who would be a threat. I immediately dismissed the men who were bragging and playing with their swords. They were here to strut like roosters, not to fight.
There was one Murus man who stood out to me. He was a little older and – unlike the others – quiet. Like me, he observed those around him. He stood very straight and with purpose, a soldier’s stance.
When his gaze fell on me, I wondered what he saw.
Could he see the hours of training I had put in every day since I was eleven?
Iain had instructed me in various techniques and weapons.
My confidence was high and I felt equal to any man here.
Having dedicated the past month to hammering iron, I had never felt stronger.
The soldiers would be my primary competition.
Fighting was their livelihood, and their very honour as soldiers was at stake.
I couldn’t see the man I was hoping to find. The man with icy blue eyes might not even be here, but I needed to make sure before I moved on from Murus and continued my search elsewhere.
Would Torgrin and Atlas prevent me from taking my revenge if I asked for their help? I couldn’t be certain. They were captains now, like the man who killed my mother, and men would always support men like themselves.
In the barracks, competitors became excited at the cheering and applause coming from the arena. The volume of the crowd implied that the arena seating was filling up.
A soldier not wearing an armband called out numbers one to five in red and blue.
The men quickly put on their helmets and mounted their horses.
The door to the arena opened, and they rode out to loud applause.
Soldiers closed the door behind the first competitors before anyone could see what was on the other side.
At first, the arena was quiet, but then a sudden roar from the crowd reached us, followed by a collective gasp.
It didn’t seem long before the door opened, and only one man – a soldier – returned.
Every waiting competitor had the same shocked expression as they collectively realised that only one out of ten would make it to the next round.
My number and colour were called, and I mounted Nightmare. I waited with the others for the door to open. The Murus crowd cheered as we rode into the arena. I avoided searching for familiar brown eyes; seeing Cillian in the crowd would only split my concentration.