Chosen (The Warrior Chronicles, 1) (9 page)

She took a slow step toward him, feeling out the men holding the swords. The more organized commander relented slightly, pulling his sword away to match her advance. The other, the oldest of the army men, did not. Her skin kissed the metal. The metal bit back. A small pearl of blood welled up on the blade.

The boys hissed.

“Well, then. Point proven, it seems.” Shanti stepped back. “If you ever go up against the Mardis, which are all women by the way, this man is the one for the front line.” She jerked a thumb at the gray-templed commander.

And
then something else surprised her. The other commander, the one who had pulled away, swung his sword forward again, his mind oozing mistrust and anger.

Another interesting reaction.

“Mardis? Is that your people?” the Captain asked lightly.
A hard edge had infiltrated his eyes.

So they’d had a run-in with the Mardis. Not good.

“No. Sex slaves are not my thing. I prefer my men willing. Now, since I am obviously in over my head, I think I might just try out the couch?”

“Please.” The Captain stood gracefully and ge
stured for her to sit opposite on the couch facing him.

Shanti crossed the room gratefully, swords falling away as the men stepped back.
She surveyed her sword as she passed, making sure it didn’t have any damage. Continuing on, she reached the couch and sank in, sighing gratefully as her body sank into the plush leather.

“Oh Elders, I thank you for this treat. What workmanship!” Shanti closed her eyes.

“You aren’t worried about the blade?” the Captain lowered back down.

“It jumped boat. It can lie on the ground for a while. It needs to go over its life choices.”

“Jumped ship, yes, I see. Speaking of choices, we need to decide what to do with
you. You’ll not be allowed weapons, nor to leave. Not until I have more information. These are difficult times. There are rumors of war and famine coming our way. I want to know what your involvement in that is.”

She had plenty of involvement in that. Thwarting the Being Supreme, running from him, planning to overthrow his tyranny
with the help of a distant relation—yes, she had plenty. The Captain was right be worried about what was coming, but if he knew that the girl he was helping would bring the Graygual to his doorstep immediately, bringing the war with them, he’d probably kill her immediately. She couldn’t say she would blame him, either, were she in his place.

She said,
“I am but a trader who lost her comrades, now just trying to make my way to distant relations.”

Suspicious b
lue eyes delved into her with a corresponding brush against her mind. He might not be trained, but he’d learned enough to be of value. What a sneaky bastard. One day soon she hoped to give him a rude awaking. In the meantime, she let him read emotions that gave her credibility. He snatched what she purposely offered, intensity stealing his features as he analyzed information not even remotely true.

“I see,” he said softly, probing her more readily. Getting greedy.

She
closed up shop, blocking him with a well-constructed shield. “I can’t do much like I am, so I have no choice but to play nice until I’m strong enough to be outside of your control
.”

“I’
ll be keeping an eye on you. You best stay out of trouble. You’ll also be expected to earn your keep. What are you good at?”

Killing people.
“Hunting.”

“Hunting?” The Captain looked at her quizzically. “I don’t want you outside the city walls. It isn’t safe. What else?”

Training. Leading a nation. Fighting.
“Uh…”

“Do you bake?”

Shanti started laughing.

“Can you wash clothes?”

“Not if you want them clean.”

“Needle point?”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s making designs in fabric.”
The Captain glanced around for a display.

“With needles?”

“Yes, needles. And colored thread.”

“That sounds like a huge waste of time. How about skin animals?” Shanti tried. “Although you might have a different way since my people cannot make leather such as this. I would love to learn, of course.”

“Making leather like that is a well-kept secret. We will try needlepoint. Keep you out of trouble.” With finality the Captain stood up.

“To insure my cooperation, I ask t
hat you take care of my weapons,” she said softly.

He didn’t even balk. “Of course.”

“And that you return my ring. It was my father’s. It’s important to me.”

The
Captain’s eyes lost their accusation. “Are the weapons his as well?”

“No. Just the ring.” She might be genuine, but she still wasn’t about to reveal her journey.

After a moment of delimitation, he nodded. “To insure your cooperation.”

It was then that Rachie came running in, panting. He held up a pair of slippers. They weren’t much more than a couple scraps of fabric. Shiny, pink fabric at that. Were earth colors so out of the norm in his city?

“Chaylene had a pair that should fit her,” he blurted. “Unless her feet are boats.”

The Captain nodded and left out the back way, Commander Sanders and the older fellow following him.

The remaining Commander studied her with a blank, flat stare. “Please dress and follow me.”

Shanti glanced at the catastrophe of fashion. “Is that mandatory?”

Silence. Apparently it was.

She shrugged into the uncomfortable material and had Marc zip the back. She then followed the Commander toward the door.
Once there, he stopped and faced her. “Xavier, she is your ward now until she leaves this city. Captain’s orders. Keep tabs on her from here on out. You can take her to Commander Sanders in the small practice yard; he will be putting her up. The rest of you, escort her to the small practice field, where you will then fall in to your training. Dismissed.”

The Commander strode away
, gliding like a swordsman. The rest of the boys stood around on the foot path, gawking. If they’d ever held a sword in their lives, Shanti would’ve been shocked. Xavier stepped up next to her and started walking. She did, too, noticing that Marc was directly behind.

“So you boys found me, is that right?” Shanti asked pleasantly, noticing all the women bustling by in giant, bright, ridiculous dresses. They looked leisurely and plump, not having a care, or apparently a task, to b
urden them. This must be a rich sector of the city.

“I did,” a
drooling boy with staring eyes said.

“And you are?”

“Gracas, sir.”

“She’s a girl!” Rachie muttered.

“Ma’am,” Gracas amended.

“I am not a lady and I am not of your city. I have experience with commands and fighting. Sir is fine.”

“See?” It sounded like Gracas elbowed Rachie.

“I was there, too, Miss!” Someone yelled from the back.

It occurred to her that these boys were following her in a loose horde, Xavier doing nothing to put them in order. Irritated, Shanti stopped. She was already different—if a rag-tag crew followed her around, everyone would notice her every move. That was not acceptable.

She turned to face the boys. Then waited until they all looked at her.

“You are all Cadets, is that right?”

Nods all around
.

“You nod to mothers, fathers, sisters
, and aunts. You nod to neighbors and friends. You do not nod to a commanding officer, or so I have noticed. If you are asked a question, you answer with a vocal response. Is that clear?”

She got a “Yes, ma-sir”
; one “Yes, sir”; one “Yes, com”, which was hopefully slang or the speaker was just plain stupid; and one nod. Marc was the one who nodded. He got punched in the throat. Xavier tried to intercede and got punched in the kidney. Everyone else got one quirked eyebrow. It was a dare. No one rose to the bait.

It was testimony to how naïve these boys were in the ways of fighting that her poor excuse for strikes dropped them to the ground. It was also testimony to how weak they thought women that
these
men were sent to guard her.

“You follow directions or you get people killed,” Shanti continued, noticing the boys gingerly stepping away from Marc moaning and writhing on
the ground. “If you are too stupid to follow directions, you will get really, really tough, because I will beat the… I need a slang word for poop.”

“Kaa-kaa,” one of the boys volunteered.

He got elbowed. “What are we, five?” The boy turned to Shanti. “Shit.”

“Thank you, Rachie. I will beat the shit out of you. Now, Marc, are you recovered?”

She got a nod as he climbed, painfully, to his feet.

“Marc is about to
demonstrate how to get tough really quick.” She spun, sweeping the legs out from under him. He fell directly on his butt bone in the middle of the foot path. It looked like it hurt. Her stagger wasn’t much better. “Please note that Xavier is smart. He didn’t try to help that time. Silently give Xavier praise.”

“Good on ya!” Rachie congratulated, stepping forward to pat Xavier on the back.

Shanti stepped forward to meet Rachie and punched him in the solar plexus. She didn’t have much sauce behind the punch, not having much more stamina in her body, but Rachie fell like a lead weight in a barrel of water. It was hilarious, and to celebrate, Shanti held her stomach and started laughing.

“You boys are a bunch of funny men.” Shanti started walking.

Thanks to the Captain, and her state, she had nothing to do but get better. She was bored already. She might just have to make a project of these boys—turn them into something worth talking to before she moved on.

“Clowns. Ah, sir,” Xavier commented, catching up immediately.

“Clowns, fine. Can anyone tell me why Rachie just got punched?”

“He was supposed to be silent.”

“Good, Cadet. What is your name?”

“Leilius? Sire.”

“Are you unsure of your own name, Cadet? And I am not a king.”

Leilius flinched, realized he wasn’t going to get hurt right then, then said, “Leilius. Sir.”

“Good. Come along you lot. And stay in pairs. You look like shit after someone ate beans. I will need more swear words, too; I love the startled faces when I use them.”

Thankfully the walk to meet Commander Sanders was short, allowing Shanti to appear confident and unaffected the whole way. As they neared the large square of lush, freshly trimmed grass, Commander Sanders cut off his hand-to-hand combat training and approached them like a man would a raging bonfire if he was covered in flammable liquid.

“Boys, get geared up,” Sanders barked in greeting.

Shanti heard a “Yes, sir”, one “Yes, Chief”
, and a “M’Kay.” She was able to kick one of the silent boys in the leg, taking him down, but had to settle for a rock for the other. She got him right in the back of the head. She’d always been an excellent shot.

Sanders had her by the upper arm before s
he could blink. He was fast and in control. The grip was gentle but firm.

The Captain had definitely chosen his Commanders well. Interesting.

“If I were you,” Shanti groused in clipped tones, eyeing each of the young boys, “I would not stare when a commanding officer takes a lesser in hand. I would move about my business, or prepare for another lesson in how to get tough really quick.”

They all gave a quick “Yes, sir” and scurried away. Granted, it looked like ants after a boot, but at least they got the vocalization down.

Sanders’ hand tentatively left her arm.

“I apologize, Commander.” Shanti turned toward him, surprised his height was barely above her own, especially when the rest of the men in this land seemed abnormally large. “They are a lump of coal that needs a flame. I could not have them embarrassing me. This dress is enough.”

Sanders just stared.

“I have been told you have a place for me to go?” she continued. “Hopefully it is not to needlepoint.”

It was to needlepoint.

“Junice, I am aware the Captain requires me to master this accursed discipline, but I simply do not understand it. I am not an artist. My thread pictures look like rainbow vomit. I’m not useful.”

Shanti put down her needl
epoint paraphernalia and leaned against the solid wood chair.

She’d been in Sanders’ house, much to Sanders’
continual frustration, for two weeks. It had been long enough to ascertain that she did not belong in a domestic setting for any longer than a night at a time. And while she had put on substantial weight in the short time, she was grossly lacking in muscle coordination and mental warfare. Worse still, without access to move freely and train unobstructed, she was forced to linger, the world growing older, the Graygual moving closer. The sun was drifting toward the horizon of her duty; she had to move on, but to do that, she had to get well.