EPIC: Fourteen Books of Fantasy (184 page)

Flight commanders,
Tilla thought and sucked in her breath. She knew that dragons flew in threes—two defending one attacker—but not how the attacker was determined.

I’m going to find out now.

“First flight!” Nairi shouted. “Forward.”

Three recruits—those who formed the left flank of the formation—stepped forward. They glanced around nervously and clutched their swords. They were the daughters of farmers; Tilla vaguely remembered them selling eggs, fruits, and grains in harvest fairs. Today they wore armor and bore blades.

Nairi snorted at the farm girls.

“If you ask me, all three of you are worms. You should be squirming under my boots, not standing before me in armor.” The lanse raised her voice. “The last one among you standing will eat and sleep tonight! The two who fall first—you will spend the night cleaning the outhouses. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Commander!” the three answered, faces pale.

“Your swords are blunt,” Nairi said, “but they will still bruise flesh. Swing them! Last one standing will lead your flight.”

The girls glanced at one another, hesitating.

Stars, oh stars, just swing your blades,
Tilla thought.

Yet the girls did not move.

With a sneer, Nairi drew her punisher. She drove the crackling rod into one girl.

The recruit screamed. She fell into the dust. Her body convulsed, and Nairi knelt above her, growling and shoving her punisher against the girl’s belly. The girl doubled up, weeping and begging and smoking.

Finally, after what seemed like ages, Nairi withdrew her punisher and rose to her feet. She spat onto the fallen girl.

“This one is out,” she said. She looked up at the two recruits who still stood. “Go on—fight each other! Or I’ll burn another one.”

The two recruits swallowed, drew their blunt blades, and began to swing at one another. Steel clanged.

“Faster!” Nairi screamed. “Harder! Beat her bloody.”

The steel kept clashing. Finally one girl disarmed the other, slamming blade onto wrist.

“Finish her!” Nairi ordered. “Beat her down.”

The armed girl’s eyes were damp, yet she obeyed. She swung her blunt sword against her friend’s legs, sending her falling.

Nairi spat in disgust. “Useless cockroaches, you are.” She snarled at the last girl standing. “You lead your miserable trio of worms. Drag the other two back to formation.” She turned back to the ranks. “Next flight—you three, forward!”

The next flight stepped forward.

More blades swung.

As Tilla stood, watching each trio fight for leadership, she heard wings thudding overhead. She looked up to see a red dragon descend into the square, fire streaming between his teeth. Tilla sucked in her breath and her heart thrashed.

Prince Leresy.

The dragon landed before the phalanx, shook his head, and scattered curtains of smoke. He shifted into human form, placed his hands on his hips, and smiled. His plate armor shone in the dawn, black steel bedecked with gold. His golden hair shone just as bright.

Whispers and gasps flowed across the ranks, and Tilla’s heart thudded. Smiling thinly, Prince Leresy stared directly at her—into her—and winked.

“Hail Prince Leresy!” Nairi shouted and slammed her fist against her chest. “Kneel before your prince.”

Nairi knelt, fist clutched to heart. The rest of her phalanx, Tilla among them, repeated the salute and knelt too. Tilla kept her head lowered, daring not look up, but she could feel Leresy still staring at her.

Stars, why does he look at me among everyone?
she thought. She only wanted to be a good soldier here, to fit in and fly low. And yet wherever she went, it seemed, she attracted trouble like flowers attracted bees.

“Back on your feet!” rose his voice; it was smooth and melodious and still carried the high pitch of youth. “Carry on, please. I’ve only come to watch my troops, not interfere.”

Tilla made the mistake of glancing back at the prince—just a glance—and caught him staring at her. His lips peeled back and he licked his teeth. She looked back at Nairi... just in time to hear the lanse shout her name.

“Tilla Roper!” Nairi pointed her crackling punisher at her. “You and those two dogs of yours—forward! Let’s see who among you will sleep tonight, and who will clean nightsoil from a ditch.”

Heart pounding, Tilla stepped forward, leaving the formation of her phalanx. The square seemed to spin around her. She felt hundreds of eyes watching her—her fellow recruits, her commander, and her prince. She glanced over her shoulder to see Mae frozen, her face pale, and Erry trying to shove her forward.

“Roper, bring your two whores forward, or you’ll taste my fire!” Nairi screamed.

It took some tugging from Tilla, and more pushing from Erry, to bring the trembling Mae out of formation and into the dust of the square. The three recruits stood together, trapped between the rest of their phalanx, Lanse Nairi, and Prince Leresy.

“Draw your swords,” Nairi ordered.

Tilla drew her blade. She gave it a few quick swings. It whistled as it sliced the air.

Whenever Tilla had seen soldiers carrying swords—especially wide longswords like this one, their hilts large enough for two hands—she had thought them crude weapons for hacking and slashing. Yet this sword, even blunted, was light and agile. It felt no heavier than waving a sprig of holly. The blade was long and wide but flexible, and despite herself Tilla smiled. For the first time, she thought of soldiers not as brutes hacking with crude chunks of metal, but as artists mastering an ancient dance.At her side, Erry was waving her sword around, slicing the air. The slim girl seemed just as impressed; her eyes shone, and her lips peeled back in a smile. Mae, however, wasn’t even testing her blade; she merely held it before her, and it wobbled like her lip.

I think I’ll only have one contender here,
Tilla thought.

Nairi took a deep breath, opened her mouth, and seemed ready to order the duel start. Before the lanse could speak, however, the prince interrupted.“A moment,” he said, raising his hand.

Again he was looking straight at Tilla, and her heart thudded. He walked toward her, and Tilla stood frozen before him, sword in hand, not sure if to salute, kneel, or simply stand still.

When Prince Leresy reached her, his lips peeled back in a smile, but it looked hungry, the smile of a wolf. His eyes scanned her from top to bottom; they lingered against her breasts, which pressed against her leather armor. He reached out, fast as a viper, and clutched her wrist.

Tilla gasped.

He’s going to kill me,
she thought.
Stars, I did something wrong, and he’s going to kill me now—just like his sister Shari killed the girl back at Cadport.

But Leresy only turned her wrist, adjusting her grip on the sword.

“Here,” he said. “Like this. Hold your right hand a little higher on the hilt. Now place your left hand beneath it near the pommel—like that. Give the blade a swing—from top to bottom.”The prince stepped back, and Tilla dutifully swung her sword. Leresy’s face split into a grin, and he clapped.

“Splendid!” he said. “Now here, move your left hand to the base of the blade—just above the hilt. Don’t worry, it’s not sharp. This is called half-swording—a different grip. Give it a try.”

Leresy stepped back again, and Tilla gave the blade a few more swings. Holding the sword this way, her thrusts were shorter but more powerful.

“Good!” Leresy said. “You use this one for piercing armor. A strong soldier can break steel this way. Shorter range but tougher punch.”

He stepped toward her again and reached between her legs. Tilla gasped, but Leresy only winked and moved her thighs apart.

“Don’t get all flustered,” he said. “I’m just fixing your stance. Here, like this—legs parted, right leg forward. Try again! This time strike my blade.”

He drew his sword and Tilla’s eyes widened. His was a beautiful blade. Its dark steel shone with ripples like midnight waves. Its golden, dragonclaw pommel clutched an egg-sized ruby. Tilla hated to attack such a beautiful weapon—what if she chipped it?—but Leresy beckoned her, and so Tilla swung her blade.

He parried. The two swords rang.

“Excellent!” Leresy said. He slammed his sword back into its scabbard. “What’s your name, soldier?”

“Tilla,” she said. “Tilla Roper.”

Leresy nodded. “I’ll remember you.”

But there was no pride or kindness in his voice; there was only lust. Tilla had served tables at Rune’s tavern when she could not sell enough ropes; she had seen such lust in the eyes of many drunkards.

He cares less for blades of steel,
she thought,
and more for the blade between his legs—one he would thrust into me.

Leresy clutched her shoulder and looked over at Nairi.

“This one is a warrior!” he announced.

Tilla glanced over at her commander... and what she saw chilled her more than Leresy’s lust. Pure, blazing fire filled Nairi’s eyes. Her cheeks flushed red. Her teeth ground. She stared at Tilla with a look of such unadulterated hatred that Tilla felt herself blanch.

But... but it’s not my fault!
she wanted to shout out.
I didn’t ask the prince to speak to me, I...

For the first time, Nairi did not shout. She spoke in a low, venomous hiss, and it seemed to Tilla more cruel than all the screams in the Abyss.“Let us see the great warrior in action,” she said. “Fight!”

Immediately, Erry roared and launched into a wild attack.

Tilla gasped and raised her sword; Erry was charging like an enraged badger disturbed from its den. Yet Tilla parried only air. Erry wasn’t attacking her; the diminutive urchin swung her blade against Mae Baker.

Mae squealed. She raised her sword in a useless attempt to parry. Erry’s blunt blade slammed against Mae’s chest, thudding against the leather armor.

Tears budded in Mae’s eyes. She fell to her knees, and her sword thumped into the dust.

“I yield!” she cried and covered her head with her arms. “I yield!”

Roaring, her face red, Erry turned and came charging toward Tilla. Her sword swung in mad arcs.

“Bloody stars!” Tilla cursed and swung her blade.

She had never parried a sword before; she had to learn fast. Her blade checked Erry’s onslaught. The short, brown-haired girl barely seemed fazed. She leaped back, then charged again, thrusting her sword. All around, the other troops gasped and a few cheered.

Tilla parried again.
Stars damn it!
Erry was no taller than her shoulders, yet the little beast seemed unstoppable. Her blows kept flying. It was like a rabid rodent attacking a wolf.

The blades clanged. Erry screamed. Her sword swung. The blade slammed down onto Tilla’s shoulder.

Pain exploded. Erry’s sword was blunt, and Tilla’s leather pauldron stopped the blade, but the damn thing hurt. Agony shot down to her fingertips. Erry’s blade swung again, and this time Tilla managed to parry, then attack.

Her blade swung. It slammed into Erry’s hand.

The dock rat screamed, her fingers opened, and her sword fell.

Tilla kicked the fallen blade; it flew across the square. She breathed raggedly. She lowered her own sword, thinking the battle was over.

She was wrong.

Howling, Erry leaped onto Tilla and clung to her. The little demon bit Tilla’s wrist.

“Erry, stars damn it!” Tilla shouted. Her own sword fell into the dust. “Get off.”

Erry still clung to her, biting and clawing at her armor, trying to reach her face. Tilla fell to the ground. Erry fell upon her, scratching and screaming, her eyes wild.

“Fantastic!” Prince Leresy called somewhere in the distance.

“Abyss damn it!” Tilla said.

She lay on her back, Erry atop her. This dockside orphan was perhaps half her size, but fast and wild and strong. With a grunt, Tilla kicked and managed to flip herself over. Now Erry lay on her back, Tilla atop her.

“Damn it, Erry!” Tilla said.

The girl squirmed and screamed below her. Tilla cursed and finally managed to pin her down.

“Get off me!” Erry shouted, face red.

“Calm yourself,” Tilla said. “Stars, Erry, I’m bigger than you and I have you pinned down. Do you yield?”

Erry stopped struggling. She lay still for a moment and scrunched her lips. She looked from side to side, as if deep in thought, and bit her lip. Finally she flashed a toothy grin.

“All right!” she said brightly. “I yield. Good fight. Now get off me, you lumbering mule, before I bite your face off. You’re bloody heavy, you are.”

Tilla grabbed her sword, rose to her feet, and helped Erry up. She then approached Mae, who still lay mewling in the dust, and helped her stand too. Tilla felt pride well up inside her. She raised her chin and thrust out her chest.

I won!
she thought.
I’m flight commander! I’ve only been a soldier for a few days, and I can already command two others.

She turned toward Nairi, expecting to see the officer give her a grudging nod. But Nairi was still glaring, hatred blazing in her eyes. That glare was so strong Tilla took a step back and swallowed.