The Dark Throne (41 page)

“The beasts that feed on it are afraid of us,” said Luca in quiet satisfaction. “They shrink from the borders of our camp because they know we will kill them as we killed the dragon.”

I nodded and then turned my attention back to the little oasis blooming on the crest of the hill. “Strange, that such a beautiful little tree grows within sight of such ugliness.”

“Death is ugly, but there is no malice in death itself. Once a beast is dead, it returns to the earth. Though the dragon was evil, its flesh shall feed this tree.” Luca smiled.

“There’s a sort of poetic justice there, I guess.” I considered the carcass. “It’s not poisonous? The dragon’s flesh.”

“Its blood was hot enough to burn while it lived, and it thirsted to maim and devour, but it is made of flesh just like you and me…though that is not true of all the Dark creatures.”

“That’s what I was getting at,” I said, thinking darkly of the sorcerer at the bridge. I stretched my calves, pressing my heel into the dirt and leaning forward. “Ready to head back?”

In answer, Luca sprang back into his long-legged stride, and I leapt to catch up. We completed our circuit of camp under the same slightly amused gazes of the other sentries, arriving back at the practice rings pleasurably warm and sweating lightly. Farin returned to our practice ring from where she’d been observing another pair sparring, but when she realized that Luca intended to teach me striking and grappling, she courteously excused herself and went back to the other practice session, where she gave advice and corrections during each break in action. The two Sidhe listened to her intently, and she circled their ring with an air of authority that outmatched her small frame. I smiled and then focused all my attention on Luca’s lesson. He started with the basics, holding his hands out for me to punch, and I closed my teeth on the protest that I
knew
how to punch. The
ulfdrengr
began learning to fight as children, before they even learned to walk, so I industriously performed every task Luca set before me, determined to learn as much as I could from him. We spent the better part of an hour on the variations of a punch, and by the end of that time I realized that I’d
thought
I knew how to punch, and even a whole semester of boxing at school hadn’t taught me as much as Luca in an hour. Luca patiently adjusted my stance and minute aspects of the way my fist hit his hand, how my hips and shoulders rotated, the angle at which I held my forearm relative to my target—no detail was too small to escape his attention, and every correction found me eking a bit more power out of my body.

“You’re not getting much practice,” I pointed out as we took a short break, my knuckles stinging as I grabbed my water-skin. My hands ached vaguely but the scars on my palms were surprisingly supple. I silently thanked Calliea for ensuring that I kept applying salve to the healing skin.

“Teaching is practice,” he replied. “It tests your knowledge and your understanding of the movements. There’s no better way to preserve skill than teaching.”

I made a thoughtful sound as I gulped down a few mouthfuls of water. “All right, what’s next?”

“Let me see your hands.” He examined my obediently extended hands with professional detachment, fingertips grazing my tender knuckles lightly. “Enough striking for this morning. Let’s do some ground-work.”

By the end of the next hour, we were covered in dust and sweat, and I was exhilarated. Learning to fight with a blade had been fascinating, but this was another level of fighting that sparked my imagination. It wasn’t merely fighting with a blade or an arrow, it was using my entire body as a weapon, and I found I liked the feeling. By the time we took our next break, the practice rings around us had filled, and there were a few warriors warming up while they waited for a ring to clear.

“Shall we finish up with some traditional sparring?” I asked, pushing an errant strand of sweat-dampened hair behind my ear. In reply, Luca went over to our weapons, unsheathed his sword and tossed me my bare blade. We took up our stances, but this sparring session didn’t have the urgency of the day before. I understood that this was truly a practice session, and tried some complex moves that I’d seen others execute, meeting with limited success. We ended with a series of blocking drills. Finally Luca nodded, and we gathered our weapons.

“That felt good,” I said, settling the Caedbranr along my spine.

“It’ll be more of the same tomorrow morning,” Luca replied, “but remember what we went over today. I don’t want to repeat myself.”

“No mistakes. Noted,” I said drily.

Luca chuckled and shook his head as we made our way over to the archery lines. “There’s a difference between making an honest mistake and being careless. Being careless means you aren’t focused, and sloppiness leads to death on the battlefield.”

I nodded soberly. “Avoiding that is kind of the end goal here.”

We each shot a quiver of arrows in companionable, focused silence and then turned back toward camp. The ring of metal striking metal greeted us as we neared the forge. But this time, Chael wasn’t wielding the hammer; he stood to one side and watched as Thea struck the metal, lithe muscles standing out in her bare arms. She paused, and he moved forward to critique her work, examining the blade and speaking quietly as she listened intently. I didn’t think either of them saw us as we passed, but Luca gave a nod in the forge’s direction nonetheless.

Farin resumed her post on my shoulder as we gathered the noon meal from the table—it was much the same as breakfast, but I was too hungry to care. I listened with a smile as the Glasidhe regaled me with tales of her morning teaching young Sidhe to wield blades more dangerously. I used the time in the afternoon to take inventory of my supplies, seeking out Calliea to replenish my stock of herbs in my healing kit.

“Have you made your decision yet?” she asked, raising one eyebrow as she repacked her own satchel from the morning’s shift in the ward. We stood at a supply table tucked in a quiet corner in the back of the huge tent.

“About what?” I replied distractedly. “Do you have any lady’s veil? I can’t seem to find it…”

“Here. We powder it rather than just dry it,” she explained, holding up a vial filled with pale powder. “And you know what I mean.”

“Is it more effective powdered or just more convenient to store?” I uncorked the vial and tipped half the powder into one of my own small containers.

“Stop avoiding the question.”

“I’m not avoiding the question, I’m just trying to understand some of the finer points of Seelie healing,” I retorted. “And no, I haven’t made a decision. I just assumed I’d be going with the western patrol.”

“Finnead’s patrol,” said Calliea triumphantly.

“Your patrol too,” I pointed out. “Maybe I just want to travel with you.”

Calliea gave a snort. “Other people may believe that, but don’t try to fool
me
.”

I shrugged. “Believe what you will.”

“Don’t be a spoilsport, Tess,” Calliea said, something of a purr in her voice. She suddenly reminded me of Gray, and I eyed her suspiciously.

“Are you going to go train with the Valkyrie?” I asked, both of us fully aware that I was changing the subject.

“Yes. Afternoon training sessions until we leave.”

“Have you decided what you’re going to do with the mounts with injured riders?”

“Leave them here,” Calliea answered promptly in a quiet voice. She paused in her selection of supplies. “It seems to help them, knowing their mounts are here. The injured riders, I mean. If you haven’t noticed, those three
faehal
spend most of their time near this tent.”

“I’m sure that the moment they’re able, those riders will be out spending time with them.”

Calliea nodded. “I can’t sacrifice that bond just to gain three more warriors for this mission.”

I smiled. Calliea looked at me, perplexed.

“I fail to see what’s amusing about that,” she said tightly.

“It’s not amusing at all. I just was thinking that Vell made a very good choice when she made you commander of the Valkyrie.”

“Oh.” Calliea blinked at my compliment, and turned back to gathering herbs, her heart-shaped face thoughtful.

Just before dusk, I walked to the Queen’s tent. Beryk sat just outside the tent, a sable sentinel. He ruined his dignified air by jumping up to put his forepaws on my shoulder, swiping his sandpaper tongue over my chin. I laughed and roughed his ears with my hands, then teasingly wrestled with him, shifting our weight in one direction and the other until he huffed and knocked me playfully to the ground, grinning as he stood over me.

“You win, fur-face,” I told him, smiling as I brushed the dirt from my legs. He shook himself thoroughly, raising a small cloud of dust, and resumed his statuesque pose. I chuckled and walked into Vell’s tent. The wing and vanguard commanders were already gathered about the table: Finnead and Luca, and the third vanguard commander, a white-fair Seelie woman with fierce eyes introduced to me as Elwyn. Identical twins, both clad in dark leather breastplates, stood behind Calliea. I tried to place the familiarity of the twins’ faces, attempting to study their looks without being too obvious, but the one standing to the left of Calliea caught me and smiled.

“We’re Maeve’s daughters,” she said, as if that explained everything.

“Took to cleaving flesh from bone better than stitching it back together,” said her twin from the other side of Calliea, raising one eyebrow puckishly. “Though our dear mother has a reputation with a spear, we are much more well versed in the killing arts.”

“Tess, this is Niamh, and this is Maire,” said Calliea.

“You got it backwards,” the one Calliea had named as Niamh said accusingly. “
I’m
Maire, and
that’s
Niamh.”

Calliea sighed. “This is my punishment for choosing you as my other wing commanders.”

“You chose us because we are simply peerless at killing things while airborne,” said the twin that Calliea had named as Maire with a predatory grin. She tossed her braided hair over one shoulder. “And we were just joking. You had it right the first time.”

“At least there will only be one of you to each wing when we set out,” Calliea said, turning back to the chart. I wondered what Farin would make of these impish Sidhe twins, and tucked the thought into the back of my mind before it made me laugh aloud.

A wintry breeze curled through the tent and the idle talk about the table trailed into silence. Vell swept through the entrance, clad in a simple shirt and trousers but still unmistakably regal. Finnead and Calliea repeated their introductions. Maire and Niamh bowed their heads respectfully to the Queen, their serious expressions stark contrast to just moments before. Vell studied them, her golden gaze thoughtful.

“You have not been blood-baptized yet,” she said to the twins. “Elwyn is among the Firstscore, but you two are not
vyldgard
.”

“Not yet, gods willing, my queen,” replied Maire.

“We shall earn our baptism in the coming weeks,” said Niamh with a quiet ferocity.

Vell smiled and nodded at them. “Fight well and I have no doubt that shall be the case.” Then she turned her eyes to the rest of the table. “Now, what have you discovered during your preparations? What problems require my attention?”

The discussion lasted long after darkness fell. After reviewing the three routes, Vell quizzed each vanguard and wing commander on the composition of their unit, and the strengths and weaknesses of each warrior. On that last point, she remained dissatisfied.

“We will hold drills with our wings tomorrow,” said Calliea, “and we will correct the inadequacy, my queen.”

“The vanguards will do the same,” said Finnead, blue eyes inscrutable. “We will not fail to meet your expectations again.”

Vell said nothing, staring down at the map. Finally she straightened. “You must all understand that with such a small fighting force, it is imperative to know the details of each warrior’s fighting style. You must know your men and women so well that to think of them is as to think of yourself.”

The wing and vanguard commanders nodded, and I found myself nodding along with them.

“Yesterday I said three days,” continued Vell. “If I am satisfied with your preparation tomorrow evening, you will leave the following morning.”

I saw the glimmer of a grin from Niamh and Maire.

“Unless there are any questions, I believe that will be enough for tonight.” The High Queen gave a nod of dismissal. Before I could follow the others, she said, “Tess, a word, if you would.”

When all the others had left, even Finnead and Luca, Vell sighed and threw herself down onto a pile of furs, casting off her mantle of High Queen just as surely as throwing off a cloak. She pinched the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger. “Gods, but sometimes I can’t stand to hear myself.”

Without waiting for an invitation, I took a seat next to Vell on the furs, stretching my legs out in front of me. “Is it like there’s something speaking through you? I’ve had that sometimes, with the Sword. Like all the Bearers before me using me as a mouthpiece.”

“There hasn’t
been
a High Queen before, so no, it’s not really like that,” replied Vell tiredly, a hint of irritation in her words. “It’s more like…it’s more like being bound up in a damn corset. When I’m doing my duties as queen, the power…
compresses
me.”

“When have you ever worn wear a corset?” I asked curiously.

“Never mind that,” she snapped. Then she sighed again. “Sorry. I’m not mad at you.”

“I know,” I replied, surprising myself with the serenity in my voice.

“I don’t regret being crowned,” said Vell quietly. “Not that it would do a lick of good if I did. But sometimes I wonder why…why being
herravaldyr
wasn’t enough.
Herravaldyr
and
volta,
to tell the truth, though I thought my father’s blood was stronger than my mother’s until after they were dead. I wonder why I had to inherit this.”

I shrugged. “I don’t have the answer to that.”