The Cadet of Tildor

CHAPTER 20





Renee checked one useless piece of padded armor after another. Panic and disbelief made her hands tremble. Her gaze scoured the room for something she could use. Spare gear. The salle usually housed crates of old, but mostly serviceable, items.

“Where did the common pads go?” she asked, unable to find the stash.

“We moved everything out to the stable,” a junior cadet volunteered in a cheery tone. “To give you more room.”

Alec shot her a questioning look. His eyes widened when he saw the damage. “We run to the stable,” he said, grabbing her arm and pulling her to the door.

They made it halfway to the exit before the bell sounded, ordering everyone to their place. Verin entered the salle and strode to the dais like a king ascending his throne. An elaborate blue and black velvet cloak trailed behind him, basking in its own dignity. Savoy and another Servant whom Renee didn’t know followed at the headmaster’s heels.

Renee lined up with the others in front of the judges and watched in fear while Verin took out a roster and began to call roll. No title but “Cadet” preceded the name of each student, noble or not—another reminder that Servants of the Crown made up a class of their own. When “Cadet Renee de Winter” sounded, she knelt on one knee.

“Did you develop a craving for broken bones, de Winter?” Savoy’s voice cut through the room.

“Equipment failure, sir. May I get spares?”

“Inspecting gear is your responsibility. The battle started—make do with what you brought.”

She met his cold eyes with ice of her own. Verin continued reading roll. Once the entire class knelt in front of the judges, he nodded to Savoy.

“On your feet,” their instructor called, wasting no time on speeches. He ordered two students to the front, and all scrambled to obey.

Renee rubbed her arms for warmth and glared at Tanil.

He smiled, bowing to her. He could not see Alec coming up behind him until the larger boy had his wrist folded in two.

Tanil rose on his toes but wisely kept his mouth shut. A fight would disqualify him alongside Alec. Renee shook her head to prevent further damage for her friend’s sake and forced her balled-up hands to open. Most likely the cadets would be paired by size; she’d deal with the weasel in the ring.

The first bout ended and Savoy called out new names. Renee’s muscles twitched expectantly each time he spoke. During her classmates’ fights, she shivered. Between them, she held her breath. At last Savoy cleared his throat and turned in her direction. Bile bit Renee and she rose to answer the call she knew was coming.

“Cadet Alec Takay,” Savoy said, motioning him to take a spot in mid ring.

Renee sank back down.

She had just pulled herself together enough to congratulate Alec on a clean victory, when her own name sounded across the salle. Cold gripped her face. It was time.

“Fighters enter the Service of the Crown by the sword,” Verin intoned the ritual words for the sixth time that day as Renee and Tanil faced each other across the sand. “The Crown seeks not good fighters; it seeks the best. May your skill prove your worth.”

“Salute!” Savoy called on the heels of the declaration. His voice held the steel of war. “Ready blades!”

Renee brought the practice blade forward, raising the tip to eye level and the bevel at the height of her navel. Across the sand, Tanil did the same.

“Fight!”

They moved, circling each other like hungry animals. He swung first, wild and hard. She blocked the blow before it could shatter her. In her side vision, she saw blue mage light dance around Grovener’s hand. The Healer’s certainty that his services would be needed did nothing to boost her confidence.

Her attack thumped Tanil’s chest-pad but failed to wipe the grin off his face. She was stronger than before, yes—but still not strong enough to hurt him through the pads. Any points she scored would be irrelevant if he disqualified her. As if to underline the thought, a missed parry opened her ribs to a strike. Burning pain shot across her chest. Her breath faltered. Panic returned. She had no options. If she attacked, she left herself vulnerable to crippling strikes. If she stayed defensive and, by miracle, blocked every blow, she’d lose on points.

His blade cracked against her sword arm. It went numb. The blade streaked toward her head next, a full swing of polished wood intent on cracking her skull. Tanil’s nostrils flared with heavy breaths. His fevered eyes glimmered with full intent to follow through with the blow. Her life rested on the parry. She locked weapons shaft to shaft with the boy’s. Her muscles cramped from the strain, and she was forced to kick his middle to win distance. He growled, but she couldn’t spare the energy for a reply.

“How long do we let this continue?” an unfamiliar voice asked.

“Until she gives up,” Verin answered, with no hint of emotion.

Savoy said nothing.

No, she wasn’t quitting. And she wasn’t dying. But what was she doing? Sweat dripped from her hair and stung her eyes. Blinded, she reached up to wipe them, and Tanil rapped her bruised triceps. She muffled a cry and sidestepped the next attack. She shook out her arm. It wasn’t broken, she realized. It wasn’t disabled. It stung. Nothing more, nothing less.

“You don’t hit hard,” she said, surprising herself with the sincerity of the statement. She survived Savoy’s blows. Tanil’s were unworthy of the comparison. All she really needed to do was protect her head and move. What did it matter that the boys preferred to break bones and sever heads, when a nick of the artery like Savoy had taught her killed just as well? The realization rushed through her like a sharp wave clearing debris from a dammed stream. She didn’t need to prove herself as good as the boys. She needed to prove she could kill them.

Renee relaxed her muscles. Tanil thought he’d beat her into submission? Well, he was welcome to his delusions. Exhaling, Renee switched her grip to that of her morning exercises. Her sword flowed around the boy’s blade, carving soft lines across his wrists and chest. Tanil’s increasingly frantic movements voiced his bewilderment. She fed off his desperation and grew calmer, surer with each of his wild strikes. It’s a sword, not a tree trunk, oaf. Her tip gently sliced his neck.

“Gods,” someone muttered. “She’s killed him five times over.”

“No,” Savoy replied, and raised his voice. “Quit fooling around and finish it, de Winter.”

What more did he want? Renee swallowed. In front of her, Tanil cocked his sword and swung. She pivoted from his blade’s grandiose arc and waited, letting him lose his own balance. Now she danced inside. With another pivot she circled to his back and, from behind, laid her sword across his windpipe. She felt her blade press into the delicate cartilage and knew with sickening certainty that should she pull, her dull wood would crush it forever, like an egg.

“Stop.” His whisper came fast and desperate. “I yield.”

She lowered her blade and shoved him away to face the judges, to whom he had to declare his intention.

“Sirs.” He took a breath, his blade lowering to the ground. “I—” He spun, bringing his blade around to crack Renee’s unprotected head.

The sounds of the world dimmed and returned. She swayed on her feet. Something wet trickled down into her collar.

“Sirs, I claim victory,” said Tanil’s voice.

“No yield.” Renee heard her own voice reply. Her arms brought up her sword and she hoped they knew what to do with it.

“The cadet may not continue,” said Healer Grovener.

Blue mage flame touched her shoulder and Cadet Renee de Winter was disqualified.