The Cadet of Tildor

CHAPTER 44





Claire shrieked. Dropping her sword, Renee lunged forward to catch the falling child. The girl’s weight caught her shoulder, sending them both to the ground. Renee twisted in the air to put herself at the bottom of the falling heap and felt her charge bounce against her as the stone struck her back.

Grunting, she rolled to her feet. The little girl sobbed but pulled against her binds. Alive. Renee turned, steeling herself to see Jasper pierced with his mother’s blade. But, he wasn’t. Savoy rose from atop Jasper—he had pushed the boy clear. The Madam’s knife, intended for her son’s heart, skittered harmlessly across the floor. Above them, the trapdoor in the ceiling banged closed, its edges glimmering with sparks of blue flame.

The Madam was gone.

Fisker grunted in frustration.

Renee retrieved her sword and slid it into its sheath before untying the small hostage. Once free, Claire scrambled across the floor and curled up in a corner, tear-streaked face hidden inside her arms. The face of another girl flinching in fear floated in Renee’s mind. This could have been Sasha. Almost was. Bloody gods. It almost was.

Savoy’s foot caught Jasper’s side and rolled the boy over like a log. “What did you do to the child?”

“Nothing.” His voice trembled. “I swear. I did nothing.”

Savoy looked down at the boy. The commander’s nostrils flared. A shadow darkened his face. And then he twitched, as if something only he saw unfolded before him. Something that had nothing to do with a sobbing toddler.

“Commander?” Renee called out.

Savoy showed no sign of having heard her. Bending, he gripped Jasper’s throat and hauled the mage boy to his feet.

Jasper gasped and struggled against the grip, like a kitten twisting for freedom.

“Can’t concentrate in pain, can you, mage?” said Savoy. The cold hatred in his voice chilled Renee.

“Savoy.” She forced her voice steady, afraid to nudge a stone balancing on a cliff’s edge. Savoy could kill Jasper. Would kill him if given a hair more cause. “Release him. Please. It’s over.”

Savoy’s muscles bunched beneath taut skin and Jasper’s eyes shot open. The gurgles ceased.

Claire shrank deeper into her corner.

“He’s fifteen,” whispered Renee. “He’s scared and he’s hurt.”

Savoy’s jaw tightened.

Renee stepped closer. She laid her hand on Savoy’s forearm and felt it tremble. “You saved his life minutes ago. Don’t take it now.”

Savoy’s face twitched. He loosened his hold, letting the boy slide to the ground.

Jasper gasped for air, rubbing his neck and staring at the floor.

“Begging your pardon, Commander.” Fisker stood beside the waist-high step from which Renee had fallen into the room. He ran his hand along its edge and frowned. “There is something amiss here. Do you still have the amulet?”

“There is no mage work there.” Jasper’s voice trembled.

Renee rubbed her temple. The boy would do well to keep from attracting Savoy’s attention.

Savoy turned the point of his sword on Jasper. “Horse shit. What’s in that step, mage?”

Jasper scampered back, the seat of his pants rubbing the floor. “Nothing. I swear, Cat. Nothing.”

Savoy looked from the boy to the guardsman. Jasper was shaking his head like a wet dog while Fisker held up his hand, ready to catch the stone. Savoy tossed the amulet to Fisker.

A triumphant smile touched the guard’s face. The back of Renee’s neck tightened. She cried out a warning, but the guardsman had already turned and pointed the amulet at Savoy. The wristbands came alive at the amulet’s order, twisting Savoy’s wrists behind his head and pulling him to the metal ladder.

Fisker drew his sword. “Even more useful than I imagined.” He pocketed the amulet and turned toward the restrained Savoy.

“What are you doing?” Drawing her sword, Renee barred his way. A drop of sweat escaped her matted hair and stung her eye. She scrubbed her arm roughly across her forehead. Her heart sped.

“You know what he is.” Fisker’s face was dark, his lips set in a sneer. His shadow fell over her. “Did you not see the charcoaled bodies of those in the arena who died to buy him a few minutes of distraction? He is a corruption that poisons the Crown’s blood. He and his kind always have been.”

Renee adjusted her stance. The top of her head just reached the guardsman’s shoulder. “The Family started that fire,” she said, weighing Fisker with her gaze. She could do this, she’d dealt with large men before. “Commander Savoy knows nothing of his relation.”

“His ignorance of his uncle does not change it. People died regardless. They will continue dying unless I cut him down. Him, and then the rest of his vile bloodline.” The four fingers of Fisker’s free hand flexed. “Step aside, girl.”

Behind Renee, Savoy growled. “What bloody uncle?”

“Savoy is a Servant of the Crown.” Renee moved across the floor, circling Fisker. “Do you put your judgment above King Lysian’s?”

Fisker barked a laugh and rotated slowly to keep Renee in sight. “King Lysian wore swaddle cloths when I took up the sword.” He jerked his chin at Savoy. “I watched this disease grow, saw as his Family connections bought him escape from justice. But you want proof of your own, girl? Look at his deeds today, choosing to save a Viper boy over capturing the Madam herself.” He shook his head and held up his mangled hand. “I know the gods’ truth just as I know they chose me to correct their error.”

Renee gave up reasoning with a madman and tightened her grip on her sword. She slid toward Fisker, searching for an opening.

Fisker took the first move, slashing at her neck. Renee stepped in and parried the attack, her arm numb from the force of the impact. Had she moved a hair slower, he would have shattered her defenses. She took a breath to steady herself.

“He swings his blade like a club,” Savoy said behind her, a calm confirmation to her own conclusion. “Play—”

“A different game,” Renee finished for him.

Fisker slashed with wild fury and no pause, forcing Renee to dance from side to side to avoid getting cleaved in two. The strikes were crude but powerful. Very powerful. Fisker had decided to kill her.

Renee slid right to avoid another attack. She waited until the man’s blade whistled through the air, and closed in, crowding him. His greater reach turned to disadvantage in close quarters. Renee’s blade nicked his arm.

Blood dripped through Fisker’s sleeve. His eyes flashed and he growled like a bear whose wound stirred more rage than pain. Cocking his foot, Fisker kicked Renee. The heavy boot sank into her abdomen. She couldn’t breathe. She stumbled backward and lost her balance. Gasping, Renee rolled as she fell, racing to avoid the point of his blade. She got her legs under her just as Fisker’s sword struck. It hit the floor where she had fallen a heartbeat earlier. Shifting her weight to her arms, Renee spun with her leg outstretched, sweeping Fisker’s ankles out from under him.

Fisker toppled backward. Swinging his sword in savage arcs, he took several seconds to re-settle into a fighting stance. It was unfair that he could buy himself time for composure and Renee could not, but it was what it was. Fair was for the training salle.

Renee’s heart sped, feeding on her fear. Breaths chased each other in her chest. Another moment and she would be fighting herself as well as Fisker. To calm herself, she lunged in with a combination Savoy favored in their morning drills. Fisker danced from parry to parry, too busy fighting her off to offer an assault, and losing wind with each motion.

The momentum was hers. Renee’s hand tightened on the hilt, the tip of the sword aiming into his gut. Savoy shouted a warning but the words drowned in the hum. Renee drew a calming breath and let herself feel the rhythm of the fight. The rhythm she was setting. Her grip softened, giving her arm the freedom to adjust in mid motion. The guardsman may have started the bout, but now it belonged to her.

In her mind, she was fighting on the sands of a salle. Finesse returned to her fingers, her breath supporting her moves. The lives hanging on the outcome of the match faded from thought. This was about the song of attacks and parries, the conversation of the blades that was meaningful in itself.

The lunge at Fisker’s gut changed in mid-motion. Her wrist bent, tipping the blade up. The steel shaft of her sword sparkled with reflected light and pierced her target under the jaw. Blood bubbled from the wound. Renee watched it without understanding.

A sharp pain erupted above her elbow and she jerked away. Fisker’s sword slid free of her arm and clattered to the ground. The guardsman followed his weapon. The fight had ended with both partners hitting their mark. His heavier strike pierced her muscle clear through; her gentle one went little deeper than the skin of his neck, severing the artery that pulsed there.

Renee cleaned then sheathed her blade, while in the corner, the little girl who would prevent a war stuck her thumb into her mouth.