Wren made her way down to the training yard while the eastern sky was only just beginning to lighten into a shade of pale, luminescent blue, rather than star-spangled black. She gnawed on a hunk of day old bread, taken from the kitchen of High Hall, and a slice of sharp, hard cheese. She had a wineskin full of chicken blood, as well, purchased from the butcher the evening before, once they’d gotten Liv into bed.
Jurian was waiting for her in the middle of the training yard, swinging his staff about in a series of practiced, precise movements. He stopped when she stepped out onto the packed earth. “The bodyguard,” he said. “Good morning, Wren. Decided I might be able to teach you something, after all?”
“No,” she said, once she’d swallowed the last of the bread. “I wanted to tell you about something I saw in the city. Liv was going to, but she was exhausted last night, and hardly thinking clearly.”
“A broken arm will do that,” Jurian said. “We’ll talk while we fight, then. There’s blunted practice knives over in the chests, there.”
“Fine.” Wren took a swig of blood from her wineskin, recorked it and set it down on the nearest wooden bench. She dug two daggers out of the first chest of practice weapons. They weren’t as nice as hers, of course, and the balance wasn’t what she was used to, but they would do. To describe them as ‘blunted’ was a misnomer: the mock steel blades looked like they’d never held an edge in the first place.
“I saw a crew of armed men sneaking off a ship the night before last,” Wren said, “into an old warehouse. Swords, helms, shields, armor.” She raised her hands in front of her, a dagger clasped in each. The right dagger, she held ready to stab, pointed downward from her clenched fist. The left, she held with the blade flat against the outer edge of her forearm, for blocking.
“There are plenty of armed men in town,” Jurian said, but she noticed that his brows were furrowed. “Merchants hire them all the time, to guard warehouses, or when a king tide comes.” Without warning, he swung the butt of his staff up toward Wren in a rising strike aimed to take her in the gut.
A woman with less experience might have tried to back out of range, but Wren knew that she needed to be in close, to counter Jurian’s advantage in reach. She blocked with her left arm, taking the impact on the braced steel of the dagger blade, and stabbed at Jurian’s chest with her right dagger. The other end of his staff came around quick as a snake, and she had to duck to keep it from taking her head off.
“I thought we were practicing!” Wren exclaimed, back-pedalling in spite of herself.
Jurian simply smiled, and fell back into his ready stance. “We are. But you aren’t taking it seriously.”
“As seriously as you're taking the men on the docks?” Wren shot back. She lunged forward, feinting with her right dagger and then stabbing with her left. Jurian’s block left him open, just as she’d planned, but her blunted blade skidded off a pane of shining blue magic, the size of a man’s palm, that lasted just long enough to turn her attack aside. The man had never even spoken a word aloud.
“I’ll speak to the archmagus about it,” Jurian promised. “And if you can tell me which warehouse, I’ll ask Professor Every to pull the property records, and see who owns it. Even better if you can get me the name of the ship, as well. Just because I can think of a dozen legitimate reasons for those men to be there, doesn’t mean I’ll leave something to chance and risk it becoming a problem. Now, enough playing. I told you that I wanted you to take this seriously.”
“I am-” Wren broke off, and couldn’t help but feel her eyes widen at the sight of a blade of shining blue magic extending from the top of Jurian’s staff.
“You’re not,” the professor said. “You haven’t even started to show me what a great bat of the jungle can do, Wren Wind Dancer of the Red Shield Tribe. Show me why children still cry in their beds at the stories of your people! Stop holding back!” He feinted a thrust, then swung the blade directly at her head as soon as Wren was off balance. Her arm was out of position, but in the barest fraction of a moment before the blow landed, Wren could tell the professor wouldn’t pull his strike.
She called on the fresh blood inside her, and transmuted her entire body: not into bat form, but stopping halfway. The blue blade swung through a glistening, viscous mass of blood, sending a spray out the other side, and Wren reverted back to her human semblance. “You know what I am.”
“I’ve been to Varuna,” Jurian said, spinning the staff back into position. “Thirty years ago, now, but I’ve always had a good memory for faces. How’s Taika, at the Dancing Lady?”
“Well enough, the last time I saw her.” Wren studied the man in front of her, trying to imagine his hair without the white in it, his face unlined. It took longer than she’d have preferred, but a memory finally stirred. “You were part of the group that went to Godsgrave, weren’t you?”
Jurian nodded. “So you do remember.”
“I thought you were a pack of young idiots,” she said. “Half drunk and boasting about what you were going to do.”
“You were right,” Jurian admitted. “We were. And most of us didn’t come back. I also know what you did at Whitehill.”
“Did Liv tell you?” Wren asked. She took the moment of conversation to see whether she could catch him off guard, and lunged forward, swinging with both knives in succession.
“Grenfell,” Jurian grunted, “the last time I was there.” His staff was everywhere, turning aside her stabs, threatening with the magical blade. What he didn’t block with the weapon, those small panes of blue light stopped from ever touching his body.
“This is my sentence,” Wren snarled, dropping low and spinning her leg out in an attempt to sweep Jurian off his feet. He leapt over her attack, but now he was panting, tiring, slowing down. Age had not been kind to him. “The Duchess’ judgement.”
“I’m not throwing you in a cell,” Jurian gasped. He threw a palm forward, and half a dozen shards of hard blue light flew out at her. Wren collapsed into blood and let them pass through her, then reformed on the wind and shot up into the sky. When she came back down, it was with a dagger in each hand, but a square of magic six feet on each side caught her, angled so that she slid down it and tumbled off before she could get to the mage.
“What do you want, then?” Wren said, rolling into a crouch and bringing her daggers back up.
“I want you to be good enough to keep her safe.” Jurian planted the butt of his staff in the ground and leaned on it, trying to catch his breath. The blue blade at the top of his weapon faded from existence.
“Why do you care?” Wren asked him. When she was certain that no attack was coming, she straightened, walked over to the chest of practice weapons, and threw the blunted daggers in.
“Because she’s the most talented student I’ve seen walk into this college,” Jurian said. Wincing, he made his way over to the stands, where he picked up a wine flask. Not hers, Wren saw; he must have brought his own. “Because she’s a diplomatic incident waiting to happen, and we can’t afford war with the Eld. But mostly because I remember how frightened she was when I first met her, and how lonely.”
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
Wren scooped up her own flask, and took a drink of blood. She was going to have to clean her mouth out thoroughly before being seen in public: blood had a way of stinking up your breath. “Do something about that boy who broke her arm, then,” she told the man.
“I’ve done what I can,” Jurian said, sitting down with a groan. “The rest is up to Archmagus Loredan.”
“Maybe I should have just slit his throat,” Wren grumbled.
“A body would force me to ask questions,” Jurian told her. “Don’t force me to ask questions.”
Wren blinked. “Are you giving me permission to rough him up?”
“I’m not giving you permission to do anything,” Jurian said. “I’m only saying that I won’t ask questions if there isn’t a reason to. Now, go get yourself some real breakfast. Your charge will be here to fight again soon enough.”
“Tomorrow, then?” Wren asked.
“Tomorrow.” Jurian nodded, and Wren headed back up the hill to the central courtyard.
☙
Wren found Cade among the boys leaving High Hall after their breakfast. Notably, she did not see Merek Sherard anywhere, but she was certain that wouldn’t be a problem. Wren was a hunter: sooner or later, she always found her prey.
“Did Liv send you to find me?” Cade asked, hanging back from the crowd to speak with her. The other halls were emptying of students as well, all joining into a jostling, noisy mass on its way down the road to the training yard.
“Haven’t seen her all morning,” Wren said. “I came on my own.”
“I would have thought that a bodyguard would keep a closer eye on her,” Cade said, narrowing his eyes. “Especially after what happened yesterday.”
“I needed to take care of a few things without her,” Wren said. “One of which is this. What’s your plan, lover boy?”
“I don’t owe you anything,” Cade said, and made to brush past her, but Wren had a dagger out before he could. “You like those blades a little too much,” he grumbled. “You’re going to get yourself in trouble. I’m willing to overlook the first time, because you didn’t know me; but if you come at me again, I will defend myself. I’d prefer not to do that, because I don’t think it would make Liv very happy.”
Wren twirled the dagger in her hand. “Then indulge me. What are you after? Political advantage - want to tie her down and use her? Isn’t that how all you Lucanian nobles work?”
“Is it so hard to believe that I actually like her?” Cade demanded. “Did she tell you how we met?”
“No.” Wren shook her head.
“Put the rusted dagger away, walk down with me, and I’ll tell you, then,” Cade said. With a huff, Wren slid her hunting knife back into its sheath, and they set off down the hill after the rest of the students.
“My home hasn’t been a warm one for a very long time,” Cade said. “My mother died in childbirth when I was young, and my father is… not a pleasant man. I used to find every excuse I could to get away from him. We were in Freeport for the great council, and I heard the house a few places down from us was occupied, for the first time I could remember. I went down to the beach and walked over out of curiosity, and I saw the most beautiful girl I could imagine. Have you ever seen someone, and felt like you’d just taken a crossbow bolt through the chest?”
Wren shrugged. “Maybe once.” Definitely once, but it was a long time ago, and he didn’t need to hear about it. That hadn’t worked out well, anyway.
“The wind off the ocean had caught her hair,” Cade said, his voice softening. “Tossed it out all around her. She was just a slip of a thing, pale as the moon, barefoot in the sand and staring out at the ocean as if she’d never seen it before.”
“And that was it, was it?” Wren pushed.
“I could hardly even get the words out to introduce myself,” Cade said, with a smile. “When I took her hand - it was like holding a bird. So delicate.” He shrugged. “You asked what I want? I want her as my wife. I want to protect her.”
Wren stopped walking; they were nearly at the training yard, which was now filling up with people. She could see Liv, sitting on one of the low benches, with the professor of healing examining her arm.
“Protect her then,” Wren said. “Until I get back.”
“What are you doing?” Cade asked, with a frown.
“Nothing that will give anyone a reason to ask questions.” Wren turned and strode back up the bluff.
☙
When Wren found Merek Sherard, he was in the laundry room, stirring a great, steaming cauldron full of water, soap and cloth with a great staff. The entire place stunk of lye, mildew, and – she wrinkled her nose. Human waste.
“Just put them in the pile,” the blonde boy grumbled, without even looking up. “I’ll get to it when this load is done.”
“I’m not here about the laundry.” Wren planted herself across from him.
“The bodyguard.” Sherard raised his eyes, and recognized her immediately. “Come on your mistress’ behalf, have you? I presume she’s enjoying my humiliation.”
“No, I don’t think she even knows you’re here,” Wren said. “And if this is what the Archmage has decided to do with you, I think he’s too soft by half. I’m here to give you a warning.”
“What’s that, then?” Sherard sneered. “The Eldish bitch is going to send her father after me? Or is it the bastard duchess?”
“I’ve got no control over what she does or doesn’t do,” Wren said. “I’m here to tell you what I’ll do. If you give her any more trouble, anything at all, you’re going to wake up one night when I cut your balls off with this.” She drew one of her knives, held it up where he could see, and twirled it around to make certain he got the point.
“I’m the king’s great nephew,” Merek said. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“I don’t give a shit whose nephew you are,” Wren told him. “Liv might. She’s also nicer than I am. But I won’t ask her permission, first. I’ll just do it. And your uncle can do whatever he wants, you’ll still be short one set of balls. I don’t think there’s much healing magic can do about that.”
“I don’t respond well to threats,” the blonde boy said.
“Can’t control what you do, either,” Wren said. “Only tell you what the consequences will be. Stay away from her.” With that, she spun on her heel and headed back down to the training ground. After all, she wanted to see Liv beat the snot out of a few young mages.
She could hear the shouts and cheers as she approached; it had taken longer to find the boy than she’d intended, and Wren hoped that she hadn’t missed Liv’s first duel. She shouldered her way through the crowd. Not only every student on the campus was present, she suspected, but also any servant who could get away from their duties, and by the look of it no few people from the town, as well.
Finally, Wren managed to squeeze her way to the section of benches where Liv’s friends were sitting. She dropped herself down next to Cade just as Liv was setting her back to a tall boy, out in the center of the yard.
“Took care of what you needed to?” the dark-haired boy asked, without taking his eyes from the girl with the bone wand gripped in her hand.
“Just a small errand,” Wren said. “Took longer than I thought it would, but I’m here now. Who’s she fighting?”
“Anson Fane,” the girl who wore a set of spectacles over her eyes answered. Sidonie, Wren was pretty certain.
“What’s his magic, then?”
“Vefta,” Sidonie said. “To accelerate.”
“To what?” Wren frowned.
“Speed up. Look, here they go!” Sidonie pointed, and Wren saw the circle of blue light flare to life around the two duelists. The boy held a rapier in his hand, but instead of falling into a guard that Wren recognized, he looked like a runner ready to spring.
At Jurian’s word, the boy blurred into motion. Wren’s eyes couldn’t track him, and she had no idea how anyone would be able to fight someone moving so fast. What good would a few daggers do against that? Her own best option would be to fly away, she figured, rather than stand and fight.
But Liv had acted at the professor’s word, as well.
A sphere of solid ice surrounded her, and the boy - Fane - bounced off it with a cry of pain. “You’ve got to come out of there sooner or later,” he shouted, getting back to his feet. “Or it's a draw!”
Crystals of ice exploded out from the sphere, shooting up and multiplying, as if they were living things, in a wave of motion that extended out in all directions. Fane blurred away from it, then fell to the ground again, clutching his boot and screaming.
Wren squinted her eyes, looking at the bare earth inside the circle. It seemed to – sparkle. Tiny shards of ice, formed into caltrops, glittered wickedly, spread across the entire surface of the dueling ring.
With his boot soaked in blood, caltrops all around him, and the tide of crystals advancing, Anson Fane howled out his surrender. A moment later, the globe of ice around Liv melted, along with all the crystals. With not a hair out of place, the girl walked off the field, crossing paths with Professor Annora on her way to the wounded boy.