Chapter 25
The blade sliced the air inches from Wren’s face as she ducked low and spun around, pivoting behind Lorca. She yanked her sword up, just in time as Lorca slammed his sword down. Metal clanged. The force sent her staggering back; she held her ground, barely, her arms burning from the effort. Her gaze flashed up, met Lorca’s burning gaze. Heat rushed through her. She surged up and Lorca staggered back, his balanced knocked. For a split second his grip slackened, his hold wavered. He recovered quickly, steadied himself, grinning back at her.
“You learn quickly,” he said, stepping back, dropping his sword. He swung it idly in circles with one hand, watching her. “You’ve improved.”
She brought her sword up again with both hands, her brow glistening with sweat. As her heart thudded hard in her chest, she forced away the exhaustion gnawing at her mind. They’d been training since before dawn and the sun had already lifted high into the sky, no breaks to dispel the long hours of constant sparring.
“Again.”
His smile slipped. “You need a break.”
“I need to keep training. We’re only two days from the town and the City of Slaves is only a short ride from there.” Her resolve hardened. “I’m not ready. I have to be ready.”
“You will be but not if you drop dead from exhaustion,” he snapped.
She snorted dismissively. “I’m a Climber. Trust me when I say I can keep going.”
He studied her, sceptical. After a pause he nodded reluctantly, torn whether to stand down and walk; or to yield to her and continue training. He brought his sword up and shifted his stance, ready to fight. She shot forward, unleashing a cry. Lorca was ready for her and parried off every blow, forcing her into a dance. A slash and dodge, a sweep of her sword and whilst she felt it coming faster to her, as some part of her always knew how to fight, she still felt like she was falling short. When Lorca spun his blade with his wrist, parrying off a blow, her balance was shattered and she staggered back. Her breath was ragged but she kept her mouth shut, her nostrils flaring with effort to reign in her heart.
There had to be an opening but how to see it? She might be able to hold off his blows, keeping pace with his moves but it felt so defensive. She watched him, saw how he watched her, with just as much intensity. Burning, a gaze hot enough to consume her. Her heart gave a traitorous skittering jump. She swallowed hard, giving thought to what she could do…and then an idea blossomed in her mind.
She raised her sword to him. “Come on, little dragon. This ends when I say it does.”
Fire flashed in his gaze as he dipped his head slightly, his gaze never wavering from hers. “As you wish, my Queen.”
It should’ve sounded mocking…but it didn’t. A cold feeling rushed down her spine, like someone had danced over grave. She blinked and suddenly Lorca was in front of her, swinging his sword. She yanked up her blade just in time, steel colliding, sparks leapt and the dance began anew. Each time he came at her she moved back, the clearing giving way to the trees once more. Her back hit a tree. She spun to the side, his sword swinging above her head and slamming into a tree. Turning sharply, she saw as he tore his sword free and looked at her.
“Don’t like that term, Wren?”
She stared at him. “I’m no one’s Queen.”
He cocked his head to the side, staring at her for a moment; the look faded as he shot forward again. The trees gave her the advantage, letting her dart between them, putting distance between her and Lorca. She darted off, using the shadows and ancient trees with thick trunks to hide her.
“You can’t hide from me, Wren. I’m a Dragonair. I can sense you, hear your heart race,” he called out.
She stopped against a tree, pressing herself against it, flattening her back. With a deep breath she closed her eyes, looking within, searching. In the dark she saw it, the tiny flicker of a flame right at her centre. She reached for it but it shrank from her, like it did lately. It seemed to only want to respond to her half the time, stubborn as all hell. She had to figure it out, however, if only because with magic, a sword and a Dragonair at her side she might have just enough to find her people. Bring them home, save them, like she swore. She reached for the fire again, slowly, keeping herself focused solely on it.
Finally, the flame stopped moving away. She touched it, felt the heat rush through her, rising up. Her eyes opened, widened. Lorca stood in front of her, his sword pressed against her neck, eyes molten. Only one hand held his sword, the other was on her shoulder.
“I have you,” he said quietly, his voice low.
She smiled. “Really? Perhaps you should look again.”
Her gaze fell down to where her flattened palm was pointed at his chest, flames erupting across her skin. She looked up, met his gaze and she winked. Fire surged from her hand, slamming into his chest, sending him flying back through the trees. He struck the tree, falling to the ground, crumpling like a doll. She was still, her heart racing, watching as he moved his hands to side and pushed up. Tried to. His arms buckled.
Horror exploded within Wren. She shot forward, tossing her sword to the side.
“Lorca!” She dropped to his side, rolled him over.
His hand shot up and, in a flash, she was flipped, pinned beneath him. His hands pressed her wrists to the side, straddling her. She stared up at him, her heart slamming, meeting that burning look in his eyes. For a moment, neither of them spoke. She’d always thought he was nice to look at, though sometimes his personality irked her, in this position she was suddenly aware of him. The look in his eyes, the grip on her wrists, like he was almost afraid of letting her up.
She swore he leant in, his mouth inches from hers…and that she leant up a little, as if to meet him.
He blinked and suddenly he was pulling back from her, standing up, dusting himself off. He wasn’t looking at her anymore; rather, it lingered on her sword, carelessly thrown aside. Shadows appeared in his eyes. His jaw tightened.
“Training is over. We need to head back.”
She opened her mouth to argue her but he was striding back to the horses, leaving her breathless and confused, sitting up with her thoughts awry.
What the hell just happened?
It seemed training was done for the day. As Wren got up from her seat, her bowl empty in her hands, she looked at Lorca from across the circle of people where they sat. He was chatting quietly to Omi, engrossed in whatever she had to say, all focus on her. She willed him to look at her but it seemed he wasn’t about to, so she headed off in direction where bowls were being cleaned in tubs of water beside one of the wagons. She jumped in where she saw a gap, helping scrub the bowels and dishes as they came in. As she hoped for Lorca to come with his own bowl but he never did. Some came with several bowls, so she suspected he’d given his to them. Her mood darkened.
“Wren,” said a low familiar voice.
When she turned it was Jed standing before, hands clasped behind his back. He looked almost like a soldier; his clothes betrayed him, however. His brown tunic, whilst free of creases, was a dull colour and his boots well worn.
“Jed,” she said, wiping her hands dry with a clean cloth. “How can I help you?”
“We need to talk about your venture – walk with me?” He stepped aside, gesturing for her to follow; he looked like he’d rather be somewhere else.
She had no idea what she’d ever done to upset him. It seemed like since their first meeting there remained a distance and tension. Not just with Jed but the girl too. Wren had tried to keep her distance, not get too close to anyone in the caravan. She kept her mouth shut about her mission, remained civil but aloof. If any soldiers came to the caravan the good people had the truth with them, if that accounted for anything.
It was all she could give.
After all, Inakara had asked it of them, when they’d first arrived. She knew there would be hell to pay when a large number of slaves was swept away, that there would be a terrible fallout from it. For her aid, she asked Wren and Lorca to keep their distance.
They walked past several tents before Jed finally deigned to speak; whether this was some show of power on his part or simply being reluctant around her, she didn’t know. She considered saying that Lorca had to be present, too, yet the thought of being around him kept her silent. Lorca wanted space, silence, so she’d give it to him.
“A woman will come to the caravan once we’ve reached our final camp, supplying all the papers we’ll need to get into the city. From there, we will all proceed into the city to a safe point. From there, the woman will take you and we will part ways.” He stopped, looking at her until she returned his gaze, steady and cool. “You are asked not to return to the caravan once you enter the city. Inakara asked me herself to deliver this message.”
A message that could’ve been delivered by Inakara herself; the question was, why hadn’t it? Was it a lie spun by Jed in order to remove Wren and Lorca? She wanted to believe that it was a lie, if only for the moment.
“Of course. I could not ask for more, for all aid has been given and it would be shameful to ask for more,” she said with a measured tone. “What is the name of the woman we’re to meet?”
“It was not given,” he said simply; a dark look came over his face and he regarded her with almost a quiet look of contempt. “You really going to walk into that city and free your people?”
“Yes,” she said cautiously.
His lip curled. “Glad to see I was right.”
“Right about what exactly?” She bit back. “Shouldn’t I want to save them?”
He threw his head back, laughed, a hard and bitter sound; after a moment he sobered and looked at her scathingly. “One whom can walk past slaves and do nothing is no better than a slaver.”
She flinched, like he’d punched her right in the gut, tearing the wind from her chest. Shock pulsed through as Jed spun away, striding off, as if he couldn’t get away from her fast enough. She could only watch his retreating figure, feeling sick to her stomach.
The demons that had been haunting her laughed mockingly in her ear.
In the middle of the clearing Wren sat cross legged, her hands together, a small orb of fire hovering between them. She’d started when the sky was still a resplendent blue; now, as the sky gave way to dark, the sun having finished its descent beyond the horizon, she felt her mind finally settle. The whispers had bled away, though the hollow feeling in her chest remained.
She had been vigorously ignoring the matter of the city, of what deep down she knew she’d see. All her focus had to be on her people, whom she had failed so deeply by not whisking them off to the mountains in time. She was terrified of what she knew she’d do when she got to the city, that she’d want to tear down the walls and rip the city apart. Free not just her people but everyone. She had always been one to leap first, that she was quick to sometimes take things on that was beyond her ability. If she took on the fight of the whole empire and failed, it’d destroy her. Then, what if she succeeded to free the city but at the cost of her whole village?
The fire in her hands suddenly spluttered out. She sighed and pressed her palms against the cold earth. Summoning fire was easy for her, terrifyingly easy, yet the mastery of it eluded her. Harder still when, like she was at that moment, her emotions were all over the place. First the incident with Lorca, then him ignoring her, Jed’s outburst.
She dragged in a deep breath then exhaled slowly, pushing herself up to her feet. When she turned around Sorcha emerged from the tree line, astride her horse; the latter smiled and swung down, then led her horse over.
“Thought I’d find you here,” said Sorcha. “Bad day?”
“Certainly not one of my finer ones. I would much prefer to deal with storms and wyverns than this,” replied Wren. “Is everything okay?”
Sorcha dropped the reins and her horse wandered over to Wren’s, beginning to graze.
A shadow passed over Sorcha’s face, like demons were lurking in her mind too. She forced a smile, walked over.
“I have certainly had finer days,” she remarked wryly. “Though my poor days do not exist in the form of a very handsome man or Jed’s ranting.”
Wren winced, her cheeks reddening. “You heard that?”
“You’ll find there is very little that happens in the camp that I don’t know about. I am rather noisy.” Sorcha set a hand on Wren’s shoulder. “Don’t take Jed’s anger personally. He’s an ass but he means well. Its just slavery is a touchy subject for him especially and whenever we’re this close to the City of Slaves his mood darkens.”
As heartening as it ought to have been Wren couldn’t shake off the effect of what Jed said. He was right. If she walked out of that city, somehow, with her people, how was she any better than those whom had whisked her people away?
“Jed would have the whole world fighting to end the current rule of our esteemed Empress, to destroy slavery forever,” said Sorcha casually. “What he has in passion he lacks in tact and timing. Empress Alexandria will be removed from her lofty throne and whilst I imagine Jed will be there in some form it will not be him leading it.”
As she spoke Sorcha sounded far older than she looked. There was a look in her eyes, one that Wren struggled to decipher. If she had to hazard a guess it lay somewhere between determination and unease.
“He was a slave, wasn’t he?” Wren asked.
With a blink Sorcha seemed to return to the mortal realm and looked at Wren, sad. “No but he got close. His whole village, however, wasn’t so lucky. Most were slaughtered but a few survived and they were sold, scattered amongst several cities. We’ve tracked a few of his family but they refuse to leave their masters. That nearly broke him. I guess it made him angry too.”
The thought that maybe her own people would refuse to return appeared in her mind. What if they chose to stay? She thought of returning to her mountains, which she would someday, alone. How that gnawed at her. Then she realised when she saw that image in her mind’s eye, she wasn’t alone, not really. Lorca would be there too. Yet the thought of living out her days with him, given their current tension, left her despondent.
“Lorca almost kissed me,” blurted out Wren.
Sorcha’s mouth form a round shape. “Oh.”
“Yes. It didn’t happen, of course but he has been distant from me since this morning. I tried to seek his attention before but to little result,” said Wren quietly. “It is not as though anything actually happened between us.”
“But you wished it to?”
Wren was silent for a moment. “Perhaps? I scarcely know him.”
“That means little when interest is there,” said Sorcha.
Wren pinned her with a long look. “You are experienced in such things?”
“In certain matters, yes,” she said coyly. “At least your interest is perhaps reciprocated.”
Catching the meaning of her words Wren stared. “Who has your heart?”
Sorcha smiled but it was a sad, lonely smile. “Not mine, I have his, it seems. Jed. He’s been in love with me for years.”
For the first time Wren saw Sorcha in a new light. She was fiercely protected within the caravan but, really, she stood apart. Was it forced upon her, that isolation or self-imposed and, if the latter, why? She didn’t appear to be sad in that she loved Jed too but unable to return it; rather, it seemed like she was heartbroken for knowing that love wouldn’t – or couldn’t – be returned by her.
“And you have never felt that yearning?”
“Not for anyone,” she said wistfully. “I don’t think I’d wish it, though. It seems like an awful lot of pain. Look at how it is for you – a near kiss and you two are at odds.”
She’d wanted that kiss, she realised. What that exactly meant was unknown, for she was reluctant to start picking apart those feelings and how exactly they were to be defined. If it really meant anything at all. She’d wanted to kiss some from her village too, though she’d scarcely been in love with them or any of that nonsense. Like Sorcha, love had never crossed Wren’s path, nor had she felt any consuming need to seek it out.
Her peace lay within those mountains, her soul perfectly settled. Even more so as she’d sometimes hang off with just one hand, looking out at the world stretching before her, breathtaking to look at.
“He’ll have to talk to me eventually,” said Wren. “Then we won’t be at odds anymore.”
Sorcha looked at her sceptically, saying nothing. After a pause, she glanced at the sword that was strapped to Wren’s back, then met Wren’s gaze.
“Spar with me?”
It was Wren’s turn for scepticism. She’d seen magic flow easily from Sorcha’s hand but hadn’t seen her wield a sword. With a cautious nod she reached over and drew her sword out, as light and natural in her hand as ever. Sorcha snapped her fingers, summoning a simple sword to her hands.
“How the hell did you learn all your magic?” Wren asked, biting back her jealousy.
Sorcha gave a coy, wicked smile. “Self-taught. Trust me when I say Omi and Inakara tried very hard to dissuade some of my magic but I like to learn. So far, very little has resisted me but I might be able to show you this sword trick. It’s very easy, especially if you have a connection to your blade.”
Wren examined the simple blade again, noting no distinguishing markers. It looked sharp and well maintained, a deceptively elegant weapon really.
“What’s the connection to yours?” Wren asked, curious more about the blade now. All worries bled away.
Sorcha lifted up her blade and held it horizontal, resting the flat side on her other hand. “They found it on the slave that was with me when I was found as a baby. The slave was dead but she clutched this blade and me, like her life had depended on it. When I got older Omi trained me with it, said it wasn’t right if anyone else touched it. Problem was, by the time she said I was old enough it hadn’t been tended to in some time so I had to work to clean and sharpen it. Now I train whenever I can, though there aren’t many in the caravan whom are any good. I can beat Omi now easily enough but now Lorca and you are here I can train with someone new.”
Wren wondered about Sorcha, how a slave came to be dead on the side of the road with a sword and a baby. It was such a strange story, one full of so many questions but ones no one, it seemed, had any answers for. Except, perhaps, Sorcha, for as she looked at her blade, a dark, almost troubled look came to her eyes.
It was as though she saw her future within the blade itself.
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