Shadowguard

Twelfth of Leaffell, Year 1413 AGC

“You fight like an ogre.”

In the days since she woke at the safe house, Everna came to the stunning, though expected, realization that she was horribly out of practice. It’d been years since she last used her sword, the brief scuffle with Windmore notwithstanding. Despite years of lessons under her father’s tutelage, she lacked the natural talent her brother possessed in abundance. Still, she wasn’t that bad.

She may have overestimated her abilities and neglected to consider the detriment of skipping practice. Regardless, she survived the encounter with Windmore. That had to count for something.

As if he could read her thoughts, Wil raised a dubious brow.

“Oh, piss off,” she hissed.

Ignoring the aching protest in her limbs — he had worked her to the bone since their sessions started, pushing her until her muscles were stiff and sore — she climbed to her feet and readjusted her grip on the dulled training sword. Her own lay atop the table on the other side of the room, the ridiculously sharp blade safely tucked away in its sheath. After she nearly took his finger off, he forbade her from using it during her lessons.

She supposed it was for the best. With how often he sent her weapon flying across the room, someone was liable to be killed. Knowing her luck, that someone would be her.

Wil had also insisted she would be better off learning to fight without relying on the blade’s enchantments. Artifacts were for bolstering existing skill, not for compensating for the lack thereof. Her fear of her sword only hindered her progress, as she spent more time focused on avoiding the edge rather than avoiding her opponent.

Slightly unbalanced and far longer than she liked, her training sword proved more difficult to handle. That was why when she swung with every ounce of strength she had, he parried it with ease. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she fought like an ogre.

“I’m serious,” Wil said in a tone that, coupled with his cheeky grin, suggested otherwise. “Were you taught by an ogre?”

“My father taught me, you ass.”

No sooner than she was on her feet, Wil struck. He came at her with such speed that she could barely raise her sword in time. She stumbled, her feet slipping on the training mat. Her arms shook as she put her weight behind the blade, digging her heels into the floor. It was a futile endeavor. With a rather forceful shove, he sent her careening onto her rear and, not a second later, the tip of his sword tapped the underside of her chin.

“Ah, that explains why you keep ending up in this position.”

He pressed the tip further into her skin and forced her to raise her head. His grin was roughish now, his green eyes alight with something she couldn’t quite place. It happened every time they sparred.

Everna scowled and knocked his blade aside with her own. "Then enlighten me. What am I doing wrong?"

"You're a woman," he said. "Stop trying to fight me like you're a man."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means, realistically, you're never going to overpower me, or any other man. Not with your natural strength, that is. That delusion's only going to get you killed. I'd have thought you'd have figured that out by now."

She swallowed her indignation. His utter lack of tact aside, he wasn't wrong. Her father warned her of such many years ago when he'd first put a sword in her hand. He hadn't taught her with the expectations that she'd win, but with the hopes she'd handle herself well enough to escape a more experienced fighter.

The implications hadn't bothered her then. Her father hadn't meant it as an insult; it was a matter of objective reality and she'd never been one to shy away from such truths. With Wil, however, she couldn't tell if he was trying to help her or infuriate her.

Perhaps both.

"Then answer the question," she spat. "What should I be doing?"

"I wasn't joking when I said you fight like an ogre.” His grin had faded now, replaced with a more neutral expression. "Stop trying to wail on me like you're swinging a club. You can't rely on brute strength, so start using your head more. Deflect instead of block. Aim for weak spots. Go for the throat, the ribs — whatever you can get at."

"That sounds horribly underhanded," she said, scrunching her nose.

Her father had always said those tactics were best left as a last line of defense.

Wil shook his head. "Don't apply courtly theatrics to reality. Any man, or anyone else, who'd point a sword at you with ill intentions won't care about rules of engagement. Especially when Shroud is concerned."

Everna considered his words, comparing them to the only fight she had experienced, and found that, once again, he was right. Windmore hadn't held back out of the goodness of his heart; he was toying with her for his own amusement. He could've killed her at any moment, and she'd have been powerless to stop him.

"I think that's your problem," Wil continued. "You don't have a clue what a real fight is like. You're used to everyone coddling you. I'd wager that night in the Guard post was the first time you crossed blades with someone who wasn't your father."

"I've sparred my brother," she pointed out.

"The point is, stop trying to prove a point. Act like I'm trying to kill you and start acting like you're trying to kill me."

If that's what he wanted, she could deliver. There wasn't any real danger to it. The training blades might cause bruises (she had plenty of those) and perhaps a broken bone or two. Life-threatening injuries weren't a concern; Wil was too skilled for that and she was too out of practice.

With a sharp motion of his sword towards the center of the training room, he turned. Everna settled into her stance, her sword at the ready. The moment the full of his back came into sight, she lunged.

The sharp ring of clashing steel echoed through the training room. Everna startled, not at all expecting the speed with which he blocked her blade — with a dagger, no less. She'd known he was much faster than her, but she hadn't even seen him move.

He wasted no time in taking advantage of her confusion. One second, she was on her feet, stumbling. In the next, she hit the floor, Wil leaning over her.

The tip of his dagger was cold against her throat, the sharpened edge a hair's breadth away from biting into her skin. He had her sword hand pinned, his knee digging into her wrist. Scowling, she tried to kick him, only to find she couldn't reach him no matter how she moved.

She glanced at the blade, then up at him. It wasn't the first time he pulled it on her during their sessions — to desensitize her to fearing a real blade — but it was the first time he'd put it to her throat. If he hadn't saved her life a week prior, she might have been more unnerved.

"Sneak attack? Not bad." He sounded almost impressed. "It might have worked on anyone else."

Everna pursed her lips. Dealing with Wil was a bit like whiplash — a constant alteration between one extreme and the other. He threatened her, then saved her life — twice. Everything she did seemed to annoy him, then it didn't. One minute he acted like he wanted nothing to do with her and in the next he had her pinned to the floor, looking at her the way some men in the tavern did — right before her father clocked them and told them to put their eyes elsewhere.

At that last thought, she frowned. That wasn't the case, was it? He was annoying, but she wouldn't say he was unattractive—

"How did you know?" she asked, scrambling to set her traitorous mind back on track. "You weren't even looking at me."

"I could hear you," he said, chuckling. Something fluttered in her chest at the sound. It wasn't often he laughed. "You walk like an ogre, too."

"You—"

"Oh dear, I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

As quickly as the dagger had appeared at her throat, it vanished. Wil relinquished his hold on her, a bit too abruptly, and stood. He didn't offer to help her up, not that she expected him to. Nor did she want him to.

Blowing out a sigh, she pushed herself upright and rubbed the feeling back into her wrist. "Oh, you know, the usual. Another day of getting absolutely walloped."

An unconvinced hum rose from Leah as she slipped through the door. Everna couldn't help but marvel at the grace with which she moved. Clerics of the Golden Lady possessed an otherworldly air about them, the blessings of their patron goddess worn as a badge of honor. When looking at one, it was nearly impossible to tell that the deity they worshiped wasn't a divine being of altruism, but one favored by thieves and anyone else who relied on luck to guide their hand.

"Get better and it won't be a problem," Wil drawled. "Besides, I'm done humiliating you for the day."

"I'm so deeply inspired by your boundless wisdom," Everna said, kicking at his ankle. He avoided it with almost no effort at all.

A half smile touching her lips, Leah reached into the top of her dress and produced a small slip of paper. "Then I suppose I'm right on time. Wil, it seems Osain's decided you've served enough of a punishment, though, it hardly seems like much of one for you."

"Really, I think I'm the one being punished here," Everna muttered.

Wil took the paper from her, turning it over in his hands. "Oh, that's just grand. Why am I always the one who has to deal with the Courts? Why can't Osain do it for once?"

"Osain's not the one involved in the recent debacle in Pendel. Shadowguard's favor hasn't improved with the kingdom's ruling factions, and your stunt did not help matters."

"And it won't until the Courts get rid of that useless steward," Wil snapped.

Leah, ever the mediator, merely shrugged. "I'm certain they will as soon as they decide which prince may claim the throne."

"Does that matter?" Everna asked. "Even if they were to, I don't see how that would improve anything. The Courts may as well run the kingdom, regardless."

"The Crown controls the coffers," Leah said, "and therefore could support us without the approval of the Courts, who can only provide us with the provisions put in place by King Keeland. That agreement expired five years ago, and we cannot negotiate another until they crown his successor. I'm sure you're aware of how...convoluted that dispute is."

Everna was overtly aware of the intricacies of it.

Inverness's royal family had a rather unusual predicament, one that no one could account for. When King Keeland died suddenly and inexplicably twelve years ago, the Courts fell into chaos. Per the law, the first-born child inherited the throne, but when two sons were born at exactly the same time to two different mothers, 'first-born' became a matter of debate.

For years, rumors of conflict between the brothers circulated throughout the kingdom. Later, at the academy, her classmates, many of who were nobility and privy to more than the common folk, confirmed those claims.

Three years before she'd left for the academy, the fighting reached a fever pitch. None were sure which of the two instigated it, but a disastrous assassination attempt heralded their disappearance from the public eye. No one had heard from them since.

Their disappearances brought with them another problem. Power abhorred a vacuum, and to prevent a potential bloodbath among the remaining royal children, the Courts broke tradition and appointed a steward to hold the throne while they worked towards a resolution. Last she'd heard, he was little more than a lazy drunk who caused more problems than he fixed.

The ordeal had been a popular subject of debate in her legal courses. It was uncharted territory; Inverness never faced such a crisis before and the Court hadn't a clue how to handle it. Her classmates were no less successful in discovering a solution.

Everna realized long ago there was no peaceful solution, as there rarely was in politics. If the royal children saw assassinations as their means to power, the Courts' decision would do nothing to dissuade them. The steward certainly hadn't. There had been another assassination attempt during her time at the academy, that one directed towards Princess Tira, who would be the next in line after the eldest princes.

It likely would not end until only one remained.

"In the meantime," Leah said, much like a mother soothing a petulant child, "it doesn't hurt to at least keep ourselves in their good graces. The information we've gathered needs to be relayed to the Courts, and I don't think it would hurt our case if they knew Shadowguard is actively pursuing the matter."

Muttering a string of profanities, Wil shoved the paper into the folds of his leathers and stalked out the door.