by Grace Draven
He had managed to keep a grip on his own swords when he fell and used their pommels to slam them into into Alreed’s sides. A satisfying pop sounded, and Alreed groaned. It wasn’t enough to dislodge him. The swords were too long to maneuver in the close space between them. Radimar released one and smashed the heel of his gauntleted hand into the underside of his opponent’s chin.
This time Alreed screamed and hurtled backwards, but not before showering Radimar in a spray of blood, teeth and what he suspected were bits of Alreed’s tongue.
Radimar sprang to his feet, snatched up his sword and retreated back to the straw as he waited for Alreed to rise. The side of his face throbbed hard enough to make his entire head pound and he wiped away blood not his own so he could see properly. Had the champion’s blow struck him full on, he would have killed Radimar.
Alreed rose on a stagger, blood coursing from his mouth and down his chin in a crimson stream. He grinned at Radimar, revealing broken teeth and spaces where no teeth remained. His breathing gurgled, and he spat gobbets of blood into the straw. Animalistic growls vibrated from his throat as he retrieved his sword and shield. The man who said he’d take Jahna like a dog was transforming into one himself, made rabid by pain and fury.
Sensing that this duel, begun as an exercise of frivolous entertainment, had turned both personal and deadly, the crowd screamed for more. For Radimar, their screeching was nothing more than a whisper. There was only Alreed and his defeat.
It didn’t take long after that. The swordmaster of Ilinfan proved to all who witnessed the fight that those who trained with the Brotherhood of Ilinfan knew and understood the art of the sword like no other.
Alreed’s attacks had lost all finesse, becoming nothing more than the charges of a maddened bull. Radimar dodged them effortlessly, using his own swords either to deliver land multiple bruising strikes. When the disappointed king finally declared him the winner, Radimar had Alreed on his knees, facing the king, one of Radimar’s blades pressed to the champion’s throat in the sign of victory.
People roared his name and soon a hail of flowers, ribbons, scarves, gloves and hats rained down in the arena, pelting Radimar as he saluted the king and walked away from the now prone and bloodied Alreed. The sound of his name shouted in chant filled the night air, but the triumph he felt sprang not from the crowd’s adulation but the internal satisfaction of wreaking vengeance on the man who had insulted a woman so undeserving of the offense.
Once more he paused before Lord Uhlfrida whose jubilant expression assured Radimar he’d just made his employer a wealthier man than he had been earlier in the day. Jahna’s own features held a mixture of joy and fear. For him. She clasped her hands together and offered him a low bow, one mimicked by her father. Radimar bowed in return and tapped his shoulder where the brooch rested unharmed under his hauberk.
He exited the field, now littered with favors of every type and met a grinning Sodrin who looked ready to jump out of his skin from sheer elation. “That was incredible! I’ve never seen the like in any Exhibition!” He inhaled a long breath to calm himself. “And you defended my sister’s honor,” he said in a much more even voice. “You were right, Sir Radimar. You didn’t kill him, but you sure made him wish you had.”
The rest of the night passed in a blur. King Rodan requested an audience and sent an armed guard to escort Radimar to him so the shrieking crowd wouldn’t strip him naked in a frenzied bid to carry a small token home from the swordmaster who had beaten the king’s champion in the arena.
He refused Rodan’s offer to join the royal guard and declined the second offer of replacing Alreed as royal champion. The king scowled. “I didn’t expect a refusal, swordmaster.”
Sensing he was on dangerous ground, Radimar bowed low and tried to ignore the dizziness the movement produced. “I’m honored by your offers, Your Majesty, but I can best serve you and the kingdom of Belawat as a teacher for those men who fight in your name. It is an Ilinfan swordmaster’s first duty.”
Rodan grudgingly acceded to Radimar’s argument. “At least dine with the queen and me tomorrow evening. We will expect you.” It was less of an invitation and more of a command, and Radimar readily accepted though he wished instead he could spend such time with the Uhlfrida family.
He didn’t see Jahna until the small hours of the morning, when the palace had finally quieted and many of the celebrants had finally found their beds or some alcove in which to sleep before they rose again at morning to participate in the last day of the Delyalda festivities.
She stood in the first chamber of their suite, near the shuttered window, head bent as she read a manuscript by the light of a single candle she held in one hand. She looked up as Radimar opened the door and slipped inside. All around them, servants slept on pallets laid on the floor, and the chorus of snores and snuffles hid the light tread of his feet on the stones.
“You are a popular man,” she whispered when he came to stand beside her.
“A tired one as well,” he replied.
Her gaze searched his face, resting for a time on the purpling bruise marring his cheek where Alreed struck him. Her lips quirked. “By tomorrow you’ll have a mark to match mine.”
She’d never know about the filth the king’s champion or his two lackeys had spewed about her. Nor would they say anything else about her, good or bad. He made sure of it. Alreed was already under the care of an army of leeches, in no shape to boast about fucking anybody much less actually performing the act.
Radimar had found the two who joined him in his slander. One was guaranteed to piss blood for the next few days, and the other nursed two black eyes, but both had ardently promised to keep their mouths shut about Uhlfrida’s daughter in the future.
He touched a tender spot under his eye with a fingertip. “It won’t match my hair,” he teased.
Jahna’s lips tightened to stifle her laughter. “Well no, but somehow I don’t think that will frighten away your admirers.”
“Why are you still awake so late?”
She waved the parchment in front of him, her eyes gleaming in the candle’s gentle flickering. “I received a message earlier that Dame Stalt and the Archives council wish to meet with me regarding your accounts of Ilinfan that I recorded.”
He scanned the missive she handed him. “This sounds very promising.” He handed the parchment back to her, noting how slender her ink-stained hands were.
She set it on the small table next to her. “I hope so. Had they rejected my documents, they would have informed Father through messenger. These meetings are only for those whose work they’re seriously considering for acceptance into the Archives.”
“Then I hope you have the good luck I did today.”
She startled him when her hand reached out, grabbed his and gave it a quick squeeze before letting go again. “That wasn’t luck; it was skill. Amazing, wondrous skill. I’ve always known you were an excellent swordsman, but to see it in its full glory today…” She shook her head. “I don’t have the words adequate enough to describe it. If my brother learns only a sliver of what you know, he will be a formidable fighter.”
Praise for his expertise had cascaded down on him from all quarters, but none seemed as meaningful as Jahna’s compliments. He bowed. “I thank you. Let me return the favor and offer you a token to carry with you when you meet with the dames tomorrow.” He fished a carved bit of black stone out of the pouch he wore at his belt and handed it to her.
She held it up to her candle, fingertips sliding over its surface as she traced the etched design. That ever-present inquisitiveness blazed to life in her eyes. “It’s beautiful. What is it?”
“A blessing stone. Chiseled out of the face of the cliffs that line the shores of Ancilar in the country of Gaur. It’s supposed to protect a person from drowning and from storms, as well as give a measure of good luck.”
She clutched it in her fist. “Thank you!
He reached back into the pouch. “And before I forget.” Her bro
och lay in his open palm, a delicate thing out of place amid the calluses and scars that decorated his hand. “Your token worked its magic.”
Those slender fingers curled over his, folding them until he clutched the brooch in a closed grip. “I’d like it if you kept it. For the next time you need a little luck.”
Some small part of him unknotted. He hadn’t realized how much he didn’t want to give up the token until she told him to keep it. The amethyst had value, but the meaning behind her offering was priceless. He tucked it back into the pouch without argument. The candle in her hand pooled more wax into its dish, reminding him of the hour’s lateness. “I’ll leave you to seek your rest. Good evening, my lady.”
He turned but was halted by her touch on his elbow. “Thank you, Sir Radimar.” The fervency in her voice surprised him.
He tilted his head, puzzled by her tone and the fact that she thanked him twice for the blessing stone he gave her. “It’s a small thing, my lady. We can all use a little protection now and then.”
“Not that,” she said and shook her head. “Though I will treasure the stone. I thank you for the gift of the dancing, of the garden, and of our time. For the first time since we’ve attended Delyalda, I understand why people love it so. That’s your doing. I thank you for showing me its magic.”
She was worth every drop of blood he might spill in defending her name, her dignity, and her character. Jahna Uhlfrida, marked and shunned, was unique. In the full bloom of adulthood, she would be glorious.
He bowed. “Believe me, my lady, the pleasure is mine.”
Her soft “Goodnight, Radimar” followed him out the door, a caress on his shoulders.
~ 6 ~
Two years later
The Maiden awakened, Year 3840
Jahna sat next to her father amidst a crowd of other noble families who gathered to watch the Exhibition. As usual, the bookmakers were busy taking wagers over who among the combatants would win in this year’s bouts, and Uhlfrida himself had laid down a sizeable sum in favor of his son, despite Sodrin’s loss two years prior. While her brother didn’t think their father believed in his abilities to show well during Exhibition, Jahna saw the wager as proof of his faith in Sodrin’s chances of winning.
She huddled inside her cloak, gloved hands wrapped around a goblet of hot mulled wine. This year the snows fell heavy during Delyalda, but it didn’t stop the crowds from packing into the palace grounds for the spectacle and pageantry of the Exhibition or the Firehound ceremony that would take place the following night.
Uhlfrida drank from his own goblet and gestured at the figure striding across the arena toward them. Radimar’s red hair shimmered, even under the winter sun’s dull light, a beacon that drew many a gaze, including Jahna’s. Her father shifted in his seat, restless and eager for the bouts to begin. “I expect Sodrin to win this time. Three years of Radimar’s instruction, and he should know how to wield a sword without lopping off his own arm.”
“Have a little faith, Father. You’ve seen yourself how far Sodrin has come. He’ll make you and Sir Radimar proud.”
They weren’t empty reassurances. Jahna still practiced basic skills in the morning with both men, but Sodrin had progressed so far beyond her under Radimar’s grueling training that they were no longer equal sparring partners. It pleased her to see the gap widen so far between them.
Her time in the training solar had been the result of a bargain made between her and the swordmaster—her time under his tutelage in exchange for his information regarding the Ilinfan Brotherhood to record and keep for Scripture House. She could hold her own against the likes of Evaline Lacramor now, but her best skills were reserved for the quill and ink and her ability to write down those things most important to the record keeping of Belawat’s history.
Radimar reached them and bowed, a dusting of snow spilling off his shoulders as he did. “Lord Uhlfrida, my lady. Sodrin is as ready as he’ll ever be for the Exhibition. He’s eager instead of anxious. He’ll do well in the bouts.”
“He better,” Uhlfrida groused. “Or I’ll be considerably poorer than when we first arrived here.”
Radimar slid a knowing look to Jahna who tilted her head and arched her eyebrows in an expression of “Same thing every year.” He returned his attention to Uhlfrida. “He’ll have to work hard for the win, my lord. One of his opponents is good, very good. Swordmaster Finulis trained his father.”
Uhlfrida groaned. “Then he’s lost already.”
“Father!” Jahna scowled at him, annoyed by her sire’s pessimism.
The swordmaster shrugged. “Not necessarily, my lord. Remember, it was the father, not the son whom Finulis taught. I don’t know who taught him, but it wasn’t an Ilinfan swordmaster.”
“Any missive from the king this year, Sir Radimar?” Jahna had asked the same question last year when everyone gathered for the Exhibition. Many people wondered if Radimar Velus would ever again face the king’s champion in the arena.
Radimar’s smile was more of a smirk. “No, my lady. I think I may have permanently satisfied Sir Alreed’s curiosity about the blade skills of the Brotherhood.”
Jahna was glad to hear it. There had been no rematch the previous year, and she’d been just as relieved then too. Something about the bout between Radimar and Alreed went beyond just a display of fighting skills. Her heart had been in her throat at one point when the champion had knocked Radimar to his back and tried to smash in his face. Radimar’s quick reflexes had saved him from a brutal mauling, and he had delivered his own retribution in cold, calculated maneuvers that left Alreed bloody and nearly unconscious at the end of the bout.
She would never forget Radimar’s expression, or lack of it, when the king proclaimed the winner. Not even a flicker of triumph crossed his features. No joy or relief, just a flat acceptance of the outcome. Still, when he retreated from the arena and stopped to bow before her and her father, she had sensed something dark and boiling beneath the surface, as if he were a cauldron set over a roaring fire whose contents threatened not just to bubble over, but to erupt in a violent geyser.
Radimar bid them both goodbye so he might return to give Sodrin last minute guidance before his bouts and promised to see them after the Exhibition closed. Jahna’s gaze followed him, admiring the way his long stride ate the distance to the billet and how his cloak draped his wide shoulders. She dropped her eyes, afraid someone might see the yearning in them.
Her fate was to love him from afar. He didn’t return her feelings and never gave any hint of doing so, though he occasionally complimented her on her appearance and often sought her out for conversation.
Once he even opened up to her about his childhood and how he came to reside and train at such a young age with the Brotherhood. “The Tribe Wars,” he told her one cool spring evening at Hollowfell.
They sat on the slope of a gentle hill, enjoying the view below. Radimar had built a small fire after he, Sodrin and Jahna had returned from a run through the forest. Sodrin had slipped in a mud wallow at one point and agreed to join them around the fire once he changed and cleaned up.
Radimar stirred the embers to greater life with a stick. “My village was razed during the conflict. The Brotherhood mostly teaches now, but then they also hired out as mercenaries and armed escorts for people traveling through the conflicted lands. A party of the Brotherhood came upon my village right after the battle was over. I was three at the time. I don’t remember it, but they tell me one of the Brotherhood, a master named Odanat, found me under my mother’s body. I was the only one to survive the raid.” He gave her a brief smile when she laid her hand across his in sympathy. “For whatever reason, the Brotherhood chose to foster me and train me in the ways of Ilinfan.” He patted her hand. “Something else you can write about in your histories.”
She had refused. “No. There are some things that belong only to the people who experienced them. This isn’t a story of Ilinfan but of Radimar Velus. It’s yours to share with whom you choose
.”
The compliment he gave her was one she still held close and sometimes spooled out of her memory to cheer her. “You’re wise for one so young, Jahna,” he said. “And possess a great heart. Those you love are fortunate.”
The words echoed inside her mind now. He would never know he was one of those he considered fortunate. I love you, she thought as he disappeared into the billet. I have for a long time.
Once the Exhibition started, she put aside her melancholy thoughts, caught up in the excitement of the bouts and cheering on her brother. Uhlfrida’s shouted encouragement beside her nearly deafened her, and when Sodrin won emerged the victor of all his bouts, father and daughter embraced amid cheers from the crowd and congratulatory slaps on the back from those sitting nearby.
Sodrin was giddy and nearly incoherent when he rejoined his father and sister, Radimar beside him wearing an equally happy grin. Uhlfrida pulled his son into a hard hug before thrusting him away, hands still on his arms. “We celebrate tonight! Come! There are friends who want to congratulate you.” He clapped Radimar on the back as well. “You too, Radimar. You and Jahna are part of this celebration as well.”
Jahna had her excuses ready for why she wouldn’t attend what promised to be a raucous gathering complete with shouting, arm punches and the heady flow of wine from numerous barrels. The room they celebrated in was guaranteed to be hot, pungent and crowded. She could think of few things that appealed to her less.
“Father, you, Sodrin and Sir Radimar go without me. I’m much more interested in the dances than I am in listening to the recountings of battles and brawls and who stole whose cattle or woman during the Tribe Wars.” She pulled Sodrin down for a quick kiss on both his cheeks. “You,” she said. “I’m so very proud of you.”
Uhlfrida didn’t protest and pulled Sodrin along with him. He called to Radimar over his shoulder. “You coming, swordmaster?”
“I’ll meet you there, my lord.” Radimar waved them on, and the two men disappeared into the throng of people dispersing toward the pubs and impromptu gatherings that clustered around street musicians and storytellers. “Sometimes it’s best not to mention a time of arrival,” he admitted to Jahna with a grin.