Mark of the Mage: Scribes of Medeisia Book I Page 19

  Chapter 18

  “Are you ready to learn how to use the sword?”

  Kye's voice startled me, and I looked away from Lochlen.

  “Now?” I asked.

  Kye glanced between Lochlen and I before nodding at a young woman I hadn't seen before. She didn't appear much older than I, her hair as dark as most Medeisians, her skin olive and clear. She leaned casually against the hilt of a sword, her expression more curious than hostile.

  “This is Maeve,” Kye answered. “She'll be training with you.”

  I nodded at the girl, and she nodded back. She didn't look strong enough to be a fighter, but her eyes were hard, and her arms were thin but well defined.

  “I'll just take my leave now,” Lochlen said, his sing-song human voice full of amusement. He stood and moved past me, pausing a moment when he neared Kye.

  “You couldn't find a less brutal opponent?” Lochlen asked.

  Brutal? That didn't bode well for me.

  Kye raised his brows. “Maeve is the best of the females. There is no better teacher.”

  Lochlen's lips quirked. “There is that,” he said before nodding to Maeve as he took his leave. He never looked back at me.

  Maeve glanced over my shoulder at the edge of the clearing, and I knew she was noting the wolf.

  “Am I that bad to look at?” Oran joked from behind me, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. If I answered him now, it would only disturb the girl more.

  Maeve's eyes met mine before traveling over my person.

  “Should I start with the basics then?” Maeve asked.

  She had a pretty, sweet voice, and I found myself hoping it meant she was an easy going teacher. Other than games with the bow, as Kye referred to it, the only physical history I had was copying text or reading books.

  “The basics,” Kye repeated sternly as he held up a sword he'd been holding down at his side. A second sword hung from a scabbard at his waist, and I wondered why I hadn't noticed it before. I was almost certain he hadn't worn it in the cave.

  Kye gripped the blade and held the extra sword out to me, hilt first. I stared at it a moment before finally wrapping my hands around it. It felt funny in my grip, foreign. The way Maeve scowled at me, I was fairly certain I was holding it wrong.

  “I leave it to you,” Kye said before nodding.

  As he walked past, he paused a moment, his eyes on my face, my hair. I avoided his gaze, but I couldn't stop the flush I knew was creeping up my neck. My eyes went to Maeve instead, to the way her gaze followed Kye as he finally moved on. She wore a wistful expression.

  There were no words between us, and when she finally spoke, her tone was short, clipped.

  “You're holding it wrong,” Maeve said as she stepped in front of me, repositioning the sword in my hand.

  I nodded, but I still didn't speak. She took it as an excuse to teach, steering clear of any intimate conversations.

  “In battle, the sword needs to become an extension of your body, as if the metal were forged to your skin. We rebels own no horses, and we fight by foot. This means we train harder, running every day, working a post we have set up with wooden swords, using our bows, and learning how to camouflage ourselves among the forest.”

  “Do you fight often then?” I asked.

  Maeve lifted her sword. I noticed it was metal like mine. No wooden swords for either of us. This made me uneasy.

  “It's fight or die here,” Maeve answered, pushing my feet apart none to gently with her own.

  I was still sore from the three days of walking I'd done before coming to the rebels' camp, and I grunted without meaning to. Maeve paused, and I knew by the flash of fear on her face that Oran had moved closer. I barely knew the wolf, but he watched me as if I were a wolf pup. I glanced over my shoulder. Oran had approached the log and was standing, paws apart, the skin around his teeth pulled back.

  “Hold,” I ordered, and the wolf sat on his haunches, his teeth still bared as he stared between us. I looked to Maeve. “He won't harm you.”

  The girl didn't look entirely convinced, but she turned back to our swords.

  “The weapons are good, and being skilled with them can often mean the difference between life and death. But sword play is also about wrestling and grappling, gripping the blade to use it at half sword so you can disarm your opponent. I'll show you how to do this after I've showed you how to hold and use the sword.”

  Maeve moved closer to me, her eyes on the wolf. She lifted her sword, talking to me in low, easy tones as she showed me how to attack and how to deflect a blow. My arms hurt from pulling on the war bow, but I grit my teeth and worked through it. Maeve saw the pain in my gaze, but she didn't comment on it, and I didn't make her stop. A new respect formed in her eyes, and we fought. She corrected my foot work, my grip, and the way I moved often, but it wasn't long before I caught on.

  Once I'd mastered the basic things she thought I needed to know, Maeve moved away from me and lowered her sword. I had sweat dripping down my temples.

  “You're a fast learner,” she admitted.

  I smiled, leaning over to place one hand against my knee, my chest heaving.

  “I'm not sure I'll be able to walk tomorrow,” I gasped.

  Maeve laughed. “Then I've done my job.” She paused, her gaze on me, the wolf, and then on a figure in the distance. It was Kye. “Are you interested in him?” Maeve asked quietly.

  I looked up, surprised, my eyes moving from her to Kye and back again.

  “In Kye?” I asked. I stood a moment, maybe too long, before I shook my head. “No. I am interested in no man.”

  My life had just been turned upside down, Kye one of the spectators and players of the worst moment of my life. Maeve heaved a sigh. I wasn't sure if it was of relief, but she smiled more readily now. Her eyes moved back to Kye's stooped form as he spoke with a group of men. They were drawing figures into the soil, and I found myself more curious of the things they were discussing than I was of the men themselves. Maeve noticed.

  “You bear the mark of the scribe. Are you a scholar then?”

  I didn't take my eyes off of the men. “I'd like to think I am. Do you know what they are talking about?”

  Maeve shook her head. “Raemon. His laws. Weak spots in the palace. Sadeemia. It could be anything.”

  One of the men looked up, his eyes catching mine, but I didn't avert my gaze. His eyes narrowed. I recognized him as Warwick, the middle-aged man who'd wanted me gone just yesterday. I didn't belong here, he'd said. But if I didn't belong here then I didn't belong anywhere.

  Kye's head came up, and he followed Warwick's gaze. Once again, I didn't look away. Instead, I nodded before I turned and moved to my log. Oran had retreated back into the foliage. Maeve followed me, her breathing quick and heavy. I got some satisfaction out of knowing she was breathing hard, although she wasn't breathing near as hard as I was.

  “How did you come here?” I asked Maeve.

  I knew I was being nosy, but I was beyond caring. Unlike Ena, Maeve didn't seem to mind my question. She held up her wrist; the burning star.

  “I was sixteen when I suddenly lit a market on fire in Drannon. Neither one of my parents had magic in their veins, but my grandmother did.” She shrugged. “The fire burned down several shops and caught the attention of the king's men. One of his sorcerers traced the power to me. I was dragged to the main square, branded publicly, and sentenced to death. A rebel spy was among the crowd, and she helped me escape.”

  I sat and Maeve followed, digging the tip of her sword into the dirt and grass in front of us. Drannon was a small village not far from the capital. The town was well known in Medeisia for its blacksmiths.

  “And your parents?” I asked.

  Maeve stared at her sword. “They live. Per orders, they have disowned me. To them, I never existed.”

  Sympathy for her plight overwhelmed me, but I also felt envy. She'd been marked, outlawed, but no one she lov
ed had died for her. She fought for herself now. No one else. I shut my eyes and shuddered at the scenes that flitted in the darkness behind my lids. I fought for ghosts.

  “You're tired,” Maeve said. “You should rest. Ena will be lighting the fires soon for the evening meal. Soup tonight, I hear.”

  I nodded.

  “Keep practicing,” Maeve added.

  I opened my eyes. “Thank you, Maeve.”

  She smiled, standing quietly before moving away.

  A kek, kek filtered down through the trees, and I glanced upward. Ari was circling in the skies above. She lowered when she noticed me watching, her wings beating as she alighted on a limb far enough up she wouldn't be seen by those in the camp.

  “Your father and stepmother have made it into court,” Ari said suddenly. I almost stood but didn't.

  “My father is okay?” I asked.

  Ari made a low kek sound I took to mean yes.

  “The king has been in meetings with him since he arrived at the palace. Your sister and Taran are enjoying the balls while the king gathers a council.”

  This caught my attention.

  “A council?” I asked, but I was afraid I already knew what she meant.

  The falcon danced on the limb.

  “A war council,” she said.

  Lochlen had been right. It had begun. I couldn't help but wonder how long the rebels had lived among Medeisia's forests preparing for war.