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“Come on,” he said, beckoning her with a flick of his hand. “I’m going to teach you how to use a shield today.”
Cold and strange as Tíarma seemed, the Elder fortress was still a castle, and Iona still a city. Daily life unfolded, but more slowly, the passage oftime odd among the Elders. At first, as in Sirandel, Corayne assumed such lives were boring. The immortals spent most of their time contemplating the sky, staring out at the ever-changing mists. Some read or wrote or painted, bent over stacks of parchment or empty canvas. Isibel herself spent most of her time shut up in the throne room with Valnir, Eyda, and their collected advisors. Corayne didn’t have the stomach to suffer their long-winded, useless droning.
Only the guards seemed to have anything to do, and most of that was pacing. A few scouts ranged out every day, guarding a close perimeter around the enclave. All of them cycled through the training yards within the castle walls. Every day a new contingent of Elder guards went through their exercises, their motions too fast for mortal eyes. Every sweep of a sword or loosed arrow moved elegantly, honed to perfection by centuries of practice.
The mist hung low, pressing down on the Iona ridge in a heavy, gray ceiling. It obscured most of the castle, turning the towers to looming shadows.
Corayne shuddered under them as she followed Andry down the familiar path to the training yard of slabbed stone. He slowed as they descended the steps to the yard, lingering to watch the soldiers in their training. He carried a tall shield under one arm, a sword belted at his hip alongside his Jydi ax.
Corayne halted next to him, the Spindleblade belted in place over her shoulder. She was loath to leave it behind, even here.
Below, a squadron of Elder guards dueled. Twelve of them in all, half with spears, half with swords. The blades sang and the spears danced, sparks flying with every clash of steel. They moved together in strange tandem, perfectly balanced. The endless wind of the mountain valley continued to blow, stirring the mist and their golden hair.
“They aren’t trying to win,” Corayne muttered. “They’re just going through the motions to stay sharp.”
Andry eyed her with a sweep of dark lashes.
“And stay connected to each other. A soldier is only as good as the person next to him,” he said, giving her a nudge with his elbow. Beneath his furs, he wore chain mail. “Trust is as much a weapon as anything else.”
She nearly rolled her eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind when Taristan brings the full weight of his empire crashing down on this place.”
The joke landed poorly and Andry’s face darkened.
“You think he will?”
What do you expect, Andry?she wanted to shout.To stay here, cocooned from the world forever, while the realm ends in fire?
Her reply was far more diplomatic.
“It’s only a matter of time before he figures out where I am,” she said, moving again.
This time, Andry followed her.
“Well then, let’s use the time we have,” he said behind her. Not even the mist, or the circumstances, could truly dampen his sunny disposition.
It annoyed and calmed Corayne in equal measure. If not for Andry, she might spend most of her days studying the horizon, watching for a legion to crest the mountain pass. Still as the Elders, waiting for the world to end.
By now, the Ionian guards knew both Andry and Corayne. They greeted them with stern glances as Andry led her to a place at the edge of the stone landing. Two blunted training swords were already waiting.
Andry loosened the clasp holding his furs in place, shrugging them off onto a nearby bench. A hand ax dangled at his waist, but without the Jydi wolf pelt around his shoulders, he looked more like himself. Out ofplace among the immortals, but still Andry Trelland. Noble to a fault, somehow warm without a ray of sun.
He was only missing his tunic, the old white fabric emblazoned with the blue star. Corayne had not seen it since he arrived in Iona. She could only hope it was safely tucked away in his room, and not lost like all the other pieces of his home.
Corayne made herself ready, unbuckling the Spindleblade to lay it next to his furs. She unsheathed her Sirandel blade too, replacing it with the dull-edged sword.
“If you don’t know how to use a shield, it’s not going to help you,” Andry said, watching her carefully.
He clasped the tall shield between his hands. It was half her height, flat across the top and tapered at the bottom, made of reinforced wood and worn red leather.
“This is your shortest lesson yet,” she replied, forcing a laugh.
“Perhaps,” Andry countered. “The great advantage of a shield, of course, is to defend yourself. You can strike and still keep most of your body covered.”
He slipped an arm into the strap on the back of the shield, the other motioning the swing of a sword. Beneath him, his feet slid into a fighting stance, his body weight shifting. Corayne watched keenly, half taking notes for herself. The rest watched the tall young man with the kind eyes, tracking every flex of his long-fingered hand or the clench of his jaw.
It was his focus, more than anything, that drew her in.
“You can also use a shield to push your opponent back,” he added, stepping forward with his body braced behind the shield. Corayne stepped neatly out of his way. “You can even smash him in the face. But rely on your sword first.”
