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For years Thea had tried to get her warden to talk about it, but the librarian refused. Various lessons and all the books Thea read had told her it had been a little girl holding a blade that triggered the prophecy, and the laws that followed were the Guild Master’s attempt to protect the midrealms from furtherdaughters of darkness.
He’d lost his shit at a child holding a small scythe. If he knew Thea had a weapon, well… He’d never find out.
She stopped at a clearing she frequented, well hidden from the training ground below, a perfect viewing platform, and crouched in the leaf litter, straining to hear the speech she’d heard Esyllt give a hundred times before, the speech that made her blood sing.
The lean weapons master paced before the group of bright-eyed recruits, resting his hand on the pommel of his longsword, his chest thrust out as he eyed them with a harsh expression.
Esyllt’s voice carried across the clearing, full of authority. ‘A month ago you were mere students, boys whose purpose did notextend beyond the ordinary… Today, you are shieldbearers of Thezmarr and you have come here to the Bloodwoods hoping to be something far greater.’
Goosebumps rushed across Thea’s skin and she hung onto every word, as though they were an elixir she desperately needed.
‘The months that follow will be the best and worst of your life,’ he continued, letting his words fall upon his captivated audience. ‘That’sifyou make it that far. Some of you will give up, a day, a week, or a month in. The rest of you will come to know pain and fear intimately, you will come to know what it means to fight tooth and nail for your place. You will come to know who to trust, and when to sleep with one eye open. Those who fail our tests will be shunned from our ranks. Those with special talents might become apprentices to the commanders. Some of you will be injured. Some of you will die.’
Esyllt paused again as he surveyed the faces before him, as though he could determine then and there who would make it, and who would fail. He cleared his throat. ‘And a select few of you’ – he gave pointed stares to his chosen shieldbearers – ‘will be forged into what many only dream to be: Guardians of the midrealms, warriors of Thezmarr.’
Thea loosed a breath. Gods… It didn’t matter how many times she had heard Esyllt’s orientation, it hit her right in the chest every time. Rooted to the spot, she was as transfixed as the shieldbearers, wishing she could stand alongside them, wishing she could share this with someone, anyone. But she remained hidden, as always.
Esyllt cleared his throat. ‘Right, get into your groups. I want to see what you’ve learnt so far.’
The shieldbearers hesitated.
‘Drills,’ Esyllt barked. ‘Now.’
The recruits burst into action, splitting up into several smaller groups and drawing their weapons, hoisting their shields up in defensive stances.
Thea watched on, noting those who held their shields too low, those whose footwork was too heavy, and those who might just interest her as opponents. She had studied the theory for years, practiced in privacy, but her fingers itched to hold a sword as theirs did and she found her hand creeping to the dagger in her boot.
Carefully, she stepped back, well out of sight, and started going through her own drills. Like all children of Thezmarr, she had gone through years of basic defence training, but that had never been enough for her. Since she was a child, she had spied on every training session she could, learning every scrap of information, every technique from afar. It was hard without a sword of her own. But her dagger was her pride and joy. Six years ago, she had seen it fall from the hand of an injured Warsword as he’d been escorted back to the fortress in a wagon. She’d made the mistake of showing Wren her prize. Her sister had told her it was made of Naarvian steel, before insisting that Thea turn it in. Naarvian steel was for Warswords and Warswords alone, a gift given upon the completion of the Great Rite.
The steel source in Naarva was created by the Furies themselves, who had struck the land with a star shower. The rare iron ore found there was the strongest in all the midrealms, and held the power of the gods. For a man to bear such a weapon without initiation was forbidden; an insult to the elite warriors who served the midrealms. But for awomanto wield a blade, let alone Naarvian steel? That was a unique form of treason.
Thea had refused to return the dagger at first, of course. But her sister had worn her down, spelling out a lengthy list of nasty consequences. Wren had been a pain in Thea’s arse, and not longafter, Thea had reluctantly trudged up to the infirmary to return it to its injured owner.
Thea had waited until the healers had left to attend other patients before she went to his bedside. He was the most enormous man that she had ever seen, a giant almost. His legs hung off the end of the bed and the mattress sagged beneath his weight. His head was wrapped in dozens of bloodied bandages, his face was so swollen and bruised that the whites of his eyes were red.
He was dying.
Thea had taken in the sight of him, her whole body screaming at her she shouldn’t be there. But she dug deep for a sliver of the courage that warrior must have needed on the battlefield, and she held out the dagger to him.
‘You dropped this,’ she told him. ‘Figured you might want it back.’
The man had gasped, his eyes widening with the effort, sounding as though a wagon full of stone bricks sat upon his chest. He’d murmured something that had made no sense to Thea, before his trembling hand rose from the bed, and pushed the dagger back towards her.
No words came when he opened and closed his mouth.
But she understood one thing: he wanted her to have the weapon.
She clutched it to her chest. ‘I’ll use it well,’ she had told him.
Now, she guided herself through a range of movements, holding the dagger as a would-be sword. She knew she moved well, but how she longed to spar with a worthy opponent, someone who challenged her. Sometimes she could convince the odd alchemist to indulge her, or one of the kitchen hands, but it wasn’t the same…
A gentle breeze rustled the foliage around Thea, and the faintest hint of leather and rosewood tickled her nostrils, stirringa strange yearning within. She sighed, relishing the shouts and clang of steel echoing from below. Still clutching her dagger, she peered over the ledge in the terrain again —
Something whistled through the air.
Thea threw herself to the side, a sharp sting slashed across her cheek.
An arrow embedded itself in the gnarled tree trunk beside her with a thud.
