The Iron Sword (The Fae War Chronicles Book 1) (10 page)

I stared at him, no witty reply jumping to my lips. Then I closed my mouth and nodded. “All right. You’ll teach me?”

Finnead turned toward the door and made a sound that could have been acceptance or annoyance. I took it as acceptance, and I couldn’t help but grin. Then I looked at the scabbard and at the sword in my hand, and my grin turned to a grimace. After watching me try to balance the sword against the wardrobe so I could pick up the scabbard, Molly batted me away and sheathed my sword for me. She buckled it around my waist, tightening it a little more than necessary. But then she looked up and caught the tail end of my smile, and she shook her head and smiled back.

As we followed Finnead out the door into the passageway, she said in a low voice to me, “Well, I guess every hero needs a sidekick.”

“Who says I’m applying for the position of sidekick?” I replied in a mock-offended tone.

“All the great superheros have one,” Molly said.

“What, you think you’re Batman or something? I’m no Robin,” I replied.

Molly smirked. We had to walk quickly to keep up with Finnead’s long strides. “I think you’d look great in green tights,” she whispered.

I grimaced. “Great. I get to make bad fashion choices
and
be the comic relief. Sounds like just the job for me.”

Molly laughed out loud. Finnead glanced over his shoulder and she hurriedly turned her laugh into a cough. I could have been mistaken, but I thought I saw a glimmer of amusement in his eyes before he turned back around. I felt the new weight of the sword against my hip, balancing the ache in my arm, and thought that perhaps I had something to offer in this strange new world after all.

Chapter 10

A
pparently Finnead, even though he was such a great knight, couldn’t handle teaching two girls how to fight with a sword at once. Or he just didn’t have the patience, because after the first few attempts to teach me a simple drill, he looked at me and said hopelessly, “You have no talent with a blade.”

Molly glanced up from a short distance away, where she was performing her own warm-up drills gracefully, her sword arcing in crescents and figure eights. She continued her drills but I could see her watching us.

“Well, seeing as how sword-fighting isn’t exactly a marketable skill anymore in the mortal world, I haven’t really had much experience,” I replied. “And I’m not using my good hand.” I smiled a little. “Don’t tell me a Knight of the Court can’t teach me how to use a sword.”

Finnead shook his head. “For all the time I spend in the Overworld, I still forget that you don’t use both hands for everything.” As if to demonstrate his point, he tossed his sword from his right hand into his left hand, handling it with the same amount of skill and ease. “And the teacher is really only as good as the student most of the time.”

“Excuse me for being mortal,” I said under my breath. I lifted my sword again and tried the pattern he demonstrated, clenching my jaw in concentration and ignoring the sweat beginning to bead on my forehead.

Finnead had led us to a gymnasium-like hall, with a high ceiling and windows that were nearly the height of the ceiling. The floor was some hard, polished wood, or something that looked like wood. I wasn’t sure of anything anymore in this alien world. But the hall was thankfully empty, so no one but Finnead and Molly saw my clumsy first attempts at handling a sword.

“You keep shifting your grip back to the wrong way,” Finnead said, sheathing his own sword as he stepped close to adjust my hand.

“It’s probably because that’s how you hold a field hockey stick,” Molly offered helpfully from her little corner of the hall.

“I played in high school,” I said after rolling my eyes at Molly. A slight crease appeared on Finnead’s forehead. “Oh…you don’t know what field hockey is?” I grinned a little too gleefully at finding something that confused the almighty Vaelanbrigh. “When we go back to my world, I’ll show you.”

“Tess,” warned Molly.

I glanced at her and then kept the other part of my comment to myself, the part about Finnead getting to know what it felt like to be clumsy at something. I was relatively certain that field hockey would present somewhat of a challenge to him, even if he was a Sidhe knight. I amused myself with the mental picture of Finnead in a kilt, hitting the ball with the wrong side of the stick…and then my brief daydream ended rudely with the entrance of another Sidhe into the hall.

“Ah, Vaelanbrigh, you’ve beaten me to her!” called the stranger as he strode toward us from the opposite end of the hall. He was shorter than Finnead, but still taller than me, and solidly built. His wildly curly hair, though still dark, shone with a coppery glow, and his broad face seemed more open and friendly than any Sidhe I’d seen thus far. For the blink of an eye my mind lit up with recognition, an unconscious reflex that made me tilt my head in puzzlement, because I was certain that I’d never seen the copper-haired Sidhe before in my life….yet there was still a feeling of familiarity about him that I couldn’t quite place.

“Ramel,” said Finnead by way of greeting, tipping up his sword in a sort of casual salute. “Yes, the Queen instructed me to personally train the
fendhionne.
”

As soon as he uttered the word, I knew that he was referring to Molly. I wondered if that was the polite term for half-blood.

“Well,” Ramel said, his eyes lighting up as he noticed me, “I see you’ve brought another fair little
fendhionne
to train.” He said the words half-teasingly, so I couldn’t take offense.

“She doesn’t need to be trained,” said Finnead in a tighter voice, “but she came along.” He didn’t look at me as he continued. “And she is not a
fendhionne
. She’s a full mortal.”

Ramel shrugged. “So she is a fair little
doendhine,
then,” he replied lightly, catching my eyes and smiling slightly. I couldn’t help but smile back. “Would you give the task of teaching her to me, Vaelanbrigh?”

For a moment Finnead stood silently. With his back turned to me, I couldn’t see his face, but I did see Molly’s expression sharpen with interest as she observed the two Sidhe men. “If you want to teach her,” Finnead said finally, “you may. Perhaps it would be best if you did.” I thought I heard his voice soften with that last sentence, but then he drew back his shoulders, just enough for me to notice. “She isn’t a quick study, though.”

Though I tried to keep my expression inscrutable, Finnead’s words stung. It annoyed me that I somehow wanted his approval, and it annoyed me more that he was so flippant about dismissing my abilities. I’d never held a sword in my life, and after half an hour of instruction he’d deemed me talentless. I set my jaw.

“Well,” Ramel replied easily, glancing at me, “I’m sure she’ll have ample talent once she has the right teacher, Vaelanbrigh.”

Finnead lifted his sword and then balanced it point-down on the floor again. Molly was trying to catch my eyes, but I ignored her. If Ramel had taught Molly the basics of swordsmanship, surely he could teach me, and I would work as hard as I needed to make sure that I wouldn’t embarrass myself in front of Finnead ever again.

As Ramel turned to me and our eyes met, another small thrill of familiarity ran through me. I brushed it away, thinking in irritation that it must have been déjà vu. “My name is Tess. If you didn’t already know.”

Ramel studied me for a moment, an unfathomable expression in his eyes—was it puzzlement? Then he nodded and smiled at me. “Ramel. I have a suspicion that you really don’t care about my full name and titles.”

I shrugged. “It’s my first day awake. I don’t know a lord from a loon in this place.”

Ramel smiled at me, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “Sometimes I don’t know the difference either.” He glanced over my shoulder at Finnead one last time. “Come on then, let’s give the almighty knight and his pupil some space.” He motioned to the other corner of the gym. Still holding my sword, I followed him to our new practice area. “All right. Let’s see how well you listen. There are three components to sword-fighting: the attack, the guard and footwork. Now, first things first, for the attack, there’s the thrust and the cut…”

I listened as Ramel explained the basic strokes, obediently mimicking his movements when he demonstrated. I went through the basic drills he taught me until each move was acceptable. Sweat began to run down my back, and my arm began to ache, but I still ran through the drills until Ramel told me to stop. He took my sword from me and tested its weight.

“We might want to get you a lighter sword,” he said.

“But if I practice with a heavier sword, will it make me faster, when I get a lighter one?” I asked, brushing the sweat away from my eyes and shifting my right arm slightly in its sling.

Ramel looked at me with a new light in his gray eyes, still holding my sword. “You’re really serious about learning.”

I shrugged with one shoulder, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “I don’t like sitting around and being useless.” I looked out the long windows of the hall, then back at Ramel. He swung my sword in an arc through the air, making the blade whistle. Then we sat down on the smooth floor. He folded his legs neatly beneath him and I sprawled out comfortably. He spoke about strategy ,conditioning, and practice—all the ingredients of a great swordsman, he told me. Then the conversation drifted comfortably into silence. I looked over and saw Molly and Finnead were sparring with wooden blades, Finnead clearly moving very slowly and deliberately, allowing Molly to see openings in his half-speed defense. I watched for a few moments. Molly scored a touch on Finnead with the tip of her wooden sword. They stopped and Molly smiled. I saw the glint of an answering smile from Finnead. For some reason my stomach tightened, and I let myself turn away.

“Well,” I said to Ramel, “what now?”

“Now we rest, and you think about what I’ve taught you, and when you have it all straight in your head, that’s when you practice,” Ramel replied firmly.

I nodded. “I’ll practice for as long as I’m here.”

“That’s a very reasonable statement,” said Ramel. “A logical way of looking at things.”

I smiled. “In my rarer moments of practicality, I try to think like a sane person.”

Ramel laughed a little. “My dear, if you thought like a sane person, you wouldn’t be talking to me right now.”

“Why not?” I adjusted my sword-belt at my waist.

“Because, pretty little
doendhine
,” Ramel said teasingly, “no mortals believe in
faeries
anymore. It is all children’s stories and fantasy tales.”

I poked him in the shoulder with one finger. “Well, as far as I can tell, you’re very real, so there’s not really any use running around yelling about the impossibility of it all.” I smiled. “Besides, here I get to learn how to use a sword. Outside of Renaissance Fairs and geeky reenactments I’d never get to do that in my own world.”

Ramel nodded, running one hand over his copper curls. “You are very right about that, my dear. It’s becoming a lost art, our style of fighting.”

“
Your
style of fighting?”

“Well,” Ramel said, “you mortals have to get ideas from somewhere, and some of the best ones were from us, of course!”

I laughed a little. “Next you’ll be telling me that the Fae invented the light-bulb, not Thomas Edison.”

Ramel shook his head emphatically. “That’s one invention we won’t touch. Artificial light, not from flame or sun—we don’t like it at all, not even those of us that have some mortal blood in our veins.”

We settled into comfortable silence again and I lapsed into thought.

“You have a question,” Ramel said to me after a few moments. He stood and stretched with a leisurely air. “I can see it in your eyes. And it’s all right, you can ask it of me.” He balanced my sword point-down on the floor, grinning. “After all, if you couldn’t tell, I have a bit of mortal blood in my veins. I suppose that makes me a bit sympathetic.”

I looked at Ramel with fresh eyes. Now that he mentioned mortal blood, I could see it in the copper of his hair, the broader proportions of his muscular chest and arms. While he still possessed the pale complexion and cat-like grace of the Sidhe, I liked to think that his warmer personality was a part of his mortal heritage. I wanted to ask how much mortal blood he had, what that meant for him in the Court, but I suppressed my curiosity. I stood awkwardly and straightened my tunic. “I was just wondering,” I said, “if you know why Molly is so important here.”

“Ah,” said Ramel, “this would be an answer best told over some good food.” He stepped close to me and sheathed my sword, giving me a brotherly pat on the back before turning and leading me out of the hall. “And I really shouldn’t be the one telling you, because I’m really not supposed to know myself, but,” and here he turned and smiled at me over his shoulder, “boyish good looks and charm still count for something even in these dark days, my sweet mortal.”

I shook my head and smiled at him. He reminded me of Liam, a little bit…and somehow, even though I felt the familiar ache in my chest at the thought of my brother, the pain wasn’t as sharp as usual. I wondered if that was a good thing, if it was really me or just the influence of Faeortalam. After our training session, which had lasted at least two hours including all the time spent afterward just sitting and talking about strategy, I felt as though I knew Ramel as well as an old friend.

“Come on then,” he said.

We walked over to a small niche at the end of the hall. There were a few basins of water and cloths folded neatly on a shelf, much like towels folded at the campus gym. I followed Ramel’s lead, rolling up my sleeves and washing my face and the back of my neck. The towels were much softer than they looked, and the water was somehow warm, despite the fact that I couldn’t see any sort of pipes or other heating devices. As I followed him toward what I hoped was the dining hall, I said, “Can I ask you another question?”

“Of course,” Ramel said easily, winking at a group of Sidhe ladies gliding past. They smiled at him and looked at me with interest—not impolitely, but with a sort of fascination that I found a bit embarrassing. It was equal parts the kind of fascination displayed by schoolchildren at the zoo, seeing the chimpanzees for the first time; and the haughty yet interested disdain of the senior girls at school evaluating the freshmen at the beginning of every year. I wondered if I passed their inspection. Then I cleared my throat and when there were no other Sidhe in sight, I said to Ramel, “Is the knight who brought me here…the Vaelanbrigh…is he always so…
cold
? And rude?”

Ramel glanced at me, his warm brown eyes surprised; and then he burst into a great rolling laugh that echoed through the passageway. I jumped a little—Finnead’s laughs were small and enigmatic, and Allene had only smiled. So Sidhe were allowed to laugh after all. Or maybe it was just excusable in the ones with mortal blood, I amended to myself.

When Ramel finished laughing, he put a huge, brotherly hand on my shoulder as we continued walking. “Oh, I’d forgotten how good it is to have a conversation with a mortal.” He winked at me conspiratorially. “I still do sometimes, you know. Friends with the Keeper of the South Gate. I’m especially fond of Philadelphia, and those wondrous heart-stopping sandwiches.”

“Cheese steaks?” I offered incredulously, not quite sure what to make of Ramel’s admission.

“Yes, that’s the name,” Ramel said, grinning. “And I’ll be allowed to go through the Gates all I want—officially of course—soon anyway. The Queen just has to set me my Task and I’ll be one of the higher knights. Not a Named Knight, of course, but still.”

I shook my head, smiling. “Why was what I said so funny? Please, enlighten me.”

Ramel smiled as we came to a large double-door. Enticing smells filled the hallway, and my stomach grumbled. “Oh, I shall, pretty one. You see,” he said with a more serious tone, “I haven’t ever seen a Named Knight take such a vested interest in a mortal. He risked his position in Court, you know, to bring you here and have you healed. He broke the High Code.” Ramel lowered his voice. “It would have been within the Queen’s rights to strip him of his title and have him executed.”

I shivered. “You do that here? Executions?”

Ramel suddenly looked very much more Fae, and less jovial. His eyes shone with that peculiar light that I could never quite describe even in my own mind. “Oh, yes, Tess O’Connor. Treason is punishable by death. And there are punishments, some known only to the Queen herself, that are more terrible than death, that would make the greatest Knight beg for his throat to be slit as a mercy.” He smiled mirthlessly. “You think we are some fair and beautiful race of perfect beings, some utopian world that is beyond pain and death. Our sufferings are not mortal sufferings, just as our concerns are not mortal concerns…but all the same, there are ugly things in Faeortalam, Tess, and you would do well to remember that.”

“I will,” I said.

The hall that we entered was a long room, larger than the gymnasium but with a lower ceiling and small windows. Rows of long tables occupied the space, most of them empty; but there was a buzz of activity near the far end of the room, and Ramel led me toward it. I suddenly became very self-conscious of my hair, escaping its pins by now, and the loud sound of my footsteps behind Ramel’s cat-quiet walk. One of the long tables was set with the makings of a large meal: I saw loaves of bread and platters of round cheeses, and strange fruits piled in colorful dishes. There were jugs of water and
laetniss
and some drink that tasted faintly like milk, but sweeter. I sat next to Ramel and he filled my plate for me, pointing out dishes that he especially liked. Other Sidhe came and sat with us, and ate, and left. A few talked to Ramel, none to me; but they all glanced at me with that same mixture of curiosity and disdain that I had seen earlier in the eyes of the Sidhe women passing us in the hallway.