The Road to Bedlam: Courts of the Feyre, Book 2 (11 page)

    "What's going on, Garvin?"

    "You're fighting to first blood, open rules." Open rules meant no rules.

    "These are metal weapons," I pointed out. I had never been allowed to use real weapons other than for solo practice.

    "Yes, and they hurt if you get hit, so don't."

    "Why are we doing this?"

    "I don't have time to explain. Fellstamp won't be pulling his blows, so you shouldn't either. Begin." He backed away.

    I was about to protest, but Fellstamp lifted the blade in salute and then spun on the spot, using the falling momentum of the sword to sweep it in a wide open cut. I stepped back, allowing the blade to pass with a low whoosh. It wasn't a serious attack, but it got me moving. After that it got serious.

    A broadsword isn't really a cutting weapon. The edge is sharp, but it's the mass that does the damage. It will snap bones like twigs if you get in the way. The weight is the problem, though. It's slow to wield unless you have the raw power of someone like Tate behind it. Fellstamp was good, but he preferred lighter weapons. He usually favoured a pair of long curved knives with which he wove intricate patterns of defence and attack. There's no intricacy in a broadsword.

    It was relatively easy for me with a lighter weapon and longer reach to shift the attack on to Fellstamp and prevent him getting enough momentum to wield the bigger weapon. The trouble was that he could use it as a very effective shield with minimal movement, parrying my blows. My sword clanged off the edge of the broadsword, sparks flying but not penetrating his guard. I could drive him backwards, but I couldn't reach him.

    "If you don't cut him soon, Dogstar, I'll come in there and kill you myself," shouted Garvin.

    The distraction was enough for Fellstamp. He parried my blow sideways then danced around his blade, punching his elbow back into my face, aiming for my eye. I dodged, but received a painful jab to the cheek, making my eyes water. I dropped backwards, rolling into a tight ball, feeling rather than seeing the blade sweep over me, then rising in a single motion into an upward cut which rang from his blade. I used a series of whirling upward cuts to drive him backwards, steering him towards the corner where he would have no room to wield the bigger weapon. He saw the danger and veered sideways, opening up the space again. We circled each other, both breathing hard.

    "You're holding back, Dogstar. You have the speed but not the killing instinct. If Fellstamp wasn't pussyfooting around with that thing you would be dead by now."

    This goaded Fellstamp into a renewed attack. He swept in with bold strokes, drawing figures of eight in the air, forcing me to deflect the blows or lose my head. He whirled it around for another blow, building speed and power as he pressed forward. I dropped to my knee and parried it upwards, letting the blow carry through before thrusting my own blade up at a forty-five degree angle. There was a jolt as the blade found his shoulder, piercing it full through. His eyes widened as he slid forward on to the blade, carried by his own impetus. His heavy blade slipped from his hand and clanged on to the floor. He sagged, dragging my blade down with him, the grating slide on bone travelling down the springy metal to my hand. Blood welled around the cut and then ran down the angled blade in a red rivulet.

    "Well, don't just sit there man! Pull the blade!" It was Garvin.

    I drew the blade back with a soft sucking sound then whipped it out. The blood sprayed out in a long line across the floor and up the wall. I rose, ready to hold the blade in ritual victory at Fellstamp's throat, but his knees gave way.

    "Yield," he coughed, and he collapsed forward on to his face.

    "Idiot! You were supposed to scratch him, not try and kill him! Fionh, Amber, attend to Fellstamp." Garvin's instructions were crisp.

    "Will he be OK?"

    "You missed the heart, though not through any skill on your part. Sword." He held his hand out to me.

    I gave him the sword.

    "Kneel and bare your forearm."

    I knelt carefully down, watching as Amber and Fionh lifted Fellstamp into a sitting position so that they could apply pads to the wound. His face was grey with pain and his shirt was soaked red all down the front. There was a lot of blood.

    I did as I was bid and the blade flashed down, the line of red droplets staining the floor anew. I didn't feel the touch of the blade, but I knew Garvin well enough to know that it had cut. The blood welled from the line across my wrist.

    "Your blood is mixed with the blood of the Warders. Do you accept it?"

    I looked up into his stony calm.

    "Do you?" he repeated.

    "Yes."

    "Taste it," said Garvin.

    I put my lips around the cut, the thick sticky taste cloying my mouth.

    "By your blood, will you serve the will of the council until released of your service?" he asked.

    "I will." The metallic taste got stronger.

    "By your heart, will you hold the life of any member of the council above your own?"

    "I will." The blood made my tongue slow. It felt swollen.

    "By your mind, will you seek to preserve and protect your fellow Warders even at risk of your own life?"

    "I will." My heartbeat thumped in my chest.

    "By your power, will you keep the secrets of the council, even to your own death?"

    "I will." Red dripped from my wrist on to the floor.

    "Stand, Warder Alshirian, also called Dogstar, and bow to the other Warders."

    I stood, my knees unsteady, but bowed nevertheless. "What did we just do?"

    "You passed the test. You took the blood of a full Warder. From tonight you are on active service."

    "But I'm not ready." My protest echoed Fionh's.

    "No, you're not, especially after that performance. Tate, uniform, please."

    "You said we would accelerate the training, you didn't say anything about this."

    "I changed my mind."

    "Is this to keep me from Alex? Is that the reason?"

    "Alex is the least of my worries. We have other problems. Get dressed." He handed me the charcoal-grey uniform of the Warders, trousers, jacket, turtleneck shirt. The shirt was silk; you could feel it in the texture.

    He turned to Fellstamp. "Are you able to stand?" Fellstamp still looked grey.

    Fellstamp nodded, Fionh and Amber helping him up. "Nothing that a week of rest and good sex won't cure."

    Fionh assessed him. "If you have sex tonight it will kill you."

    "Yeah, but I'd die smiling." His grin was infectious, at least with Fionh. Amber didn't appear to find it funny.

    "Get him a clean shirt. Have you stopped the bleeding?"

    Fionh lifted the pad and inspected the wound. "Mostly. The puncture's clean, so it won't scar. We'll keep a pad on it for a few days."

    "Good. Help him dress. Slimgrin, clean the blade and find the scabbard for it."

    He turned to me. Tate was helping me into the dark grey jacket, grinning at me all the while.

    "As a Warder, you take orders, understand?"

    "I understand, but you can't order me to leave her there." He knew I meant Alex.

    "I said I would help you and I will, but you have to help yourself. Get yourself killed and you're no help to me or her. You have to learn to keep your feelings to yourself. You wear them like a badge of honour but your enemies will see them as a weakness and exploit them for all they're worth."

    "I can't help the way I feel."

    "You can hide the way you feel if you want to live long enough to help her. You need to learn quickly if you're going to survive as a Warder. We need to present you to the full council. Put your sword on." He took the scabbarded sword and belt from Slimgrin and handed it to me. "You don't draw that again tonight, whatever happens. Do you understand?"

    "I think I've had enough blood for one night, don't you?" I nodded to the sweep of spatters across the floor and up the wall before buckling the belt around my waist. The weight of the unfamiliar blade rested against my thigh.

    "Just do as you're told for once." He turned and addressed the Warders. "Get your weapons, people, we're on in three minutes. Dogstar, you're with me. The rest of you, stay close."

    Garvin swept out of the room, me in close pursuit. I fell in beside him. The others followed so that our steps fell into time, a dull tattoo on the carpeted floor echoed by the rhythm of the sword slapping against my leg. I glanced backwards. The Warders followed, close enough to leave no exploitable space between them but each in their own space, unhampered by the others. Following their lead I let a little distance grow between Garvin and me. He reacted by catching my arm and pulling me back.

    "Stay close. I mean it."

    I nodded, acknowledging his order. This was getting stranger and stranger. I had seen Garvin fight four Warders at once and not look stressed. I had seen him stay calm when everyone else was anxious. I had never doubted his capability in any situation. Tonight he looked nervous. What would make Garvin nervous?

    We arrived at the door to the main chamber. I knew the council were meeting tonight; Garvin had told me. I knew that beyond these doors there would be seven huge wooden thrones carved from bog oak and heavy as iron. I knew that the room would be dimly lit but for the figure in each of the chairs. On the left would be the empty chair, the chair reserved for the Seventh Court and held against the return of their lost brother, Altair, Lord of the Untainted. In the next would be pale Yonna, Lady of the Fey'ree and ruler of Blackbird's court. Next to Yonna would be Barthia, her huge bulk and ham-like forearms a complete contrast to Yonna's tiny slender frame, her upturned tusks no less strange than Yonna's pointed ears or over-wide mouth.

    In the centre would be Krane, the most human-looking of the leaders of the Feyre, though the feline grace with which he moved would set him apart as much as Barthia's size. Mellion would be next, his smooth dark fur beautifully groomed as always, the heavy silver chain of office draped around his neck. Against Mellion's lithe grace, Teoth would look short and dumpy, his flat nose and square features so similar to Fellstamp's that I knew at once that he must be the leader of the Luchorpán. Finally, Kimlesh, Lady of the Nymphine court, would be on the right. Her hair, like Fionh's, was never quite still, the blonde curls moving with a will of their own, winding around the finials on the chair as if they were tasting it.

    I had been presented to them before, but not as a full Warder. Up until now I had been protected by Garvin's tutelage and, though I had been counted as a Warder since I first swore the oath I had repeated tonight, I had not been on active service, and so not at their disposal. Tonight that had changed. Now the council could send me anywhere they wished, for any reason they wanted, and I had sworn to obey with an oath that bound my heart. That oath protected me. It meant that others could not use their magic to extract the secrets of the council from me. It had allowed me to live under the council's protection. But it meant I had to obey.

    Garvin turned before the door to the chamber, facing the rest of the Warders.

    "School your faces, still your hearts. We are the Warders."

    "We are the Warders!" The others echoed his words, putting their hands over their hearts in salute.

    Garvin turned and paused for a second before using the end of his staff to rap three times on the door. He pushed the double doors open before us and we marched forward into the chamber, keeping formation. We approached the seven thrones in step and stopped where the light grew bolder and the seven-pointed star in the floor marked the space before the High Court of the Feyre.

    There was a stillness in the Warders around me, a tension unreleased. Garvin didn't glance my way or give any indication that anything was out of the ordinary, but standing beside him I could feel that he was wound tight.

    The reason was before us.

    The seventh throne was occupied.

FIVE

The seventh throne was supposed to be unoccupied, the ruler of the Seventh Court and the rest of the Untainted banished to another world and kept out of ours by the barrier that I had helped to repair nine months ago. How could he be here? I glanced sideways at Garvin, who looked stonily ahead.

    Altair spoke. I expected his voice to be deep and rough, but it wasn't. It had warmth and timbre like a finely tuned instrument, meant to sway hearts and invite confidences.

    "What, no word of greeting, Garvin? No welcome home?"

    "Your place has been kept for you, Lord Altair, as you would expect." said Garvin.

    "Still, I had thought that you might have some welcome for me, returning after so long an absence."

    "Forgive me. The circumstances of your departure make me cautious, as well you might imagine."

    Kimlesh spoke. "Altair is here at our invitation, Garvin. Your duty is his protection, as with all of us."

    "You do not need to remind me of my duty, Lady. I know it well."

    "And yet I detect a hesitation," said Altair.

    "When last we saw each other, Altair, I lost five Warders. That's not a night I'll soon forget. I have no wish to lose anymore."

    "An error of judgement put you between my purpose and the mongrels, Garvin. Had you not stood in my way, you would not have lost anyone."

    "I do not regard it as an error."

    "And yet you lost five Warders."

    "Two of them were Tainted, as you would have it. The Warders protect each other. We stand together and die together. I would not abandon my people."