Dragon Blood

Chapter 5

“I heard about your school and I came to ask for training.” She glanced sideways at her fallen blade. “I need to learn to use my sword.”

Square-head’s coppery eyes narrowed when he noticed the color of hers. “It would appear you already know how to use your sword,” he said at last, indicating the guard she’d attacked.

“I need to learn how to fight. And win.”

“Enough! Sullsai Hanso, we’ve heard enough of this.” Another gray-robed man stomped out of the shifting masses. His eyes were black and his mouth was a cruel, jagged line. “Look at her—she’s a Moorfainian spy, or worse. Put her to death and be done with it.”

“Peace, Airo. Before we kill her, we must be certain of her motives.” The square-headed man—Hanso—spoke over Airo. To Keriya, he said, “State your name.”

She opened her mouth to say Kayah. She’d adopted the pronunciation for sake of ease. But for the first time since she’d come to Jidaeln, it sounded wrong.

“Keriya Soulstar,” she told him quietly.

Hanso raised an eyebrow. Airo let out a derisive snort.

“Not a Jidaelni name,” said a third gray-robed figure who appeared at Hanso’s side, “but being foreign doesn’ mitigate her crime. I agree with Sullsai Airo—we’d do better to kill her.”

“From a political standpoint, it would be unwise to execute a foreigner,” said Hanso. Keriya nodded a vehement agreement, but no one was paying attention to her anymore.

“If you don’t kill her, she should be made into a servant, a slave who will never tell our secrets,” said Airo. “Bring her to Scron and let him hang her tongue on a post as a warning. Let the world know wha’ happens when outsiders cross the Xamarai!”

A bloodthirsty cheer rose from the spectators. Someone wrenched Keriya to her feet and shoved her into the crowd.

“Stop!” Her pleas were buried beneath the uproar of the tan-robed troops, who parted ways before her as she was pushed along. “I just want to learn. I won’t tell anyone your secrets!”

“What’s going on?”

A new voice cut through the tumult, silencing the shouts. Everyone snapped to attention and bowed, pressing their right fists to their chests. Keriya was pushed to her knees again. The force of the shove was enough to land her face-down in the dirt.

“Ansai Viran,” came Airo’s scratchy voice, “this girl has trespassed on our grounds.”

“She clearly isn’ Jidaelni,” said Hanso. “I don’t think we should do her any violence.”

“Why not?” said the newcomer. He sounded commanding and powerful. A leader, given that the other men were deferring to him.

“She claims she wants to learn the sword, Ansai.”

“Is this true?”

Only silence answered.

“I asked, is it true?” This time the voice was as sharp as the c***k of a whip. Someone gripped one of Keriya’s ponytails and yanked her head up.

What she saw was not what she’d expected. The man before her was young, perhaps not much older than herself. He had light brown skin, raven hair that fell in proud waves around his lean face, and blue eyes—she’d been in Jidaeln long enough to know that was an oddity. His tall frame was covered by ankle-length black robes. How he could stand the garments in this heat, Keriya didn’t know.

“Yes, Ansai,” she stammered, hoping she’d addressed him correctly. “It’s true.”

The leader puzzled over Keriya, matching her stare for stare. People had always been mesmerized by her eyes—and had usually been frightened by them—but his smooth features betrayed neither fear nor judgement.

“You attacked one of my men.” His accent was different from anything she’d heard thus far—less drawling, more staccato. Maybe he, too, was foreign? “Why?”

“I was hauled here by two hostile riders.” There was more snap in her tone than was prudent. She forced herself to add, in a calmer voice, “I was frightened.”

Sounds of scorn drifted through the masses, yet the ansai remained impassive. “You weren’t sent by anyone?”

She shook her head.

“And you have your own weapon?”

She nodded. He regarded her for another moment, then untied his belt and shed his dark robes, revealing a pristine white uniform. A thin blade hung at his waist and he wore a single metallic gauntlet on his right hand. It was segmented to allow for dexterous movement, and fitted to his body like a glove.

“If this girl wishes to train in the elite ranks of the Xamarai, she will be put to a test,” he announced. “Let her fight me, and we’ll see what she’s made of.”

Airo sprang forward, screaming and waving his arms like a windmill. Hanso and the other gray-robed man began arguing. The students conferred amongst themselves. Ansai Viran had but to raise his hand, and the chaos subsided.

“If she passes, she will be bound as an indentured apprentice of the Xamarai. If not . . .” His gaze fell on Keriya like a hammer on an anvil. “Then we must deduce that she is lying about her motives for coming here.”

No one moved. The silence was somehow worse than the screaming had been.

“Apprentice Jaidon,” said the ansai. The boy whom Keriya had attacked scuttled forward obediently. “Fetch her sword.”

Jaidon’s mouth twisted in distaste, but he reluctantly jogged to retrieve Keriya’s weapon.

“Curse your blade, wretch,” he hissed, throwing it on the ground in front of her and spitting before disappearing into the mob. The bonds on Keriya’s wrists were cut. She rolled her shoulders and rubbed her hands before reaching for her sword.

Hanso stepped forward as Keriya stood. “This match is between Viran Kvlaudium, Ansai of the Xamarai, and the trespasser Kayah So’stah,” he announced, mutilating her name.

Keriya tensed. She hadn’t felt this alert, this present, this alive since before the accident. Across from her, Ansai Viran drew his weapon with his left hand and assumed a fighting stance. She assumed hers, eliciting derisive laughter from the crowd.

A stray recollection sparked in her brain like a tiny fire in a pile of damp leaves: she’d fought shadowmen with this sword—fought, and won. It was the only familiar thing in a world that had changed irrevocably. It had protected her before, and it would do so again.

“Begin!”

The ansai swept forward at Hanso’s cry, the sun flashing on his gauntlet, his blade carving a graceful arc over his head. Keriya lost her footing as their weapons clashed with jarring pain. Before she could recover, he struck at her other side. She barely managed to deflect the blow.

He moved in circles, pushing her one way, then another. Her arms burned with the effort of holding her heavy sword, and her body screamed in protest as she twisted and turned. There were shouts and jeers in the background, but she couldn’t be distracted by them. She was fighting for her life, and she didn’t know how much longer she could last.

Then it happened. The ansai swung his sword at her from the left. Instead of countering, Keriya lunged beneath the blade and swiped at his unguarded torso. She had no idea whether she’d hit her mark, because the move forced her into an awkward dive. She rolled and scrambled to her feet, prepared for anything . . . except for what she saw.

The ansai was standing still, examining his torn robes. A shallow cut ran down the left side of his muscled stomach. His eyes glinted as he raised them to her, and she thought she saw the edges of his lips twitch upwards.

Pressing her advantage, Keriya rushed in. The ansai retreated slowly, fending off her attacks as she hacked at him. Another thrill shot through her, a frisson of excitement and desperate hope. She was the one in control now. She was winning!

An unexpected pain made her drop her weapon. She collapsed, clutching her side. When she drew her hands away, they were covered in blood. The ansai towered over her, face blank, sword pointed at her throat. He’d broken through her defenses so quickly, so easily, that she hadn’t even seen how he’d done it.

Winded from the exertion and dizzy from the heat, it took a monumental effort for Keriya to grasp her fallen sword. She felt she had no strength to stand, but she managed it. Meeting the ansai’s cold gaze with as much defiance as she could muster, she raised her blade. Her abdomen ached in protest of the movement. Her arms shook and she swayed on the spot.

The ansai made no move to continue his assault. He stared at her appraisingly before announcing, “You have passed my test.”

Keriya blinked. Ansai Viran was growing fuzzy. Everything was going fuzzy. Before her world dissolved into darkness, a smile crept across her face—the first time she had smiled since she’d come to Jidaeln.

She had been deemed worthy.

CHAPTER THREE“If you have made it this far, you can make it one more day.”

~ The White Stag, Eighth Age

Hanso strode into the council chamber on the third floor of the Orai’s clock tower, scowling. The expression was a formality. He was more curious than angry—unlike Airo, who was on a warpath, furious about the foreigner. Hanso could only guess at her motives for approaching the school, though he didn’t think they were as dark and terrible as the other sullsai did.

He nodded to the High Xamarai seated at the short-legged arudai table and took his place on one of the two remaining cushions. The final cushion was large and ornate, reserved for the ansai. The cushion to its immediate right was no different from the other ten, but it was always reserved for Hanso. He was the ansai’s most trusted advisor.

As if thinking about him had summoned him, Ansai Viran stepped through the sliding silk-panel doors at the back of the room. The High Xamarai rose and saluted him: right fist over the heart, torso bowed at a forty-five-degree angle. The ansai returned the gesture, though he used his left hand to salute, and they all sat together.

“Some of you are displeased with my decision,” said the ansai, gazing around as if daring anyone to speak against him.

Airo rose to the bait. “Ansai, the girl must be punished. She’s committed a criminal act in trespassing—”

“She may not have known she was committing a crime,” said Hanso. “She’s foreign, unfamiliar with the severe punishments associated with trespassing on military property.”

“Severe, yet she’s still alive,” Ithrin said from the far end of the arudai. He was a graying, sour-faced man who was a stickler for rules.

Viran clasped his hands, lacing metal and flesh. “There is no honor in killing a civilian, and no sense in killing a foreigner who may have ties to countries we are friendly with—or worse, countries we are at odds with.”

“And wha’ if she’s from Moorfain?” Ithrin shot back. “Her eyes are—”

“Purple eyes were once a marker of great power,” Viran interrupted in a dangerously quiet voice. Hanso shot him a swift, searching look.

“Ten ages ago,” Ithrin muttered moodily.

“In legends,” said Airo, determined to doom the girl. “This is the real world, where only Moorfainian sorcerers have eyes remotely like hers. If the color is a mark of power, it’s a mark of evil power.”

“Airo, be reasonable,” said Hanso. “Would the Moorfainians have sent a spy like her, someone so blatantly visible and out-of-place?”

“If so, their strategy seems to be working,” Airo snapped.

“I doubt she’s Moorfainian, but we can’t allow a foreigner, a female, no less, to work alongside the future protectors of Jidaeln,” said Ithrin.

“I set her a challenge which she passed,” said the ansai. “She handled the blade in a familiar manner, if not a skilled one. She proved determined to finish the fight, despite sustaining injury. She even broke through my guard to land a blow of her own.”