Still glaring, Zep offered his hand and Sal grasped it, expecting the rotten feel of human flesh. To her surprise, his mind crawled weakly into her consciousness, his touch warm and pleasurable. Standing so close to him, she smelled nothing but human sugar, but otherwise he felt like the other Black Blades.
I didn't think you had it in you, he admitted, I was wrong. I just don't want fancy footwork to be all I have to back me up if things go bad.
Dark eyes glared at her with seeming hatred, but his mental voice acknowledged that she'd impressed him. Slightly. She sent the equivalent of a mental nod, having nothing else to say, and held her lips closed. He was like no human she'd met before, and she didn't trust him.
Kinetry was assisted to his feet and taken to the infirmary while Shift escorted his group back. The other recruits lounged around the fountain with LT, relaxed and waiting. Their conversation hummed in excited tones.
Sal moved to a clear spot. Riblour and Saong sat with a group of recruits across from her, keeping their distance. She could see them talking, their heads turned in her direction. No matter how hard she tried to ignore it, telling herself that soldiers loved to gossip and the rumors would only make them keep their distance, it didn't stop the resentment. Evidently, she'd never be anything but a freak.
Chapter 4
Rise of the Iliri: BloodLust: Book 1
Around the courtyard, stablehands were lighting lanterns, easing the grip of coming night. The warm glow cast flickering shadows across the neat gravel, their forms dancing in silhouette. Next to the fountain, a rack of practice weapons had been set up and a clear area was marked on the ground.
"Ok, it's time," Arctic called out, moving to the center of the group. Soldiers pulled themselves to their feet, the grace of the morning long gone.
"Tuovo and Lennert, report to Razor," he said, pointing at the officer. "The rest of you aren't done yet." Arctic stepped aside as LT took his place.
"I have already heard complaints running among you," LT started. "You think certain applicants aren't qualified or others are getting it easier. Well, I want to put that out of your minds." His gaze touched each of them, some recruits nodding, others with confused looks on their faces.
"Of course, we also want to know the skills of those who may fight beside us." He gestured to the men in black fatigues behind him. "So tonight, each Blade gets to choose one recruit for a public spar." The men grinned and LT waited for the excitement to abate. "Relax. Get cozy. I think this may take a while."
The First Officer, Arctic, gestured to a young man seated next to Sal. Barely more than a boy, only his age set him apart from being completely average. Tawny skin and brown hair on a frame of medium height and weight, the kid moved like a predator. Arctic handed him a pair of practice knives, then grabbed a two handed sword for himself. When the Lieutenant called for them to lay on, Sal's eyes were glued to the fight.
Arctic used his mass to deflect the whirling blades of the boy, forcing the kid to expend his energy to stay out of his reach. In a few short minutes, it became obvious that the First Sergeant was more than just a tactician. The moment the boy began to slow, Arctic moved in and dropped the sword, disarming him with a kick to one hand and a slap to the other, then manhandled him to the floor.
A murmur of appreciation swelled among the recruits for Arctic's skill. Few soldiers had been privileged enough to see elites at work and the Black Blades held the reputation of the most ruthless fighters the CFC could boast. When the combatants left the ring, another man in black stepped up.
"Cyno," LT said. Sal recognized him as the man who'd assisted Kinetry off the field, the one who'd checked her papers the first day.
Cyno gestured at a tall man, a cold smile on his face as he swept his arm back to indicate the rack of weapons behind him. The recruit appeared to be from a wealthy family from the jewel at his throat, immaculate hair, and fashionable but non-standard accessories to his uniform. In stark contrast, Cyno's simple black uniform was scuffed and well worn. His angular features cast shadows against his face and he stood a head shorter. While the fop made his selection, Cyno slowly unbuttoned his shirt, peeled it off, and carefully hung it on the edge of the weapon rack. Tattoos covered his chest, black designs that swirled and wove their way across his body to disappear beneath the waistband of his pants, heavier on his left, leaving the right bare. They did nothing to hide the ripcord of muscles that covered his lean frame. Dark stubble shadowed his head and made the vivid blue of his eyes startling, yet his cold gaze seemed to look right through them all.
The recruit chose a pike, the only weapon on the rack close to his height. He tossed it gingerly, getting a feel for it, before casually walking to one side of the combat arena and glancing at the Lieutenant. Cyno nodded at LT, no weapons in his hand.
At the call, the recruit struck. None of them lacked skill. If they had, they wouldn't have made it this far, but this one never stood a chance. At the first sign of motion, Cyno plucked the weapon from his opponent's hands, hooked the butt behind his calves, and knocked the man's legs out from under him. He tossed the pike away and met the soldier's body before it even hit the ground. A wooden dagger had appeared as if by magic. With one hand on the recruit's throat, the other held the tip millimeters from his eye.
"I yield," the guy whispered.
"Damn right ya do," Cyno snarled, "and do na ever look down yer nose at me again or I may actually put some effort inta it."
The Blade stood, nodded calmly at the Lieutenant, then retrieved his shirt. Dressing, he made his way to the far wall, keeping the applicants fully in his sight. A shocked silence hung in the air. Sal believed it when Cyno implied that he hadn't even tried yet still took the spoiled brat down in seconds. She wished she could move like that! Staring at him, she wondered how long it would take to acquire such skill. He looked like a man in his late twenties but moved with grace that took decades to perfect.
Reaching his face, she realized his eyes were waiting, and she struggled to keep her expression neutral. Their gazes danced for a few seconds before a smile crept to his lips, flaunting his sharp incisors and double canines – just like her own. He nodded at her before glancing to the First Sergeant.
Cyno wants me to tell you he'll teach you, Arctic's voice said. He figures that's what your inspection meant at any rate.
It is! Please let him know I've never seen anything like that, he moves like perfection, she thought back while another Black Blade walked into the center of the ring.
The lithe man grinned when he received the message. Inside her mind, she felt more than heard a click, and a harsh voice entered. Thank ya fer the compliment. His blue eyes sparkled at her across the courtyard and Sal noticed his pupils were oblong instead of round. Never been called perfection b'fore, and Shift says ya move like a demon possessed yerself. Ya make it past this and I'll show ya ever'thing I know.
Thank you! Sal thought, meaning it.
Do na thank me yet, little one. First, ya gotta prove that ya can take what we're offerin'.
Sal nodded at him and the link dissolved. While they spoke, Shift had entered the ring and called up Riblour. He fought with pike and short sword against the applicant's great sword. The wood rang against each other but Shift beat back the recruit step by step. Unlike the grace of the previous two fighters, Shift fought with power and determination, but when the recruit changed tactics, so did he. His now agile steps matched Riblour's, dragging the battle on. The recruit held up to the prowess of the Black Blade, but Sal thought Shift was toying with him. He danced and dodged, Riblour swung and jumped, slowly being pushed across the gravel. Eventually Shift brought the game to an end with such finality they all knew he'd been tormenting the soldier. The men shook hands civilly and left the ring.
"Risk, our medic," LT introduced the next Blade.
A man with feline-like grace stepped into the ring. His silvered skin offset pale gold hair that emphasized amber eyes. He is a crossbred, Sal thought, remembering him from the first day. Risk's oblique features and unnatural coloring marked his iliran ancestry clearly. He reached for a staff from the rack before addressing the recruits before him.
"I have nothing to settle with any of you." Like Cyno, his voice was richly accented. "So I'll take whoever wants to try me."
The recruits muttered to themselves, a hum of voices growing while they chattered. A few eyes looked her way, before one man stepped up. "I'll try," he said.
This recruit was older, an obvious veteran of the wars. His face streaked with scars, his shoulders well-muscled, he waited for Risk's nod before making his way to the rack to select a pair of hand axes. At the call to lay on, Risk and the veteran casually moved toward each other, neither rushing to throw the first blow. With a feint, Risk scored a tap on the veteran's arm and the combat began. More blocks and feints, but in the end, the veteran's claim to fame was a solid hit on Risk's shoulder before being knocked to the ground, defeated.
The same held for the next bout. Razor chose Saong, a large and well-muscled man. Their bronze skins rippled and sweat gleamed under the lanterns. In moments, the Blade finished like the others, with his opponent yielding. Only one remained: Zep.
He stalked to the center of the ring, his braids sweeping over the leather on his shoulders. Black bracers on each forearm were his only concession to sleeves, barely a shade darker than his skin, and they showed signs of true combat. Zep locked eyes with her and nodded.
Sal stood, amused voices whispering behind her. They hoped to see her fail, and like everyone before her, she had no intention of that.
Waiting for her beside the weapon rack, Zep chose a pair of curved, wooden light swords. Sal looked over the options, hefting and discarding a few that failed to deliver on the promise of their appearance. Behind Zep, a matched set of sabers called to her. She glanced at him, and he stepped aside for her to reach the weapons. They felt right in her hands, light and balanced slightly toward the hilt. When she turned to make her way across the ring, Zep's hand shot out, pulling the cap from her head.
"Let's just leave this here, shall we?" he sneered. "See what we can do when that hair of yours is flung around, begging someone to grab it?"
