Unhewn Throne 01 - The Emperor's Blades(45)

*

While he’d been lamenting his father and chasing phantoms, Hull’s Trial had drawn steadily closer, and as the bleak list of names engraved on the Stone of the Fallen outside the barracks reminded him, a cadet could die on the Islands easily enough without the need of a shadowy conspiracy. He resumed his long, predawn swims, redoubled his evening runs around the coast, and returned to his study of tactics and strategy with a vengeance. The bright days of early spring gave way to heavy rains that soaked his blacks the moment he stepped out the door. After eight years of training, time felt suddenly, precariously short. There were maps to learn, languages to practice, diagrams of fleets and fortresses to pore over, and, of course, there was always fighting to be had.

Qarsh had a number of training rings where cadets and veterans alike could work up a good sweat running through forms or hammering each other into the dust with blunted blades. The simplest were just squares of earth vaguely delineated by a few pounded stakes strung with ropes. Past the west end of the compound, however, not far from the Eyrie’s main landing field, overlooking a rocky expanse that swept down toward the sea, was the only true arena on the Islands—a shallow, wide circle a pace or so deep set into the earth and ringed with stones.

Valyn arrived just before seventh bell, stripped to the waist and sweating like a bull from his run around the perimeter of the island. It was a full week since Gwenna’s investigation of Manker’s, and though he had not forgotten the Aedolian’s warning or his grief over his father’s murder, the imperatives of training provided some kind of distraction from the looming threat—time to shut up and buckle down, as the Kettral liked to say—and there was nothing to focus the mind like three feet of steel whistling toward your forehead.

Late each afternoon, from seventh to eighth bell, was set aside for a session the Eyrie referred to as “Individual Close Combat.” The cadets dubbed it, simply, Blood Time. If you somehow managed to make it through the morning without the proper complement of bruises and lacerations, Blood Time would make sure you went to bed sore. The setup was simple: two cadets in a wide, low ring just to the west of the armory and forge. Whoever asked for mercy first, lost. Sometimes the fights took place with blunted blades, sometimes with knives or cudgels, sometimes with bare fists. One of the trainers was always there, in theory to make sure everyone followed the few rules. In practice, however, the older soldiers tended to heap fuel on the fire, hurling insults and gibes from the edge of the ring. Sometimes there was betting.

Forty or fifty Kettral surrounded the ring, vets and cadets alike, some stretching out sore muscles, others windmilling the blood into their arms in great looping circles, others chatting quietly in small knots. Valyn spotted Ha Lin, Gent, Laith, and Talal on the far side, and circled over to them, taking the time to catch his breath.

“My point is,” Laith was saying, hands spread as he tried to reason with Gent, “that the hammer is a ridiculous weapon. Useless.”

“It’s useless if you can’t lift it,” Gent argued, eyeing the flier’s thin arms skeptically.

“It’s a carpenter’s tool, for ’Shael’s sake. There’s a reason every Kettral carries two swords strapped across his back and not two hammers. Val,” he said, turning to appeal to the new arrival. “Talk some sense into this ox.”

“Don’t bother,” Lin interjected, raising a hand in warning. “They’ve been at it since sixth bell and left sense behind a long time ago.”

“We’re fighting with hammers today?” Valyn asked, glancing toward the arena apprehensively. The trainers loved nothing more than throwing unexpected twists into daily training, and a hammer was a dangerous weapon to spar with.

“Not that I know of,” Lin replied, eyes flashing. “But don’t worry. If we are, I’ll be gentle with you.”

“That’s what the whores on Hook always tell me,” Laith cut in with a wink. “Don’t believe her, Val. Or,” he added, considering the two of them, eyes narrowed in sly appraisal, “a pretty girl like Ha Lin, maybe you don’t want her to go easy on you.…”

Lin took a casual swipe at the flier with her belt knife, but Valyn could see the flush rising to her cheeks. He wanted to think of something to say, something quick and clever that would catch her eye and make her laugh, but Laith was the one with the lines, and before Valyn could find the right words, a round of raucous laughter cut through the air from across the ring. Lin turned toward the sound, her face twisting into a scowl.