Vellmar the Blade Page 7

  “Have you practiced enough with it?” he asked worriedly. “I haven’t seen you throwing it anywhere but the base, and you haven’t been on the base much lately.”

  “I certainly focused a lot more on knife throwing.” She straightened with her grip in hand. “But I still put in a few sessions, and I did it so much back at Koneza that it’s built into my muscle memory.”

  He nodded as Linzine appeared with her own grip.

  “Ready, Fianna?”

  “I’m ready. Bai, this is Senshalon, the Guard I’m training in knife fighting. He’s our target thrower.”

  “Well met, Guard Senshalon.”

  “Well met, and a true pleasure.” Senshalon touched her palm. “I wish we could talk, but you two have to go out and make a whole unit of journalists deliriously happy. All of the other events are done for the day, so every journalist in Blacksun Basin is right here.”

  “Then let’s give them a performance.” Linzine led the way out with all the calm of a seasoned competitor. Vellmar followed, feeling far less settled, and Senshalon brought up the rear.

  When they emerged into the open space near the newly drawn throwing line at the edge of the stands, the air rang with the roar from the crowd. The announcer shouted something, but Vellmar couldn’t make out a word of it. She was on sensory overload, feeling the emotions of this crush of excited Alseans as a heavy pounding against her mental shielding. Closing her eyes, she took herself to her place of serenity, centering her own emotions and gradually shoring up her shielding until she felt, if not calmer, at least less overwhelmed. When she opened her eyes again, her mother was watching with a knowing expression.

  “It’s not usually like this,” Linzine said, speaking loudly to be heard over the background noise. “In fact, I’ve never seen it quite like this. Don’t look at them. Look out there.” She swept her hand outward, indicating the open field they faced.

  The permanent stands faced each other across the grounds, with temporary seat risers closing one end to form three sides of a rectangle. The fourth side was open to the land, as dictated by a tradition as old as the Games themselves. Despite the heat haze, Vellmar could see the foothills in the distance and behind them the great mountains ringing in the valley. Just the sight of them calmed her, and she gave her mother a grateful nod.

  Given the dangers of throwing swords—not that Vellmar or her mother would ever miss—this final competition was held at the very edge of the stands, allowing them to make their throws into the unmown field outside. The spectators saw only their backs, but vidcams swarmed all around, recording the action for the giant holograms behind them.

  Vellmar was never able to remember the details of this last event. She didn’t hear the announcer explaining the rules to the audience, didn’t even know it had begun until Senshalon stepped up with a stack of the large round targets. In a daze she watched him throw one, then the other out in a sidearm motion. They landed at slight angles, their design heavy enough to be easily thrown but light enough to not lie entirely flat on the long grass.

  She took her place at the line next to her mother, extended her sword, and waited. At the sound of the bell, they both threw their swords. She knew it would be a tie long before they hit the ground.

  Volunteer runners raced out to retrieve the swords, and then Senshalon was at the line again, this time throwing with greater force. The targets landed almost seventy paces away, a challenging distance, but the result was still a tie. When the runners held up the swords, each with a target impaled on it, the crowd noise swelled to such a level that Vellmar’s head began to throb. She was now at the point where she simply wanted to finish this and get out. Far from being in her focused zone, she felt as if her brain were wrapped in foam, dulling her perceptions.

  Senshalon’s third throw was impressive. The targets landed at the upper range of her limit, and she focused on hers, readying herself for the throw. As she raised her sword, something caught her attention.

  The grass was moving by her mother’s target.

  The foamy feeling vanished, all of her senses sharpened, and she gasped when a small body appeared. It was too distant for her to see what it was, but it was clearly alive, and it had now clambered onto the target.

  “Hold!” she cried, but the sound of the bell drowned her out.

  Beside her, Linzine threw her sword.

  Vellmar had no time to think about what she was doing. Her own sword whipped through the air, slicing toward her mother’s as both weapons climbed into the sky. She had thrown hers a piptick too late for an easy interception and watched fearfully as the two sharp weapons closed the distance to the target.

  At the peak of their arcs, her sword impacted her mother’s with a clash of metal. The crowd gasped when the blades bounced off each other and fell to the ground, well short of the target.

  “What in the name—” Linzine began.

  Vellmar didn’t hear the rest. She was already running, desperate to know what was out there. Her overwrought brain was saying child, but as she drew near, she realized that no child could have gotten that far into the target range without someone else seeing it first. She pounded up to the target and saw striped fur and a pair of curious yellow eyes staring at her, showing no fear.

  “Fahla on a shekking funstick.” She dropped to her knees. She had just disqualified herself and thrown away the championship title, all for a young vallcat. As she sat there cursing her luck, two other kittens appeared, squeaking as they tumbled over each other. With a trembling hand she reached out, gently nudged the first kitten off the target, and lifted the edge. Then she did the only thing possible: she laughed.

  What were the odds that Senshalon would throw a target precisely onto the opening of a vallcat’s underground den?

  CHAPTER 13:

  Vallcat

  “…and it wasn’t until it stood up and shook itself that everyone else could finally see what Vellmar had seen before them: the biggest, most magnificent vallcat that ever lived. We do not see its like today,” Jandahar said.

  “How big was it?” Harren asked. This was his favorite part.

  “It was so big that if it were to lie upon your bed right now, there would be no room for you. It had teeth the length of your hands and claws as long as your feet. Its fur was so thick that you could put your hand on its neck and bury it all the way to your wrist. And its eyes—great, unblinking, yellow eyes—were the mark of a ferocious hunter.”

  “But Vellmar wasn’t afraid!” Milena said happily.

  “No, Vellmar wasn’t afraid. She reached out and allowed it to sniff her hand, and then the great beast sat down and bumped her with its head.”

  “Because it knew! It knew she saved its life.”

  “Indeed it did. And from that day forward, Vellmar took the vallcat as her personal emblem. She changed her family crest to honor the hunting cats, and whenever anyone saw it, they remembered the day that Vellmar the Blade chose life over glory, mercy over pride. This was the day when Alseans first recognized the warrior who would become their next Lancer.”

  CHAPTER 14:

  Laughingstock

  “I cannot believe I gave up the title for a passel of vallcat kittens,” Vellmar said for at least the fourth time.

  “I can.” Salomen reached across the table and topped off her glass. “Here, drink up. You still need it.”

  Blindly, Vellmar picked up the glass and took a deep draught. She wasn’t certain how she had gotten to the Lancer’s State House quarters. The details were a bit fuzzy after leaving the Games. She remembered the crowd of journalists, volunteers, and spectators that had surrounded her in the field, calling out questions and frightening the kittens back into their den with the commotion. She had sympathized with the kittens, thinking that she would have followed them down their tunnel if only she could have fit. Overwhelmed by the sheer size and volume of the crowd, she had fin
ally shouted at everyone to back away and demanded that the area be cordoned off so that no harm would come to the den while the Games were still running. Lancer Tal had appeared from out of nowhere and taken over, ordering the safety of the den and telling Vellmar to go with Salomen and her Guards. From that moment to this one, however, she could recall nothing but a gray blur.

  “What a mess,” she mumbled, dropping her head to the table. “This is probably the best day of Jerran’s life. He would have flown around the planet twice just to see this. Everyone must think I’m as cracked as a bad blacknut.”

  “Fianna, nobody thinks that. You acted on pure instinct—a very good instinct, it turned out. It just took some time before everyone realized it. Linzine said she would have been devastated had she impaled a vallcat kitten on her sword, and that’s exactly what would have happened if you hadn’t done what you did.”

  “But I’m a laughingstock! How am I supposed to command a Guard unit now?”

  “You are not a laughingstock. Don’t you realize what you did? You knocked your mother’s sword out of the air! Andira said she’s never seen anything like it. She thought you were skilled back in Koneza, when you hit a tin of shannel, but she says this was much more difficult. My own Guards think you’re half a goddess. If the championship were awarded on skill alone, versus hitting an approved target, you’d have it right now.”

  “But I don’t have it, do I? Because I disqualified myself.”

  Salomen made an inarticulate sound of exasperation. “Perhaps I should save my breath until you’re sober and just focus on getting you so drunk that your brain lets go of this single thought you seem to be fixed on.”

  “You don’t understand! I worked so hard. I trained for moons for this.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  Vellmar lifted her head. “I didn’t?”

  “No, you grainbird. You trained for the medals. And you brought home four of them.”

  She blinked. There was something wrong with this logic, but it was true that she had four medals. Except…except she didn’t know where they were!

  “My medals.” She stood with some difficulty and braced herself on the table. “I lost my medals! We have to go back!”

  Salomen rose from her chair, walked around the table, and gently pushed her down again. “I have your medals, Fianna. Don’t worry. You haven’t lost them.”

  “You have them?”

  “Yes. Great Goddess above, you are going to be so mortified if you remember any of this conversation tomorrow.”

  “How is she?” asked Lancer Tal, who had once again appeared out of nowhere.

  “Drunk as a Mariner on leave,” Salomen said. “But still very upset.”

  “Well, she has reason for it. But you should hear the talk out there. I feel sorry for all the other competitors at the Games, because they just became a footnote in the news. Vellmar is the star, no doubt about it. Linzine said only her daughter could turn a loss into the biggest win of the Games.”

  “She doesn’t feel like a winner. Andira, we can’t let her go back to her quarters like this.”

  “I know. Besides, I have a feeling we wouldn’t get her out of here without carrying her, and that would stir up gossip she doesn’t need.”

  “I’ll make up the couch.”

  They talked back and forth while Vellmar watched, but her brain stopped processing the words. Then she laid her head back on the table and stopped processing anything at all.

  CHAPTER 15:

  A vallcat of your own

  “And the vallcat became Vellmar’s friend, didn’t it?” Harren asked.

  “Yes, it did. She would often return to that part of Blacksun Basin to visit it.”

  “Why didn’t she just take it home with her?” Milena wanted to know. “That’s what I would have done.”

  “Because it was a wild animal. It would have been miserable in the city.”

  “Not if she kept it at Redmoon Base. There’s a whole forest around the base.”

  “Vallcats aren’t forest animals. They’re specialized for hunting in long grass. You can’t take a wild animal out of its home and expect it to be happy. Vellmar knew that.”

  “But imagine having a vallcat of your own,” Milena mumbled.

  CHAPTER 16:

  A passel of kittens

  Vellmar woke in a room she didn’t recognize. Alarmed, she pushed herself into a sitting position and immediately regretted it. With a groan she closed her eyes and held her head in her hands, trying to keep it from flying into pieces.

  “Good morning,” said an entirely too cheerful voice.

  “Ugh.” She wanted to say more, but fully expressing the agony she was currently experiencing was not possible.

  “Give me your hand.”

  Someone tugged one of her hands away from her head, an imposition that she fiercely resisted. It wasn’t until her dazed brain finally recognized Salomen’s voice that she let go. A skin spray hissed into her wrist, something clattered, and Salomen said, “I’ve just given you a paincounter and anti-nausea spray. Now if you’ll drink this, you’ll start feeling better.”

  She opened her eyes, staring blankly at the glass of juice that filled her vision. Carefully, she reached out, took the glass with both hands, and sipped it. Her stomach stayed where it was supposed to, which she took as a good sign. A full gulp also produced no untoward gastrointestinal activities, but it did serve to activate a powerful thirst. She drained the glass, and when she handed it back, she was sufficiently recovered to speak a full sentence.

  “You just saved my life.”

  Salomen chuckled. “I think you give me a little too much credit. In truth, I’m feeling guilty for getting you so drunk.”

  Vellmar looked around, realizing that the room wasn’t unfamiliar after all. “Fahla! I spent the night here? In the Lancer’s quarters?” Shek, her career was over. What must the Lancer think of a Lead Guard who couldn’t even make it to her own rooms?

  “May I remind you that these are my quarters, too? Now you’re not giving me enough credit! Stop being a shekking Lead Guard for a piptick. You stayed here because you’re my friend, and I have never seen you as upset as you were last night. I was not about to leave you alone in your quarters, so I brought you home. Andira was in full agreement.”

  “Oh, perfect. Better and better.” Vellmar was on the verge of saying something she would regret, but the look in Salomen’s eyes stopped her. After a deep, cleansing breath, she managed a small smile. “I’m sorry. Shattering headaches make me a little short-tempered. Thank you for…everything you did for me. Even though I can’t remember exactly what it was.”

  That seemed to have been the right thing to say. “You’re welcome. I really am sorry about the shattering headache. I didn’t know how else to calm you down.”

  “It was probably for the best.” She saw her boots lined up neatly at the foot of the couch, then realized that she was still in yesterday’s clothes. “I’m not sure how you can bear being this close to me. I was sweating like a fanten yesterday.”

  “Yes, you’re a little ripe.” Vellmar looked up sharply, only to see an amused smile on Salomen’s face. “I’m teasing you. But a sonsales could sense how uncomfortable you are, so why don’t you go take a shower?”

  “I will.” Vellmar reached for her boots. “I feel like a rude date, sneaking out the morning after.”

  “You’re not sneaking out.” Salomen stopped her with an upraised hand. “You have a clean uniform right there, and you know where our shower is.”

  “I cannot—”

  “Listen, Fianna, I’ve been here long enough to understand the value of appearances. You’re not going out there until you’re the very picture of a perfectly sober, perfectly in-control Lead Guard, ready to face the world.”

  Vellmar sat back. “When did you become a politician?”
>
  “Probably the day I moved into these quarters.”

  The shower cleared the last vestiges of spirits from her brain, and by the time she was done, the paincounter had kicked in. She felt almost normal and began trying to piece together her scattered memories of the day before. It wasn’t until she was pulling on her fresh uniform that she realized how aberrant the behavior of those kittens had been. Fastening her collar, she strode into the living area and found Salomen sitting at the table.

  “Do you know anything about vallcats?”

  Salomen looked up from the book she had been drawing in. “You seem to be feeling better. Yes, we have them on the holding. Why?”

  “They don’t usually come out in the heat of the day, do they? Why were they out of their den? And where was their mother?”

  Putting down her pen and closing the book, Salomen considered it. “Now that you bring it up, I would guess that their mother is staying far away during the daytime, with all the activity of the Games. She’s probably only able to bring food back at night, which means those kittens are on half rations. Maybe when the target landed on their den, they thought it was their mother bringing food and went out looking for her.”

  Vellmar was stricken by the idea of the kittens starving. “That explains why the one on the target didn’t hide when I came running up. It just sat there, staring at me. None of them were frightened until everyone else started crowding around. Salomen—we have to go feed them.”

  A slow smile deepened Salomen’s chin dimple. “Last night you were devastated about giving up the championship title for what you called ‘a passel of vallcat kittens.’ Now you want to save them?”

  “I’m not so upset about the title anymore. I do remember one thing you told me last night, about what I was really training for. You were right. I have four medals, and two of them are red. The title wasn’t meant to be mine this cycle. If it had been, Senshalon wouldn’t have thrown that target where he did. And yes, I want to go save them. You didn’t see the look that little kitten gave me—as if it was just waiting for me to take care of it.”