City in the Sky (28 page)

“Wind Guard,” Ikeras said flatly. “I'm not sure, but I think that's the Air Company of their Second Battalion. Their commander is Captain Dekker
sept
Corens, whose family are allies of
sept
Jaras.”

“Wonderful,” Erik hissed. He didn't know what the Guardsmen, the elite of the Sky Cities’ armies and the men designated to protect the King himself, were doing on a Militia training field, but it was causing havoc among his men; and their commander was apparently among those who'd hate Erik just for his blood.

With a sigh, the newly-commissioned Militia captain led his command staff over to where the Wind Guard had slowed to a stop in parade formation in the middle of the field, blocking off any possible training.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.

“We're carrying out our training here today,” a sergeant in the front rank blandly informed Erik.

“This is a Militia field, and assigned to the Fire of Third today,” Erik replied furiously.

“Well a now, variety is the spice of life that helps the men keep their edge in, don't you know?” a voice said in a languid drawl.

A soldier with captain's insignia stepped through the ranks. His armor shone to the point where it was nearly painful to look at, even in the dull-gray light of the misty spring morning.

“As for the other, well, it's not like a company led by a half-blood waste of air is going to need the training, eh?” Captain Dekker
sept
Corens continued. “You'll just get all the lads killed anyway, so no point in wasting the effort.”

Erik's hand drifted across and grabbed Ikeras' wrist just as the ex-wing-lancer's hand closed onto the hilt of his sword.

“I see,” he said, as calmly as he could manage. “Unfortunately, I'm afraid that my oaths and duty to the King of Newport require me to train my men, and not to waste them either, for that matter. So I suggest you take your men back to your own training fields.”

“Well a now, I'm figuring that since we're here already, we may as well use the space,” Dekker drawled. “After all, your men don't seem to be using it much, don't you know?” he added, gesturing at the Fire of Third, which had now been pretty much entirely pushed off the field by his men.

“Well, if a certain overgrown and under-brained group of overly-polished metal men would clear the field, I'm sure they would be,” Erik hissed through his teeth. Moments later, he regained control of his temper and regretted the words, but it was already too late.

“You
dare
insult me, you half-blood abomination?” Dekker hissed, his drawl sharpening. “I'm not thinking that can be taken.” The Wind Guard's hand dropped onto the hilt of his sword, and Erik felt his mouth shape into a snarl, almost against his will.

“This is not your men's place of training. It is mine,” he said flatly. “I request that you leave, and I
will
be laying a complaint with your superiors.”

In the blink of an eye, Dekker switched from deadly rage to smooth condescension. “I don't think there's a need for that, eh? Since we're here, why don't we do a little cross-training, eh?”

“Perhaps another time, Captain Corens,” Erik told the man coldly. “I have little time for games today.”

“How about just you and me then?” Dekker replied. “One on one practice duel, just to see whose best, don't you know?”

Erik tried to resist the urge. It was unprofessional, and would be giving in to the man's goads. On the other hand, the man's arrogance was wearing, and Erik very much wanted to wipe the smirk from his overbred face.

“Very well,” he said flatly. “Ikeras, training swords please.”

The non-com produced the two heavy, lead-cored wooden practice swords with a disapproving look. He handed one to Dekker, then walked with Erik the regulatory ten paces away.

“This is stupid sir,” he hissed. “That said, kick his ass. For the company's sake, sir,” he added piously.

Erik smiled humorlessly and hefted the sword. It weighed a bit more than his normal sky steel blade, but he still had most of the muscles he'd acquired as a blacksmith. The difference was negligible.

He faced Dekker across the training field, fully aware that both of their companies, nearly three hundred men all told, were watching. For both his honor, and the Fire of Third's, he couldn't afford to lose.

Ikeras looked at both men and sighed audibly. “Begin.”

The word was barely out of Ikeras' mouth before Dekker attacked, charging across the densely-packed sand of the training field, sword held high. As Erik moved to take advantage of the apparent opening, Dekker shifted. His sword dropped from above his head into a textbook perfect under-arm lunge.

Somehow Erik managed to twist his sword from his carefully controlled thrust into a parry that knocked the other man's sword aside, leaving Dekker off-balance. Trying to finish the fight quickly, Erik stabbed at the man's chest, only to have the Aeraid knock the sword aside with his shield arm.

Now it was
Erik
's turn to be off-balance, and Dekker launched an attack of his own. The heavy practice sword came swinging in at Erik in a blow that could easily break his neck. Erik dropped to one knee, allowing the sword to whistle harmless overhead before he lunged up from his kneeling position at Dekker.

The Aeraid danced nimbly back out of reach of Erik's blade, and the two men paused for a moment, circling each other under strengthening spring sun.

“You're good,” Erik complimented Dekker. “I'm
almost
impressed,” he added, trying to goad the man.

He succeeded. With a wordless snarl, Dekker charged in again, launching a whipping series of blows, handling the heavy practice tachi like a much lighter sword. Erik lost himself for a moment in the shift of the blades, concentrating on nothing more than where the next blow was coming from and blocking it.

For a moment, the two men stood like that, Dekker striking and Erik parrying each blow in turn. In the space of moments, the heavy wooden swords clacked together a dozen times, and then Erik shifted.

Instead of blocking the blow, he riposted off it, bouncing Dekker's blade out of the way while he drove for the man's chest. He felt his eyes widen involuntarily as the smaller Aeraid managed to dance far enough to give him both room and time to block the strike with the hilt of his own weapon.

Again, the two men began to circle each other, just outside of reach. The two companies of soldiers, one elite and one militia, were almost dead-silent as they watched the two combatants circle.

Finally, Dekker's patience failed and he lunged in again. This time, Erik was almost taken by surprise, and the Wind Guard Captain's attack was perfect. The blow came drifting, almost lazily, in from Dekker's lower right, and Erik was completely out of place to block it.

Nonetheless, Erik managed to interpose his blade against the strike. Hilt met hilt, with Erik's greater mass and strength nearly useless against the angle of the attack. The half-Aeraid stumbled once, then twice, and then fell to one knee involuntarily.

An evil grin crossed Dekker's face as he drew his sword back for a final blow, but Erik wasn't done just yet. He grabbed a handful of sand and threw it into Dekker's face as he rose once more. His sword drove perfectly in, aimed directly at the Aeraid's sternum.

Then the world seemed to end. He
felt
his sword drive into Dekker's chest, but he
also
felt the impact of Dekker's sword, wildly waved as the man clawed at his face with his free hand, against the side of his helm.

Dekker collapsed backwards, gasping for breath as Erik's blow, only barely pulled, drove the air from his lungs. The Aeraid hit the sand with a thud even as the effect of his own blow drove Erik to his knees.

“Draw,” Erik heard Ikeras say, as if from a very long way away.

“Draw,” another voice, presumably Dekker's first sergeant, agreed.

“What do you mean,
draw
?!” the Wind Guard captain demanded as both officers returned to their feet. “He cheated! You saw him.”

“One trains as one intends to fight,” Erik said mildly, driving past his aching head. “There is no such thing as cheating in war.”

“Justify it however you want,
half-blood
,” Dekker spat, his drawl submerged into the snarl of his rage. “You are a cheater, and everyone here saw it.” He gestured around the assembled companies. The Wind Guard's face tightened even further as he listened, and realized from the tone of the murmurs that even his
own
men didn't agree with him.

“This isn't over, half-blood,” he said quietly, his drawl returning. “It sure as Water isn't over!”

With that, however, he stalked away gesturing for his company to leave with him.

The two days before the Council meeting passed in quiet. Erik met with his men on the second day, finally meeting his other three lieutenants. The men all seemed quietly competent, if rather inexperienced. He suspected they were as good as you got in the militia.

The men had worked hard, and Erik was both surprised and pleased by their efforts. However, somehow, he got the impression that something was off with them. He wasn't certain what it was, and Ikeras had blown off the thought when Erik had mentioned it.

Erik wasn't so easily deterred, however, and he fully intended to pin his
kep
and senior non-com to a wall and force him to disgorge what was going on,
after
the Council meeting. For now, names and affiliations of every one of thirty-one
septons
, as well as details of several trade agreements and taxation laws echoed their way around Erik's head as he waited in the ante-room to the Council Chamber, dressed in his neatly pressed
sept
uniform and wearing his father's sword.

Two men waited with him. One was Jel Meday
kep
Tarverro, who had agreed to stand with Erik for this, in lieu of Ikeras whose brother had fallen ill the day before. The other was a Royal Armsman, a soldier of the First Wind Guard battalion, the King's personal guard. That was mandated by tradition.

The other
septon
s had passed through as Erik waited. Most of those Erik had met previously had exchanged polite nods. The
septon
Jaras, however, had simply pretended that Erik hadn't existed, and Erik had gladly returned the favor.

Finally, the last of the thirty-one
septons
of the Sky City of Newport, including the King himself, had entered the Chamber, and Erik's wait was over. The Armsman stepped to the doors and flung them open.

“My lords,” he said in a ringing stentorian voice, “I present his lordship Erik
septon
Tarverro!”

Erik gave the man a firm nod and stepped into the room, trailed by Meday. Adelnis sat at the head of the table, near the entrance, and rose to meet him.

“Welcome,
septon
Tarverro,” he said, his voice firm. “Take your seat.” He gestured to the seat four places to his left.

The table was oval and long, and organized alphabetically. The
septons
voted in that same order, and only four
septons
came after Tarverro, which had worked well when the Tarverros were Kings themselves. Now, according to both Hiri and Arien, it gave the
sept
a great deal of power, as one of the last to vote, and the only one of the last five not firmly welded to a faction.

Erik returned his King's nod, and started towards his seat, which was directly next to Hiri's. He'd reached the chair and was about to sit when a voice rang through the chamber.

“I object!” Korand
septon
Jaras bellowed into the air.

“You have no right to object,” Adelnis said calmly. “A
septon
is chosen by his
ept
and
kep
, and approved by his King. This Council has no authority over those decisions.”

“I have
every
right,” Jaras replied. “Only
sept
can be
septon
, and
I
say that this
bastard
is no
sept
.”

Erik stared at the man, frozen in shock. He'd been prepared to debate and vote in a normal political forum, not to face a vicious personal attack.

“A
sept
must be born of a formal marriage before our Gods and laws, not the ungodly coupling of a high-bred fool and a human
whore
!” Jaras spat.

Rage flashed through Erik's mind and veins and shattered his paralysis. His hand dove for his sword, but Hiri had been listening as well. The older
septon
moved with an incredible speed for such a fat man, his hand slamming Erik's back onto the chair.