Live By The Sword

Chapter 1

Kestrel LeStarre struggled against the crowd, attempting to force her way to the sign-in booth which was manned by a security official. Most of the people there were taller than her, and older, forcing her to employ the use of her elbows to the best of her advantage. Usually the twin katanas that were held in sheathes on her back would make people steer clear of her, but not here. Not now.

She ducked out of the way as a huge man with a flamberge of some sort strapped to his back came barreling in her direction. Once she was a safe distance away, she turned and shouted at him, “Watch where you’re going! You could have taken my head off

He turned and looked around, but she had already taken advantage of her slim frame and disappeared into the crowd. She forced her way through the people who were milling mindlessly about, and weaved and ducked until she had somehow made her way to a booth with a large red flag flying above it, stating that it was, indeed, the AnnualCrown sign-up location.

 The flag looked out of place in the pristine white walled room. The walls were bare and shining, and the floor was made of some kind of dark black wood. Perhaps ebony. The only thing that looked as tattered and worn as the flag was the cracked, burnt door.

  “Ahem.”

 The polite cough turned her attention to the severe looking woman in front of her, who was holding out a quill for her to put her information on the page. Kestrel sighed and took the quill, looking down at the sheet of parchment in front of her. She began to write.

Age: 17

Name: Kestrel LeStarre

Height: 5’ 6”

Trainer: Zaken Crownine

Native Lord: Lord Danom Dularke

Holding out the quill to the woman at the desk, she flipped the page and stepped off to the side. That last question irritated her. Why would it matter who their Lord or Lady was? Besides, the fact was that every single one of the people here was Lord Dularke’s subject and he knew it. The sole purpose of it was to gloat, and he did that enough already.

There was nothing to be done about it however, and so she turned her mind to more practical matters, which involved getting through the crowd of people and getting to the door. An idea came to her and she leaned down, making as if to tie her hunting boots, which, of course, did not have any laces. She slipped her left hand inside and grabbed the hilt of her throwing knife. Straightening up, knife in hand, she brought it back to her shoulder and threw it at the door. It hit the silver knob, just as she had intended, and everyone dodged out of the way to avoid being hit by the glinting iron.

She walked down the newly formed aisle, the epitome of calm, saluting some of the scarier looking candidates, secretly thinking that it might be more difficult to win than she though if they all had reflexes like that. When she reached the door, she grabbed the hilt of her dagger and twisted it, removing it from the soft metal and leaving a jagged hole. She pushed the door open and walked out, only pausing once to turn and blow a kiss to those who remained. The door slammed shut, and as the click-clack of her shoes on the marble tiling outside receded, the room erupted back into chaos.

Kestrel, who had paused at what she had deemed an appropriate distance, grinned to herself, and replaced the knife in its sheath in her boot, even though she had to admit to herself that it maybe hadn’t been the smartest idea in the world. She straightened up and brought her hand up to her face, brushing her shoulder length black hair away from her eyes.