Partisan - Book II

Wolves Amongst the Sheep

Daylight breaks through  the splintering slits of the base, strange beams that disturb the cool  darkness as Allayria and her shadow weave down to the training room.  She's yawning widely this morning, hiding it behind a curled fist, and  Lei, though not so indecorous as to yawn, looks more ruffled than usual. 

She anticipates being  some of the first people in the room, but finds herself surprised when  Lei opens the door and almost everyone is there. The four groups she saw  at the mess hall are scattered around; some are testing the weapons on  the new weapon rack in the center of the room. There are also four  additional people in Halften uniforms, all clean cut with that brisk,  militant walk that marks them clearly as Beinsho's. Some of them look up  and nod at Lei, who merely nods in return.

She suddenly wonders  what they must think of him walking with her, and what Beinsho could  have possibly said to them to make this seem unsuspicious.

She's about to tell Lei to go away, lest he break their disguise, when Ruben walks in.

"Good morning,  everyone," he says cheerfully, and he chomps a large bite out of a  blueberry muffin, the fiend. Everyone gathers in a group by his side as  he walks over to the table, setting down a notepad and pen.

"I am Master Ruben, and  Commander Beinsho has put me in charge of assembling the mission team,"  he says, turning back to them. "You all were worthy enough to pass the  commander's approval. Now you must pass mine."

Though it is said  kindly, he lets a long pause trail after his words, and there's a  sharpness in his gaze as he takes another bite.

"This will be an intense  process. You will need to show not just technique, but resourcefulness,  quick-thinking, and guile. I will test your limits in every way,  because you can be assured that, should you pass, your journey will be  just as treacherous. If at any time you feel you are no longer up for  this task you are free to leave. There is no shame in admitting your  limits."

He pauses again and the silence grows loud.

"Today we will see what  you have brought to the trial," he continues. "First: non-Skill combat  exercises, then I will call you up for individual demonstrations."

He looks down and smiles at the small boy.

"If you have not been properly trained in non-Skill combat do not despair," he tells them all. "Simply do your best."

Someone in the crowd snorts, and Allayria turns around to look for them.

"Divide up into rows," Ruben calls. "Four rows of five should do it. Grab a sword and spread out."

A dingy, rusted blade in  hand, Allayria chooses a spot in the back row. She has, she realizes,  almost no training with a sword whatsoever—she had always been partial  to... bows—and she realizes that Ruben's words of assurance could apply  to her.

Well, you're right off the list, she thinks and her mouth twists.

In the next ten minutes  it becomes quite clear who the soldiers are. The recruits move with ease  and familiarity; the individual volunteers struggle. Allayria sees a  fair few glance her way, evaluating, and when she accidentally drops her  sword one of the Keesark soldiers laughs. She makes it a priority to  memorize his face.

Allayria focuses her  attention on the three volunteers. The small boy clearly has no idea  what he's doing—at times he swings the sword around with grandiosity,  and then other times he seems to stare off into the distance and not do  anything at all. The girl, a gangly, knock-kneed scrap of a thing, seems  to have a better handle on the weapon, but she swipes it across the air  like a staff, compensating for length that isn't there. The final one  is a grim, dark-featured boy who the others seem to instinctively draw  away from. He does best. His swings have an intuitiveness to them, and  his sword seems to move through the air as if a part of him. Allayria  watches him a moment, concentrating on how the blade seems to bend in  his hand, before she realizes it: he's a Smith-caller.