Islands in the Sky

2.6

Once the formal dagger drills were done, Konstantin had Cassa spend some time kicking and punching at a straw-filled sack with her bare feet, while he asked her questions. The questions were supposed to teach her to do two things at once, to force her think at the same time as she exercised, and while she was tired, and so make her ready to think clearly while fighting.

Cassa already did think clearly, at least while she was exercising, because she’d been doing this since she was a child. Konstantin still made her do these drills every day anyway, and probably would all her life, because that was the way he had been taught, and he approved of those kinds of traditions.

Cassa kicked and punched, and Konstantin asked her questions, and they were quite specific questions, tactical questions which she had to consider and not simply answer by rote, but even so, the same kinds of things tended to be asked over and over. Today it was horses, and armour, and swords. Another day it might be bows or poison remedies or how to barricade a broken gateway.

“How do you slay someone in full plated armour, standing with her back to you, when you have nought but a dagger,” Konstantin said that morning.

“Force the dagger though the joint behind her knee,” Cassa said, almost without thinking, as she kicked at the sack. “Or push her over and walk away, and leave her to rot inside her steel.”

“And if she faces toward you?”

“Jam the dagger through her visor,” Cassa said, punching. “Or hip,” kick, “Or shoulder,” punch. “Or kneel before her and plead for mercy, then drive the dagger into her knee or groin when she lowers her sword.”

“And if you have no dagger?”

“She has a helm?”

“Let us say she does,” Konstantin said, generously.

“Then twist her helm with all my strength.”

“And if she is atop a horse?”

Cassa kicked. “Stab the horse, and kill the woman when she falls.”

“And if she has the ancient’s armour?”

“Club her with something, for that armour is useless against a firm blow rather than a cut.”

“And if she has one of the ancient’s weapons, too?”

“Does she know how to use it?”

Konstantin grinned. “Probably not.”

“Then ignore her.”

“And if she does?”

“Take cover. Hide.”

“And if there is no cover?”

Cassa kicked the sack a final time, and said grimly, “Then I die.”

“And what is the lesson we learn from that?”

Cassa bent over at the waist, breathing heavily. “Never allow yourself to be trapped by a mounted rider with an ancient firearm,” she said. “Always look behind for a place to hide.”

“Good. Although I don’t recall telling you to stop.”

Cassa sighed, resumed her punching and kicking.

Normally, as Cassa and Konstantin worked, a few members of the tower’s night watch joined them in the courtyard. This was their final duty before retiring to bed. They were a select few, carefully chosen, and they appeared as they were relieved by their daytime replacements. All were trustworthy, and all had been carefully picked by Cassa. By Cassa, not by Konstantin. He had made Cassa choose, since it was her life which might rest on her decision.

Usually, when Konstantin was satisfied that Cassa had exercised enough, he threw her a wooden mock-dagger, and called the guards, and a wild melee began. Usually Cassa enjoyed it. She was competitive, and the pushing and tussling was fun, and the excitement was a kind of release, as well, a time not to be proper.

She liked the rough and tumble, and for the most part, it was safe. They all wore padded vests which gave some protection from blows, and only bore wooden sticks, mock-swords, as weapons. Even so, there was some danger, some slight chance of serious injury, the loss of an eye, or worse. Konstantin said the risk was unavoidable, because the melee needed to be furious enough to count. And furious it was. Cassa had been bruised badly in the past, for the wooden toys hurt when clubbed against skin with full force, and knuckles and boots were used in the melee too. Usually, though, the injuries were only grazes, and the hits only glancing blows, against a foe who was already twisting away, rather than hard, square-on blows, which would hurt a great deal more. Once, years ago, Cassa had been hit in the elbow so hard her arm wouldn’t move for several days, and a number of other times she had ended up dizzy and winded from blows to the head or chest, or bleeding from the hands or lip or nose. Konstantin was right, though, she had always thought. The risk of being hurt kept everyone focused on what was otherwise really only a game.

As Cassa kicked and punched the sack, though, she noticed there were only two men-at-arms present that morning. Everyone was in a bustle for her wedding, she thought a little sourly. She glanced over at the guards, but couldn’t place these two particularly. They were both men, and must both be men she had decided were trustworthy in the past, or they would not be standing here at all.

Not that it mattered, she thought. She had more important things to care about that day. And who knew, perhaps it might even make things fun. With only two opponents to fight, the practice melee would be easy, and perhaps even enjoyable. It would be a nice way to celebrate her wedding day.

Konstantin called to the men-at-arms, and they came over. Cassa stopped kicking, and bent over again, breathing hard.

She expected Konstantin to nag her about bending and relaxing, and call her unfit, to tell her to take her toy dagger and make ready. Usually he would, but today was different.

Today, Konstantin simply nodded, and the two men-at-arms grabbed Cassa’s arms.

She understood right away. She didn’t bother to fight. She probably could have got free, but only by killing the two soldiers, and now they were closer and she was paying attention, she realized that she knew them both. Both were loyal, and had families, so she couldn’t just kill them.

Konstantin had probably expected that, she thought. In fact, he had probably selected men she knew and would feel sympathy for, quite deliberately.

He knew her too well.

In fact, he apparently knew her so well he had expected some kind of trouble, perhaps exactly what she had done that morning, and had already taken steps to prevent her doing anything else. Whatever else she might have done later in the day to avoid the wedding, she was apparently not going be able to now.

She was furious with herself for missing her opportunity, and furious with Konstantin for plotting against her.

“You traitor,” she said to Konstantin, angrily.

“We serve your grandmother, my lady, not you.”

“Still. It is a betrayal, as you well know. I won’t forget.”

“I hope you will forgive though, my lady,” Konstantin said, a little sadly. Then, to the men-at-arms, he added, “Take her to the mistress.”