Hearts in Zenith (Four Husbands and a Lover)

19. Commander's Word

Stench of the canals, Kozima's kisses, the wrath who attacked me in the night, the bloodthirsty barracuda, Parneres and his devious cousin, climbing the cliffs—all the challenges of the past weeks rattled in my head like dry lentils in a jar.

I endured a lot for my chance to show the world what I could do, even when only armed with a toy sword, and I wasn't going to blow it.

Kicking up clouds of dust, I screamed and charged in, aiming a hit at Miccola's middle. Her purple-stained horse-teeth would have been a better target, to wipe her smirk off, but all in a good time.

Miccola hopped away, bending backward at the waist, to let my weapon pierce air above her tight stomach. Who knew she was as flexible as a switch?

And fast! Because she stomped on my foot, while I was retrieving my blade frantically, putting it up to defend against a hit.

That's right, she stomped my foot.

I yelped in pain, but a grin stretched my lips. This wasn't some highborn ladies' fencing in an estate garden. This was street fighting in the dust. And that's how I liked it. Loved it.

At least that's what I told myself and turned my sword blindly.

By Mythra's grace her blow rang on it. Catching the blow still sent a shock up my shoulder, but I punched her under the exposed ribs with my free fist. This got a satisfying Ah! out of her, but she gave me no time to celebrate. I had to hop like crazy to dodge her horse-legs' kicks to my kneecaps. Swords clanged almost as an afterthought in the confusion of all the kicks and punches.

Or so it would appear to an idiot distracted by the fist cuffs. Everything could kill a woman. Sword, fist, teeth...

An iron-hard heel crushed my ankle. Legs folded under me. I rolled in the dirt of the courtyard, spitting grit. However, I scored a slash to her thigh. Or it would have been a slush if my blade wasn't blunted. As is, it would be a bruise. A big one, I hoped.

The success brought a roar out of my chest. I was back on my feet, parrying her swing—

A thunderclap and a shadow fell upon us just as I was about to hand her ass back to her on a silver platter.

A word of command brought Miccola to a full stop. A whip, the type loved by the Haida of the steppes and the source of the sound, curled back in through the air, whistling above my head.

"Enough."

The yard that was just teeming with shouts of support and raucous laughter of fighting women went deadly quiet.

A dapple-gray warhorse bore on me.

I had thought Miccola was an incredible rider. Well, this woman on the dapple-gray could have been a half-Divine with a torso of a horse glued to the torso of a woman.

Except I knew that the Captain-Commander of the Deadhead Company was legendary, but she was no centaur. Just a human of incredible talent. It was enough to send my heart up my throat, palpitating like a perch out of water. I was in the presence of the very woman I had to impress!

Miccola snapped to attention. "Your Maxima!"

I did the same while drinking in the Captain-Commander's features. Her Maxima Captain-Commander Nashila was oakwood, through and through. She was gnarly, bronzed, with grooves left by fury around her indigo eyes, rather than grandmotherly wrinkles. Some black still held its ground in her braid, but most of it turned the same gray as the Deadhead Company's banners. Her nose was unremarkable. I'd say it was playfully upturned even where I expected a heavy chopper.

Ceremonial armor of silvery chain and embroidered surcoat fastened with a crystal skull above her breast, fitted the spare lines of her body. The bearing promised swift, explosive power in every attack. It made me think that the sheath on her belt weighed beyond all reason with emeralds and silver filigree, was hiding no-nonsense steel. The leathery hands that held the reins needed no gloves. Yet a pair of them lined with smoky fur was tucked behind the saddle.

Captain-Commander lifted my chin with the handle of her whip, but looked past my face at Miccola.

"Why is this child fighting you on our grounds?"

"A new recruit, Your Maxima!" Miccola rattled out.

The Captain Commander's voice turned dangerously soft, as if she was talking to some dimwitted man. "Were you placed in charge of recruiting, Miccola? If so, when? Why wasn't I informed, and you--at my officer's table?"

"I was not promoted, Your Maxima." Miccola licked her lips. "I... I put her to the test before summoning the Foot Commander, because she seems so young. It would have been a pity to waste the officer's time."

"Thank you for the initiative, Miccola." Something in the Captain-Commander's tone raised my hackles up.

Maybe I broke some secret rule by sparring with Miccola. It wouldn't be the first rule I broke and, I sensed, not the last. But whatever it was, so long as I could convince her to accept me, I didn't care about anything else. Sign me up first, mete out punishment later. Beat me, set me to cleaning the latrines, shovel horse manure, whatever.

The canals, Kozima's kisses, wrath who attacked me, the barracuda, the scorpia, the windswept cliffs--I overcame it all to get this far. I wasn't going to tuck my tail and run. I shifted my chin a little, dislodging the Captain-Commander's whip, so I could speak.

"I beg permission to join the Deadhead Company as a foot soldier, Your Maxima. I want to fight. I can fight."

Her piercing eyes flashed from Miccola to me. "That you can. Though I reckon Miccola was about to serve your skinny ass diced and roasted. Isn't that right, Miccola?"

"Aye, Your Maxima," Miccola said. I could hear that stupid grin in her voice. "I wanted to see what she's made of. No technique whatsoever, aye, but she can do some damage. If we teach her, she'll be something else."

I slanted my eyes at her to see her rub her thigh before snapping back to attention.

My mouth moved to argue how she was lying through her horse teeth, but a flicker in Captain-Commander's eyes locked my words in. Belatedly, it dawned on me that Miccola was neither struggling for breath, nor stinking of sweat. While I was all out. Mythra's fangs! She was toying with me!

The Captain-Commander sighed. "Yes, you can fight."

"Thank you!"

"Don't thank me yet. You have Mythra's spirit--and that's why I'm giving you to the count of ten. Then I shall rise hue and cry. Every member of the Deadhead Company is to hunt you down and bring you in bound hand and foot."

"Your Maxima... why?"

The whip's handle caught under my chin again, locking my gaze with hers. "I had my ear chewed off by the Head Priestess of Gala during the Queen's Triumph about a runaway to be returned into the fold as expediently as possible. For two hours straight! Nothing will turn the vinegar I was drinking at that banquet back into wine. So, run, Ismar, run!"

My name sounded like an accusation on her lips. What in the River Vash was wrong with my name?! I stilled my features to emulate her.

"Your Maxima, please, hear me out."

The implacable eyes didn't move. Did she ever blink? "I did so. I also heard from your guardian. The Deadhead Company prays to Mythra, but we don't quarrel with Gala."

"I killed a woman! Ah.. in self-defense. I can't go back to serving Gala." Why would the Head Priestess raise such a fuss about me? "I wasn't the most diligent acolyte. Honestly, I was a menace."

The Captain-Commander straightened in her saddle. The dappled-gray horse backed away smoothly, making an opening for me. The whip slipped away from under my chin.

"Ten," she said.

I blinked back tears—Palmyr's never had use for tears—and took off like a stone launched from a sling.

"Nine," she said to my back.