Frost by Robin W Bailey

Author:Robin W Bailey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media Sci-Fi & Fantasy
Published: 1983-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

The pace was swift, relentless. The horses soon were flecked with foam, their manes heavily lathered. Still, the riders bore down, urged their steeds to greater effort. The very earth shook beneath so many pounding hooves.

Only Ashur showed no strain. The magical beast ran and ran, never seeming to tire. His mane lashed his rider and the saddle chafed her thighs; the wind whistled stinging past her ears. Yet, in the numbing rhythms of the ride a strange excitation tingled through her, mixed with bitter dread.

Here was war where thousands died.

War was not for women, her weapons-master claimed even as he drilled her in a new sword technique.

But as a child she was a warrior, fighting her brother, wrestling with sons of servants and slaves, swinging sticks in imitation of the soldiers that trained within her father's castle walls. Weapons had always held a queer fascination for her. Her earliest memories were of her father's shield and wanting to touch it.

How enviously she had watched while her brother grew and drilled with Burdrak, the weapons-master, learning sword, shield and bow while she was taught the ways of witchcraft by her mother. Though she excelled at the art, it was with a secret anger that her hated brother studied that which she most desired.

It was not a conscious determination, at first, to break the law forbidding women to touch men's weapons or learn their use, but each day she watched the soldiers train and she memorized their lessons. Each morning at her father's feet she listened as Burdrak revealed strategies and philosophies of combat to her brother and a few younger boys.

Then, one night with everyone asleep, she shed her dainty gown and felt slippers and crept down into the castle's lowest levels where she had hidden a training sword and a makeshift shield. In secret, she practiced until the light of morning threatened, and every night thereafter, and then she would hasten to her room for a few hours sleep before the next day began—and the next lesson.

So it went for nearly a year until Burdrak discovered her. At first, the old teacher was outraged; yet, as he watched out of sight and saw the skill with which she wielded her wooden sword, his heart softened. Unmarried, childless, Burdrak loved her like his own daughter. Still, it was not Esgaria's way, and he tried through ridicule and pleading to make her give up.

But she would not. Night after night she went to her secret chamber to practice, and each night Burdrak came to watch, keeping silent for the first few nights, then scorning, then offering small corrections, bits of advice until no longer just an observer, he became her teacher in earnest.

And she became his prize pupil.

She gripped the reins tightly, listened to the rush of wind past her face and the cries of men who hurried so desperately to war, forcing away the memories. Burdrak was dead, killed by the sword he had forged for her, and she grieved sorely.

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