Out of Mischief: World of Change Book 1

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  And the next day, and the next day. Try as she might, the finish of the complicated move escaped her. Finally, one day she threw her sword on the training room floor in frustration.

  “I am just never going to get it! Never!”

  Rilke, who had been training with her, stepped back, his sword lowered.

  Master Ogima appeared at her elbow. “And what is it that you are never going to get?”

  “The circular riposte you showed us last month. I can do it in practice. I can do it slowly. But the moment I try it in real-time, it just falls apart. Why can’t I do it?”

  “First, pick up your sword. It is not appropriate to treat your weapon so. I’m sure it is not to blame.”

  The heat rushed to her cheeks, and she bent to retrieve the sword. “Yes, Master. I know I should not give way to frustration.” But then it boiled up again. “But it’s just so damned frustrating! Why are you smiling?”

  Master Ogima looked around at the rest of the class, who were politely ignoring her outburst, making her feel even smaller. “Who do you admire the most, here? Who is the best swordsman?”

  “That’s easy. Roeble.”

  “Master Cloete, will you join us?”

  The hefty merchant strolled over. “What’s the problem, Aleria? Sword bit you?”

  She frowned, her embarrassment increasing.

  “Roeble, will you demonstrate the circular riposte for us?”

  “Why?”

  Aleria’s head came around. No one ever questions the Master.

  “I simply want you to show Aleria how it goes.”

  “That wouldn’t be much good, would it?”

  “And now it is my turn to ask why.”

  “You know very well, Master Ogima. Because the damned thing is well nigh impossible. It only works decently against a left-handed opponent who holds his sword hand too far outside. Otherwise your blade just slips off. It’s not worth the time to learn. At least, not for me. I’d sooner use my time perfecting my basics.”

  “Thank you Roeble. Better she hear it from you than me.”

  “My pleasure, Master.” With a grin at Aleria, he sauntered back to his opponent.

  She glared at her instructor. “I suppose you think that’s a great joke. Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “All sorts of questions, today. Because it was a lesson.”

  “And what am I supposed to learn from this?”

  “I think enough questions. Perhaps you would like to move to a more productive exercise.”

  “Certainly, Master. Just a few more minutes on that riposte.”

  He did not respond, but she thought she detected a faint smile as he turned away.

  Rilke raised his eyebrows but said nothing, only lifted his sword to the ready position.

  She gritted her teeth and began the drill again, keeping in mind the new information she had learned. It didn’t seem to help. It just felt awkward.

  So Aleria was not in the best of moods when she racked her sword and left the practice rooms. She made the effort to be friendly to the other fighters in the dressing room, but inside she was still seething.

  I’m supposed to learn a lesson. Well, I’ll learn it my way. Won’t they be surprised when I do it right!

  26. The Mess of Battle

  She was so deep in thought that she missed her turning and found herself farther down the street than she usually walked. The homes were more tattered here, the shops even more rundown and seedy. Restricting herself to a ladylike curse, she was about to turn back when she heard voices coming from a nearby alley. Voices and unpleasant laughter.

  Then there was a short, sharp, scream, cut off as if by a slap or a hand over someone’s mouth.

  Cursing her lack of a sword, she loosened her hideaway in its sheath and strode in.

  A girl in a dirty dress was crouched on the reeking earth, her arm twisted behind her by a well-dressed lad of about sixteen. Another youth lounged against a nearby building, a sneer on his face.

  “I don’t think she’s worth it, Segre. She’s ugly and stupid and probably hasn’t bathed for a month.”

  His friend dropped the girl’s arm and drove his knee into her back, sprawling her face-down in the muck of the alley. “I suppose you’re right. But we can’t just leave her here. I think she needs a lesson to make sure she keeps her mouth shut.”

  A red tinge built up around the edges of Aleria’s sight. The picture of the girl cringing, her hair covering her face, brought back memories that were just too much to bear. She stormed forward. “I think someone else needs a lesson.”

  He looked up. “Who the hell are you? Keep your nose out of our business if you don’t want to join her.”

  She remembered the lesson. Bullies always expect to talk. They want to play the game, draw out their fun, enjoy the control. Never give them time to learn their mistake.

  She attacked.

  Three quick jabs to his nose drove the torturer away from his victim, and a sidekick to the stomach finished the job as she reversed her motion to face the second attack. A flailing fist caught her on the side of the head, and her vision filled with spots of light. She bored in, her fists driving into his ribs, and he gave way. She followed, but realized her mistake when she heard a heavy step behind her. Ducking aside and spinning around, she was surprised to see the first boy stumble past her, off balance. She glanced down to see the girl, her leg outstretched.

  “Good work, kid. Now get out of here.”

  The girl scrabbled towards the alley mouth. Aleria twisted back, but it took too long. Her opponents had recovered, and both attacked at once: one high, one low. Their combined weight staggered her, and the enclosing arms gave her a moment of the old panic.

  The face of the taller one loomed over her, a snarl twisting his lips. “Now we’ll see who gets a lesson!”

  With a tremendous wrench she freed one hand, speared her fingers towards his eyes, felt a satisfying squish. The boy reared back screaming, and the raised chin gave her the opening for an elbow to the throat. He collapsed with a gurgle.

  There was the sing of steel, and she turned to see her other opponent jerk a dagger from his belt. The idiot held it wrong, his hand over his head, blade pointed down towards her. His move so perfectly mimicked the training position that she didn’t even bother to pull her hideaway. As his dagger plunged down she grabbed his wrist and tugged him forward, turning her back to him and stooping under his arm. When he stumbled forward she straightened her legs, throwing him over her head, to slam against the wall of the building opposite. Just before releasing she jerked upwards and felt something tear. He slid down, his head thudding to the dirt. He lay there, unmoving. Then he groaned and opened his eyes.

  She walked over and picked up the dagger, flipped it end-for-end to catch it by the tip. A quick toss, and it arrowed into the ground beside his cheek. “I don’t suggest you pick it up.”

  His eyes closed.

  Without further speech, she turned and strode out of the alley. The girl was nowhere to be seen.