Spycraft Academy B. Miles (new ebook reader txt) 📖

"What a glorious morning!"

Like now. The probability that he was going to leave Hilda's watchful care without a scratch was incredibly improbable. She was tilting her head to the sky, her eyes closed and her nostrils flaring as if she were scenting the air. Behind her were rows and rows of swords. This did not bode well.

"Ah!" Hilda breathed, opening her eyes to grin wolfishly at the lot of them. "Today will be the day you get to learn how to wield a sword."

Some of the others chattered excitedly, some looked just as nervous as Sam felt.

It was silly to ask a spy to wield a sword, just like it was silly to ask an assassin to wield a battle axe. He supposed he should learn to use all weaponry, just in case. Who knew, maybe he would be disarmed one day, and the only thing around would be a sword.

Hilda folded her hands behind her back and paced in front of them, just as she did every morning before breaking them off to do katas and stretches. "You have been practicing your movements for the past two months, and now it is time to put those movements to good use. I will be breaking you off into pairs, and you will try your very best to kill one another without killing one another. If you do well, you may have your low-lander name back."

Without warning, Hilda started calling names at random, pointing at the sword rack. The group thinned as one by one, the students trudged to the rack and grabbed a sword before going to wherever Hilda directed them.

"Torjan and Ivrer!"

Sam expelled a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Of course. Hilda was always putting them near one another and pairing them up for grappling. It's like she wanted them to fight to the death just to see who would win. Considering Sam wasn't trained in sword play, it wouldn't be him. He got lucky last time, but the same tricks wouldn't work again.

Delcan smiled sharply and sauntered to the sword rack. Sam took a deep breath and followed after Rosin patted him reassuringly on the shoulder.

Maybe he could evade the blonde until the iron bell tolled to signify the class was over.

When Sam got close to the rack, he noticed little scrolls of parchment tacked to the wood beneath the hanging blades. Names. Hilda had picked out their swords for them. Spirits, he hoped that was a good thing for him.

Delcan was on the other end of the rack, hefting his sword and swiping it side to side, testing its weight, probably. Sam slowly grabbed the hilt of the sword with his name on it and lifted it off the rack. It didn't look any different from the others, and it was as heavy as he assumed it would be. How did Hilda decide who got what, and what set this one apart from the one Delcan was swinging around?

"Torjan!" Hilda shouted. "Stop swinging it like a toy and get in your spot!"

The blonde huffed but did as he was told. It was strange how utterly nasty he could be to Sam, and yet he was as docile as a lamb for Hilda. He didn't even roll his eyes or mock her when her back was turned like he did with the other instructors. Perhaps there was something to that, something that Sam could use. Somehow. Anything that would keep him from getting maimed would do at this point.

"Ivrer! What are you staring at?! Get your scrawny ass over here!"

Then again, Sam supposed nobody whispered behind Hilda's back. She had the hearing of a vessar, and she was also oddly endearing. She had a harsh tongue and she pushed them harder than she was probably supposed to, but she took care of them as well. When Sam twisted his ankle, she wrapped it and rubbed the swelling down herself. Granted, she did it while lecturing him on eating more to strengthen his 'brittle lowlander bones,' but underneath that, he could tell she cared.

Delcan could probably tell as well. Sam didn't care how mean and nasty the man was; everybody wanted to feel like somebody cared about them.

The image of Delcan standing naked in front of the mirror and slapping his face came to mind, but Sam shut it out. He wasn't going to feel sorry for the man who cornered him, burned him, and antagonized him at every possible turn. Compassion got people killed.

Sam held the hilt of his sword tightly and made his way across the training arena, Delcan set in his sights. An old and familiar voice welled up, jabbering and fretting about what sorts of scars he'd get this time, but Sam shouted it down with confidence that had absolutely no bearing on reality. Didn't matter, he just needed the boost in morale.

He and Delcan stood before each other with relaxed postures, staring at one another while the rest of the class armed themselves and got into position.

"Brie was very disappointed that I couldn't decorate your face," Delcan said. "Maybe I'll make it up to her this time around."

Sam stuck the tip of his sword into the sand and scowled. "What is your bloody problem with me, huh? This is getting a bit ridiculous, don't you think? Why are you so intent on me? Is it because of the mother comment, because if it is, I'd hate to see how you behave in the ranks when somebody insults her."

Delcan's smirk disappeared in favor of a scowl. He growled, "I don't like you."

"Yeah, well, I don't like you either, but I don't go out of my way to physically assault you, do I?"

"That's only because you know you'll be kicked to shit if you try."

"Are you sure about that?" Sam snapped. "Or don't you remember getting shut away from the sun, getting your very own fire stolen away from you, twisted and molded into something that you couldn't control?"

Delcan looked livid. Before he