A minor shift of her fingers and Santiole could have put the blade through Erika’s eye.
Santiole lowered her sword. “Not every fight is a duel. Not every enemy will let you prepare yourself before going on the attack.” She returned to her jacket and removed a wooden blossom from the pocket, fixing the bit of round wood to the end of her sword to act as a foil.
Erika did the same with her own sword, scowling at the mistress-at-arms’ back. She rolled her shoulders and stretched her arms, and then attacked as soon as Santiole had turned around.
They battled back and forth across the practice yard, coating their pants and boots with dust and soaking their shirts with sweat. Santiole scored the first two touches, and then Erika scored the third and fourth.
And then the fifth. And sixth.
She had scored eight in a row when she saw Santiole’s stance change. The mistress-at-arms loosened the collar of her shirt and dabbed at her forehead with a handkerchief. “By Kresimir, you’re getting good at this. I suppose I should stop going easy on you one of these days.”
“I’ve been practicing with father,” Erika said, catching a thrust and turning it to one side. Santiole followed it up with another, quicker and more forcible.
“He’s been teaching you Adran fencing, eh?”
“A little. Their form is sloppy, but he says that Adrans fight with less technique and more heart,” Erika said. She skipped back, but not quick enough, and Santiole scored a touch against her inner thigh.
“Far be it from me to correct your father,” Santiole said, “but Adran duelists are shit.” She attacked again, and Erika adjusted for the greater speed and strength that Santiole was putting behind her advances.
It wasn’t enough. Santiole scored three more touches before she fell back and gestured for a stop.
Erika gratefully bent over with her hands on her knees, panting hard from the fight. She knew Santiole was considered a fine duelist even by Kez standards, but she’d not seen the mistress-at-arms fight like this before.
“You’re progressing well,” Santiole said.
It was meant to be a compliment, but she couldn’t help feeing bitter at those last four losses. Erika spat into the dust.
“I’m serious,” Santiole said. “You’re already better than most Adrans I’ve faced. A few more years and you’ll hold your own with most fighters throughout the Nine, I wager.”
“Flattery.”
“Well,” Santiole sheathed her sword and gave Erika a thin smile. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
Their conversation was interrupted by a shout from across the manor yard. Erika crossed to the edge of the stables to look toward the manor and saw a trio of figures heading their way.
“Who is that?” she asked.
Santiole squinted. “Looks like your grandfather and…I’m not sure.”
Erika recognized the man on grandfather’s right a moment later. “Pit,” she swore. “It’s Nikslaus.”
Duke Nikslaus was a short man a couple of years older than Erika, with a slight frame and an over-large head that looked too big for his delicate neck. His hair was so blonde it was almost white and he wore it curled just above his ears beneath a fine felt bicorn. He wore white gloves covered in crimson archaic runes that would allow him to summon elemental sorcery into this world. At twenty-two, he had the distinction of being one of the youngest Privileged sorcerers to complete their training in full. And he was certainly the youngest Privileged to join the ranks of the mage hunters.
Erika fought down a rising panic. “If he’s here, he’ll have his men with him.”
“Stay calm,” Santiole said, squeezing Erika’s arm.
The trio arrived at the edge of the barn and grandfather looked Erika up and down. “You two look like you’re working hard this morning.”
“She’s getting very good, my lord,” Santiole said.
“Wonderful! Erika and Santiole, you know Duke Nikslaus?”
“We’ve met. One of the king’s balls last spring.” Erika forced a smile and extended her hand, which Nikslaus took in his own. He bent at the waist and kissed her hand, returning her smile with a curl to his lip that made her skin crawl.
“My lady, it has been too long. You’ve grown into a very beautiful woman.”
“Charmed,” Erika said, hearing the flatness in her voice and grimacing. Grandfather would take her to task later for being so transparent. She knew better than that.
“Santiole is the Leora mistress-at-arms,” Duke Leora said. “And forgive me duke, but I’m ashamed to say I’ve forgotten your companion’s name.”
“Duglas,” the third member of their trio said with a bow. He was a tall man with long, gray hair and a waxed mustache. His limbs were long and sinewy. He stood at least a foot taller than Nikslaus and he did not extend his hand. A small sword hung at his belt. His jacket was unbuttoned despite the morning cold. He stood with a thumb hooked in his belt and regarded Erika with some interest.
“Duglas is a master mage hunter,” Nikslaus supplied. “Thirty years experience hunting down the vile creatures. An expert duelist as well. He’s helping me on my current mission.”
“And what is that?” Erika asked, her voice coming out too high for her liking.
“We’re hunting down a dangerous fugitive. A powder mage, of course. She escaped one of our prisons down in Loreland.”
Erika feigned shock. “That’s nearly eighty miles from here. Surely she hasn’t gotten this far?”
“A surprise, certainly. This mage has proven to be resourceful.”
“Where could she possibly be going?”
“We suspect Adro, but how she plans on surviving the high mountain passes with winter just around the corner, I have no idea.”
“I hope you apprehend her before someone gets hurt,” Erika said.
“As do I. Not every powder mage has the decency to forswear against that abominable magic.”
And there it was. Erika swallowed hard. Nikslaus knew she was a powder mage, of course. Everyone did. But did he suspect that she might help a fellow mage in flight?
Nikslaus droned on for several minutes about the particulars of their search, Duglas looming behind him silently. Both Nikslaus and Duglas seemed to watch Erika closely, as if looking for some kind of tell. Perhaps it was her imagination playing tricks on her. Regardless, she hoped that they attributed her trembling hands to nothing more than the exertion of her fencing practice.
“My men are already searching the premises,” Nikslaus concluded. “We must be sure that such a beast hasn’t put your family in danger.”
Erika resisted the urge to glance west, toward the abandoned stables where Santiole had stashed Norrine. It was nearly three quarters of a mile from the main house, hidden away in the forest. Even the slightest hint might give her away. She couldn’t help but wonder if the girl was properly hidden. What if she had been found already?
“My utmost thanks,” Duke Leora said, shaking Nikslaus’ hand firmly. “We appreciate everything you hunters do for us. And you, as well, Duglas.”
The tall master hunter gave a short nod.
How could grandfather play this so coolly? Was he that used to lying to government officials? Had he moved Norrine’s hiding spot in the night? Erika’s grip tightened on the hilt of her small sword. If she had to stand here passively for one more minute while Longdogs ransacked the family property, she would scream.
“My good duke,” Erika found herself saying suddenly, “do you fence?”
“A little,” Nikslaus said, taken a little off guard.
“Would you care to join me for a round?”
Duglas crossed his arms skeptically and grandfather said that sounded like a wonderful idea. Santiole gave a soft, exasperated sigh.
The corner of Nikslaus’ mouth lifted slightly. “Certainly. Do you have a blossom I could borrow?”
Santiole somewhat reluctantly supplied him with a blossom for the tip of his sword and Nikslaus handed his jacket and gloves to Duglas. Santiole took up a position behind Erika.