Blades of Illusion - Crown Service, Book 2 First Five Chapters

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BladesOfIllusion:CrownService#2byTerahEdun
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Copyright 2017 by Terah Edun
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Chapter 1
As Sara Fairchild cautiously made her way through the portal doorway in front of her, the
victorious shouts of the First Division members behind her did nothing to comfort her.
She was stiff with anger and furious at their betrayal.
Captain Barthis Simon and his mercenaries had proven just moments before that they
were everything she had despised as a childruthless, uncaring, and, most of all disloyal.
They had not only left their comrades, men and women, behind, but had actually
knowingly engineered a strategy that all but guaranteed the massacre of hundreds of fellow
mercenaries in their ranks. Faces and names flashed before her eyes like ghosts arisen. She
couldn't speak to their betrayals now, but she certainly would when the time was right.
As Sara stared at the living mercenaries who followed her through the summoned portal
with jovial claps on each other's back and jokes as some took the time to poke and prod at their
esteemed prisoner, she just grew angrier. Not at their treatment of Nissa, the sun mage, but at the
studied nonchalance of a group that had just committed the worst crime one could commit in a
warrior's eyes.
They had turned tail and run. Now here they stood laughing, and Sara could only see
redthe red of anger overcoming every emotion and the fury of the battle mage taking its place.
"Don't let them bait you, Sara," she heard Ezekiel say from a far-off distance.
And she was trying.
Trying to listen to the scholarly man beside her, as he was her voice of reason. She
needed to hold back the righteous anger of the Fairchild family that was rising in her like molten
fire if she wanted any chance of finding out the reason her father was executed.
But that anger was eager.

Eager to burn and consume anyone in her path.
Turning away from the celebrating factions, Sara rolled the coiled muscles in her
shoulders carefully. Trying to ease up. Let the tension drain out, as her mother had taught her.
Anna Beth Fairchild had meant for Sara to learn the tactic as a way to regain inner peace,
but Sara's father had taught her that peace was just another word for tranquility. The inner
stillness in a warrior's heart before they struck.
"And I'm ready," she said with a fierce grin responding to something she had learned long
ago.
"Ready to let this go?" Ezekiel said in a nervous voice. "Come on, Sara, we're
surrounded. Just like in the woods. There's nowhere to go and more than a few hundred of them
against justus."
Sara didn't bother acknowledging his words. They were true. But she didn't need backup.
She never had, and if she was being honestshe wouldn't consider Ezekiel Crane the first
person shed turn to as a fighter by her side. He was as loyal as a friend came but his strengths
lay elsewhere.
Instead, she said in a calm tone, "They made their choices."
"And we made ours," he said. "In the woods, when we handed over the sun mage to the
captain."
"That was before," she snapped.
Ezekiel moved to stand in her line of vision. Not in her way, but certainly not where he
could be ignored, either. She didn't really care. She could knock Ezekiel out and keep moving the
second she needed to.
"Before?" the scholar asked quietly while opening and closing his hands nervously. He
probably could tell from her face that she was very close to making a decision.
"Before I knew what the captain had done," she continued in a quieter tone.
As they argued, she even tried to rationalize to herself what the captain had done as a
practical application in the face of overwhelming odds. But as she stared around at more joking
faces, nothing about this struck her as tactical. Besides, she could see a dozen different scenarios
that a proper commander could have implemented to save lives.
Their own mercenaries' lives.
Standing here surrounded by traitorous mercenaries, Sara was taken back to the visual of
the ones who had killed her mother and set her world on fire. Oh, they'd been from a different
companythe Red Lion Guardbut mercenaries were all the same.
Now the members of the First Division of the Corcoran Guard, the very same division
she had been so unwillingly elevated to, brushed her aside as they moved to slap each other on
the shoulders in congratulations and relieved laughter. But she couldn't understand how they now
held their heads high as more and more division members joined them as they walked through
the summoned portal beside and behind her.
It was like being surrounded by a sea of wolves. And Sara Fairchild knew just what to do
with wolves. You culled them before they could become a threat to the herd, in this case the rest
of Her Imperial Majesty's troops. Because whatever else she wasdisgraced as she wasSara
was still honor-bound to upload her imperial charter.
Matter decided, Sara's lip curled into a sneer as her hands itched by her side. She had
only one of two weapons remainingher childhood swordbut that was all she needed to start
lopping off heads until the ground at her feet was littered with the remains.
It would be a fitting end to their cowardice, after all. This was no way to honor their
dead, and she knew that she had been right as a child: mercenaries were the dirt beneath a true
soldier of Algardis's feet. She was sorry shed ever joined their ranks, desperate or not.
Sara wanted to act. Her blood and her father's dead voice were urging her to do right by
the individuals she had served with. The ones who didn't come through the portal with them. It
didn't matter that she had only done so reluctantly. It also didn't matter that she'd only been
marching and riding with them for a few weeks at most.
Sara Fairchild knew that she had hated the majority of the mercenaries on sight as well. It
wasn't personal. It was just professional preference. She was an elite fighter born and bred, and
they were the dregs of the martial society in which she'd grown up in.
As one mercenary came up to her with a clap on her shoulder, he said, "Well, Fairchild
why don't you wipe that scowl off your face? You're a First Division now, and we made it to the
front lines. Smile, celebrate."
Sara froze. Not out of fear. But out of the body-aching restraint it took to not slice his
hand clean off at the wristjust for touching her.
Instead, she did what any good girl would do.
Giving no warning, she ducked down and kicked out with swift force, taking him off his
feet with surprise. Sara didn't stop there. She used her right hand to push herself back up off the
ground and lunged for his neck.
Wrapping her hands around his grungy flesh was the most satisfying thing she'd done
since she'd been delivered so unceremoniously to the fields of war.
Even though he was caught by surprise, she could sense his battle instincts kicking in.
Too bad they didn't come close to hers.
He was reaching for his weapons at his waist, but Sara already had her thumbs at the
pulse points of his neck and was cutting off the circulation. The oxygen he needed to think, to
speak, to act was being deprived from his desperate brain.
Joy surged in her heart as she pressed harder. She had him just where she wanted him,
and she felt his flopping limbs, protesting her grip with ineffectual slaps, grow weaker as he went
limp.
She took no joy in slow killings. Only in necessary ones. Sara could feel herself slipping
away, into the warm rage of a battle mage. That didnt scare her. What did scare her was the fact
that she didnt care.
But still, this one would feel good. She could tell.
"Release him," came the command from behind her.
Sara stilled. She didn't break her hold, but she didn't twist and snap his neck like she'd
prefer, either. She had been trained to respond to authority, and that voice, like cold ice, was
what she needed to break herself away from the abyss of her magic. She rose out of those depths
in disgust to restrain herself, because whether she liked it or not, she was a member of this
derelict band of mercenaries. At least for now.
So, with a sigh of disgust, Sara stepped back and released him with a look of warning.
He could get up and she would end him. Or he could stay down and live.
Her opponent chose to live. He fell back into the mud, spluttering and coughing while she
looked around defiantly, waiting for one of his fellow mercenaries to come forward and take her
on in his place.
But none did.
Disgusted, Sara said, "Cowards, all of you. You didn't stand up for your fellow men on
the fields of battle, and now this. Do none of you have one shred of dignity about you?"
She was furious.
She wanted a fight. And having these mercenaries, all of whom were supposed to be
tough as nails, just stand around with fingers up their asses was doing nothing for her curdling
blood.
She wanted to punch faces and break bones. She couldn't do that if they weren't willing to
step forward on the killing grounds first.
So she lashed out at them with her words. "You're all despicable. Your ancestors' greatest
shame."
That at least got some of their attentions. A woman with the braids of the Mung people
threaded prettily in her hair stepped forward with narrowed eyes and a firm grip on the baton she
carried at her waist. Sara was quite aware of her people's traditions, and she knew this one would
honor her forefathers every night beside the fire she built at camp. That meant Saras words
would be taken as a personal challenge, just how she preferred it.
"You think you're so right, so tough," the Mung woman said with fire in her voice. "Say
that again and I'll tear your tongue from your mouth."
Sara smiled and opened her mouth, but she didn't get a chance to utter a third challenge.
Instead, the portal behind them all flashed in warning, indicating imminent closure, and
the last of the Corcoran Guards stepped through.
As one, the mercenaries turned and saluted with sharp military precision.
Sara didn't bother doing the same. Instead, she strode forward as the captain came amidst
them and began conversing with several of his top lieutenantspointing all the while animatedly
at something in the distance.
Sara assumed he was gesturing toward the empress' encampment and giving instructions
for their deployment, but she didn't bother listening to what he said.
As she walked forward, the captain turned to them all and smiled. Several of his
mercenaries raised their fists in salute, and some shifted toward her ominously, as they
remembered what they'd been about to do before their leader walked through the portal.
Sara paid them no mind, because now that the person responsible for those atrocities was
here, her focus wasn't on a fight with them. As she drew closer, discontent and rumbles grew.
Mercenaries might stand by as she disrespected them, but not their captain. But it was the captain
who held up a warning hand to the mercenaries who'd put hands to weapons. Stilling as they
followed his lead, he just looked at Sara with a hard gaze. He couldn't know what she intended to
do as she walked forward, but the violence anticipated by his mercenaries had them all on edge.
So when she actedthe cold, swift silence that swept across the field was brutal.
Sara gathered up a big ball of spit between her lips, and then, with the deadly accuracy of
a person who could aim just as well with the natural attributes of her body as she could with the
metal weapons normally in her hands, she spat directly in the captains face.
He didn't blink or jerk away. Instead, the spit slid down his face, glistening like a badge
of honor.
For a moment, silence wrapped around them all and she waited for his reaction.
Instead, the captain of the Corcoran Guard, like the pus-filled coward he was, simply
reached into his pocket and pulled out a clean white handkerchief.
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Snapping it open with a contemplative look at her while never taking his eyes from her
fury-laced gaze, he wiped the spittle from his cheek.
Then he stepped forward and leaned in to whisper coldly into Sara's ear.
"You're a little hellcat, aren't you?" he asked her quietly.
Sara leaned back and kept her hands at the ready as she said with no remorse, "Not so
little, you traitorous scum."
11

Chapter 2
The captain stepped back with a bit of a smirk on his face as he said, "I serve my empire
and empress. There has never been and never will be the taint of traitor to my name. Unlike some
who stand before me."
Sara stiffened. She was well aware that he knew who she was and what her father had
done. But for him to hold that history and the sore subject over her, well, that stunk to high
heaven. But she couldn't pull out a weapon against him without provocation. Not here, not now.
She had to be smart about this, so Sara only shook her head as she said, "Keep my family
out of your mouth."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Please, sir," Sara spat out in a tone that indicated she was being forced to add in the
polite honorificif only for their audience's sake.
He was the captain, after all. Maybe he even had some remorse for what he'd done.
Though no explanation could ever come close to absolving what he had facilitated in her eyes.
But if anything, Captain Barthis Simon's next words were even more cutting. "Believe
me, I would be more inclined to do so, if I had thought the teachings those family members
instilled in you went beyond 'strike first and think later.'"
There was no remorse to be had. Not from him and not for him.
Sara felt her ears burn at the casual dismissal of everything her father had worked so hard
to teach her. It didn't help that the mercenaries surrounding them were hearing every word.
Listening. Perhaps even judging. They already thought she was a spoiled warrior caste kid; she
didn't need to give them any reason to assume they were right about those assumptions.
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She felt her back crawl with their stares, but she didn't turn and look them in the eyes.
Her attention was solely on her captain, as his was on her.
It remained to be seen if each was intensely focused on the other so both could see the
twitch of a muscle before the other chose to strike.
Taking in a swift, calculating breath, Sara decided to give him one more chance.
One more chance to be the man that a leader was supposed to be.
She stared straight into his soul as she said, "Tell me you made a mistake. Tell them you
were wrong.
Her voice broke in plea as she said this. But her soul broke when the only reply he gave
was, My decision stands.
Then a cruel smile blossomed on his face and Sara couldnt help but interrupt as she
quickly said, Say what you have to say, Captain, but I'd watch the words that leach from your
mouth next. You're already on thin ice in my book."
The captain's gaze, if possible, grew even more distant.
"I don't answer to an underling and certainly not to a Fairchild," he said in a clipped tone.
"Fall back."
"And if I don't?" she asked.
"Then you'll make this a battle you can't win. You forget that I, like you, am a battle
mage," he said.
Sara stiffened in shock. It made sense that he knew about her gift, but still, it wasn't
something she just blabbed in the open about. One phrase she had heard as a child often enough
to remember it clearly a vulnerable mage was a dead mage.
13

He continued on without pause, and said softly, "But I have warned you, I have decades
more experience under my belt, and if my swords leave their sheaths, only one person's head will
roll."
The last threat was said so low that she was certain he didn't mean for the others to hear.
Sara wasn't so sure about his ability in a practical sense, but she knew he was right. Mage
to mage, they were equal. So it would come down to technique and prowess, and with his time
on the battlefield, there was no certainty she could come out ahead, let alone victorious.
Barthis didn't give her any more time to think that over, though.
"Fall back, mercenary. I don't fight girls who could learn to do better before they make
the same mistakes their fathers made," he barked in a voice that was meant to carry over many
heads.
That had been a direct order. He wasn't challenging her. He was demeaning her. And
according to the rules of engagement, there wasn't a damned thing she could do about it. They
weren't standing in a dark alley in Sandrin, after all. She stood on the field of battle before her
commanding officer. A man she now officially despised more than ever but still served under.
Taking stock of the situation, Sara let another moment pass, deciding what to do. How to
respond.
"Sara!" came a voice she was well aware belonged to Ezekiel Crane.
She ignored him. As did the captain.
Her entire focus was on the man before her. Peripherally, she was aware of all the
mercenaries surrounding them, tense and anxiousif just to see what their captain made of this
upstart. They, as well as she, were assessing Barthis's actions. They wanted to see what to make
14

of the man who was leading them. Maybe they even had their own doubts, hidden deep, about
him.
"If only these idiots had a spine," Sara said grimly.
"What was that?" the captain asked. "Are you finally ready to give in, upstart? I have
been more than patient with you. Now and before."
Sara's lips twitched. "Feeling backed into a corner, Captain?"
"Not a chance. Justself-aware. You brought me my sun mage, after all. I can forgive a
lot for that. But there's only so much forgiveness you'll get," he said, ending in a tight voice. He
was feeling out her reluctance and her willingness to back down.
Sara knew that was what he was doing, because she had been studying his moves since
she'd met him weeks ago. He was a fighter, that was true, but he was an even more consummate
tacticianon and off the battlefield.
She'd come to the conclusion that he was dangerous. But so was she.
What she didn't have was the dark streak of manipulation that she saw running through
his core every time she tapped into her gifts. It was the positive side of battle magicbeing
given the ability to see a person's intent and divine their true self with it. It was like opening a
window to a person's soul every time she used it. She had sensed murkiness in his aura ever since
she'd first met him in the fighting yards of the Mercenarys Guild.
But by the same token, she couldn't assess everything there was to know about him
instantly. Not without making herself vulnerable to his own intrusions as well. Battle mages had
natural enemies on the fighting fields, but for the most part, their deadliest adversaries were each
other. They could all divine intent and they could all enhance their abilities both magically and
physically on the battlefield.
15

What differentiated one from the other was their training and their emotional health.
Many battle mages didn't even live to Sara's age, because the people who surrounded
them didn't realize what it was they had in their midst until it was too late. Too late to help them,
too late to guide them.
That hadn't happened with Sara Fairchild because she had been born into a family of
legendary battle mages. Although the gift had never been guaranteed, it was true that its magic
had blossomed within her.
It also hadn't happened to Barthis Simon because someone, somewhere, had recognized
who and what he was from an early age. Now, even as she stared at him with hard, contemptuous
eyes, Sara couldn't let herself allow hate to cloud a genuine assessment of the man.
Personal feelings had no place in a fightthey would only get in the way of her
necessary actions. So now she studied and catalogued him for who he was.
Scum beneath her feet, but devious scum, one she would have to watch her back with.
Not as bad as a certain fishery owner, but particularly bad character traits in a captain that she
servedreluctantly or not. She knew that as clearly as she'd seen into the mindset of Cormar,
owner of one fishery and a warehouse, who had more illegal artifacts than sense. That particular
man would have killed her as soon as he looked at her if she stole from him, and she had the
feeling that she and Ezekiel still hadn't seen the last of him, thanks to a weapon the scholar had
purloined from the warehouse.
As Sara stared down Barthis, though, she sensed that he didn't want to kill her. Not yet,
anyway. Which didn't mean she trusted him, either, as her hand hovered over the handle of the
weapon at her waist.
16

She wasn't a fool. She was surrounded by trained mercenaries in too tight of a formation.
She wouldn't even be able to unsheathe her sword and get off more than a few cuts before they
quickly converged. But the knife shed slipped into her boot, well, that was another matter. It
was a hopeful prayer rather than a true weapon against a battle mage but shed take what she
could get.
Apparently her hesitance to fall back and her growing confidence in her ability to hold
her own in a fight irked the captain. She saw it in the tightening of his eyes, and as his mouth
thinned in displeasure as well.
But for some insane reason, he still didn't want her dead for her display of misbehavior.
She smiled then. She had him.
"Oh, don't get too cocky. I'll have you punished one way or another, girl," the captain
said.
Sara settled herself into the dry dirtsurer now than ever. This was going to be a fight
that ended with blood on her hands. Sara felt her anticipation building as she waited for it to
begin.
Throwing the first punch wasn't her style, but since it seemed that this was the only way
she was going to get some justice this afternoonwell, so be it.
Leaning back just a bit while keeping his voice low, Captain Barthis Simon said in a
conversational tone, "Why don't you take a little look to your left?"
With a flick of his glance, he quickly indicated what he meant.
Sara didn't have to. She knew exactly where Ezekiel was standing. She had kept an eye
on him from the moment he walked through the gates. She just hadn't considered that the captain
would be willing to use him as an incentive to keep her in line.
17

As she noted Ezekiel's new predicament, she grimaced and had to admit she should have.
A man willing to sacrifice his own to get to his destination a few days ahead of schedule was
willing to do a lot of things she wouldn't.
As for Ezekiel, he stood calmly, held by the muscle-bound idiots that stood at his side.
An overt threat if she ever saw one.
Sara smirked and raised her hands slowly. "This matter should be between you and me,
Captain."
"No, underling," Captain Barthis said coldly. "It's between an officer and his troops. You
want to sow mutiny amongst my people, well, you should be well aware of how vulnerable that
makes you and your friendsthe only one you have, anyway."
Sara sucked her teeth as she held back a sentence that was likely to get Ezekiel gutted.
Instead, she said, "I didn't sow mutiny. I merely spoke my piece."
Captain Barthis raised mocking eyebrows. "Oh, is that what you call spittle to the face?
Words?"
Sara said flatly, "You shouldn't have abandoned your own. No leader does what you did
and shouldn't be reprimanded."
"I'll leave it to the fair empress to make that decision," Captain Barthis said while tapping
his fingers on his crossed arms. "For now, thoughwhatever shall I do with you?"
Sara said, "Do what you please."
"Oh, I shall," snapped the captain. "Starting with punishment for disobedience and assault
of a superior officer, in accordance to the imperial rules of conduct."
Sara shifted uneasily on her feet. Those were a lot of words and very little action.
Precisely what did he have in mind?
18

"Oh, and Fairchild?" the captain said with a spark in his eyes.
Sara raised her chin in acknowledgement, waiting to hear his words.
"Behave," the captain said. "Or your educated friend over there will get the same
treatment, and I assure youit won't be pretty. Agreed?"
Sara's jaw froze and she felt her fingers curl into fists by her side. But she deliberately
relaxed her hands and took a quick look around at the overwhelming odds. She couldn't get to
him if she didn't want to call upon a battle rage, and she didn't. She needed to get past this
challenge and onward to even greater misdeeds. Her father's among them.
So Sara Fairchild decided to do something she never did in a fight: she was going to
stand down.
"Fairchild?" the captain said, waiting for her answer.
Finally, Sara gave a tense nod and, with a dark smile, the captain took a few steps back
and Sara was left standing alone in the center of a circle.
Then, calmly, Captain Barthis turned in a broad circle with arms raised as he said, "What
say you, mercenaries?"
There was silence.
They weren't shy. Just wary.
Then one spoke up. "She needs to be taught a lesson!"
Captain Barthis chuckled and nodded as he said, "You know what? I couldn't agree
more."
So he turned back to a wary and tense Sara. Oh, she knew that something bad was
coming. How bad? Well, that depended on how wounded the captain was feeling. He didn't want
to challenge her to a battle to the death, but he did want her to feel pain.
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She knew that, and pain she would feel.
Then he stopped playing games and told those surrounding them, "Men, why don't you
teach our newest member a lesson in respect?"
Then he stepped back, and the group surrounding Sara stepped forward with eager
hardness in their eyes.
Hands raised.
Swords sheathed.
A world of hurt promised in their eyes.
20

Chapter 3
She couldn't blame the mercenaries circling around her, really. Sara hadn't garnered the
best reputation since joining the Corcoran Guard after all. She'd been standoffish, sullen, and as
unfriendly as she could possibly be. She'd had to be. She didn't plan on being on here very long,
but now that was coming back to bite her in the ass as she edged backward to the center of the
broad circle that had cleared around her.
No one was willing to stand with her in this fight. No one except Ezekiel Crane that is
and if there was only one thing she was grateful to the captain for, it was this hed had Ezekiel
restrained long ago. This wasnt his place and it wasnt his battle.
Just before the bout began she heard the captain say as if from a far off corner, "Can I
count on you Commander to keep this little punishment within boundaries? I dont want her
dead, just broken."
He was clearly talking to someone else and, when she turned to see who, she noted
Amadeus, the commander of the First Division, eyeing her with intense dislike. Still he nodded.
The air was tense as she turned back to wait for the first person to step into the ring. As
the mercenaries decided amongst themselves who would challenge her first, their eyes gleamed
with the desire to carry out his orders.
They all had heard the captains request and knew it was open season on a person who
might as well have been a legend. Too bad for them they wouldn't be given the pleasure of
hearing her squeal.
A Fairchild might bend, but they never broke.
That was a damned certainty.
21

A woman stepped forward. She was heavily muscled from head to toe. Her biceps bore a
double-headed axe attached to one arm and a thick chain wrapped around the other.
With a show of grace she dropped the axe head-down into the earth. It sank upright.
Saras opponent didnt drop the chains though. Instead she tightened the loop until it was
securely gripped in her fist and rolled her shoulders, ready to rumble.
The captain stepped away then and the entire crowd howled for blood. Flinching at the
primitive nature of it rolling through her bones, Sara knew that whatever she planned to do today
going easy on this lot was not it. They wanted to corner a beast, well theyd found the wrong
one.
Then the woman built like an ox was racing toward her with the earth churning up
beneath her feet before Sara Fairchild had even realized the games had begun. Taking a chance,
Sara slowed her breathing and crouched down with her left arm outstretched and fingers poised
as if she planned to grab the woman and force her away. Sara kept her right fist closed for an
attack.
But when the woman was seconds away from running her down and having the upper
hand, Sara tensed her legs low to the ground and then leaped up. High in the air where she
flipped mid-leap.
Taking a hold of the top-knot of the womans hair with a grunt, Sara grabbed hard on her
way back down to the ground behind the ox-like woman.
She heard a satisfying howl of pain as the womans neck snapped back. Landing on her
feet Sara let go and turned around with confidence, ready for more. But her opponent was curled
on the ground, her face already set in a rictus of pain. Eyes narrowed Sara kicked some dirt in
her eyes to test her reflexes and realized it was true she couldnt move.
22

Sighing heavily Sara said to the crowd at large, Come now, I was expecting more of a
challenge.
That was all she needed to say.
Two men dove into the ring and made their way for her. One with bare knuckles. Another
with a staff that he used to vault over the crowds with. Making a quick calculation Sara dove
over her former opponent currently laying prone on the ground and quickly rolled to a stop in
front of the second opponent. Without hesitating Sara lashed out mid-stop with a swift kick and
connecting directly with his thigh bone. She heard a satisfying crack as she looked up in time to
see the pole vaulter was seconds away from hitting her square in the face.
Managing to twist and fall back didnt help her much with this one.
He fell with her and his body pinned her to the ground. The trouble for him was that one
of his arms was pinned underneath her body and she had both of her arms free.
Letting her fists fly she socked him in the mouth once, then twice, and again never
letting up until blood and teeth flew every which way. By the time she was done he too had
fallen to the ground and Sara stood up breathing hard but triumphant.
Wiping her mouth of blood and spittle, she surveyed the crowd while wondering who
would step up next.
Come on, the lone girl in the center of the ring shouted as wary friends carefully crept
into the ring to retrieve their fallen comrades.
Cracking a smile as no one stepped forward, Sara said, Scared to defend your captain?
After all hes said and done?
There were angry murmurs going through the crowd then. She should have let it go, she
should have. But the trouble was she was angry too. And the only way she knew how to show
23

that was to throw herself into a fight. Lucky for her, she was at least facing down some
opponents who could take a beating and live. Shed hate to kill these underserving idiots in a fit
of rage after all.
So Sara spoke again as her blood rushed hot through her veins and said, For the next
three opponents Ill even do you a favor, Ill let you get a lick in first hows that?
She barely had time to duck the first punch of her latest opponent before her excitement
was raring again. After a few dancing rounds, she started giving as good as she was getting.
Faces blurred as she punched individual after individual. Ducking and diving, faces with
emotions turned into nothing but another piece of flesh to tear into. She danced with them all, no
one really standing out, all of them getting their licks in and receiving their own broken bones in
return.
No one drew their swords. No one unsheathed mortal weapons. They all understood that
this was a mock bout between comradesthey weren't here to kill her, but to punish her. And if
it just so happened she gets blows in of her own, well, that only called into question the skill set
of the mercenaries who received the walloping, not the decision to let her fight back.
When one man collapsed to the ground with an ear-splitting howl as she landed a bone-
crunching kick directly to his hip bone and swiftly danced back into the center of the circle, they
all seemed to get the message.
Sara Fairchild was no one to be messed with.
Silence blew on empty wind as her opponents, those who had stayed behind, anyway,
tried to catch belabored breaths, and some leaned over as they knelt on the ground where they
had fallengrousing that they'd never seen such a lightning-fast, skinny slip of a girl beat up so
many of their warriors.
24

Sara's only answer for the grousers was that they were lucky she was forbidden from
pulling her weapons on them.
That normally wouldn't be the case, especially considering that honor and all that it
entailed was all she had left with a dead mother and father. Home burned to the ground and
wealth plundered. She'd fight to see that their memories weren't tarnished and, by extension, that
the values they'd instilled in her were upheld.
But the funny thing was that her honor also meant that she couldn't kill the mercenaries.
And if they had any shred of dignity and intelligence whatsoever, they couldn't kill her.
She wasn't grateful about that, though.
She was pissed.
She was bored.
"Is that all?" Sara taunted as she braced her back leg out in a lean maneuver. She was
waiting to spring forward, trying to see who her next target was, ready to wallop them with her
fists if she couldn't cut their throats. It was the least they deserved, after all.
A pair of twins sauntered forward.
One was mean and surly.
He spat at her feet. "So you like to embarrass your leaders, girl? Let's see how you fare
when I whip my belt across your hide."
His hands neared the buckle that would set the fat strip of leather free, and Sara felt a
sneer cross her face as she motioned at him to come closer with her bruised fists. Taking down
half a dozen opponents in less than an hour had given her some welts and hurts but nothing that
she couldnt handle and nothing that would stop her.
25

"I'd like to see you try, really I would," she cooed. "But that's a weapon, dear. And
weapons are forbidden."
He cracked his knuckles. "Oh, that's right, I forgot. I guess I'll just have to use the flats of
my hands, then. They're broad enough. Strong enough to cow an upstart wench like you."
The field erupted in uproarious laughter. Even his dour twin almost joined in at the light
entertainment. Sara knew she was the butt of his joke, but she let the mockery roll off her back
like water.
Instead, she said, "Let's do this. But I warn you. I went easy on the others. You? For you,
I'll grab your left testicle in my hand and twist it off like a twig."
Sara saw faces blanch in the crowd. Some of which were new to her. They wore patches
from other regiments, even other divisions and companies. Conspicuously, the Red Lion patches
were among them. The urge to go after them or, worse, hide was overwhelming. But she didn't
have time for them now. They were just spectatorshere for entertainment after undoubtedly
hearing about the bout taking place between a group of ham-fisted mercenaries and the scrappy
upstart. A female one, at that. For those of the First Division who didn't see even that as
entertaining enough to stick around, well, they had wandered offperhaps in search of a hot
meal and a bed.
Meanwhile, more than a few curious members of the empress' field command had come
up to take their place and to see what the newcomers were up to. Their bellies were full and the
encampment wasn't under attack; she could tell that from miles away. So it made sense that they
had some free time. They probably didn't know why a single girl was fighting ten or more
mercenaries at once, but it certainly filled their quota for a day's entertainment, so most likely
they didn't care.
26

The brute in front of her flashed his teeth at her and said, "Well, girl, let's have at it."
Sara took note the fact that all his molars were filed down to sharp points as she said,
"Don't call me a girl, you bastard. I'm a woman."
Fine then wench, the brute in front of her replied. Scared?
"You wish," Sara said.
Without more words, she swept forward and roaring with fury, her opponent came at her
with lightning fists, and she kneed him in the crotch like the professional fighter she was. It was
a cheap shot, but cheap was what she needed right now. It'd be different if she had the use of her
knives and blades, but right now, she just needed to get her opponents down and out fast.
And he wasn't out.
Moaning as he clutched the family jewels on the ground. But not out.
Sara stepped forward with a derisive look on her face. "Oh, get up. It's not like I popped
one out. I could have, you know."
The savage look he gave her as he raised his head said that this man would be thinking
about killing her in his dreams every night. Which was fine with Sara; she'd had her fair share of
those murderous dreams as well. Every fighter didor should.
Clucking her tongue, she turned around to knock the other twin in his pasty face, but he
wasn't where he was supposed to be, and because of that, Sara was surprised. She'd admit that
she wasn't expecting much from the short one, and she chalked that up to exhaustion. She was
starting to flag from all of the fights shed been in back-to-back and that shed made a mistake.
Not a fatal one, though. She was still a Fairchild, after all, and she quickly moved to counter as
the skinnier twin came out of left field to attack.
27

She realized soon enough that the chauvinistic brute had been nothing more than a
diversion, and the real fight was with the sneakier twin.
That was all right. He came at her boldly, and she went after him with everything she
had.
He whipped his arm around, as stiff as blades, and tried hitting her with hard wallops.
It worked.
One or two blows landed before Sara learned to use his speed against him. As his right
came forward in a slashing motion, she ducked under the extended arm and came up against his
back, as close as a lover.
She didn't have the free time to choke him into unconsciousness, and snapping his neck
was a no-go as well, so instead she brought her fist down on his exposed head. He never saw it
coming. With enough force packed into the punch to down an ox, he slumped to the ground,
bleeding a bit from the mouth, and she turned around to face his enraged twin with no time to
lose.
This time, the brute wasn't so talkative.
"You'll pay for that, bitch," he said, standing up with a hand from a comrade.
The gleam in his eye this time wasn't one of amusement.
Sara smiled and winked. "You only wish you could. But as your twin has shown, you're
all talk. No action."
The bigger twin froze, then he looked down at his brother, who hadn't gotten up.
Seeing the blood pooling under his head, a head wound that looked worse than it was she
could tell, he let out a yell of rage, and it was on to the next round.
28

Chapter 4
She kept count as she battled each of the remaining members of the Corcoran Guard that
were willing and rose to challenge her.
Not that it mattered much; there were always more. But still, it felt like a point of pride to
keep track.
Sometime between numbers five and number eight, she noted that they were at least
being courteous enough to follow the rules of the gladiatorial arena. One opponent at a time,
usually. Two at most.
But even with that courtesy, Sara was flagging. She wasn't immortal. She wasn't a god.
She couldn't keep fighting trained men and women forever and hope to still be standing. She
knew it. They knew it.
Number nine even had a bit of respect in her eyes when she faced down Sara across the
muddy grass.
But the woman still socked Sara hard enough to break her cheekbone. As she stumbled
back with the renewed pain flaring in her face, Sara was sure that respect was in her eyes when
the opposing fighter threw another punch. Growing respect didn't help her much, though; she
couldn't dodge any more punches while keeled over in pain, let alone give her opponents a run
for their money.
Still, Sara acknowledged what they didn't say with words. What showed in their eyes.
Because she soon found out that the female fighter was far from the only one to feel the same. At
least in the beleaguered newcomer's estimation.
29

They may not have respected her stance or even understood it, but by standing firm,
taking as well as giving the beatings in the arena, Sara Fairchild was doing what any mercenary
shouldliving up to the name of the guard they served in.
Before long, Sara didn't have much will left in her. She'd fought sixteen separate bouts.
Sixteen hand-to-hand fights. She was covered in blood. Sweat was pouring from her pores.
Bones were broken and she couldn't catch her breath anymore.
Sara was on her knees when she heard an abrupt command: "Stop!"
She didn't see who it was from. Probably because the dried blood on her lashes were
threatening to cake her eyes closed, and lifting her head up without pain was a challenge. That
didn't stop her from trying to push past the pain, to look and see who was giving her a bit of a
respite. Even if it was only a tiny one, she was grateful. She knew she'd be fighting until she was
knocked unconscious, otherwise. What she didn't know was who had saved her and whyif they
intended it as a simple cruelty, to mock the belligerent fighter girl while she was down,
wellshe'd still take what she could get.
So Sara looked up. Instead of finding her savior, though, she found herself staring up into
the face of her latest opponent. A man who looked as confused as she'd ever seen anyone. His
fist was raised and he had been about to bring it down on her head. Instead, he stood comically,
action halted midair.
As the confusion in his face turned to fear, Sara realized that he couldn't lower his fist
into her face.
She was a bit impressed. Looking past him a bit, she saw a stranger walk forward. Behind
him, a mage had extended a grip, one that clutched empty air, but it was clear to everyone
present that it was he that held the fighter's entire body still.
30

Well, that at least solved one query.
The man who had stopped the beating wasn't exactly her next opponent.
Mages didn't get involved in fights without a damned good reason, and she couldn't see
any reason for this one to intervene, let alone at the behest of the man he stood behind. The
person in charge looked clean as a whistle, clean-shaven, with military-cut hair and an outfit that
had been professionally laid out.
This was no common soldier, which raised the question again: what did he want, and why
was he intervening in her affairs?
Sara wasn't fool enough to think it was out of kindness. Having everything stripped from
her and her mother, including the family estate, after her father's execution had taught her that
she could depend on no one, and only family would fight for each other.
Sara gathered the pooling blood in her mouth, spat it outalongside a toothand waited
for the verdict. Who was this man and his mage? She would have to be a person oblivious to the
respect he commanded to think he was anything but someone of high ranking; it wasn't just
anyone who could countermand Barthis Simon's orders, and those orders had been clear: she was
to be punished for her insubordination until Commander Amadeus gave leave for it to halt. And
he hadnt.
Staring down at the hard ground, she braced herself for whatever this new person would
inflict. She wasn't scared, but she also didn't have anything left to give. Sara Fairchild had been
bested. By sixteen fighters, it was true, but bested all the same.
As the silence stretched, she heard the man who had intervened say, "Who's in charge
here? You?"
31

Whoever he had indicated quickly said, "No, sir! The captain and commander vacated.
We're just"
"What?" the newcomer said derisively. "Watching a new recruit get their ass handed to
them by grown and seasoned fighters?"
There were grumbles all around.
One person hesitantly said, "She ain't exactly unseasoned herself."
Sara didn't say anything. What was there to say? Then she felt a gentle hand on her
shoulder. Gentle because any more than the lightest pressure would have her crumbling to the
ground in agony once more.
Instead, she bowed her head and fought to hold in a muffled scream of pain.
"There now," the newcomer said softly. "What's this?"
For the life of her, Sara didn't want to look up again. She didn't want to face another
opponent or another fist. Not today. But he didn't seem that interested in taking up the fight, so
she restrained herself and actually answered him.
"It's nothing," she said, bluffinga Fairchild to the core.
"She's lying," another person snapped. Sara watched as Ezekiel stepped forward into the
blood-strewn ring of grass that was more trampled dirt and red splotches than anything meadow-
like after a few hours of fighting had gone through it.
"And you are?" the man said.
"Ezekiel. Ezekiel Crane, sir," the scholar said while hovering awkwardly over Sara's
beaten form.
As Ezekiel answered, Sara felt a curious warmth spread all over her body, emanating
from the man's hand on her shoulder and reaching even into her organs. She knew, because the
32

funny feeling of blood gurgling up from her lungs stopped. Instead, his magic, his warmth,
sealed some holes.
She reached out a tense hand and gripped his wrist hard, ready to stop this stranger if he
went too far, if he decided to use his magic for harm rather than good, but he didn't. He also
didn't remove her hand, just waited patiently as he continued to pour warm magic into her, and
she let her grip on his wrist soften. As his magic drifted down to a trickle and he withdrew back
into his own core, Sara settled back, uncertain.
Before long, she felt more than the tears in her internal organs heal. It was as if she was
given new life, as ligaments and limbs began to respond to her again. Soon, Sara had enough
control over her muscles that she could look in his direction and then over at the scholar. To her
surprise, the fear plastered on Ezekiel's face was directed at her.
At the moment, she was pretty certain he feared her, and that made her sad.
But then the newcomer said, "It's all right. You can touch her now. I've knitted enough of
her wounds and stopped the internal bleeding. It'll last long enough to get her to the healers."
Relief crashed over Ezekiel's face as he said, "Thank you!"
He rushed to hold up Sara, but she held up a forestalling hand with a wince at the ache
still in her bones. Ezekiel halted at the clear signal that he was not to touch her, a bit of hurt on
his face, but Sara was already turning back to look at the man who had saved her life, despite
what the captain had or had not decreed.
"Why?" she asked.
"Because I can," the man said as he lifted his hand from her shoulder and turned away.
"Now get to the healers wing. Those patches I put on your wounds and the alleviation of some
of the pain will only hold for so long."
33

Sara set her jaw. "And if I refuse?"
Her savior looked back down at her in surprise. "Refuse what?"
"To give up, to give in, to say I was beaten," Sara said while gathering her pride from
somewhere. It was foolish pride, but it was all she had.
He studied her face for some time and then said, "Well, I do believe you're serious."
"I am," she confirmed as her jaw trembled.
"You'd die on this dirty field for whatever it was you did?" he asked.
"I would," Sara said.
"She's stubborn like that," Ezekiel said with disgust as he crossed his arms.
"Hmm," said the savior. "A warrior born and bred, I do declare."
"So you see why II can't do it," she said with a hint of despair.
She wasn't eager to die, but she wasn't going to just give up, either, and she wanted
someone to understand that. To understand why. For honor. For her family's memory. Her family
that was long gone.
Her savior laughed. "No, I don't. A warrior beaten and alive is a warrior tomorrow. A
warrior who refuses to overcome her own foolish pride is a body in a ditch somewhere. Many
somewheres."
"I can only be one thing," Sara said as she finally stood up under her own volition.
He didn't comment back to her; instead, he looked at the gathering of mercenaries
loitering around them. Some of them still watching with angry, beady eyes. Eager like savanna
dogs on a hunt, and ready to pick at the carrion once more as soon as the apex predator decided
to leave.
Unfortunately, that carrion happened to be Sara.
34

Fortunately, however, her savior understood what they were waiting for, and spoke up
with a bark, "You louts are all dismissed."
His tone was inviolable. Anyone who didn't leave right then and there would be dealing
with him and his mage. To Sara's everlasting surprise, the stragglers and fighters that had still
remained past the breakup of the bout scattered to the wind like bugs exposed to the light.
Alone with just Ezekiel, herself, the mage, and the savior, Sara felt relief for the first
time.
"Who are you?" she croaked as she looked hard in the face of the mysterious healer. She
wanted to know his name so she could give him proper thankswhen she felt well.
He cocked his head, a mysterious look in his eyes. For the first time, Sara noticed that the
man had two attendants standing behind him as well, but they weren't healers. She had assumed
that someone had asked for a healer to come and wipe her bloody form off the ground, and the
mage had been sent along as the healer's protection. After all, a mage who could heal a wounded
individual in the midst of a tumultuous battlefield was worth three soldiers, because he or she
could keep the rest of the company alive.
But these individuals weren't healers themselves, she could tell with a glance. They didn't
wear the uniform of the group, and while it was a coincidence for one healer to not wear the
proper uniform on the field of battle, more than one turned a coincidence into a conspiracy.
"Who are you?" Sara repeated as she strained to reach forward, despite the ache of
extremely sore muscles.
"Why?" the savior asked in a tone that was both amused and negligent. It implied that she
wasn't important enough to know, and it was trueshe wasn't. But that didn't mean she wasn't
35

raised right, and Sara knew a debt was owed. Besides, she was suspicious of his motives now.
She needed to know who this new player in her life was.
Sara straightened as much as she could as she said, "You saved my life. I may not rank
high on the list of allies for any of these mercenaries, but if you're ever in need of aid, I want to
return the favor. I can return the favor."
"Once you're well," the mysterious healer said.
Sara nodded. "As soon as. And I heal fast."
"I have no doubt, mage," the healer replied while biting his lip.
Sara waited patiently for him to come to a decision, though she'd never encountered an
individual who put so much thought into giving a name before. It might have been a ceremonial
thing to him, but it was deadly serious to her.
Finally, he said, "Very well. I'll give you my name and you'll owe me aid rendered."
Sara held out a hand for a shake. "It's agreed."
Apparently that amused him, because he smiled and shook her hand.
"Good, then. Kansid, captain of the Red Lion Guard, at your service, and I will gladly
take you up on that aid. We have much to talk about, Sara Fairchild."
36

Chapter 5
Sara's jaw dropped as Kansid released her hand from the shake and walked away with his
healer and two attendants behind him. She was too stunned to go after him. She was also
physically incapable of running, so it was an easy decision to stand still and ponder just what it
was that she'd gotten herself into.
For one thing, how had he known who she was? She hadnt told him certainly.
This path to the battlefield and her father's lost journals was looking murkier and murkier
by the minute. As she processed this new revelation, Sara felt her temper rise, but she tried to
keep it in check. After all, Kansid hadn't done anything to her besides tried to save her life.
But personal actions and leadership decrees were murky waters in her eyes, and if he had
in some way influenced the actions that ended in her mother's death, wellSara would have
more than words with him.
For now, she could only rely on what she knew and that was very little.
Could she blame him for the darkness that haunted her? Maybe.
But could she prove that it was he who was responsible for it? Quite conclusivelyno.
So Sara did her best to clear her head and force herself into the present. She stood stock-
still and let the physical torment of the pain rush through her, a calming technique that made her
focus on the here and now rather than the possibilities.
Apparently she'd stood still looking like a ghost for far too long, because Ezekiel
hummed and walked over to her side. He looked alarmed, and she knew exactly what it was he
planned to comment on before he did. She didn't want to hear it. She was already blaming herself
for taking Kansid's help.
37

Before he could open his mouth, Sara shook her head tersely and said, "Don't say it!"
"What?" said the scholar, miffed. "I wasn't going to say anything."
Sara directed a piercing look at him, but he looked as innocent as a baby bird.
Then he said, "But, of course, if I was going to say something, I'd say you walked right
into that trap."
Sara resisted the mighty urge to punch him lightly in the side. Any sudden movements
would tear the magical web that was currently holding her together, and she knew it well.
Instead, she wondered if she was the only one caught by surprise.
She said, "Did you know? Who he was?"
His expression serious, Ezekiel shook his head and replied, "Not a clue. A mercenary
captain who's also a healer adept? Imagine that. And you know I served for a time in the
Mercenary's Guildthere wasn't even a whisper of those abilities in his files. So I'm thinking
you're not the only one surprised today."
"He kept the abilities secret?" Sara asked with a raised eyebrow and a wince as she
rubbed a particularly sore part of her stomach.
"Very," Ezekiel said while looking around at the field destroyed by boot marks wedged
deep in the groundand enough bodily fluids to make even a jaded gladiator wince.
Sara was silent as she chewed on that thought, but it wasn't the man's abilities or his
preference for keeping them quiet that disturbed her. It was who he was.
Captain of the Red Lion Guard. The sworn rivals of the Corcoran Guard, which she
couldn't have cared less about, but what did disturb her was the fact that it was the Red Lions
or a representative, anywaythat had killed her mother.
38

Finally, Sara said, "It's the Red Lions who came into my home weeks ago. It was a
necromancer under their pay that murdered my mother and tried to do the same to me."
Ezekiel said, "I haven't forgotten."
She flashed back to the man who had stood beside the Red Lion Guard in the midst of her
kitchen with her dead mother by his side. He had worn a metal badge on his lapel that was
shaped in the figure of a male lion, its paw raised to strike. Sara had known then, as she knew
now, that the rampant lion was the badge of the Red Lion Guard.
Shaking those memories off, Sara snapped back to the present as she turned to Ezekiel
and said, "Then you also haven't forgotten that the Red Lion force is where Matteas Hillan
resides."
Ezekiel didn't answer, but the look in his eyes said he hadn't.
Trying to be less rough around the edges, Sara sighed. "Neither have I. That's what's
bugging me so much. It's a mighty big coincidence. Especially the fact that he knows who I am
and has an interest in further discussions, if you will."
Ezekiel kicked a clod of dirt up. "Doesn't look like we can do much about that now. At
least we know Kansid isn't tracking you, per se. If he was, I doubt you'd have made it here
unnoticed."
Sara raised an eyebrow and gestured at the multitude of wounds that covered her from
front to back.
"Relatively," Ezekiel said. "Kansid seems to be here for his positionhe's the Red Lion
Guard leader, and should be in the field, just as Barthis is."
Sara grimaced. "Don't say that bastard's name."
39

Ezekiel paused. "That bastard is still your captain, and in a few short days, he stands to
control not only the Corcoran Guard but the Red Lions as well."
"Over my dead body," Sara muttered as silently as she could.
"What was that?" Ezekiel asked.
Sara looked up at Ezekiel through her eyelashes, unsure yet whether he was ready to hear
just what she had to say. He had followed her halfway across the empire, but that didn't say
much. She got the feeling that Ezekiel Crane was like a stork in more ways than one, and she
feared that the lanky scholar had imprinted on her the way a baby bird would.
The trouble was that it was quite clear already that she was going to have to work
significantly harder than she had originally anticipated to keep herself alive, let alone him.
Stowing that thought for another time, Sara lied and said, "I said, 'It's a foolish choice,'
but that's none of my concern, and neither is it yours. No, we have our targetHillan. And since
we can't say for sure that the attack came from Captain Kansid's direct orders, we leave him
alone. For now"
"For what it's worth," Ezekiel said, "in my experience, no mercenary acts in conjunction
with a necromancer without someone very high up the food chain backing them."
Sara turned sharp eyes on him. "So you do think he had something to do with it?"
"We can't say until we find out more about him and what he was looking for," Ezekiel
said.
"Then I guess it's not a bad thing I need to render him aid," Sara said with a shrug. "It'll
give us a chance to get closer to him."
"Once you're fully healed," Ezekiel said.
40

Grimacing, as she had managed to put her pain aside for a minute and focus on other
things, Sara nodded. "Yes, we should get to that."
"After that, we can take stock of our evil captains," Ezekiel said.
Sara couldn't help itshe chuckled. It was funny in a depressing kind of way.
"What's so hilarious?" Ezekiel asked.
Wheezing with tears of pain escaping from her eyelids as she tried to stop laughing, and
couldn't, Sara said, "Well, it's just our luck."
Ezekiel looked at her quizzically.
"We're zero for two in the evil captains department," she said. "We can't trust either of
them, but both seem to have plans for us."
"Yes, well," Ezekiel said while straightening his spectacles, "let's try to keep ahead of
them, shall we, and get you to that tent."
This time, Sara didn't resist him. She reached out a hesitant hand and swung her left arm
around Ezekiel's waist to brace herself with his support. And together, slowly, they began to
make their way to the healers wing.
*****
Sara wanted to say it was after thirty-five minutes of walking that she became fed up.
She'd never liked wandering around or taking the scenic route. She was a "head to the objective
and get it done" kind of girl. As she walked by several men who ducked their heads and avoided
her eyes, she wanted to shout at them that she was injured and not plagued, but she didn't. She
just took note of the stuck-up coterie who wore strange discs about their necks and left it at that.
But after trying and failing to find her way so abjectly that they passed a tent that she
could swear she'd walked by ten minutes ago, and with the same man cleaning his boots parked
41

outside of it, she halted their shambling walk with a firm yank of Ezekiel's waist and planted her
feet in the muck.
"Where are we going?" Sara groused.
"To the healer's wing," snarled Ezekiel. "I want to know if you've lost your mind while
gathering all those bruises and broken bones along the way."
It turned out she wasn't the only one feeling crabby at the moment. Well, Sara was the
one who was bruised, bloody, and broken, so she had righteous anger on her side.
Not bothering to moderate the snap in her tone, she said, "The patch on the wounds
Kansid gave me is wearing off, my blood is pouring out of my wounds like a sieve, and I'm in
pain, Ezekiel. Where's the damned tent?"
"How should I know?" the scholar whined as he looked around them miserably.
Everything looked the same, and unfortunately for Sara, the spots dancing in front of her eyes
were telling her that she might not be conscious for much longer. Which was bad. Very bad.
Ezekiel probably couldn't carry her, let alone defend her, and she had the feeling that the
mercenaries the Red Lion captain had shooed off weren't too far away. This was their camp too,
and whispers would wanderpeople would know who she was.
Before she descended into a full-blown panic, however, she spotted the telltale garment
of a healer and let out a piercing whistle to get their attention. The woman turned with an
irritated look, not happy with whoever had let out that ear-splitting sound.
But when her eyes alighted on Sara, her gaze went from one of annoyance to one filled
with concern as she walkedno, rushedover while gesturing to some of her comrades walking
in the opposite direction to drop what they were doing and come with her.
42

Ezekiel must have been rightSara knew she had to look like she as on deaths door to
get that level of instantaneous attention. Sara felt some pride at that, and delirious happiness as
well. They would be able to take away all of this pain! She was a battle mage, but she was no
fool. She needed to be in top form, and she felt too damned hurt to resist anyone's instructions
once she was surrounded by a group of healers. So she went peacefully, even though ordinarily it
would have taken a team of mules to get Sara within spitting distance of the tents of the people
she both reviled and revered.
Healers.
In general, she hated them with a passion. They existed for one purpose, after all, and that
purpose was to annoy the living hell out of any fighter trying to exist in their top forms. They
poked and they prodded and they insisted and they lectured. And that was if you so much as
stubbed your toe. Anything worse, and Sara had known fighters actually sidelined in the arena by
overzealous medics.
But this time, she was too injured to object.
So, meeklyfor her, anywayshe went along and kept her mouth shut.
Whether it was because she was desperately trying to keep from crying out as her pain
levels rose, she wouldn't say. But as her eyes caught Ezekiel's as he hurried in a trot beside her
magically airborne stretcher, she knew that he could tell. And that was all right, because Ezekiel
Crane wouldn't tell another soulof that, Sara was sure.
When they arrived at the healer's tentmore like a wing of tentsit was surprisingly
empty. Filled with reluctance now that they were here and the prodding would begin, Sara
looked around, trying to spot exits and good spaces to put up a fight in. Even though she was as
weak as a newborn kitten from the blood loss, on top of being anxious for the pain relief, Sara
43

was no fool. She always had an exit strategy, and it helped that no one else was here to intervene
and get in the way. That they didn't even have guards in the tent struck her as odd, to say the
least.
The healer who had found her, handed her over to their triage team and soon she was in
the capable hands of a male chief healer who didnt hesitate before he began to list all of the
numerous wounds that covered her body, and Sara found her attention focused on something
else.
A broken fibula.
Two shattered eardrums.
A sprained ankle.
Four broken fingers.
Five rib fractures.
A lung contusion.
A concussion.
And an ego the size of a mountain to take on the entire divisionor the ones who'd been
interested, anyway.
"How?" Ezekiel said with an astonished look as he listened to the list. "How are you not
dead?"
Sara gave him a chiding look. "It'd take a lot more than a couple fists to kill me."
"Yeah, butat the very least, you should be curled into a ball of unconsciousness as you
twitch on the ground from that beating."
Sara resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "You have an active imagination."
44

"I'm a scholar," he exclaimed with a wounded look. "Our imaginations are our best
assets. And you're lucky you only broke those bones of yours. If a rib had pierced your heart, we
wouldn't even be having this conversation."
She didn't tell him that she thought a rib had pierced her heart. Or a lung, at least. But it
had been Captain Kansid who had repaired that hole quickly in the field, and it was the only
reason she wasn't still coughing up blood at the moment.
She'd been lucky then, and as she relaxed on the bed as strangers' faces hovered over her,
Sara noted that she was lucky now. But her luck wouldn't hold for long. It never had.
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Blades of Illusion - Crown Service, Book 2 First Five Chapters

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Copyright 2017 by Terah Edun

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She was stiff with anger and furious at their betrayal.

And she was trying.

But that anger was eager.

Eager to burn and consume anyone in her path.

stillness in a warrior's heart before they struck.

Instead, she said in a calm tone, "They made their choices."

"That was before," she snapped.

second she needed to.

that a proper commander could have implemented to save lives.

Their own mercenaries' lives.

companythe Red Lion Guardbut mercenaries were all the same.

the summoned portal beside and behind her.

was still honor-bound to upload her imperial charter.

marching and riding with them for a few weeks at most.

front lines. Smile, celebrate."

hand clean off at the wristjust for touching her.

Instead, she did what any good girl would do.

ground and lunged for his neck.

since she'd been delivered so unceremoniously to the fields of war.

Too bad they didn't come close to hers.

speak, to act was being deprived from his desperate brain.

that she didnt care.

"Release him," came the command from behind her.

derelict band of mercenaries. At least for now.

But none did.

She was furious.

step forward on the killing grounds first.

would be taken as a personal challenge, just how she preferred it.

the last of the Corcoran Guards stepped through.

at something in the distance.

fury-laced gaze, he wiped the spittle from his cheek.

"You're a little hellcat, aren't you?" he asked her quietly.

little, you traitorous scum."

who stand before me."

out of your mouth."

polite honorificif only for their audience's sake.

instilled in you went beyond 'strike first and think later.'"

Her attention was solely on her captain, as his was on her.

twitch of a muscle before the other chose to strike.

was, My decision stands.

mouth next. You're already on thin ice in my book."

The captain's gaze, if possible, grew even more distant.

"And if I don't?" she asked.

to remember it clearly a vulnerable mage was a dead mage.

She ignored him. As did the captain.

"If only these idiots had a spine," Sara said grimly.

been more than patient with you. Now and before."

Sara's lips twitched. "Feeling backed into a corner, Captain?"

tacticianon and off the battlefield.

physically on the battlefield.

too late to guide them.

had blossomed within her.

purloined from the warehouse.

weapon at her waist.

thinned in displeasure as well.

She smiled then. She had him.

she was going to get some justice this afternoonwell, so be it.

With a flick of his glance, he quickly indicated what he meant.

would be willing to use him as an incentive to keep her in line.

willing to do a lot of things she wouldn't.

An overt threat if she ever saw one.

and shouldn't be reprimanded."

Sara said, "Do what you please."