to Jay, who had become very used to the civilities of Taysar and the Capital. Amongst these swordbearers, there was little culture and less spirituality. There was also a lack of something else, which he had not expected.
On his second day, he was introduced to the battalion by Commander Saghat, an older swordbearer not of the clan Vil.
From what Paril had intimated – not directly, since the young captain was too polite to speak ill of a superior and an elder – Jay had realised that Saghat could be a problem for him. He was an outsider who had been posted to Car’a’vil from some other world many years ago, but he had not found favour with Lord Carral and – not being a clansman – had not advanced in his service. Very obviously, he had not been given Jay’s assignment despite his great seniority.
Jay stepped up onto the platform and surveyed the ranks of men before him, stretching in well-polished, geometrical lines to the far distance of the parade ground. He raised a fist and , in precise unison, the men returned the salute.
He had never addressed a parade ground before, but he had seen it done. After a hesitation which might have seemed like a thoughtful pause, he spoke out.
“Swordbearers of Car’a’vil.” His voice rang off the stone walls. “You will know already that my name is Jhaval, that I am a commander from Antra, and that I am your new chief. I’m sure you all serve with honour. I will expect more than that of you. I want to see fire, too. Of myself, you should find that I grant no favours, and make no preferences. I look at each of you on your own merits as a swordbearer and a warrior. Be true to your heart, and you will prosper.”
He turned to Saghat, who looked ill-tempered. “Where are the women?”
“What?”
“This army appears to consist entirely of men. Where are the women?”
“Women don’t serve as swordbearers on Car’a’vil.”
“Then you’re wasting half your fighting force. Carral told me you have too few swordbearers here – no wonder. Issue an edict that all willing girls above the age of sixteen should report to the barracks immediately.”
“Girls! Who would train girls!”
“I will, if necessary.”
“Who would they train with? They can’t fight.”
“You’re wrong. Women don’t have the same physical strength as men, but strength is only part of what makes a warrior. Technique, precision, mental focus are all as if not more important. On Antra, there are some women masters of the firestaff and long sword that no man I know could beat. You should know this, Saghat. There might be no women swordbearers on Car’a’vil, but there are elsewhere in the Empire. You don’t come from here, do you?”
Saghat disdained to answer, turning aside with a sneer. At the back of his mind, a soft click of insight suggested to Jay that Saghat’s posting here so long ago might well have been exile in all but name.
The edict demanding daughters went out to the swordbearer families of the world and returned, out of a possible three hundred or so, four nervous but determined-looking girls. Jay was not discouraged. There were at present no facilities to train or accommodate three hundred extra swordbearers anyway, and once he had proven his point with these four recruits, more would follow.
It was hard at first, though. None of the girls had even handled a weapon before, and could not train in the same classes as their male contemporaries, who had been learning to fight since they could walk. Anything they did know, they had picked up ad hoc from playing with their brothers. One of the girls, called Mareil, was her parents’ only child and had not even that advantage.
It was necessary to give the girls lengthy daily training sessions to bring them up to a basic level, so that they could join the other cadets as soon as possible. All four were keen, but Mareil was talented. She had a tall, lithe strength that made her particularly adept at moving a sword or rapier swiftly. With practice and instruction, she would be a good fencer.
She was also - attractive. All women were, and that was a problem, but he had to stand too close to her to position her hands on the sword and swing her arms round in the correct movement. One moment he was concentrating on executing, through her, the perfect starstriker arc; the next, he could smell her skin, and feel the strength of the body almost wrapped in his arms.
Carefully, consciously, he stepped away. “Now you try.”
She swung the sword through the arc, a movement of elegant beauty, and sought his approval with a smile.
“Excellent.” He turned to the other three. “I want you all to do it like that.”
As the other girls stepped forward in turn to practice the stroke, he noticed Paril hovering at the edge of the ground. He joined him. “Come to see that girls can’t fight?”
“No, sir – no. I agree very much with what you said to Commander Saghat, actually. I never thought anyone could make it work on Car’a’vil, though.”
“I’m making the best use of the resources here, that’s all. That’s my job, or part of it.”
“And there are some advantages,” Paril added, warmly.
Jay was surprised for a moment by his tone, but his meaning soon became clear. When he called the end of the session, Paril held out his hand to Mareil.
“Mareil and I have been betrothed for nearly a year,” said Paril, rather shyly. “We didn’t see each other for weeks on end, before.”
“I’m glad to have been of some service,” said Jay.
Mareil looked disconcerted. “It’s not the reason I joined, Commander. I wanted to.”
“I know. In fact, I’d like to give you some extra lessons, get you started on the firestaff. Tomorrow night, at twenty-two hundred hours. Can you stay up that late?”
“Yes, sir,” said Mareil quietly, and smiled again.
After a day’s training, the swordbearers ate together in the banqueting hall at the castle. Jay had tried to encourage the women to join the men, but they were still congregated in a group slightly apart from the others. Mareil was not with them that evening.
The officers, equally, tended to group themselves together at another bench, although the evening meal was supposed to be a time of intermingling and camaraderie. Sometimes Carral would put in an appearance, but tonight, Jay was alone until Paril joined him.
“Sir? Can I talk to you?” he said in a low voice.
“Of course. Always.” He moved along to indicate a seat on the bench.
“Not here. Somewhere private.”
Jay gestured to him to rise, and they walked out into the cold moonlight of the battlements. Although winter was closing in, the night was fine and dry.
After a long silence, Paril said awkwardly, “I mean no disrespect, sir.”
“Of course.”
“I think – well, I think that Mareil may admire you.”
“You’ve already told me that Mareil is betrothed to you,” said Jay, unblinking.
“She is. We are. But we’ve only gone through the first few preliminaries – nothing irrevocable. We haven’t got near the blood ceremony, or anything like that. If you wanted – there would be nothing to stop us dissolving it, no dishonour.”
“Don’t talk nonsense, Paril. I’m not interested in Mareil – though she’s a nice girl. I’ve no intention of marrying anyone. What woman would want me, anyway?”
“They all do,” said Paril abruptly. “You don’t seem to realise.”
“I have no intention of marrying anyone,” said Jay again. “Stop worrying. And hurry things along with Mareil, hm? It’s this long betrothal that’s making you nervous.”
Paril lifted his head for the first time, and half smiled.
“Why don’t you do the bit – what’s it called, where you spend a night awake together. It would be easy to arrange now you’re both living in the same barracks.”
“Her parents might not like that too much, sir.”
“Her parents be damned. I’ll be guarantor for your honourable conduct.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“No more nonsense, the
n?”
“No, sir.”
He clapped him on the arm, and they returned to the hall.
Next night, in the moonlit courtyard, at the end of a long and tiring day, he taught Mareil her first firestaff moves. She used a wooden dummy, as the weapon itself was too precious and too dangerous for a complete beginner to handle.
“See your target in the air, in your mind. Strike out, not with your body, but with your soul. There! Good, but not quite fast enough – you see, I can catch the staff and disarm you.”
He snapped his fist around the end of the pole and held her along it, feeling the tension in her hands.
It would be so easy. She was watching him cannily, quietly waiting for him to do something. And he could toss aside the end of the pole and show her the next move, or he could pull her hand along it and take hold of her. He could hear her breath caught, though her lips were slightly parted.
Carefully, he tipped the pole away and stepped back. “Try again.”
She set her mouth firmly, nodded, and lunged.
It would be easy, but it wasn’t difficult either to walk away from a frivolous temptation.
That night, however, he suffered for it. He lay sleepless, dry-mouthed, staring at the bright moon framed in the window above his bed. He wouldn’t interfere between Paril and his intended because he chose not to, because – frankly – it wasn’t worth the risk. But why, when his situation was uniquely precarious, did he have to suffer from this deep, dangerous craving? Surely, building a life out of nothing and lies like a fragile structure of chakram chips was a hard enough