Harvest of Dreams (The Gods' Dream Trilogy) (17 page)

For the first time, Tharon wondered what had become of the weaponsmaster. His body hadn’t lain near Iceros’s. Just remembering the carnage in the palace…the scene of the king’s last stand, made Tharon want to weep. The only consolation he had was that he himself hadn’t killed Iceros.
By my orders, but not by my hand. It’s just as bad, but at least I don’t have that memory to haunt me.

Princess Daria
. Micfal must have accompanied her into the desert—and died protecting her. Otherwise, the weaponsmaster would have been present at Tharon’s disastrous attempt to capture her.
The disaster that turned into my salvation
, Tharon reminded himself. If he hadn’t gone head to head with Daria, Khan, and Withea, the hitherto unknown Goddess from the wasteland, he would have remained under Ontarem’s control—enslaved, empty, and dangerous.

Tharon buckled on the sword belt, deciding he would find a private courtyard, practice Besolet’s…. No! He thrust the thought away. The Goddess Besolet had betrayed him to Ontarem. The pain from that realization still cut deep, although he knew Besolet no longer reigned in Ocean’s Glory. Withea had replaced the deposed Goddess.

At least my people will be well taken care of by their new Deity.

Then he thought of the soldiers from Ocean’s Glory who’d brought him to Zacatlan and reconsidered the idea of practicing in isolation. He’d never paid any attention to the rank and file, indeed, was willing to waste their lives when he judged it necessary. Guilt squeezed him. Thank goodness, he allowed the seadogs to take the brunt of the invasion.

If I’m going to lead this war, I’m going to need to be a different kind of leader—one who cares about those under my command. Those men will need the advanced instruction only I can provide—Micfal’s training.

They’ll probably turn on me.

So be it. But I must try.

Grasping the silk thread of hope like a lifeline, Tharon pressed the rounded stone to exit his chambers and hurried toward the main plaza, resolving to work hard, build his strength and…he paused amid a field of orange flowers, his heart thudding.
I will find a way to defeat Ontarem, destroy his power, and bring Seagem’s people home!

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Sadie wandered through the area outside her lodgings, enjoying Zacatlan’s strange yet beautiful beehive buildings and admiring the unusual flowers and the arching lavender sky. Tranquility lay over the land, so different from the desolation of Seagem. She wondered if capitol had felt so serene prior to the battle with Ocean’s Glory or if the energy of the city had been different. For a moment, sudden sadness rose in her that she’d never know Seagem in its heyday, and she quickened her steps to outpace the emotion.

To her right, the familiar sound of blades thunking and the shouts of men caused a stirring of excitement in her. Sadie increased her pace.

She rounded a building and came upon a tree-lined stone courtyard. A group of men wearing black stood in a semi-circle around a pair of fighters with swords. Judging by the uniforms, they weren’t from Zacatlan, and she wondered if they were the soldiers from Ocean’s Glory.

No women.
Sadie wondered if women fought in this world. Or it was it like Earth, where most women didn’t fight or join the armed forces?

Sadie hurried closer. She paused behind a tree to study the men and observe their swordplay. In her rare spare time, she liked to attend Renaissance sword practices at the Salle Gelnaw and fight with heavier swords. She hadn’t become an expert, by any means. Her training with her master at the salle in sabre took all her focus. But she found the Renaissance fighting a pleasant diversion, which she believed added to her expertise with the sabre.

These men held shorter blades than she was used to—just a little longer than a cutlass, but without the curve, wrapped in leather, which told her they had sharp edges, not like the dull blades Renaissance fighters used. They’d leave nasty bruises, maybe even break bones if the swing was hard enough and not blocked, but they wouldn’t cut the participants.

She watched the soldiers for a while and figured out from the precise movements they must be practicing a pattern, not free sparring. Each pair ended with a flourish and a salute, and another replaced them. After a while, she could see they performed the same pattern. Once they finished and walked out of the circle, one of the men standing somewhat apart with his arms crossed, sword in a scabbard at his side, gestured and called out something, although she couldn’t hear the words.
He must be the coach or leader or whatever kind of hierarchy they had here.

Two combatants more stepped out, gave a salute, and started. They fought in earnest, no longer keeping to the rigid style of earlier matches.

Narrow-eyed, she studied them, learning their moves and figuring out the difference between victory and defeat. She’d watched a lot of sparing in her day—of all levels, including the best in the world. Yet she couldn’t help wondering why these professional soldiers didn’t live up to her expectations.
Maybe this isn’t the elite squad.

I can hold my own
, she thought, anticipation rising in her at the thought of practicing again, even if the activity wasn’t fencing.
Now that my shoulder’s healed, I maybe can even take them.

One man won. They saluted with their fists, and then the defeated fighter slinked back to the circle and another stepped out. He too was speedily dispatched. The more the first fighter won, the more he started to crow over the others, calling out insults and strutting between bouts. Just like a rooster, with his barrel chest and gingery hair and beard, the man tossed his head and preened.

Sadie decided she didn’t like him.
I can reduce him to chicken dinner.

She turned on her heel and jogged back to her quarters. Once inside, Sadie opened her travel case. She wished she had a traditional sword but hadn’t brought one with her to Israel, only two of her sabres. She lifted one and set it on the floor next to the case and rocked back on her heels, thinking.
I’ll be fighting here. I know it.
At some point, the enemy might…
will
try to kill me.
And she had a sense this place didn’t have modern weapons, not that gods and goddesses couldn’t destroy humanity as effectively as bombs.

Sadie shook off the image, dug out various articles of her fencing uniform, stood, and shed her clothes, tossing them on the bed. She wiggled into a sports bra, yanked a tee-shirt over her head, and strapped on the hard plastic chest protector. She pulled up the knee-length knickers, added an underarm protector over the chest protector, and lastly donned her jacket.

The men hadn’t worn armor, or at least not outer armor, so they should have enough control not to hurt her. But still, they’d be fighting with real weapons, even with the sharp edges wrapped in leather. No matter how controlled the sword-wielder, bruises and cuts still happened. The underarm protector and the jacket provided better safeguards than regular clothing and wouldn’t slice easily.
Though a direct stab will penetrate,
she thought, uneasiness blunting her excitement.

On Earth, Sadie never would have approached a group of soldiers who had experience with killing. But in this Goddess-controlled city, she figured the men wouldn’t dare seriously hurt her. And, she rolled her shoulder, Guinheld would heal her if something happened
. I hope.

She tugged a glove onto her right hand, hesitated at the mask, and then decided to bring it along. Wearing the mask was such a hard and fast rule in her training, she didn’t feel right fighting without it. Plus, if she fought bareheaded, her coach would appear and smack her upside the head for going without her mask. She doubted even Guinheld could protect her from an irate fencing coach.

Cheta trotted over to her, eager for action, but Sadie made the dog sit on her cushion and told her to stay. Cheta gave Sadie a reproachful look.

Sadie laughed, refusing to feel guilty. “It’s for your own protection,” she told the dog. “Mine as well. I can’t worry about you when I have lethal blades coming my way.”

The dog seemed to understand. She sighed, curled up, and laid her head on her front legs.

Carrying her favorite sabre in one hand, with the mask tucked under her other arm, Sadie headed for the door. Something made her hesitate. Turning, she went back to her bedroom, and picked up the second sabre. Carrying both, she trotted out the door.

Her jog served as a warm-up, and she arrived at the practice area with good wind. Over the past months, even though she couldn’t practice her sabre, at least not with her dominant arm, she still jogged regularly, including hill and staircase sprints. She also continued her physical therapy exercises, some of which included weights, so she hadn’t lost strength in her injured arm—or so she hoped.

This time, Sadie didn’t hide behind the tree. She sauntered into the open, matching the arrogant posture she’d seen the rooster use, but toned down to display quiet confidence, not cocksure bravado. The breeze fanned her face, wafting the smell of the orange flowers and sweaty men her way.

She waited until the rooster dispatched another opponent before striding forward. The men facing her saw her coming. One pointed in her direction, and the rest turned to stare.

Sadie knew they saw a slender, medium-size woman. Unlike many female athletes, she didn’t have bulky muscles, but toned, compact ones. Although, in the weight room she could out-lift many bigger women, many of her opponents, especially men, often underestimated her.

As she headed towards the man she’d pegged as the leader, some of the other soldiers broke out into jeering grins and lewd comments, which were silenced by a gesture from the captain.

When she reached the leader, Sadie gave him a slight bow, which he returned.

The man had a leathered harsh-featured face. His broken nose made him look sinister, so she imagined that after the wound had stopped hurting, he might have even welcomed the change in his appearance—he’d scare all his enemies.

He eyed her sabre and worked to keep his face expressionless, although his mouth twitched.

Go ahead, laugh. All of you laugh.

“I’m Captain Boerk. How can I help ya, lady?”

“I’d like to spar with your men.”

“The soldiers of Ocean’s Glory don’t fight with women.”

“You’re not in Ocean’s Glory now,” Sadie said in a firm tone.

He looked thoughtful. “I know some women in Seagem are fighters. We fought a few.”
Killed a few
. He might as well have spoken the words out loud, for his gray eyes took on a haunted look.

“I’m Sadie Issacson.” She made her tone formal to turn his thoughts away from the painful past. “I’ve come from another world at the invitation of the Goddess Withea.”

His expression changed, and he shuffled back a half step. “I’m familiar with Withea. And word has already spread through Zacatlan of the outworld woman.”

That was fast.
Sadie raised her sabre, although she kept the tip down. “As you can see, I’ll need to familiarize myself with your style. In the fight against Ontarem, I’ll need every advantage possible.”

An expression of anger crossed Captain Boerk’s face, although Sadie sensed the emotion wasn’t directed her way. He brought his anger under control. His face impassive, he touched one of the sabres. “I’m not familiar with your insect stinger there.”

His men guffawed.

“Let her fight, Captain Boerk,” the rooster man called out. “What’s the harm?”

“You’ll fight with that?” Captain Boerk indicated her sabre.

“I’ll fight with this,” she echoed.

Captain Beork stood still, pensive for a long moment. “If we were in Ocean’s Glory, I wouldn’t permit it. Besolet wouldn’t have spared the energy to heal ya if ya got hurt. But Guinheld will, although—” he raised his voice “—I don’t doubt the Healing Goddess might take retribution on any that harmed an offworlder called by Withea.” He said Withea’s name in reverent tones. “I’ve met Her,” he said to Sadie. “Withea healed me, even though I didn’t deserve it.”

“She must have thought differently,” Sadie commented. “Sometime, I’d like to hear your story.”

With a short nod of acknowledgment, he sent a pointed glance at his men. “I’m not sayin’ be easy on her, lads. Just exercise control.”

They shuffled, looking uncomfortable. All except for rooster man, who if anything puffed up further. Obviously, he didn’t fear the wrath of the Goddess.

Captain Boerk gestured for the youngest and least competent man to step forward.

“No.” Sadie shook her head, feeling her braid bounce on her back. She pointed the tip of her sabre at the rooster. “You.”

The rooster looked startled. A sly look slid over his face. He strutted forward a few steps up as if proud to be chosen.

The captain shook his head. “Not Lind.”

She turned her head so the men couldn’t see and gave the captain a wink.

Startled, he didn’t protest as she donned her mask and sauntered into the “ring.” She stepped in front of the man, bringing her fist up in the salute motion she’d seen the soldiers use.

He mirrored her, and then they both lifted their weapons. As soon as he brought his sword up, Sadie lunged forward, tapping him on the wrist and stepping back.