Chapter 3 - The New Trade
"The Ace of Diamonds is one of those little whispers you hope never crosses your ears and pray to each god individually never crosses your lips. Some of those in less scrupulous circles have developed their connections and bladecraft because of her. Others? We develop our hospitality.
Starting with words like 'The myth, the legend, as I live and breathe! Come in, come in! May I get you something to drink' seems like the most sensible way to begin any such conversations with those who can end your life as they make their morning meal; many people sincerely underestimate the value of groveling.
But then it didn't help my father any, so maybe you shouldn't be listening to me."
Baharah Molsen
'Killers and Saints of The End of the World'
Felicia
Splash!
Cold wet daggers ripped Felicia from the embrace of a fitful, shallow sleep. She started awake with her fight-or-flight response tearing at her and a mind so muddled with exhaustion she couldn't even remember where she'd gone to rest. Soaking wet and miserable she clawed at her sleeping bag, orienting herself to the ground and only eventually becoming aware of a presence standing near her.
"Guh!" Felicia spat a bunch of water and wiped at her face eagerly to clear her eyes. There was gloom all around which meant early morning. Maybe? Remembering the presence she felt, she looked up to it and blinked a few times. "Why'd you do that?!"
The teenager didn't even have time to react before that presence was upon her pushing her into the damp earth with a heavy hand right between her breasts. "Why," it- she- whispered in a low purr. "What is your reason for waking up today?"
Panic shot through her like a cold spike. The predatory rumble of the northern hunter atop her made the question a statement, a test to pass or fail. Felicia blinked a bit more water from her eyes and squinted against the dark. She could barely make out Lostariel's features, pale and angular though they were, she was a wraith extruded from shadow more than she was a human being. Her eyes were intense, focused. Boring straight through Felicia's soul.
"I won't ask again," the would-be murderer said.
"Uh-" Thinking quickly, Felicia blurted out the first thing that came to mind; the truth. "To learn how to stop you from killing my friend."
"That's a long term goal," Lostariel said flatly. "What is your goal for today."
Felicia puzzled on it for a moment. "To put more distance between us and the guards-"
"We have several leagues lead. We are going to need to get on a caravan route before much longer. Try again."
Try again? What the hell was she supposed to say? "Gee, I don't know. Maybe I'll get my boots shined and-"
Lostariel slapped her. Hard. It stung so hard that Felicia almost cried before the northerner's arm had finished its powerful arc. She covered her mouth. Bit into her palm. A lifetime on the southern plains had taught her you
didn't
scream at night. You bore the pain.
And what a pain it was. When Felicia went to articulate it she tasted blood.
The two women stared at one another. Friends- at least in Felicia's eyes- and adversaries at once. But there was something to it. Felicia
had
begged to be taught what she needed to know. She'd willingly become a student to someone her elder. Getting snide or combative wasn't going to help anything if she wanted a chance to learn what she needed to.
Reluctantly, and with a quickly numbing mouth she mumbled a vague apology.
Lostariel closed the final bit of distance, burying her knee right between Felicia's thighs. She was quick, sharp and demanding with her hand grabbing Felicia's uninjured shoulder and pulling her in so there was no doubt who was going to be in charge- as if there ever had been- of their interactions going forward. "Face the day with a goal in mind," she said icily. "One that serves your plan and can be accomplished before you sleep. Repeat this day in and day out. This is your first lesson. . . .now what is it you are going to do today?"
Felicia licked her lips, swallowed her own blood. She didn't raise her eyes but she made damn sure her voice was strong enough to carry her words; "I'm going to pay attention to your next lesson and when that's done, I'm going to get you to dry off my sleeping bag. . ."
The woman actually chuckled. She laughed! Of all the things in the world she could have done, she laughed right in Felicia's face. Then she produced one of her blades and waved it in front of Felicia's face. "Cut up your bag. You won't need it any longer."
"W- What? No! No, that's- No!"
The blade touched Felicia's cheek. She went still. "You
convinced
me to train you. You have your victory, now you refuse the spoils that come with it? You want this, you accept what comes along with it. . . .today you will learn how to live like a survivor. This bag will make you complacent and weak when you need to be aware."
"Nghhh... But I spent good money on it- c- come on, can't we keep it for a couple days?"
"No." Lostariel said simply. She then got up, staking her blade beside the girl before she trotted off to the tree where they'd tied the horse up. He snorted his disapproval at her presence but she ignored him and went for Felicia's pack. With a little fishing around she found some dry clothes and tossed them to the still groggy Felicia. "Get up. We're going for a jog."
Thus began her first day as an assassin trainee- not with some incredible feat of heroism or flashy maneuver but with a goal accomplished; she'd gotten her trainer to dry her sleeping bag. . . .by having her destroy it.
Felicia made a mental note not to ask for anything henceforth.
#
The run was murder.
Panting and heaving, holding her heavy chest as they jogged through a creek, Felicia just about collapsed. She'd gone too many days without food, her body wasn't ready for this kind of activity. Putting one foot in front of the other was itself an act of will, one that was becoming harder and harder to attempt. She thought about quitting- a lot- but every few moments Lostariel would glance her way.
A subtle dare. A little challenge. Give up. You'll only fail Sarah. You'll fail me, too. You can't stop this.
Felicia tried to push her body. To push through the burning agony in her calves and the uncomfortable jostling of her generous chest and, more than anything, to push through that voice telling her she was going to watch one friend die at the hands of another friend. She wasn't going to give in.
She wouldn't let that happen. The Mawik Plains had bred stronger men and women, stronger than anything the world had seen. She
couldn't