The Last Stand (The Eleven Years War: Book One)
Chapter Twelve

Eza walked along therows of initiates, looking each dead in the eye as she did and remembering howscared she’d been in their places. There were thirty, maybe forty boys who’dbeen selected to become Rooks, an elite fighting force many thought to be thequeen’s personal assassins. They all looked down on her physically, and only afew didn’t give her questioning looks; most of them seemed to think that herpresence there was a joke, something to lighten the mood during the mostdecisive moment of most cadets’ lives: choosing their weapon. After all, shewas shorter even than the smallest of initiates, and was younger than at leasthalf of them. In these boy’s minds, there was no way that a short,sixteen-year-old girl could be head of the most feared organization in Caitha;the real head of the Rooks wouldemerge somewhere in a spectacular fashion, one that inspired awe and obedience.

That was not how Ezaoperated.

“Welcome to hell,boys,” she barked, being sure to let her Kurzhian accent come through. All buta few gave her an amused look, as if they thought that she was pretending to bestronger than she actually was. Those who recognized where the accent camefrom, likely indicating that they, too, were foreigners, seemed to cower at hervoice. The rest, all Caithians who’d probably never even seen a Kurzhian before, only rolled their eyes; though they didn’thave a reputation for it, Caithians, especially those from big cities such asSemata, seemed to think they were superior simply because they were Caithian.They had a nasty habit of underestimating foreigners, a tendency Eza planned tobeat out of them; she had to, if Caitha were to have a chance in hell to beatthe Giskens.

“I know you all thinkyou’re hot shots after beating out your other classmates, but I can assure you,you aren’t,” Eza continued as she scanned the faces of the cadets. None of themseemed too indignant about being under her command; not yet, anyways. “I don’tgive a damn how well you think you handled your sword during Watch training,how strong you think you are, how brave you think you are, how smart you thinkyou are; you can toss all that into the nearest shit house, because as of rightnow, you’re all nobodies until you show me otherwise.”

“And who are you,exactly, the commander’s daughter?” the recruit who said it was tall andstrong, and judging by the way everyone else looked at him, he’d kicked all oftheir asses during Watch training. Eza recognized him from one of the manyfiles sent her way after the selection process was done. It was Ramir binJabaar, an Abunaki refugee who’d spent the majority of his time in Caithaterrorizing shopkeepers in Semata for money for him and his little brother, whowas currently training to be an army messenger. His instructors hated his guts,but marveled at his capability as a soldier. “Go home, little girl; this is noplace for a child.”

Eza found angerseething out of her, but kept it hidden under a stony mask. She glared at himfor a few moments, then looked behind her at a fellow Rook, newly appointed andstanding by a table with an assortment of weapons on it, including a staffidentical to hers. He looked calm and collected, but she could tell that on theinside, he was wondering how this Abunaki could be so stupid as to call thecommander a little girl.

“Staff,” she said,holding her hand out. Without a hint of hesitation, the Rook grabbed thefighting staff and tossed it to her. She caught it and handed it to theAbunaki.

“Fight me.” The manlooked confused as she took off her cloak and tossed it to the side. For thefirst time that day, she saw a hint of hesitation on his face, however slight. Allhe did was stare at the staff for a few seconds, wondering whether or not shewas joking.

“Are you deaf,cadet?” she asked. “I’ll even let you attack first. Letting women go first ispolite in this country, yes?”

That was enough toget the Abunaki riled up. Without another word, he got out of his place in lineand lunged at her.

She had to admit, hewas better at wielding a staff than she thought he would be: he acted like he’dused them all his life; not surprising, considering where he was born. Even so,he was almost hilariously predictable. He came at her with a swing to the head,a move every cadet over the years had tried to pull during this littleexercise. She swatted the blow out of the way as if it were little more than afly, then smacked him on the side, hard.

Ramir yelped, thenstepped back, inspecting his opponent with brand new eyes. He was suddenlyseeing her as a real opponent, one that could beat the snot out of him if hecontinued to underestimate her. Every other cadet had grown deathly silent atseeing Eza’s staff it its mark; it seemed that it was a rare occurrence whenfighting with Ramir. It just managed to show her once again how unprepared theCaithians were for war, despite the fact that they’d been given ten years.

“I was under theimpression that you were going to at least tryto fight, boy,” Eza said. “Can you not defeat a child?” Once again, Ramirlunged, and once again, he aimed for the head. Eza stepped to the side andattacked. This time, she swept his legs out from under him with her staff. Hefell to the ground, groaning, as his classmates looked on in awe and, in somecases, horror.

Eza bent down, rippedthe staff out of his hands, and tossed it back to the Rook. When she lookedback at the cadets, she saw that none of them gave her those questioning looks:though they still had to look down on her physically, none of them questionedher authority, now. It seemed that everything had gone just as planned.

“Would anyone elselike to get their ass handed to them, or shall we get down to business?” Nobodysaid a word, except for the still groaning Ramir. He’d managed to get to hisfeet, but he continued to rub his side.

“Good,” she said. “Isuppose I should introduce myself: I’m Commander Eza Mitriovna, head of theRook core.” They managed to resist dropping their jaws, but their eyes gaveevery recruit away: they all grew wide with shock. It was the same reactionshe’d gotten from every recruit since she’d become a commander the year before.“I was merciful to Ramir today, as none of you knew who I was; however, if anyof you disrespect me again, I swear on all that’s holy that you’ll never seethe light of day again, got it?”

“Yes, ma’am!” Thechorus rang out amongst the cadets.

Eza looked backbehind her, where the weapons teachers stood. Behind them on the porch of theinfirmary, Silas, the head of Caithian intelligence, stood with his arms folded,examining the scene with a boyish grin on his face. Next to him stood the aginggeneral of Caitha, a thin, aging, Jotiese man who went by the name of Polain,as nobody could seem to pronounce his actual one. None of the cadets gave himany notice, however: Polain didn’t dress in extravagant clothing, like many ofhis lord colleagues; he dressed in plain, unadorned robes, ones that made himlook like one of the many Jotiese refugees that had flooded Semata when thepurges began in Jotai. His hand was on the hilt of his sword, a nervous habitthat only came through when he needed to discuss something that he didn’t wantto.

Eza looked back atteachers. “Ambrus, take over.” Ambrus, a stout man who trained cadets to use abroadsword, stepped forward and saluted.

“Yes, ma’am,” hesaid. Eza walked up the infirmary steps and onto the porch, where Polain andSilas waited. She saluted the general, who saluted back.

“Commander,” he said.He put his arm down, and she followed suit. “I trust that I’ve found you ingood health.” Eza nodded.

“Yes, sir,” she said,she began to look around for Princess Marion, who always seemed to be by thegeneral’s side whether she wanted to or not, but she was nowhere to be seen.“Where’s Marion?”

“She’s in Semata,”Polain said. “I thought she would be safer there, surrounded by stone walls andan army, and after seeing the condition of Commander Olrick, I don’t think itwould have been good if she were to see him like that. She’s been growing moreand more… attached to him as of late.” He looked over at the recruits, who wereholding an assortment of weapons in order to replace the one they would be trainedin. As was usual, many went right for the heavy broadswords or war hammers,while only a couple even considered other weapons. Only one person picked up astaff and, judging by the look on their face, seriously considered it.

“Have you beenbrought up to speed on what’s going on?” Eza asked. Polain nodded.

“I know enough toknow that I need the three of you back in Semata as soon as possible,” he said.“I know that this won’t surprise you, but the officers there are all moreinterested in replaceing away to keep their comfortable homes when the Giskenscome rather than in fighting them.” Silas snorted.

“Of course they are,”he said, rolling his eyes. “What else would you expect from those bureaucraticbastards?”

“So, you need usthere to back you up when you have to sit through a meeting with thoseparasites?” Eza asked. Polain nodded.

“I know that leavingthis place is the last thing that you want to do right now, but believe me, Iwouldn’t ask you to do this if it weren’t urgent,” he said. “I need you thereso we can respond to this threat quickly and efficiently, without the distancebetween here and there slowing things down.” They both nodded.

“We understand,” shesaid.

“I’ll come willingly,under one condition,” Silas said. Polain gave him a weary look.

“And what is that?”he said. “I certainly hope it’s simple; I don’t have the energy to drag you toSemata in chains.”

“I think it’s afairly simply request,” he said with a shrug. “I just want your permission toget nice and drunk before you put me in the same room with those assholes, isall.”

“GeneralRaul, sir?” Raul looked up from his glass, filled with his second thing of alcohol,at a soaked Finn. It was cheap stuff, the Kurzhian brew he’d chosen, but damn,was it strong. Just what he’d needed, after learning that that damnedpyromancer had nearly killed his son.

“Whatis it, captain?” he asked.

“Thedoctors told me to get you,” Finn said. “The lieutenant’s pretty banged up, butthey think he’ll pull through.” Raul set his glass down and stood up, hiswooden chair creaking beneath him.

“Thankyou, captain,” he said. “You’re excused.” Finn raised his fist in a salute,then left the tent. Once he was gone, he swigged down the rest of his beverageand began the walk to the infirmary.

He’dknown that Blair wouldn’t be in a very good state, but what he saw shocked him.The right side of his body was wrapped in bandages covered in red splotches,with black, charred skin poking out from those that covered part of his face.His eyes were shut tight and his face was contorted in pain. One of the doctorssat next to him with a pile of leaves in one hand, a large bottle of beer inthe other. Raul recognized the leaves from his first campaign in Kurzh, whenhe’d lost his eye to a glaciomancer: they were saved only for those whose painwas excruciating enough to need it. The fact that it was being used with beer,a more common sedative, and that Blair still looked to be in pain said a lotabout what the pyromancer had done to him.

“Howis he?” The doctor looked up at him. Dark circles were under his eyes, likelyfrom staying up with Blair for most of the night.

“I’mfairly certain that he’ll live, sir,” he said. “But he’s going to have scarsfrom this for the rest of his life, and he might not have the range of motionhe used to for a long time, if ever.” Raul nodded; he’d expected as much.

“Canhe hear us?” he asked. The doctor shrugged his shoulders.

“I’mnot sure, sir,” he said. “Why, do you need to speak with him?”

“Getsome rest, doctor,” Raul said. He could see that the doctor wanted to protest,but he didn’t; instead, he set down his herbs and beer and stood up, salutinghim.

“Sir.”He walked out of the tent, leaving Raul alone with Blair. For a few seconds,Raul simply stared at him, his mind filled to the brim with questions aboutwhat had happened to him the previous night.

“Whathappened last night?” Blair’s head rolled toward him and his eyes squintedopen. They were filled with pain.

“Wecaught the Watchman and the pyromancer trying to escape,” he wheezed. “Wemanaged to catch up … and when I went to kill the Watchman…” he closed his eyesand swallowed. “I tried to get out of the way, but it was too late. I-I don’tremember anything after that.”

“Whichroad did they take?” Raul asked. Blair’s head rolled back so he was staring atthe top of the tent.

“Themain road,” he said. “T-they took the main road.” Raul thought back to hismaps, trying to think of what towns lay in that direction. The only one hecould think of was Asfalis…

Asfalis.According to his scouts, there was a fort there, one just for the Watch and theRooks. The bastard had probably told his superiors about them, already; theelement of surprise was now gone.

Angerbegan to rise of in Raul. The Caithians, it seemed, had every intention ofdefending their little island. They were the first to fight them since he’dmade an example of Kurzh to the rest of the world. Every other invasion hadended the second they’d started it; peace treaties were signed within a week ofhim entering, ones that, the opposing generals hoped, would keep what happenedto the Kurzhians from happening in their country. The Caithians were the onlyones to stand up to him, even though they knew full well what would happen tothem if they did.

He’dmake then pay for it, even more than the Kurzhians did.