Warlord

his one good eye. "And this was your idea?" I glared at my guards, but they all found other things to look at. I faced Marcus. "It was."
    "Why?"
    "Because I need to learn to protect myself." I looked at Marcus and lifted my chin. "I have to be able to protect Keir." Inside I winced even as I spoke.
    "Protect Hisself?" Marcus gave me a steady look. "How so?" I sighed, prepared for Marcus's scorn. "When we were in camp, when Iften was standing over Keir. That scared me Marcus." I gestured toward the others. "I can't be deadweight. You said yourself that the Plains are hard. I thought I could at least learn how to—" the words came hard. "How to fight." Marcus considered me long enough that I blushed and looked away. "I know it must seem silly—"
    "No, Warprize." Marcus looked off, down the valley, toward the Plains, and sighed. "Death comes in an instant, and you are learning that truth. A harsh truth, but a truth nonetheless." He shook his head. "But you are on the wrong path."
    "She wants to learn." Rafe protested. "What's the harm?" Marcus turned to face Rafe. "Let me show you." Even as the words left his mouth, he'd launched himself at Ander, with no warning or sign, so fast I never really saw him move.
    What I did see was Ander ward off Marcus's dagger with his own blade, which he drew with unbelievable speed. It all happened so fast, and then they stood there, Ander at guard and Marcus making no further move.
    Marcus stepped back, and bowed his head to Ander, who inclined his head in return. The weapons were sheathed, and Marcus turned back to me. "You see?"
    I frowned, puzzled, and answered honestly. "No."
    Marcus had a patient look on his face. "Ander had no need to think of the 'how'. He reacted. He knows the blade, knows the movements, knows in the depths of his body and blood. Has known since he cut his first teeth and his thea handed him his first blade."
    I blinked. First tooth? But that was—
    "You think, Warprize." Marcus continued his lecture. "You think, and then you tell your body and that delay is fatal. Never mind the weight of the shield, never mind that you—"
    "You give babies weapons?"
    Marcus fixed his eye on me. "What do you mean by 'babies'?"
    The language again. Just when I think I know the language of the Firelander, something new comes up.
    "Babies. Children that still crawl and soil their—" I bit my lip. "Like Meara, the babe we found in the village."
    Marcus shook his head. "No. First teeth." He opened his mouth and showed me his teeth. "All their first tooths."
    I thought for a minute. He meant the first set of baby teeth—all of them. Which meant they gave weapons to children that were roughly two and a half, maybe three years old.
    "Wooden blades, Warprize. The first weapon is wooden." Marcus looked at me closely. "The first true blade is at the first true tooth. You understand?"
    I nodded slowly, taking that in. Firelander wielded steel at roughly six or seven years old. No wonder they were so fast. It occurred to me that I was very glad I'd sent Meara back to Anna at Water's Fall.
    "So." Marcus's voice called me back. "We will concentrate on what you can do. Not on what you can't." I sighed, and let my shoulders slump. "But I can't do anything!"
    "Pah." Marcus turned, and picked up the wooden sword and small shield that I had been using. "What did you do when that warrior-priest burst into your tent?"
    I went and sat close to Prest, flopping down in the grass. "I screamed and ran."
    "And?" Marcus asked as he seated himself. Rafe dropped down next to him, and pulled out a dagger and a sharpening stone. Ander and Yveni remained standing, on watch, standing close enough to hear.
    "Hid behind Keir." I picked a stem of grass and started playing with it. "Bold warrior that I am." Marcus snorted. "You, with your terrible memory. You have forgotten." I looked up to see that Rafe and Prest were both grinning, as if at the memory. "What?" Rafe answered promptly. "You threw that pot of muck at him. He was covered with it when he came out of the tent."
    "Wish I'd seen that," Ander spoke, his eyes still on the horizon.
    "Heyla to that," Yveni added.
    Prest chuckled. "The stink clung for days." He reached over and pulled his warclub close, preparing to re-wrap the handle with the leather strips. Of course, it wasn't just any warclub. I looked away from the weapon. It brought back too many painful memories.
    "So," Marcus continued. "What did you do? You alerted others that you were in