parents. She had not yet graduated sufficiently through the ranks to be granted her maiden’s name, and Kaira guessed if she carried on like this she never would.
Kaira took the javelin. ‘You’re still throwing the tip forward like a ball. This is a javelin.’ Reham stared back at her sheepishly. ‘You must thrust the haft through the tip, otherwise you might as well throw a stick at your enemy.’ Kaira hefted the weapon to her shoulder. ‘Throw
with
the javelin, not against it. This weapon is not dependent solely on brawn – technique will always beat strength.’ With that she flung the javelin effortlessly at the target board thirty yards away. It hit dead centre, spearing the wood and echoing around the noisy courtyard.
Reham and the rest of the trainees stared in awe.
‘Wise words you should all heed,’ said Samina, coming to stand beside Kaira. ‘But do not disregard the importance of power in combat. Sometimes there is simply no answer to brute strength.’
Kaira raised an eyebrow at her sister’s intervention. It was not the first time the Coldeye had publicly expressed a differing philosophy of warfare. As was so often the case, her seemingly straightforward statement was a challenge in disguise.
‘You can’t abide just observing and teaching, can you?’ said Kaira under her breath. She knew what was coming.
‘A javelin,’ said Samina, to one of the acolytes. Instantly a weapon was placed in her waiting palm. She tested the balance for a second, took a quick sidestep and let fly. The javelin soared across the courtyard, over the heads of the trainees. It embedded itself in one of the mannequins used for practising the placement of critical blows. The wooden statue wobbled, transfixed by the javelin, then came to rest, like a taunt to Kaira from fifty yards away.
Kaira saw her students standing agog. For the briefest moment she considered taking up another javelin, clearing the courtyard and demonstrating her superior skills, but what had she to prove? Let Samina have her moment. The Coldeye so rarely had opportunities to prove her worth these days. With the armies gone north and the Shieldmaidens left behind as little more than temple guards, it seemed they never would.
‘Carry on,’ Kaira said. Instantly her students went back to their routines.
‘Most impressive.’
Kaira turned to see Daedla standing behind her. The Daughter of Arlor was short, diminutive even, and had a habit of turning up unexpectedly. Her amiable smile masked a keen and calculating nature; Kaira knew to be always on her guard around her. Not that Daedla had ever done her harm but, as a Shieldmaiden of Vorena, Kaira had always been taught to keep her counsel around the Daughters of Arlor. Two different factions of the same religion, they were discouraged from mixing, lest the violent nature of one taint the benevolence of the other.
Samina and Kaira towered over the stooped Daedla, who, despite her only middling years, was hunched like a crone.
‘Your new recruits look a keen batch,’ said Daedla, as they watched the youngsters begin their drill once more. ‘It seems the students get better every year. Where do they keep coming from?’
‘Most are orphans of the plague,’ Kaira explained. ‘Even so young they understand they must prove themselves or face being cast out from the safety of our walls.’
‘That is surely not necessary. Arlor’s Daughters would take care of them,’ said Daedla proudly, but Kaira knew different.
‘More refugees are flocking to Steelhaven every day, and there is only so much the Temple can do. Our armies need supplies to the north: crops, livestock, weapons. There will be few resources for those of us left in the city once the king begins his campaign. With more mouths to feed than ever before it will be a long winter for those who do not prove themselves worthy to remain within our walls.’
‘You make it sound so bleak, sister. We Daughters of Arlor take a very