Page 18 of Wild Bond

“So, you’re the best, then?” I couldn’t help but tease him a little. This rider was incredibly intimidating, but despite his size and fearsome reputation, his smile and warm manner put me at ease.

He chuckled deeply. “I suppose I am,” he replied, though there was no boasting in his tone. “Though Rake might have something to say about that if he were here.”

“Rake?” I asked, confused.

“Commander Rakim,” he explained. “We’ve been training together for years. I knew him back when he was just an angry, insufferable kid. But now we’re pretty evenly matched most days. Though the bastard is nigh unbeatable in hand-to-hand. Must have been all that street fighting he did.”

“Street fighting?” I repeated, incredulous. “When did he—”

“And here we are,” Dembe interrupted, gesturing widely with his massive arms.

I looked around and nearly gaped at the size of the training grounds. There was a large, well-worn dirt field sporting several fighting rings defined by chalk outlines, a running track, and weapons racks, as well as wooden and straw practice dummies. Dozens of people wearing the same brown trainee leathers were spread out around the field, sparring, or using the equipment. The oldest seemed to be around my age, while the youngest couldn’t have been more than five or six. I saw what appeared to be a small class of these little ones along with their tiny dragons sitting on the ground, staring up at a female dragon rider in black leathers as she attempted to teach them. Her own dragon sat at her side in its full-size form, looking annoyed as it tried to keep its tail out of the reach of the smaller dragons. I noticed that Declan, the young boy from the Exodus Ball, was among them.

I took this all in as Dembe led me over to an empty area of the field away from the other trainees.

“Do you have any fighting experience?” he asked, eyeing me up and down in an assessing manner.

I tried not to feel self-conscious. The few days of good food and rest had helped, but I was nowhere near the physical condition I had been in before being imprisoned. I was basically just skin and bones with no muscle to speak of. Not even my new rider healing and other abilities could compensate for two years of abuse, neglect, and near starvation.

“I can hold my own,” I finally replied. “But I was never formally trained.” I was being somewhat modest. I was skilled at hand-to-hand, and at one point had been rather lethal with my daggers. But it had been two years since I had used them. For all I knew, I had lost my skills completely.

He nodded, his eyes still assessing, and waved toward the weapons rack beside our empty patch of field. “Choose a sword.”

I glanced at the array of blunted practice weapons and picked a short sword that looked light enough for me to handle in my current state. Of course, my eyes couldn’t help straying to the daggers. My fingers itched to grasp them.

The sword was surprisingly heavy as I made my way out onto the open grassy field. Commander Matara followed me, his broadsword like a twig that might as well be weightless in his massive hand.

Swords were not my forte, and as we began to spar, that became apparent immediately. He disarmed me with embarrassing ease. He said nothing as he handed the blade back to me. We exchanged blows for a few minutes, and I could tell he was going easy on me and probably only attacking at half his speed and strength. Eventually he called a halt, and I was disgusted to find I was already breathing hard. I was even weaker than I first thought.

His dark eyes evaluated me before he said, “I’m guessing a sword isn’t your weapon of choice?”

“What gave me away?” I gasped.

He chuckled as he took the practice sword from me and placed them both back on the weapons rack. I grabbed a pair of dull practice daggers, weighing the feel of them in my hands. I gave them a few practice swipes, testing the grip while Dembe chose a pair of his own.

“I should have guessed,” he murmured. “Considering where you grew up . . . a sword is not practical.”

As we both returned to the center of the field, I couldn’t help but think of the pair of daggers I had lost the night I was captured. I wondered where they had ended up after they had been taken from me. I had stolen them off a drunken man at a pub who hadn’t even noticed when I swiped them. They didn’t match and weren’t of the best quality, but they were mine.

“Ready?” Dembe asked.

I nodded.

He attacked immediately, and I blocked the blow with one blade and thrust out with the other, narrowly missing his stomach.

He grinned at me and spun away.

Gathering my energy, I attacked first this time. His eyes widened at the swiftness of the move, and he barely managed to block it, more out of surprise than anything else.

We sparred for some time without stopping. The big man was skilled and surprisingly fast for his size. I was holding my own with him but couldn’t wait to fight again when I was at my full strength. I got the feeling he was still holding back.

When we finally took a break, my muscles ached, and my heart felt like it would pound right out of my chest.

Dembe picked up two water skins from the ground that I hadn’t noticed before and threw one to me. I caught it and was just taking a hefty drink when I felt Skye drawing near. A few seconds later a shadow passed overhead and there was the sound of great wing beats before I glanced up to see her landing in her natural form several feet away.

I heard several shouts of excitement from the younger trainee class. I could feel everyone’s eyes on us, and Skye in particular.

Show off,I thought to Skye as I watched her preen and hold herself with a dignified air.

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