Page 14 of Blood and Thorns

Helrath stands near the far wall, leaning against a rack of swords. His pale eyes flicker in our direction. Without a word, he straightens and strides over, movements fluid as a hunting cat.

He bows slightly to me. “My lord.” Then he turns his attention to Valeria, eyes narrowing in clinical appraisal. “You’re on time.”

She meets his gaze, chin lifting. “Yes.”

Helrath gestures for her to follow him to a corner of the hall where the floor is mostly clear. I remain a few steps behind, arms folded, watching. There’s a swirl of anticipation in my gut.Can she handle this?

Helrath paces around her, hands clasped behind his back. “We’ll start with the basics. Stances, footwork, identifying openings. You won’t be matching a trained dark elf soldier in sheer strength, so you must rely on finesse and speed.”

Valeria nods.

“First, show me how you’d stand if you expect to be attacked.”

She shifts her feet, body angled, knees slightly bent—functional, but rough. Helrath snorts. “That might work against a drunken guard. If you face a sober dark elf, you’ll be on your back in seconds.”

A flare of irritation crosses her features, but she quickly adjusts. Helrath grunts, then demonstrates the correct posture, tapping her feet into place with a brusque nudge. He positions her arms in front of her torso, explaining how to keep her center of gravity.

I watch her concentrate, a small line forming between her brows. This is obviously new, but she seems committed. Helrath steps back, then strikes a lightning-fast blow aimed at her midsection. She flinches, staggering but not falling. He hasn’t landed a hit, but she failed to properly evade.

“Too slow,” he mutters. “Try again.”

They repeat the exercise, Helrath launching sudden attacks, forcing her to dodge or block. She’s out of her depth, but I notice sparks of progress: each time she staggers less, each time shemanages to shift her feet a bit quicker. A sheen of sweat forms on her forehead.

“Aren’t you going to use a training blade?” she asks between labored breaths.

Helrath arches a brow. “Not yet. First, you learn to move. A blade in the hand of someone who can’t even dodge is useless.”

She grits her teeth but nods, determination burning in her eyes.

I step closer, stopping at the corner of the chalk circle. “Remember,” I say quietly, “dark elves typically favor agility. They’ll try to unbalance you. Your advantage is unpredictability: you’re no soldier, so they might underestimate you. Use that.”

Her lips part in a quick breath. “Understood.”

Helrath resumes his strikes, each an economical burst of movement. This time, Valeria ducks smoothly, pivoting to the side. He stops, studies her, then nods once.

“Better.”

Pride stirs in my chest. It’s faint, but it’s there.She’s learning.

After a few more rounds, Helrath steps back, annoyance barely hidden. “We’ll go again at midday. Practice footwork until then.” He points to the far side of the hall, where lines are drawn on the floor for agility drills. “Work on those patterns. If you can’t maintain control of your feet, you’ll never hold your own in a fight.”

Valeria rubs her forearm across her forehead, sweat gleaming on her cheeks. “All right.”

Helrath’s gaze flicks to me. “She’s adequate for a first session.” It’s not exactly praise, but from him, it might as well be. He offers a short bow and strides off, presumably to torment another recruit.

The hall is alive with the clang of blades and the hiss of breath from sparring pairs. Valeria stands in the midst of it,looking both exhausted and stubbornly resolute. I approach slowly.

“Not so bad,” I remark, nodding at the chalk circles. “At least he didn’t throw you to the ground.”

She manages a faint laugh, though it’s laced with adrenaline. “I was half-expecting him to.”

“That might come later.” I gesture to the agility lines. “Go practice. I want to see how quickly you adapt.”

She opens her mouth as if to protest, but then thinks better of it. With a curt nod, she trudges over to the lines. I track her every step, noticing how she tests each pattern, stepping forward and back, then sideways, in some kind of rhythmic dance that Helrath has likely devised.

I remain nearby, pacing along the hall’s perimeter. Occasionally, I catch glimpses of her frustration—she stumbles, curses under her breath, corrects herself, and continues. There’s a raw determination in her eyes I rarely see in humans. They’re usually so beaten down by the dark elves that the idea of bettering themselves is unthinkable. But Valeria’s different.

Is it enough?

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