“Thanks,” she said. Then, suspicious of his kind smile, she added, “Don’t go easy on me.”
“That wouldn’t be a favor,” Errol said. “We want you prepared when you get out there. Don’t go easy on me.”
Abeke stole a glance at the others. Meilin sat on the shoulders of her opponent, the silk handkerchief wrapped around her assailant’s eyes. If Meilin can do so well with just a scrap of cloth, Abeke thought, I have to be able to work with a broom!
This time, when Errol came at her with the sword, she used the broom like a long staff instead, blocking his blows as best as she could. His strikes became steadily harder, though, and the broom handle began to splinter.
“Sorry!” Abeke said.
He looked confused. “For what?”
“For this!” With a pang of conscience, Abeke thrust the broom bristles into the swordsman’s face. Sneezing, he swatted at the noxious cloud of dust, hair, and animal fur surrounding his head. He blindly windmilled his sword.
Well, he said not to go easy on him.
“Uraza!” Abeke called. “Now!”
Just as Errol’s sword split her broomstick in two, shards flying, the leopard pounced. Her paws clapped on his chest. With a grunt, he fell back, catching himself with his hands. His sword clattered away.
Uraza licked a paw serenely.
Errol gave Abeke a thumbs-up from his place on the floor.
Abeke smiled at him. It was nice to feel accepted.
Tarik’s whistle sounded.
“New weapon!” he shouted. “Now, this round, I want you fighting as a team. Hurry! Grab something, quick.”
Abeke snatched up a heavy wooden mixing bowl. Conor took a spoon. Meilin and Rollan argued over a vase. Meilin ended up with the porcelain bottom and Rollan ended up with the dry flowers inside it.
“Wait —” Rollan said.
Tarik let out his shrill whistle. “As a team, go!”
This time, all four Greencloaks attacked at once, and the four kids moved as one against them. Abeke’s wooden bowl served well as a shield. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Conor and Briggan working together, darting forward and back.
Smart, thought Abeke. Conor’s been taking his training to heart. He would be prepared even if he was surprised out in the open, with no weapon at all.
In fact, she was awed by their progress. Although he and Briggan had been gradually improving at each training session, this was a huge leap forward.
Suddenly, the older Greencloaks changed tactics, turning to Abeke at the same time. She found herself facing two swords, a spear, and an axe — impossible to hold off on her own, even with Uraza.
Uraza snaked beneath a Greencloak, her flexible body low to the ground. One paw darted out, claws sheathed safely away. The Greencloak with the llama tattoo careened to the ground, unbalanced. Abeke used her bowl to knock back the bat-tattooed Greencloak. Uraza sprang onto his shoulders effortlessly. The weight of the big cat brought him to his knees.
But the success was short-lived. The other two Greencloaks came at her while Uraza was occupied. Errol’s sword smacked her bowl right out of her hands. As it flew up into the air, the other Greencloak slammed her with the broad side of his training axe, hard enough to throw her to the ground and knock the breath out of her.
Abeke gasped as her palms scuffed over the floor.
Tarik’s whistle shrieked. It sounded a little irritated, louder and longer than usual.
“What was that?” Tarik demanded. “This was not a spectator event! Where were you three? How could you let her go down like that?”
Conor had the good manners to look ashamed. Rollan acted like it simply hadn’t occurred to him to help. Meilin’s carefully painted face remained haughty. They didn’t explain themselves, but they didn’t have to.
They don’t trust me, Abeke thought, her eyes prickling with tears. The days of the others’ distrust piled up inside her along with the ache of her scuffed palms and the humiliation of having been so badly beaten. She wouldn’t cry in front of them. Especially not in front of Meilin. She was sure Meilin didn’t cry over anything.
“I’m deeply disappointed,” Tarik said. “Part of good strategy is making good use of all your assets. Abeke is one of your assets, and you should have protected her.”
Conor offered his hand to Abeke. She hesitated before accepting it. He hauled her up.
“Sorry,” he said.
On the other end of the room, footsteps rang out through the uncomfortable silence. It was Olvan, the regal leader of the Greencloaks. As always, his movements were slow and deliberate. There was something imposing about him, even when his spirit animal, a moose, wasn’t visible.
Rubbing his beard, he surveyed the wreckage: shattered glass, broken broomsticks, dried flower petals. “Tarik, I don’t like to interrupt. But this is important.”
“Go ahead,” Tarik said. He was still frowning at three of his four pupils. When he nodded at the four Greencloaks, they nodded back and exited. Errol waved to Abeke as he left. It was kind enough that it made her want to cry again.
“We’ve confirmed that one of the Great Beasts is in the north of Eura,” Olvan said. “Rumfuss the Boar. It’s not a far journey from here. The four of you and the Fallen must travel immediately to find out more. Tarik, you will lead them again.”
“Yes,” Rollan said. “Finally. Let’s leave all this cutlery behind.”
Tarik’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know much about the North.”
Olvan seemed unconcerned. “I’ll be sending Finn with you. He’s from that area and can act as a guide.”
“Finn?” Tarik echoed. He didn’t add anything else, but the single word was enough to make Olvan raise a thick eyebrow. It was unlike Tarik to question Olvan.
“Concerns, Tarik?” Olvan asked brusquely. But his tone didn’t seem to encourage a confession. Tarik merely shook his head.
“It will be good to have another set of hands,” Meilin said.
“Finn was once a great warrior, but now he’s seen too much battle,” Tarik answered carefully. “He will only be useful as a scout.”
“But a very good scout,” Olvan insisted. “He will not fight for you, but he will stand by you. There can be no question of that. Here he is.”
Finn entered the room with footfalls much softer than Olvan’s had been. Abeke’s head darted up. At once her humiliation was forgotten, replaced by interest.
Finn was the tattooed man from the mirrored room.