A Perverted Path to Victory

Mui Thom

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An army on the march was more akin to a single, dreadful creature than it was a gathering of individuals. It snaked and slid, stopped and started, hesitated and hurried, often beyond the control of any commander. With thirty thousand troops in the First Imperial Blackpowder Army, it was a ponderous creature indeed. Compressed by the jungle trails, the army’s tightly-pressed main column stretched over two and a half miles of road, either churning the road to a hopeless quagmire of mud or, during the dry season, creating a billowing mountain of dust. The beast’s tail was less dense, made up of countless camp followers and merchants, many of whom were porting large packs and rickshaws full of goods they sold to the soldiers each evening. That was where many independent mercenaries operated, being hired by private citizens as guards against the hazards of the war and wilderness alike.

When he’d been a common soldier, Mui had had the good fortune to rarely be near the rear of the column. It was a hated position, as it meant struggling through whatever the troops ahead of you had left behind. Even if they were marching over finely laid cobblestones, not a deeply-abused road, you still had to suffer the detritus created by tens of thousands of marching men and women. Soldiers constantly relieved themselves on the sides of the road, creating an awful stench, and the nobility’s Krapeu didn’t have the decency to step away before leaving their droppings, which meant you’d be stomping through bone-filled dung. The rear of the column was the last to reach the evening’s campgrounds, meaning they often marched into the early hours of the night, when predators became most active. A unit being assigned to the column’s rear was one of the more common ways for a General to punish its members for failures that couldn’t be attributed to any one person.

Which made it all the odder that Sara had chosen, of her own volition, to place the Powdered Lead at the rear of the column. As a commander of nearly five hundred troops, a hundred of whom were the crew of the battle-winning artillery, it would have been well within her rights to ask for a better position. He understood Sara well enough by then to know that she valued humility, but she also went to great pains to ensure the comfort of her mercenary soldiers. He didn’t understand why she would volunteer them for such a miserable position.

Fortunately, he had learned something else about Sara: she was never offended by an honest question. So he simply asked her.

“Because,” Sara said, hopping over a particularly large puddle leftover from the morning rains, “there’s no one else back here. Since Borek punishes underperforming squads by tossing them back here, the civilians are pretty undefended.”

“They have mercenary guards, no?” He glanced at the sky, where dark shadows were wheeling overhead. “And the griffons are keeping watch for any enemy force’s approach. They’re under little threat.”

“And they’re under even less, now that we’re back here. Besides,” Sara glanced to the right, where Evie was walking, and wrapped an arm around the woman’s waist, dragging her into an embrace. One that, Mui couldn’t help but notice, involved a hand quickly slipping towards the feline’s tail, giving its base a light squeeze. As Evie shuddered silently, Sara shot him a lecherous grin. “When no one else is around, I get to play with my toys whenever I want.”

“I see,” Mui drawled. “I should have known better than to think you were being purely virtuous.”

“Hey,” Sara said, sarcastically affronted, “I do want to protect the civilians, too. It’s just a bonus that I don’t have to deal with all the insufferable nobility.”

If any of the nearby mercenaries noticed anything of their two commanding officers groping one another in their midst, they showed no sign of it. Sara, Evie, and Hurlish were walking in the dead center of the Powdered Lead’s portion of the column, behind the riflemen, just ahead of the cannons. The green-cloaked guards, Hurlish and Tahn’s ever-present shadows, walked in a protective square around them. Mui had joined them for the day, as was his custom, though he scarcely knew why. It wasn’t as if his services as an “Imperial Liaison" had been necessary in weeks. It seemed he’d simply become an informal member of the Powdered Lead, despite his status as an Imperial citizen.

“Stop teasing her,” Hurlish rumbled at Sara, reaching out one thick hand to Evie’s back. Grabbing a fistful of the feline’s shirt, she lifted the woman out of Sara’s grasp, dropping Evie on her shoulders as easily as others might a toddler. Hurlish’s other hand was cupping a tightly-swaddled Tahn, who was sleeping peacefully in the crook of his mother’s arm. It was normally a terrible idea to have a child in plain sight while in the jungle, but considering the thickness of said arm, Mui doubted there was a safer place for Tahn within a dozen miles.

“I do not need your protection,” Evie sniffed from atop Hurlish’s shoulders. “I’m perfectly capable of telling Sara when I require her to abate her ‘teasing’ so that I may focus.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Hurlish said with an amused snort. “Even if you could tell her to lay off, I still don’t want her working you up. It’s already hard enough to tire you out when we get done marching.”

“But enjoyable, no?”

“Not the point.”

Mui shook his head, bemused. What had once seemed a nearly offensive lack of decorum between the three women had, over time, become somewhat endearing.

“If you want her worn out,” Sara said, “how about letting her walk herself?”

“No can do. I like having a pretty girl’s legs wrapped around my shoulders.”

Sara laughed, and even Evie’s stony expression cracked the slightest touch. After Mui had seen her so uninhibited and openly happy in the brothel, he didn’t find it quite as surprising as otherwise might. For a long time, he’d thought Evie was a woman whose only emotions roused themselves in the heat of battle. It was reassuring to know that she was more… normal, he supposed, than he’d first believed. It had helped to alleviate some of the instinctive fear she inspired.

And spilling my seed deep in her body certainly did much to humanize her, Mui couldn’t help but think. He tried to blink the memory away, but it was persistent. It wasn’t easy to banish the image of a beautiful woman’s smile as she climaxed beneath him, her innermost self massaging him towards his own peak. Nor was his body eager to forget the way it had felt to be wrapped in warm bodies, soft whispers and grunts of pleasure in his ear as he was filled from behind, every thrust pushing him deeper into the exotic Warrior who’d welcomed him with open arms, encouraging his tongue to rove over the elegant swell of her breasts, which bounced with every one of the same grunting pushes that had sparked a deep and unfamiliar pleasure in his body…

“Though,” Evie loudly announced, snapping him from his reverie, “It seems like I’m not the only one who has difficulty focusing.”

With a start, Mui realized he’d been staring straight at the woman as his thoughts wandered. She was wearing her battle equipment, festooned with strapped weapons and her thick cuirass, but it couldn’t hide all the lines of her body. His eyes had been locked onto her neck in particular. The strange tattoo, a colorful mimicry of the slave collars her wife despised so deeply, had been the quiet talk of the camp. Arguments over its meaning had gone back and forth amongst peasants and nobility alike, dozens of different ideas proffered, but Mui knew that none were correct. Evie Brown’s dedication to her wives was… unique. Not something the unfamiliar would be able to guess.

“I apologize,” Mui said. “I did not mean to stare.”

“Looked more like you were reminiscing to me.” Sara smirked. “Can’t blame you, though.”

“Neither can I,” Hurlish said, giving Evie’s thigh a pat. “I heard it was a pretty good time.”

Mui’s whiskers twitched. “What? They told you?”

Hurlish gave him an unimpressed look. “Yeah, bud. They told me. That surprise you?”

“I… suppose not. But I was under the impression you were only interested in women. I didn’t think any stories involving myself would, ah, interest you.”

Hurlish shrugged, making Evie rise and fall atop her shoulders. “It’s important to keep up with my wive’s hobbies. Besides, it’s not like I think the bits you’ve got are all that gross.” Hurlish bounced Tahn. “How’d you think I got this little guy?”

Mui blinked. “I… had not considered it, I suppose.”

“I’ll give you a hint: we did it the old fashioned way. Anyway, I don’t have a problem with my girls having their fun with you. Gods know I need the help keeping ‘em worn out.” Hurlish dragged her eyes up and down Mui’s body. “And besides, I’ve never really tried a guy. Never wanted to. But maybe if Sara bolts some tits onto you I could give you a shot.”

Mui had become much, much more open about certain things since involving himself with Sara, but it had been with Sara alone. The little time he had spent with Hurlish of Tulian had been purely professional.

But she is still Sara’s wife, is she not?

Controlling his whisker’s twitching, he met Hurlish’s gaze. “You aren’t serious. You’re making a joke of this, aren’t you?”

Hurlish laughed boisterously. “Ah, there ya go! See, Sara? I told you he’d get better eventually. No one can keep up that blushing virgin act around you for long.”

“I could think of no other explanation,” Mui said. “Sara has spoken too often of your preferences for me to believe you’d truly entertain such an idea.”

“Dunno if I’d go that far. I’m definitely imagining it.” She squinted down at him, peering directly at his chest. Then she shrugged. “Eh. Thinking about it right now, I don’t think it’d do much for me. Tits don’t make you a woman, I guess. Can’t hurt to try, though. From the way Sara and Evie talk, you sound like fun. Think you’d mind getting the full package? Some nice hips and a tight ass, too?”

“No swearing in front of Tahn,” Evie chided.

“Sorry.”

“Is profanity really the problem with having this conversation around a child?”

“I don’t think I’d have to do much,” Sara said, ignoring his comment as she eyed him for herself. “He’s already got a good butt. And his hips aren’t bad beneath that armor, either.”

“I guess you’d know, wouldn’t you?”

Sara laughed again. “See what I was talking about the other day, Mui? It’s pretty refreshing to have a normal guy like you in my bed every now and then. Helps keep me grounded when I’ve got these freaks pawing at me all the time.”

“I’m only performing my marital duties,” Evie hummed. “It is your libido which creates such an obstacle to good conduct, not mine.”

“You’re both lying and you know it,” Hurlish rumbled. “If you didn’t have me around, neither of y’all would get anything done. The only reason you get to sleep at a reasonable time is because I wear y’all out.”

“Speaking of which,” Evie said, “I have a task that I believe will help me work out some of that excess energy you seem to complain so much about.”

“Hey, I didn’t say I was complaining.”

“Regardless. Could you let me down?”

“Fine.”

Hurlish’s grip on Evie’s leg released, allowing the nimble woman to hop off her wife’s shoulders. Though she landed gracefully, the clank and rattle of her weapons sounded like cutlery spilling out of a cabinet.

“Mui,” she announced. “There is an opportunity that you have been neglecting for too long.”

His eyes widened. “Can this not wait until the army makes camp?”

Evie smirked. “I was referring to the practice and mastery of your sidesword, Sergeant Mui. Whatever could you have thought I was referring to?”

He blinked at her. “Ah. Well, I suppose I haven’t had much opportunity to hone my swordsmanship, no.”

“Except with me,” Sara interjected.

Hurlish rolled her eyes. “C’mon. That one was too easy. You’re better than that.”

“I absolutely am not.”

“Regardless,” Evie announced, dragging the conversation back on topic, “I think that the march will be an excellent chance to train. Seeing as you are likely going into combat with the Powdered Lead again, I’d like to have you prepared to make proper use of all the weapons at your disposal.”

“I understand.” Mui looked up and down the road, which was filled with shuffling feet and chatting mercenaries. “But where will we do so?”

“Behind the army, of course. We are Irregulars; it will be a simple enough matter to jog our way back to the column when we are done.”

“You want me to come with?” Sara asked. “Hurlish has her guards. She’ll be fine.”

“That is alright, dear. It’s almost your turn with Tahn, anyway. I wouldn’t have you miss the chance to carry him.”

“Okay, if you say so. Guess we’ll see you in a bit.”

As Mui and Evie turned to walk against the flow of the army, trepidation mounted. To be extended an offer of training with a Warrior of Evie’s caliber should have been an honor, practically a guarantee of his eventual elevation to a similar status, but that was only when seen through the lens of Imperial society. He did not know Evie on a personal level, but he knew her well enough to be certain this was no offer of sponsorship or an apprenticeship. He fought beside her and her wife, yet he was not skilled enough to materially contribute against an opponent that was their equal. If Mui found himself trapped in combat between Warriors capable of threatening the Brown family, he would be as useful as a toddler.

“Your sword is a simple short sword, yes?” Evie asked. “No enchantments, double-edged, with a steel blade?”

“Yes. All Sergeants receive the same design of khanda.”

“A cain-dra?” Evie asked, cruelly butchering the pronunciation.

“Kahn-dah,” he corrected. “And it is a simple sword, yes. Most khanda are, but mine also lacks much that a noble sword might. There is no hand guard, and it has only a simple metal pommel, and obviously lacks enchantment. Like all khanda, it lacks the oversized crossguard that seems so universal among northern blades.”

“Not all Sporaton weapons are basket-hilted rapiers like mine.”

“True. But even the wide crossbar that a sword like Sara’s possesses is largely absent in Imperial swords. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“I have. May I see your khanda?”

A flash of possessiveness rose up in Mui, but he stifled it quickly. A sergeant’s sword may be the symbol of their station, but it wasn’t some sacred tool. Merely a badge of office.

“Of course,” he said, drawing it from the scabbard and flipping it around, handing it to Evie hilt-first.

She accepted it, inspecting it with a master’s discerning eye. He didn’t know why she was bothering to analyze it so closely. She’d certainly seen dozens of its kind before, with Mui’s far from the finest among them. A circular hilt, two hands long, was wrapped in strips of well-oiled leather, stitched neatly together where it ended on either end of the hilt. The pommel was a simple sphere of iron, serving only to give the blade a good balance. The guard was diminutive next to the ornate basket boasted by Evie’s rapier, being a simple half-sphere an inch and a half long, barely enough to deflect an enemy’s sword from sliding down the blade and into his knuckles. A khanda was a sword unsuited for opposing other swordsmen. It was intended as a sturdier replacement for the short spears commonly wielded in the army’s ranks, as well as a working tool. The 30-inch blade thickened as it neared the three-quarters mark, adding weight and momentum to his swings, then narrowed back down to a razor tip. It was a fine weapon, but one designed to be equally well-suited to clearing jungle thicket as it was for battle.

Much like the bayonets Sara and Hurlish designed for the Imperial Army. Life in the jungle does constrain us all, I suppose.

“It is an adequately made sword,” Evie announced. She handed it back to him. “I will have Hurlish to inspect it for hidden impurities. Any weapon made in such numbers is predisposed to the deficiencies of exhausted laborers.”

“I would not mind her doing so,” he said, though he felt a small twinge of wounded pride. It was a sword he’d worked his entire adult life to earn. He refused to entertain the idea that there wouldn’t be a flaw with it. The conversation waned until they neared the end of the baggage train, where Evie spoke again.

“So, then. Have you received any instruction at all in swordsmanship?”

“No. I was going to begin training and sparring with my fellow sergeants soon after my promotion, but we marched straight to Tulian, where my entanglement with all of this began. You can understand why I have not had time to pursue the thought.”

Evie’s only response was a dispassionate “Hm.” It could have been Mui’s imagination, but he thought there might have been an inkling of disapproval in her tone.

It isn’t as if we all have hours out of our day reserved for training.

Evie’s practice bouts with Sara had become the stuff of legends amongst the Blackpowder Army. Unlike the Warriors, who utilized ritual grounds hosted within every city, the Champion and her wife made use of whatever space was large and clear enough to contain their duels. The crowd of spectators which formed each day ebbed and flowed in their numbers, but they were always present. It was a rare chance for the common soldier to see Warriors at work without the distraction of battle besetting them on all sides.

“Here should be adequate,” Evie announced. The bulk of the army was long past them, and the road was nearly empty. “If any stragglers from the baggage train walk in our way, they’ll meet a fate befitting their idiocy.”

Mui gave her an astonished look.

“We will, of course,” she added, “be enchanting our blades for safety. So they would not be in undue danger.”

Mui did his best to hide the relief sweeping through him. Evie struck him as the type to take a more… extreme approach to tutelage. He had heard of certain nobles who trained their children without dulled weapons, believing that true pain was the only way to instill proper instincts for battle. He wouldn’t have been shocked in the slightest to hear a woman like Evie espousing such views.

As he began to murmur his way through the dulling enchantment he’d memorized as a young recruit, Evie began to lecture.

“I am unfortunately not familiar with the exact tactics employed by those who are trained in the use of a khanda, but the basic shape of the blade is similar enough to the Carrion Navy’s gladiuses that I believe many techniques will be applicable.”

Finishing his blade’s enchantment, he looked at her in surprise. “You are trained in Carrion combat styles?”

“Yes. I trained under Graf Urs and the swordsmasters of the Night’s Eye from the ages of eleven to eighteen. Though I preferred the rapier early on, as it was a weapon appropriate to my station, Master Graf refused to allow me to focus exclusively upon it. Any Irregular worth their title must be familiar with many weapons, so that they will know the capabilities of their opponent.” With a flash, she summoned her sword, leveling it at his chest. “Take your stance.”

Mui did so. He wasn’t so ignorant with his khanda that he did not know how to position himself. Taking his shield off his back, he put his left foot forward, right foot back, the edge of his blade resting against the middle of his shield. It was the simplest, least inventive way of taking a defensive stance, but that was because it was practical. It let him thrust with his right hand, adjust his defense with his left.

“We will begin in the manner I was trained in the Night’s Eye,” Evie announced.

“And that is?”

“A demonstration of why you should not engage a superior enemy.”

He had only enough time for a single thought.

Oh, gods.

Evie blurred forward, closing the distance before Mui could gasp. The specifics of what she did to him was beyond his reckoning. Pains erupted across his body: a throbbing in his left shoulder, a reverberating thrum in his right palm, and a distinctly enchantment-dulled agony across his entire snout.

He fell back with a pitiful yelp. His shield fell off his arm, the straps snapped, while his hand trembled on empty air, his sword nowhere to be seen. Evie was standing several paces away, eyes studiously narrowed.

Gods almighty, he thought, reaching up with a trembling hand to feel his snout. Nothing was broken, the enchantments prevented that, but the degree of pain the spell had allowed to slip through gave him a sense of what could have happened. He felt certain that, like a musketball impacting a melon, the collision of Evie’s rapier hilt would have turned his skull to so much flying gore.

“Now,” Evie said, taking several steps back, “I know that this demonstration was not strictly necessary, given your long military experience, but if you are to stand beside my wife in battle, I will only accept the highest quality of training. The Night’s Eye are the finest mercenaries in the world, and you will learn as they do.”

Still unsteady on his feet, he could only nod.

“Retrieve your weapon. We will begin with improving the positioning of your feet.”

He found his sergeant’s sword some twenty feet away, having been flung from his hand with the force of a cannonball’s strike. To his profound relief, the weapon was not dented, though he had to spend a few moments wiping it free of mud. When he returned, Evie set to work.

It was an oddly nostalgic experience. Though Mui was an Imperial Soldier of the Fifth Level, Evie considered him no more competent than a raw recruit. She took nothing for granted, instructing him on basic techniques that had been worn into his body as surely as stones chiseled by rainwater. The basics of how to turn his hips in the thrust, the importance of aligning the edge of his blade with his target on every swing, and the way to shift his mass as he compensated for the weight of sword and shield, all were explained in excruciating detail. Her reprimands were sharp, her praise little more than a confirmation that he’d done something correctly, and any success he found was merely the impetus for a greater challenge.

Mui thought it strange that Evie repeatedly insisted that she was not a teacher. Many of her instructions could have come directly from the mouth of the officers which first trained Mui in spearmanship, and they were veteran soldiers who’d spent years pressing unrefined recruits into hardened soldiers.

Perhaps the reason Evie thought she was a poor trainer was her continued frustration with Mui’s supposed incompetence. Every repetition of a drill pressed her frown a bit firmer into her face, every fumbled swing having her grinding her teeth. Mui didn’t understand why. It was as if she didn’t understand that she, a generational talent trained by a world-renowned mercenary, could not hold others to the same standard that she did herself.

It was not long before Mui’s fur was lathered with foaming sweat. He was panting hard, tongue falling out of his mouth, and still she pressed him. She had him stepping, swinging, and resetting his stance without pause, as if he were single-handedly holding off an entire army. The only breaks he was allowed were when he made a mistake severe enough that she personally stepped in, grabbing his limbs and adjusting him like a puppet.

Eventually, when his burning muscles had him failing the same riposte for the fifth time in a row, she made a slashing motion with a hand.

“Enough. This is getting us nowhere.”

Mui sagged, resisting the urge to support his weight on his knees. She’d scolded him severely each time he’d done so, talking about his compressed diaphragm and impeded recovery rates or some such. He tiredly sheathed his blade.

“I thought… I was… progressing well…” he gasped out. “I learned… quite a lot… I think.”

“You noticeably improved, yes,” Evie said, though she spoke as if it were an insult.

“But… Then why…?”

“Your improvement is not enough. It will not be enough for months yet. Mastering a sword is the work of a lifetime, not a hobby to be picked up during scattered evenings.”

“I do not need to… master it,” he panted. “Just improve. Become competent.”

Evie’s eyes flashed. “Oh? Is that so? Do you think that the enemies of Amarat’s Champion will merely be competent? Or will they be masters of their craft, the deadliest of Warriors that your Empire has to offer?”

Finally catching his breath well enough that he could take a swig from his canteen without choking, Mui drank greedily before responding.

“It takes years to master a weapon, no?” He asked. “I do not know what you expect from me. Even if I were the most skilled swordsman in all the world, I could not do a thing to anyone who is a threat to you or Sara.”

“Why? Because you lack the Levels to match our speed and power? Sara and I estimate that you are at your Fifth Level, while we are both at our Seventeenth.”

He was too tired to be offended by the deeply private insinuation of his Level, much less be shocked by the accuracy of the guess.

“Yes,” he said. “If you are really concerned with my ability to protect Sara, should you not be training me with firearms? To defeat superior opponents as you did Honored Elven Mayaran?”

“No.”

“No?”

“There are factors you do not understand.”

“Then explain them,” Mui said, his exhaustion getting the better of his manners. There was nothing more frustrating than someone speaking in riddles around him.

“I cannot. It is a matter of personal security.”

“And I, who you are training to help secure your family’s security, should not be privy to whatever this is?”

Evie’s ears darted towards him. Her feline features were not quite like his own, but when a catfolk’s ears both turned directly toward a speaker, it was a sure sign that they’d said something that was being taken careful note of. He couldn’t imagine it was any different for Evie. She considered him for a long moment before speaking.

“A moment, if you would. I will be back. Begin walking towards the column once more. I will meet you as I return.”

Without further comment, Evie turned and began to jog toward the army, which had snaked its way into the distance as they worked. As ponderous as the great procession was, it hadn’t made much distance at all.

Mui followed after at a slower pace, working over the discussion in his mind. He wondered what, exactly, Evie felt was so important to keep a secret from him. While it was obvious that he would be bettered by knowing how to properly use his sword, he didn’t understand why she was so insistent on true mastery. Any enemy which was within his range to defeat, whether he mastered his skills or not, was someone that Sara or Evie could dispatch with contemptible ease. She’d just told him that she was at her seventeenth level, an unbelievable thing in itself. That was a degree of power that most soldiers spent a lifetime cultivating. It was no wonder she was a Chosen’s companion. Five years of constant warfare had brought Mui to his fifth Level, and he was considered to have done so at an impressive (if not unheard of) pace for a common soldier. It would take him decades before he could approach the heights Evie had already reached.

Evie returned a few minutes later, meeting Mui a half-mile up the road from where they’d first sparred. She was wearing a collar this time, he noted. The shattered iron was held shut with a simple clasp, wrapping her neck to cover her new tattoo. She was also, he was surprised to see, holding a spear. An unremarkable Imperial weapon, it was practically identical to the one Mui still kept tied to his back.

Evie began without preamble. “Take your stance.”

Mui did so. Shield raised, sword held close beside. Evie bounced her spear several times, testing its weight, then lowered it.

“Defend yourself.”

Mui was not a coward. Despite the impossibility of his task, he knew his only hope was to predict her approach and land a lucky blow. He threw out a sharp forward thrust, tucking his head behind his shield.

But he felt nothing. His sword swept through air, his body suffered no impact.

Mui looked up to see Evie still charging at him. Fast, very fast, but not faster than he could react to.

Her spear whistled through the air as she lunged, aimed for his head. Mui took a step back, sending the spearhead scraping off his shield. He took an instinctive swipe at her spear, trying to chop at the wooden haft with his sword.

Evie pulled back easily. She began to launch a series of thrusts, and Mui lost his ability for conscious thought. He sunk into the moment, action and reaction, shoving and twisting just as he would in the many battles he’d seen before.

The exchange did not last long. Despite Evie’s inexplicable lethargy, she had a seven foot spear, and he a 30-inch blade. She was too skilled to allow him to seize the weapon with a hand, nor damage it beyond useability, and so the disadvantage was insurmountable.

The bout reached its foregone conclusion in perhaps five seconds. He blocked one, two, three thrusts, then flung a haphazard, chopping blow at her weapon as she pulled back, which missed— an error that earned himself a mortal blow to the neck.

“Down!” He cried, stepping back and raising his hand. When fighting with protected blades, it could be hard to tell when a wound against your opponent would be lethal, and he didn’t want her to batter him again for no reason.

Evie pulled back, flourishing her spear.

“What…?” he panted. “Why did you hold back so-”

“Sheath your sword and ready your spear.”

Her face and voice were cool as stone. Mui slammed his sword back into its sheath, whipping his spear off his back. He began whispering the protective enchantment as quickly as he could, glad that he only had a shorter speartip to protect.

Evie reached her starting point with her tail slowly bobbing from left to right, moving like the last moments of a dying pendulum. She looked him in the eye as he finished enchanting his spear.

“I asked that Master order me to fight you exactly as I would when I was at my fifth Level. This is an even exchange.”

She gave no time for Mui to absorb this thought. With a firm puff of breath, she launched forward, closing the distance.

Mui responded in kind.

A duel between two spearmen was not a spectacular thing. The spear was called the King of Weapons for a reason, and it wasn’t because it made for a flashy show. It was a plain, utilitarian weapon, meant only to kill.

They circled one another. Mui’s shield gave him a nominal advantage, but it wasn’t as great as one might expect. Evie held her weapon in two hands, giving her a greater range of motion and speed, able to launch and retract her spear by sliding it across the palm of her forward hand. Though Imperial training told Mui to bash his way forward, relying on armor and shield to weather her blows, he wasn’t a fool. That was a tactic best employed by dozens of soldiers in a line, not a single combatant. Even at her fifth Level, he had no doubts that Evie was more than capable of punishing such a reckless attack.

And so they kept circling. Occasionally they would test one another with flicks of their spears, wood tapping against wood, but they never amounted to much. Though Mui had limited experience in single combat, what little he was familiar with suggested that the final exchange would be fast, panicked, and decisive.

It was just so. Evie’s patience wore thin first. He caught the twisting of her ankle as she braced, settling her weight, and then they were off.

She launched one jab for his head, which he knocked upward by raising his shield. His peripheral vision caught her spear coming down and to his right, seeking to work around his shield, and he jerked to the side, knocking it off course, and launched a nearly-blind thrust of his own.

Evie leapt back with a hiss, left arm raised in the air. For a moment Mui thought he’d managed to stab her hand, but his spear was off-position for it, and the limb whipped back down, gripping her spear again.

Mui tried to push his advantage. He fell back to his training, throwing his full weight behind his shield as he rushed forward, shifting his spear to an overheaded grip and stabbing downward, trying to pierce her guard.

His charge ended with a grunt and a thump. Pain blossomed first in his shin, then scraped along his calf as Evie drew the spearhead along his fur.

If the blades hadn’t been dulled, the mud would have been covered by a tattered rug of his leg’s squirming muscles. It was an injury he had seen– and inflicted– dozens of times. He knew by heart what would have happened next: his momentum would have him falling forward, face-down in the dirt, and a spear would have pinned him to the ground.

“Again!” Evie barked.

Mui reset his stance without a word. There was no further discussion, no review of technique. They returned to their circling.

The charge almost worked, Mui thought, buying time with a few probing jabs. Trained or not, the spear isn’t the realm of her expertise.

There was far less buildup to the second exchange. Once his decision was made, Mui didn’t waste a moment.

Evie made a probing thrust. Instead of brushing it aside, Mui swung his shield with his entire shoulder, shoving it aside in the same motion that sent him two quick steps forward, steel spearhead flying ahead of him.

Evie threw herself backward and to the left, narrowly avoiding a deadly blow to the chest as she choked up on her spear, thrusting up beneath Mui’s still-raised shield.

In one fluid motion, Mui ducked aside and brought his shield down as hard as he could. The speartip flew over his right shoulder just as his shield impacted the wood, trapping the long haft between. Evie managed to hold on for a moment longer, but the force proved too much–

and her spear clattered to the ground.

Mui shoved forward near-blindly, stabbing as fast as he was able. To his disbelief, Evie all but flew backward, seemingly detached from the ground, using the time to draw her belt knife.

It was unenchanted. Deadly sharp. If Mui had time to think, he would have felt fear. But there wasn’t time.

She lunged forward, free hand trying to grab his spear.

Mui swatted to one side, slamming wood against Evie’s cheek. She was knocked aside from the force of the blow, and he went with her, trying to choke up on the spear so he could stab her properly, but Evie had a grip on it now, dropping her dagger in order to grab his spear with both hands.

Momentum threw Evie to the dirt, Mui coming down above her. With both hands still locked on his spear, she kicked at his legs with all her might, trying to take his feet out from under him, but she couldn’t get the right leverage.

If Mui had the time to think about it, he wouldn’t have done what he did. But there still wasn’t time.

He raised his shield high, fist curled tight around its straps.

And slammed down.

The wooden boards cracked against Evie’s nose, shattering the cartilage with a visceral crunch. She kept kicking at him, both hands keeping his spear in place, and so he raised his shield again, driven by instinct alone to strike, strike, and strike again, until the threat stopped moving.

Then he saw Evie’s face. The feral grin splitting her lips, bared teeth hidden beneath rivers of blood. Through the roaring adrenaline, he heard her grunting exertion mixed with the sounds of nearly childish laughter, all filtered through the wheezing whistle of her shattered nose. She had locked eyes with him, and he saw a raging wildfire of excitement dancing in her pupils.

Mui flung himself off her, releasing his spear and shield both.

Evie flew to her feet with a peal of ringing laughter.

“There we go!” She crowed, her cry spitting a cloud of blood into the air. “There we fucking go, Mui Thom! That was a fight! There!”

Mui fumbled at a side pouch, searching for the healing potion he’d been given by the Powdered Lead. “I apologize,” he said, “I wasn’t thinking. I should have called the bout there, or-”

“Ha! Are you kidding me? That’s not it at all!” Evie’s rapier flashed into existence as she used a foot to toss Mui’s dropped spear into her offhand. “You think I was in danger? You think you did wrong?”

She tossed the spear up, then swung her rapier as it fell. The silvery steel sliced the wooden haft cleanly cleanly in two.

“No, I wasn’t fearing for my life, that’s not it at all, Mui Thom! I was here for a fight! And I got one!” She laughed again, just as loud. The cold delight of Evie Brown seemed like it should have echoed for a very long time, but they were on a jungle road. The cruel laughter was swallowed by the trees, suffered by his ears alone. “I should have told Master to limit my Levels to my opponent’s months ago! Gods, what a fight! Do you know how hard it is, Mui Thom, to find an opponent who challenges me so? So very difficult, I assure you!”

She was pacing as she spoke, swiping her rapier through the air, emphasizing each word with a whoosh of steel.

“No, that was beautiful, and I’d demand more of it this very moment if we didn’t have an army to catch up with! Gods, even at my fifth Level, do you know how rare it was for me to find a good fight? A Level too high, a Level too low, whichever it was, it never worked out quite how it liked, but this? This! Gods, I should have done this months ago!”

A line of blood was marking the ground where Evie paced, growing thicker every time she turned back on herself. Thick gobs of it dripped off her chin, either splashing against her breastplate or adding to the puddles tainting the soil.

“Did you know, Mui Thom” Evie said, turning on him. “That you don’t know everything about my wife? About my Master? Well?”

She stared at him with wide eyes, clearly expecting an actual answer.

“Of course I don’t know everything about her,” he said, stammering slightly. “And please, Evie, drink a healing potion. Your blood–”

“Oh, fine!” She popped open her pouch and put a bottle to her lips, tossing back a vial of the potion like it was alcohol. “But you don’t understand my point, Mui, do you? I can explain what Master should have told you very long ago.”

He held up his hands. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, no, but if Sara hasn’t explained it to me, I’d rather you keep it to yourself.”

“Oh, Mui,” Evie said, practically cooing the words. She seemed less like she was injured, more like she was drunk. “Mui, Mui, Mui. You still think I’m her little pet, don’t you?” Evie tapped her collar. “That I do her bidding, and I do it all without a hint of complaint. That even freed, I may as well still be her slave, no?”

He stuttered out some half-formed words, trying to think of what to say, but she plowed right over him.

“I am, of course. I am hers. I do all she says, and I do it happily, without question. But do you know the funny thing about my Master, Mui Thom?”

He shook his head. Evie grinned. Beneath the blood, he could see the healing potion begin its work. Her nose began to contort around itself, flesh rearranging as the alchemist’s brew sought to undo the damage he’d done to her flesh. Above the shifting mass, her eyes lost some of their light, her voice sobering a touch.

“I’ll tell you this, Mui. My Master is a clever woman. Because she tells me what to do, yes, but she doesn’t go any further. She doesn’t tell me what I should not do. For better or worse, she leaves me that freedom. And I do, on occasion, exercise it.”

“What are you getting at?” Mui waved his hand at the severed spear, the trail of blood, the ground that their duel had stirred to mud. “What was the point of this? To create a fight that you can lose?”

“To prove a point, Mui. To prove that you aren’t a swordsman. You beat me in a fair duel, Mui. Do you know how many people have done that? More than you in particular might expect, but less than most others would ever guess. You have skill with your spear. Real skill. You survived five years of civil war and became an officer, and you didn’t do so without reason.”

Mui’s first instinct was to protest, to downplay his achievement. Evie had severely weakened herself, had fought with a weapon she was unfamiliar with, and had won the first of their two fights. But he could already tell she wasn’t interested in hearing that, and so he attacked the closer point.

“What does that have to do with training me to be a swordsman? To fight at Sara’s side? No matter how skilled I am for my Level, it will be years, decades even, before I can stand as your equal, and by then you will have become something else entirely!”

“I will ask you a question in turn. Do you love my Master?”

Mui recoiled as if struck. It was a question so unexpected, so utterly alien to this conversation, that it scattered every thought in his head to the wind.

“I… you… what? Why?”

“Because I’m not sure how it works,” Evie said, her expression growing even more serious, “and neither is Master. We don’t know the criteria for it, and we’ve become rather curious about why it hasn’t activated for you.”

“For what?”

“For the very thing that Master asked I never tell you about. The rare order of hers that I intend to knowingly disobey, because I wholeheartedly disagree with her decision.”

Mui’s bafflement was rapidly molding itself into something much more like anger. He felt toyed with, lorded over, and perhaps it was his own nature finally burrowing to the surface, or perhaps the influence of Sara’s constant encouragement to assert himself, but he was no longer able to bite back his words.

“Well?” He demanded. “What is it? What are you dancing around? If you’re going to disobey her, why not do it? You beat me to a pulp, spend an hour showing me how to place my feet and hold my hands, then go to incredible lengths just to weaken yourself enough that I could eke out a single victory against you, and then- and then you ask me if I love your wife? What is the point of this?”

Evie’s broken nose stopped moving. Mui could still hear grinding and clicking noises from beneath her skin as deeper injuries were reknit, but outwardly, at least, the only remaining evidence of her injury was the blood. Coated in gore, her expression was all the more deathly serious.

“Do you really think, Mui, that Sara somehow chanced upon so many uniquely powerful individuals? That I, Hurlish, and Ketch, that we each became what we are long before we met her? Or, perhaps, do you think that something else was at play?”

“That’s…” Mui swept both hands down his muzzle, then shook his head. “Gods all, I have no idea. Speak what you mean!”

“Master’s nature as a Champion allows those who bond with her to reach the same Level as her within a matter of weeks. It happened to me. It happened to Ketch. And it happened to Hurlish.”

Mui’s hands froze, still half-hanging at the end of his muzzle. Evie stared at him, emotionless, the blood dripping off her chin slowing to a trickle.

“Well?” She asked. “Do you love her? Because that is one of our leading ideas for the Skill’s requirements. That and frequent sexual contact, which, of course, you have handled. Yet you’ve defied our expectations by remaining so weak. Why is that?”

Mui stared at Evie.

“She didn’t want me to tell you, of course,” the Feline continued, “because it creates what she calls a ‘perverse incentive.’ A term from the philosophy of economy in her old world, I believe, but regardless, it refers to any incentive offered by one individual which motivates another to act against the best interests of either themselves, the offerer, or both. She cannot tell people of this Skill, she argues, because it would encourage any and all to grow personally close to her, and it would irrevocably taint her relationships. Much like a Prince or Princess must assume all suitors are after the throne as much as they are their hand, she would be forced to question every pleasant interaction she has with someone.”

The clinical tone of the long, technical explanation was severely undercut by the disheveled state of Evie. She had not so much as run a hand across her face to wipe away the blood, as if she were entirely ignorant of its presence.

Mui’s mind swam. The revelation, the question, the awe-inspiring breach of Sara’s trust that Evie had just committed, it all churned and mixed in the muddied waters of his mind.

“So, Mui Thom,” Evie said, “that is why I am training you with weapons. Because I expect you to, at some point soon, reach an equal Level to myself and Sara. I believe that you are smitten with her, yes, but is it love? I wouldn’t know. The only romantic love I have experienced in my life is, I have been reliably informed, a profoundly disturbed form of what most know. I can no less tell if you love Master, or if Master loves you, than I could tell you how many people live in a city I’ve never visited. Perhaps the requirement for the Skill is not even love, but some other Passion, such as trust or loyalty. All would fit the relationship Hurlish, Ketch and I have with Master.” She took a breath. “Regardless, I believe it best that you begin pursuing it, as I would be deeply relieved by another Irregular at Master’s side-”

In a daze, Mui turned away from Evie. She kept speaking for a moment, even raising her voice, but it didn’t seem to penetrate his mind. He began walking back toward the army, mind abuzz with a thousand burning questions.

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