“Stretching my legs helps.” He hugs his abdomen. Pain chews his insides. “If you won’t assist me in defeating these monsters, explain what you know. I need knowledge about them beyond bedtime stories.”
Reluctant, Eymaxin explains, “They are kicked out into the wild until they mature. Living out here, they feed on anything…people, animals, and eventually each other. Weeding out all the weaker Sandmen from becoming adults. No one has ever seen what an adult Sandman is under its robes.”
“I’m not sure those trolls have much to do with Sandmen.” Reynard slides his katana sheath upside down into a loop on the left side of his gun belt. The blade and his magnum will need thorough cleanings upon his return to the Dragon.
Reynard drops to one knee, and his stomach twists into a knot ready to burst out of his abdomen. More shooting pain blocks his attempt to stand. He mentally applauds his choice not to ride and fall off the horse again.
“Tell me about these greater Sandmen.”
“The Thaumaturge forbids sharing our—”
“You need to explain it to me.” Reynard’s harshness startles Eymaxin.
“Careful. Threaten a Sorceress of the Blue Flame and I’ll allow the next Sandman to cease your existence.”
Reynard reaches for his magnum.
Screams puncture the stillness of the river.
Eymaxin races past him. Reynard staggers after. If Sandmen attack the village, she will be of more help than him. He must find a weapon to use against these monsters.
Heat wafts from burning huts. Reynard reaches the clearing. Huts collapse from their stilts. Scattered among the ashes are skeletal remains of villagers.
A hammer poleax with an azure blade smashes through the skull of a troll.
Reynard advances on the human warrior. His stomach twists again.
Draped over the warrior’s armor are the skins of trolls, and his cloak was once the robes of a Sandman. His chest piece looks part of an advanced battle armor suit and his boots machine-made, but he seems more medieval. Built like an elephant, scars decorate his bare arms. He drives the pole into the dirt in order to drag the remains of a villager into the burning-hut-turned-funeral pyre.
“Sand Killer,” Eymaxin calls out.
Pain shoots through Reynard. He convulses as if punched in the gut repeatedly until he slumps over. His stomach turns upward and he releases the contents. He faints.
“YOU’RE BACK.”
Amye pushes past the princess. “Control your emotions—part of your training.”
“I’ve been practicing. My calves are sore, but I completed the form a thousand times with no mistakes. Teach me the next one.” Puppy dog enthusiasm overwhelms Michelle as she trails Amye.
“Later.” Amye steps into her quarters, unclasping her gun belt.
Michelle follows her inside.
Amye slips off her jacket and lays it out on the bed. She takes a cloth tool case from a drawer. “I’ll teach you the next form later.”
“Did something happen on Summersun? Australia won’t let me view ISN.”
Amye unrolls the tools. “Reynard was stolen by a Sandman.”
“My mother designated him my protector.”
“To hide her subterfuge of your kidnapping, your mother has upped the bounty on us.” She uses a stitcher to interlace the plasma-resistance fibers woven into the leather back together.
“What are you doing?”
“Reynard gave me this jacket when I joined the crew.” Amye sews the largest gash in her jacket.
“How do I get a jacket?”
“You’re moving a little too fast, girl. How many times did you even leave your palace? By fourteen the IMC sent me to at least three dozen star systems.”
“I was sheltered and groomed to be a royal dignitary. Now I want to reclaim my planet from the Mokarran.”
The leather seals, but it leaves behind a noticeable scar. “Calthos teaches patience. Consider this your next lesson. You won’t be the warrior leader your people need for years. You don’t just jump to a general’s rank because you’re a princess.”
“Reynard’s a Commander because he owns this ship,” Michelle says.
“His lack of command expertise cost two cadets their lives.” Amye drops her jacket. Her only concern is about retrieving her captain. “Ignore what I said. He should have never been on Summersun having not earned his Mecat—”
“Do you have feelings for him?”
“He’s my commanding officer. I respect him.” Amye completes the repair on the large gash. She hides quivering fingers by kicking off her boots.
“Amye, your back.”
“Calm yourself, Princess.” Amye reaches around, locating a small hole at the small of her back in her uniform. She slips the top down, exposing her back. “Is there blood?”
“A red dot.”
Amye drops to the bed. “I never even felt the claw.”
“It’s not deep.” Michelle reaches for the gun belt. “Don’t you have a medical pouch—”
“Don’t touch.” Amye snatches the belt.
“Don’t you trust me?”
“Manipulation of the enemy in order to effect an escape. It would be an advance tactic in warfare or the prime skill involved in manipulating a father, one my sister was an expert at.” Amye rubs some of the orange cream on the wound.
“Are you paranoid? I just wanted to assist you.”
“Assist by grabbing my training robe from the closet.”
The door chime chirps. Amye presses the release. Before Doug announces his purpose, Amye slams him against the far corridor wall.
“What’s your smerth’n problem?” Doug squirms under her vise grip.
She lifts him higher with one hand, dangling his feet in the air. With the free hand she opens his jaw to inspect his teeth.
“You’ve gone smerth’n mental!”
She drops him to the floor. “All your teeth are intact?”
Doug decides this moment he will stand up to his tormentor. Amye’s line-crossing toward him ends now. “What the smerth is your problem? You aren’t allowed to smerth’n touch me.” Doug rubs his backside, realizing she doesn’t care.
“Don’t press the health of all your teeth, git-boy.”
“Smerth you. Scott wants you to report to the bridge. The synthoids have removed all damaged systems. We’ve got to transfer the intact systems from the shuttle before you forget all your technical training”
“After I instruct the princess in a new form.”
“Scott’s not going to smerth’n like this.”
Amye storms back
