Reaper Academy: Book One

Chapter Four: PLEASE REVIEW

CHAPTER FOUR

Articus’s eyes cracked open to the false dawn that seeped through from his balcony.

Balcony? Right.

He could just make out a woman standing over him. Staying completely still, he opened his eyes slowly, letting the slits widen by a hair. Now, he could clearly see the fiery redhead whose green eyes were peering down at him with curiosity.

“And you are?” Articus asked hoarsely. His mouth had turned to ash over night and his head felt as if it were still under his pillow. He didn’t care right at that moment if she was an assassin sent to kill him. Sleep had evaded him most of the night and his habit of starting the day early didn’t help his mood either.

She gasped and backed away. The woman had been very close, he realized. Slowly, Articus got up on his elbows and looked around the room. It was bigger than it had appeared last night. Two large windowed doors stood wide open in front of him; they led out to an enormous balcony. To his right was the doorway that led to a sitting room and, beyond that, was the hallway. His head swung lazily to his left and he saw a doorway that went off into a bathroom he had yet to explore.

Rubbing away the sleep from his eyes, he yawned. His eyes slowly opened back up a moment later to see the redheaded woman. She looked down at him in pure terror, just before lowering her eyes.

A few curses came to Articus’s mind right then. The slave… my slave. Mother of Gods why me?

She was wearing a thin white robe that looked... indecent. Articus now realized why Celia had said he'd like her. She was as breathtaking as Celia herself. Curse the woman to do this to me.

“No need to fear me girl--err woman.” He hadn’t noticed that the very curvy figure had an older face; she was about his age. “What’s your name? And stop looking at the ground; it’s irritating.”

The woman went wide-eyed and looked every which way but at him. He sighed.

“Ma-My name is Mia, Master.”

“My name is Articus, not Master,” he grumbled. Swinging his feet over the side of the bed, he stood up. He hadn’t remembered taking off his clothes but, after spending time in the dorms with both men and women, he’d long since gotten past shyness. He was slightly embarrassed, however.

Ignoring Mia’s green gaze, he went for the large wardrobe that towered in the corner. Through the full sized mirror next to the massive piece of furniture, he spied Mia gripping her hands nervously.

“Don’t be nervous, I’m not going to yell at you,” Articus said tiredly. He threw back the wardrobe’s doors and made a low whistle. Seven pairs of good woolen grey uniforms with the single red stripe hung from wooden hangers. All of them had recently been pressed.

Thumbing through them, he found two other pairs of clothes he hadn’t seen before. One was a dressier version of his uniform, black silk instead of the grey wool with a red Reaper’s sign stitched across the breast. Next to that was a plain brown woolen shirt and trousers, which were much more to his taste.

Pushing the new garments aside, he found his Guard uniform freshly cleaned, pressed, and folded on a shelf in the back. He also found a fat purse atop his old clothes. At the very bottom of the wardrobe were his old military boots--polished to a high sheen that he hadn’t ever managed to get before--and a newer, finer cut of boots that he had seen the other students in the hall wear.

“Did you do this?” Articus asked gently. He didn’t want to scare the woman away.

Looking at the boots, she simply nodded.

“Thank you,” he said, genuinely grateful. “And you can look at me; I won’t bite.”

His words cut into her and she stiffened as if he’d slapped her.

“Mia… I’m not from here. I’m against slavery and I’d send you away if I could but something tells me you’d be displeased.” It sounded ridiculous, but the woman’s expression only confirmed his guess.

Grabbing the purse off his old uniform, he peered into it. Articus poured the contents of the purse into his hand and watched a handful of gold and silver spew out. There was still a lot more in the purse. Shaking his head with wonder, he pushed everything back into the purse but a gold crown. The amount he had in his hand had been more than he made all of last month, and probably the month before that.

Tossing her the crown, he said, “If you are going to work for me than you will do so as my servant, which means you will be paid. That is for this month, and, as long as you work for me, I will pay you that much. Now, if you could get some food into my stomach, I’d appreciate it.”

Mia gaped at the gold crown in her hand. This time she looked him in the eyes, and then back down at the gold crown.

“Master I can’t…” she said breathlessly.

It was a small fortune, but he didn’t need the gold and it was obviously given to him to spend.

“It's Articus, and you can,” he said patiently, yet firmly. “You are free to do what you wish. I do not need this much gold and will never want it. Now, are you going to get my food, or should I just go walk down to the Court? No, I should probably bathe before I do that,” Articus muttered thoughtfully to himself.

As he had predicted, the woman jumped. Curtsying to him deeply, she sprinted out of the room, shock plastered to her face.

At least I can order her out of the room if she starts distracting me.

Thinking he’d done a good thing, Articus headed for the bathroom with higher spirits. And then, he found his Creator.

By the Gods, I’m in heaven, He thought in awe.

He found a pool that was hot enough to steam the room. It was rigged to have fresh water, from a hot spring perhaps, poured from the ceiling. Two drains, one on the bottom and one at water level, drained away the dirty water. It was elegantly crafted.

Articus found a generous supply of soap bars and bathing oils stacked neatly off to one side. He even found two oversized towels that Mia must have freshly pressed because they were still warm.

Grinning like a fool, he followed the steps down into the bath ever so gently; it was just hot enough to stand.

After what seemed like hours, he got out. He felt completely relaxed. Drying himself off, he walked into his bedroom to find Mia arguing with someone in the sitting room. Walking to the wardrobe, he watched Mia try to push a man back politely with one hand while holding Articus’s food in the other hand.

“You may let him in Mia. Thank you. If you can set the food down on the table on that table over there, you can have the afternoon off,” Articus said, pointing to the balcony.

She looked back at him with a frown before bowing her head. Articus donned the plain woolen clothes and stomped his feet into the new boots just as Mia placed the tray of food on the table. She paused uncertainly when she came back.

“Thank you--Articus.” She curtsied deeply and hesitated again. “I’ll be back to clean up the plates. My room is next door if you need me.”

He waved her off with a hand. “Don’t bother. I’ve been able to clean up after myself the past twenty-eight years, I’m sure another day won’t hurt.”

She eyed the new visitor and blushed. Now why is she embarrassed?

Articus made a mental note to talk with Celia about the proper way to treat slav--servants. He was sure he had offended her somehow. Articus kept reminding himself that different people had different customs. He really didn’t want to embarrass her and hoped that the woman would stop thinking of herself as his property--as he surely believed she still did.

With another curtsy, this time a little deeper, she walked out.

After he was completely changed, he shut the door and found a Ce’lian man standing in his sitting room. The man hadn’t moved since Mia had left. Curiosity nagged at him once again.

“I hope you weren’t pestering her,” Articus said with an amused smile. “I have a hard enough time adjusting to this slave foolishness.”

The man smiled as well. “No sir. She came in when I was already here waiting. She wanted me to wait outside but I told her that this was a waiting room, and that I’d wait.”

“Are you in the military, then?” The ‘sir’ had a more significant ring to it.

“Aye. Under-Centurion Waylon Krios of the Red Guard, 2nd Legion, 1st Cohort.” He gave a formal salute.

After Articus returned it uncertainly, Waylon said, “I saw you come in last night.” His eyes shifted to Articus's right shoulder so fast, he wasn't sure if he'd imagined it or not.

“Centurion Articus Lykos of the Vanguard, 1st Legion, 1st Cohort.”

The man’s eyes widened slightly. “Articus Lykos?” he asked a little guardedly.

“I suppose you know of an Under-Legate by the name Theodoros Krios. A brother?” Articus asked cautiously.

“No, thank the Gods. He married into us--the black sheep of the family,” Waylon said almost apologetically.

Articus hadn’t expected Waylon’s response. He’d thought everyone was loyal to anyone in their House.

“Then you and I will get along famously. Breakfast?”

Waylon laughed at Articus’s bluntness. “Aye. I think we will, sir.”

“Call me Articus. I don’t think titles weigh much here,” he said as he headed for the balcony.

Waylon hesitated for only an instant before following him. “I see they were right about you si-.” He coughed and made an apologetic smile before saying, “You aren’t use to northern customs?”

Articus took a seat and nodded. The morning was making out to be a beautiful day and, with breakfast smelling so wonderful, he couldn’t have had a better morning--minus the slave. Grabbing a slice of toast, he topped it with scrambled eggs and sausage before sandwiching it with another slice of bread. When he raised his creation to his mouth, Articus paused.

“And what do they say about me?” Articus asked curiously. He didn’t really care what other people thought, but the saying ‘if the cheese is there, you might as well take it’ came to mind.

Waylon held up his hands defensively. “Oh it’s nothing like that umm Articus. In fact my Centurion talks of you with a hard-on… Metaphorically speaking of course.” He said the last part with a rush.

The crude soldier made Articus laugh and he shook his head with amusement before taking a large bite. Waylon continued. “You are practically a legend among the--”

He groped for the word until Articus offered, “peasants?” Another apologetic look shot his way.

The boy is polite, I’ll give him that, he mused.

“Yes, umm. Even some of the women say you should be married into one of the Houses.”

He choked on his egg sandwich and had to wave back Waylon’s help. It was the first he had heard that. Foolishness, Articus thought. He could only imagine what THAT would lead to. And then, as if the Gods were claiming open season him, a small voice from the depths of his mind said, “Wouldn’t that be something.”

“So you are stationed at the Borderlands?” He asked, trying to change the subject. He found himself doing that a lot lately.

“Aye, northern customs sort of blend in with ours the closer you get to the border. You are lucky to have a slave that is willing to look you in the eye. Mine refuses to even talk to me unless it’s ‘yes Master.’ Not even the servants at my father’s hold act like this and they are scared witless of him.”

Articus continued to eat as the man spoke, but kept his eyes on him. The man had the ‘hardness’ as they called it. After surviving a battle, you tend to look at things differently. Perhaps a little younger than he, Waylon was handsome enough to catch any girl’s eye. Definitely not the same as Theodoros’s girl-pretty but guy-pretty--if there was such a thing. Articus would be envious if he had a jealous bone in his body; he didn’t think his scarred up body was exactly eye candy.

“There are five other Novices,” Waylon continued. “One is a farmer, a Ghourdian by the name of Cedrick. He must be a head taller than you, big guy. He knows how to carry himself as well.”

Soldier gone farmer? That is interesting.

“He is always around this other Ghourdian woman, Nina. She’s a daughter of some wealthy merchant--very pretty.”

There was a flash of interest in Waylon’s eyes and Articus made a note to stay clear of her. In learning Celia was from Ghourd he had made plans to stay away from any women from there. Then again, after seeing Mia he was starting to believe that all northern women were drop dead gorgeous.

“The three others are from Capri. Wes is a son of a King, I think. Or so he claims. He acts as if he were the King of Kings if you catch my meaning. Wes has another man with him, Baine, who I believe is his countryman. Apparently, Capri has two or three Kings--odd I know. The third man is Dylon, a son of a very wealthy merchant. Wes keeps trying to get on his good side but Dylon wants no part of it. Merchants have a lot of power in Capri--as much as the Kings, I believe. Dylon is a good man, but has a temper. I think Wes is getting fed up with him now that he knows Dylon wants none of it.”

Articus felt as if he were back home again--internal politics with all the little bits and pieces that made up a larger picture's complicated patterns. Theron was normally the one who dealt with the personal problems between men, especially with the delicate line between peons and bluebloods. Without Theron, the Cohort would have fallen apart years ago.

As far as Articus was concerned, it went through one ear and out the other. He didn’t know why Waylon thought him interested, but he politely kept a thoughtful face.

After eating, Waylon offered him a tour, which Articus gratefully accepted. Leaving his room, he caught the smell of Mia. It was a flowery sent that he’d smelled earlier when she had leaned over him. Turning back, he caught a flash of white entering his room.

So much for obedience.

At the end of the hall, they came to the landing. Articus felt the tension before he saw it. All five of the people Waylon had just talked about were down below them. He saw fists clinched and heated faces everywhere.

“Touch me again Wes, and I will shove this da’kka so far up your ass you will be s***ting steel for a week.” Nina promised.

Waylon was right; she was very pretty--well, not right at that moment perhaps.

“Now, that’s no way to treat a Lord, is it, honey?” a handsome looking man said, presumably Wes.

“Knock it off Wes,” said another man. Articus guessed him to be Dylon after dismissing the ox of a man who stood protectively next to Nina.

“What I miss?” Waylon asked with a hint of laughter in his voice.

That’s right, keep them off balance.

Dylon glared up at him, but his glower lost its heat when his eyes fell on Waylon. “Our Lord here wants to buy her. He won’t get it through his thick skull that she isn’t poor, and she wouldn’t sell herself even if she were on the brink of death.”

“I’ve had enough of your lip, boy,” Wes snarled. Another man, Baine, stepped toward Dylon.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Waylon warned. Baine hesitated.

“Charming group,” Articus muttered.

Waylon grunted in agreement before directing an icy gaze at Wes. “Leave or you will regret it.”

Waylon must have placed the Lordling in line before, for Wes looked sourly at Waylon. Acting as if he were suddenly bored, Wes gave Waylon a bow suited for a court before turning on his heels. Baine paused only a second longer before following after his Lord. The two men left, slamming the door on their way out.

“That’s what we peasants call a Royal Prick,” Articus mused aloud with a little country accent.

Dylon, just noticing Articus for the first time, laughed. Tension drained from the room and only wariness remained.

Waylon led Articus down to meet the three others. He got measuring looks from Cedrick and Nina as Waylon introduced him to Dylon.

“This is Centurion Articus Lykos of the Vanguard--.”

Articus waved Waylon to stop before the man went into all his titles. Holding out his hand, he said, “Articus.”

Dylon looked down at his hand, and then grinned. “Dylon. And I’d introduce you to Lord Wes Cota and his lapdog but--well, they aren’t in the best of moods this morning.”

Nina politely bowed her head to Articus as if to equals, while Cedrick just stood there unmoving, his eyes still measuring him.

Definitely ex-soldier.

“So, I saw Celia is your mentor,” Dylon said with a hint of mischief.

“I’d trade you any day.” Articus breathed. “The woman turns me about faster than any General I know.”

Waylon invited them along for the tour he was about to give Articus, but Dylon said he had to meet Tallen, his mentor, before lunch for some additional schooling. Tallen was apparently a slave driver. Nina said she was heading to the training grounds for some practice with Cedrick and would appreciate their company. She eyed Articus with interest.

Definitely need to stay away from Ghourdian women, Articus thought warily.

Of course, for Waylon, that was a wonderful idea.

A short time later, they were walking past the Ring and out into the training grounds. They stopped in an area where four rings had been drawn in the ground with white sand. From the little he could see of the training grounds, it was as large as the Vanguard’s. Their secluded spot was surrounded by trees that seemed to be placed strategically throughout the grounds, creating false walls for privacy.

Articus felt his hands twitch when Cedrick brought Nina a practice sword from the large weapons rack that was stationed in the center of the four rings.

When Articus asked Waylon if he would spar with him, the man almost said no. It wasn’t until Articus began taunting him about how the Reds fell on their own swords that he grumbled, “Alright!”

Throwing off his shirt, Articus easily caught the sword that Waylon tossed. He squared up to his opponent, but the man was looking at Nina and Cedrick. The two were beginning their forms together in their own circle.

He coughed politely and Waylon pulled his eyes from the young beauty with sudden embarrassment. They both bowed formally, as was the custom, and out of the corner of his eye, Articus caught Nina pause in her forms.

Pushing everything out of his mind, he focused on Waylon. As much as the Vanguard’s teased the Reds about falling on their swords, they were very skilled with the sword. After all, they were the Empire’s footmen--and Waylon was no exception. Where Articus was considered a Blade Master, Waylon was close behind him.

It started out slow, each testing each other’s abilities. Two minutes into it, though, they were dancing between forms. Attacking, blocking, evading, and attacking again.

It was an intricate dance that could have dazzled any onlooker. Articus felt sweat beading against his back after only a few minutes against the man. He was good.

Halfway through evading a hard cut to his neck, Articus found the opening he’d been looking for. Whirling his wooden stick, he struck the man’s shoulder. A heartbeat later, a loud crack sounded off. Articus quickly brought his wooden sword down on the man’s forearms just before he stepped under Waylon’s guard and knocked him off his feet. Following his falling body, Articus closed the distance on him quickly. In the span of two heartbeats, Articus had disarmed the man and was about to deal a killing blow--all because of one small mistake.

Waylon eyed the wooden sword that had come close to his neck and winced at the pain at his shoulder. “I over stepped that one, didn’t I?”

Articus nodded as he grabbed the man’s forearm and pulled him up. “You and my Under-Centurion--I mean the Centurion of my old Cohort--would have one helluva fight.”

It was a compliment coming from a man in the Vanguard, and Waylon bowed respectfully at the praise.

“You could have had me though on that one cut, I’m getting rusty,” Articus breathed. He felt rejuvenated after the work out. “Perhaps we could do this again tomorrow morning?” He asked hopefully. When Waylon said he’d try, with very little enthusiasm, Articus’s heart sank.

“Can I?” A light voice asked from behind him.

Articus had forgotten the two. Turning, he saw that both Cedrick and Nina hadn’t moved an inch from where he’d last seen them. They’d been watching the whole thing. Cedrick looked appalled at the small woman as did Waylon.

“I fear I am wearing down my...companion’s patience. I’d be honored if you took up my training.”

Articus just barely registered the pause, but he didn’t think twice of it. Everyone had their secrets.

“I’m not an easy teacher,” he cautioned. The woman isn’t serious, is she?

The look she gave him said it all. Cedrick tried to insist that she wasn’t wearing down his patience at all, but she overrode him.

“I do not mean to dishonor you, Cedrick, but I need a harder taskmaster. You are too gentle with me,” she said fondly. The large man glared at Articus as if it was his fault but he didn’t protest any further.

Articus caught a hint of jealousy from Waylon, and felt bad for him. He sure as hell didn’t want anything to do with the woman. He had been content with one Ghourdian woman.

But then again… if she wanted to learn and ended up slicing Wes up--or even killing him--well he wouldn’t mind so much.

“Very well. Tomorrow morning, predawn you will be at my door? I believe classes don’t start until two hours after sunrise.” When she nodded eagerly, he sighed.

Looking up at the sky, he cursed. The sun was almost at its peak, and he was sure Celia would be waiting for him.

He tossed his practice sword to Waylon and told everyone he had to go. After saying his farewells, he decided to jog back to his room.

A great morning indeed.