Read Online The Air War (Shadows of the Apt 8) by Adrian Tchaikovsky - Free Book Online
Authors: Adrian Tchaikovsky
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named Corog Breaker, who had been souring still further throughout the proceedings. He held out the swords, wood sheathed in
bronze, and she took one lightly and her opponent, a sturdy Beetle youth, took the other. Having second choice, he looked at her suspiciously, as though she had somehow tampered with the sword she
had left him, but that was the price of having a reputation.
She was a lean, compact woman with snow-pale skin whose tan mottling could, with a dash of cosmetics, be formed into striking darts at her brow and cheekbones. She presented a most martial
image, her features fierce, pale hair cut short as a soldier’s, her stance making the blade in her hand a natural part of her, the point into which the rest of her was focused. In contrast,
the Beetle opposite her held his sword first like a hammer and then, as she directed her weapon at him, like a shield.
The Prowess Forum was more popular now than ever before. The College’s students had lived through war with Vek and the Empire, so that matters martial were on everyone’s mind. Four
new departments had been created on the back of the war, and every student was expected to be able to acquit him- or herself with a sword. The Apt had a chance to learn the crossbow and the snapbow
as well, training alongside Collegium’s Merchant Companies.
‘Salute the book!’ Corog Breaker growled, and the two of them duly raised their blades to the Forum’s emblem – a brass sword within the open pages of a wooden tome
– which had become the city’s own martial symbol during the war.
‘Distance,’ the Armsman snapped. This instruction was new, born from a combination of the pastime’s popularity and peacetime’s renewed drive amongst the sponsoring
magnates to count victories over sportsmanship. There had been, a half-year ago, a spate of unsatisfactory contests, with one duellist rushing the other in a frantic exchange of blows. The
difficulty of adjudication had led to the introduction of a more formal start. The Antspider and her rival touched blade points, arms extended, each out of reach of the other, each theoretically
just as ready.
‘Clock!’ called Breaker, and in that moment’s echo she struck, sword nipping past her enemy’s to poke him in the upper arm. The Beetle-kinden swore, then put his hand to
his mouth and looked guiltily at the Master Armsman.
Breaker’s eyes flicked suspiciously between them. ‘First strike to the halfbreed,’ he said, with heavy disgust on that last word. ‘Second pass. Distance!
Clock!’
And she was in again, a seemingly impossible lunge that caught the Beetle youth in his already bruised arm, making him drop his sword with a yelp. The commentary amongst the spectators was now
running rife. The Antspider had not even moved her feet, only leant in a little, weight on the front foot ready for a quick retreat.
She gave Breaker a silent count of twenty before suggesting, in a breach of manners beyond enduring, ‘If you wish, I’ll play the point again, Master Breaker.’ She needed to
win, and her two team-mates needed to win as well, because the fourth of their number was inexplicably absent. It was just possible, at that point, that she could talk Breaker into simply declaring
that bout a lost match, rather than ruling that their team had forfeited, whereupon they would win the contest three–one. The four of them had worked very hard indeed even to get as far as
being allowed to compete.
Corog Breaker stared at her without any love. ‘Play the point again,’ he directed, but now she didn’t like his tone. He was sounding like a man looking out for something
specific, which might be bad news. Still, retaining an unassailable confidence in the face of bad odds had got her this far, and it might get her much further if she didn’t acknowledge the
chasm yawning at her feet.
‘Distance,’ Breaker snapped, and she lined up with her opponent, their blades touching at the very tips. The
bronze, and she took one lightly and her opponent, a sturdy Beetle youth, took the other. Having second choice, he looked at her suspiciously, as though she had somehow tampered with the sword she
had left him, but that was the price of having a reputation.
She was a lean, compact woman with snow-pale skin whose tan mottling could, with a dash of cosmetics, be formed into striking darts at her brow and cheekbones. She presented a most martial
image, her features fierce, pale hair cut short as a soldier’s, her stance making the blade in her hand a natural part of her, the point into which the rest of her was focused. In contrast,
the Beetle opposite her held his sword first like a hammer and then, as she directed her weapon at him, like a shield.
The Prowess Forum was more popular now than ever before. The College’s students had lived through war with Vek and the Empire, so that matters martial were on everyone’s mind. Four
new departments had been created on the back of the war, and every student was expected to be able to acquit him- or herself with a sword. The Apt had a chance to learn the crossbow and the snapbow
as well, training alongside Collegium’s Merchant Companies.
‘Salute the book!’ Corog Breaker growled, and the two of them duly raised their blades to the Forum’s emblem – a brass sword within the open pages of a wooden tome
– which had become the city’s own martial symbol during the war.
‘Distance,’ the Armsman snapped. This instruction was new, born from a combination of the pastime’s popularity and peacetime’s renewed drive amongst the sponsoring
magnates to count victories over sportsmanship. There had been, a half-year ago, a spate of unsatisfactory contests, with one duellist rushing the other in a frantic exchange of blows. The
difficulty of adjudication had led to the introduction of a more formal start. The Antspider and her rival touched blade points, arms extended, each out of reach of the other, each theoretically
just as ready.
‘Clock!’ called Breaker, and in that moment’s echo she struck, sword nipping past her enemy’s to poke him in the upper arm. The Beetle-kinden swore, then put his hand to
his mouth and looked guiltily at the Master Armsman.
Breaker’s eyes flicked suspiciously between them. ‘First strike to the halfbreed,’ he said, with heavy disgust on that last word. ‘Second pass. Distance!
Clock!’
And she was in again, a seemingly impossible lunge that caught the Beetle youth in his already bruised arm, making him drop his sword with a yelp. The commentary amongst the spectators was now
running rife. The Antspider had not even moved her feet, only leant in a little, weight on the front foot ready for a quick retreat.
She gave Breaker a silent count of twenty before suggesting, in a breach of manners beyond enduring, ‘If you wish, I’ll play the point again, Master Breaker.’ She needed to
win, and her two team-mates needed to win as well, because the fourth of their number was inexplicably absent. It was just possible, at that point, that she could talk Breaker into simply declaring
that bout a lost match, rather than ruling that their team had forfeited, whereupon they would win the contest three–one. The four of them had worked very hard indeed even to get as far as
being allowed to compete.
Corog Breaker stared at her without any love. ‘Play the point again,’ he directed, but now she didn’t like his tone. He was sounding like a man looking out for something
specific, which might be bad news. Still, retaining an unassailable confidence in the face of bad odds had got her this far, and it might get her much further if she didn’t acknowledge the
chasm yawning at her feet.
‘Distance,’ Breaker snapped, and she lined up with her opponent, their blades touching at the very tips. The
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