In the Skin of a Nunqua by R. J. Pouritt Read Free Book Online

roughly dug out pit with enough room left over for one person to crouch down and hide. “How long has this been here?”
    “Years,” Leanna said.
    The hole below was bare dirt with very little wood shoring. Dangerous—could cave in without warning. Light from above shone off the warped blades of swords left exposed—passable as practice weapons but next to useless in a real fight. Shanti remembered her last conversation with Caravey before she left the Nunqua: how they had talked about the generals planning war with Willovia. It seemed unimaginable—the king of Willovia’s impending death and the resulting conflict. Even though she didn’t believe the prophecy of King Magen dying in his sickbed, better to be prepared. “Do any of you know how to use these weapons?”
    They shook their heads. “If we’re attacked, the soldiers will guard us and the wounded,” said Leanna.
    “What if they’re dead?”
    “Then you’ll protect us.”
    “You sure about that?” Shanti’s mind raced. She could teach them sword fighting; there was plenty of time during the day. After all, the women wore the uniform, too, and they needed to defend themselves.
    If no one was going to give these women respect, she would teach them how to take it.

5
    Turning the Screw
    S hanti played cards with a soldier named Deney, who had taken an unlucky fall off his horse and broken his leg. She knew most of the soldiers’ names now, and life had settled into a daily rhythm: mornings in the infirmary, afternoons training with the men or teaching the women the more rugged skills of being a soldier. Commander Gray Streak had even taken an interest in her sword-fighting skills, teaching her different techniques to improve her advantage on various terrains.
    The hole beneath the infirmary, where the supplies were kept, had been enlarged and shoring installed, and the extra dirt went behind the building for a medicinal herb garden. Yarrow, chamomile, horehound, bloodroot, poppy, and lavender soon flourished there. Everything was going smoothly, though Shanti never found the tall, bright-eyed investigator. No other men in the camp or town interested her for anything beyond friendship. Truth be told, it was getting lonely.
    Commander Gray Streak and Chief Flat Face entered the infirmary, and the women, infused with a new sense of military bearing, stood at attention in the presence of their superiors.
    “Shanti,” Gray Streak said in an official tone, “I have something for you.” He handed her a rolled-up letter.
    She unfurled the parchment. She was being transferred to a different camp for . . . Did she read it correctly? She moved the parchment closer to her face for a better look. Yes, transferred to a different camp to undergo training for promotion to the rank of commander. It must be a hoax. Flat Face was a hellish prankster, but then, Gray Streak never joked.
    “A commander?” she said. “Me?”
    “What in the world?” Leanna lost all sense of bearing and snatched the parchment away to read for herself. “Commander Shanti.”
    “Not yet,” Gray Streak said. She has to get through the training first. Not everyone who’s nominated succeeds.”
    “Who nominated Shanti?” Leanna looked at Flat Face.
    “Wasn’t me. Only a commander can nominate a soldier for the training.”
    Everyone turned their attention to Gray Streak. He pulled on his collar. “It wasn’t me, either.”
    “The only other commander I know is Mossgail,” Shanti said.
    Laughter erupted in the room, and she had to admit, it was funny.
    A smile brightened Gray Streak’s usually severe countenance. “I guarantee, Commander Mossgail didn’t nominate you.”
    “Then who?” Leanna said.
    “That’s confidential.”
    “Someone must have figured you’re gettin’ soft,” Flat Face said. “The letter lists the things you’ll need for training: your horse, weapons, uniforms, boots, haircut.”
    “I won’t cut my hair.”
    “It’ll grow back,” Flat