Autumn

Autumn stole a moment to center and anchor herself before she faced the recruits or their teacher again. They were beginning to trust her. It would not do any good for them to see her so shaken.

How did the dragon know she was a Mistwalker? And who was his master?

She had no answers and no way to find them until the dragon returned. So she set her questions aside and focused on what she could do. Which was to provide supplies and weapons to these young warriors. Because she might not be around to protect them.

Autumn found a quiet, sheltered space between two buildings and took the beginning stance of her favorite sword dance. She balanced her weight on the balls of her feet and felt each muscle settle into the familiar pose. She held one hand out, forward, and brought the other over it in a drawing motion, conjuring the Sword of Ice and Flame as she did.

“I am a living blade of ice and flame,” she intoned softly, breathing in time to the ritual phrase.

She flowed through the dance, striking and blocking imagined foes from each cardinal direction, moving from form to form in movements written in blood and bone by years of practice.

“Wow,” someone breathed behind her.

Autumn spun into the final form and lowered her sword to see several of the recruits staring at her. She didn’t recognize these three, but like Tanaka they had their names embroidered on their chests. The woman was Quin, the two men were Pratt and Montegro. She committed the names to memory and nodded to acknowledge them.

“Did you require something?” she asked.

Quin shook her head. “No, well, kinda. Sarge said you wanted us to gather all the flag poles? Did you mean just the little ones on the walls or are we supposed to bring down the big one in the center of the drill area? Because no one knows where the tool thing to unbolt it is.”

“I don’t think any of you could use that thing as a spear shaft,” Autumn said, “so no, just the small ones. How many did you gather?”

“We found eight. That’s not enough, is it?” Montegro asked.

“It’s fine,” Autumn assured him. “I can make it work. Will you go ask the others to gather in the, what did you call it? The drill area.”

Montegro nodded and bolted off, followed by Pratt. Quin remained, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.

“Is something wrong?” Autumn asked.

“That wasn’t private, was it? The, uh, what you were doing,” Quin asked.

Autumn tilted her head. “If it was private, I wouldn’t have been doing it in an open field. No, it was merely an exercise to clear my mind and loosen my muscles.”

“It was really pretty, like a dance. I’d love to be able to move like that,” Quin added wistfully.

“You could. I’m not extraordinary, I could even teach you a very basic form if we have time,” Autumn offered.

“Nah, I tried to learn to dance. I’ve got two left feet,” Quin shrugged.

Autumn looked down, but the recruit’s feet appeared as symmetrical as any human’s.

“I’m going to guess that was an idiom that doesn’t quite translate,” Autumn mused. “Anyway, before you can learn a sword dance, you’ll need a sword. Well, a knife or a spear because I can’t make twenty-one full swords and still be conscious afterward.”

“You can make swords? How?” Quin asked.

“You’ll see. I think I hear your teacher gathering the others.”

Buck’s distinctive staccato shout drew them around the building to the large, paved square they called a “drill area,” even though Autumn had no clear idea what the term meant. She thought a drill was a tool, but there were none of those in evidence.

Autumn looked from the gathered recruits to the small pile of metal poles they’d stacked up.

“All right,” she said, “you are low on ammunition with no way to replace it. Therefore, I will be providing you with alternative means of self-defense. Are any of you familiar with the use of spears?”

No hands rose. Autumn looked over at Buck, alarmed. Not one of them?

“Spears are kinda old-fashioned,” Buck explained.

“Perhaps, but they’re the most effective way to fight the Mistborn,” Autumn said. “They grant reach and blunt force damage on top of the cutting and stabbing power of the blade.”

“That’s right nice, but we don’t have any spears,” Buck pointed out.

“You will. Just stand back, and watch,” Autumn said.

Autumn held out her sword. “This,” she said, “is the Sword of Ice and Flame. It is my conjured weapon. The final task when you become a Champion is to form your signature weapon. This sword represents my oath to protect the innocent and to maintain justice in the Unformed.”

And because she was just a bit of a trickster at heart, Autumn grinned and let the sword fall to shatter on the strange grey surface that coated most of the ground of the Enclave. The gathered recruits gasped in shocked horror.

Autumn crouched and collected the hilt, leaving a couple dozen glittering, crystal shards of magical ice on the ground.

“Don’t worry, I can reform it,” she said. “One sword is useful but part of my task as a Champion is to ensure that the denizens of an Enclave can stand in their own defense as well. Everyone take a shard. Be careful, they’re sharp.”

“Princess, you don’t mean for my recruits to fight off that dragon with pointy crystals, do you?” Buck muttered.

“I don’t mean for them to fight the dragon at all,” Autumn replied, “but they must be prepared to fend off the Mistborn. I only hope we have that much time.” She chose one shard and held it out to Buck. “You need one, too.”

He held the crystal in one open palm and waited.

“You’re going to love this part,” Autumn said with a wink.