A Woman of the Sword

REVIEWS FOR THE EMPIRES OF DUST TRILOGY ‘Fierce, gripping fantasy, exquisitely written; bitter, funny and heart-rending by turns’ Adrian Tchaikovsky, Clarke Award Winner, Children of Time ‘A dynamic new voice’ Scott Lynch ‘Gripping … definitely one to read and prize’ Publishers Weekly starred review ‘A masterwork of dark fantasy’ Nightmarish Conjurings ‘One of the most exciting authors not only in grimdark but in fantasy … Eclipses almost everything else I’ve read this year’ Grimdark Magazine ‘Literary Game of Thrones’ Sunday Times ‘Dazzling. Howls like early Moorcock, converses like the best of Le Guin’ Daily Mail ‘Weaves a spell that will consume you’ Barnes and Noble ‘Stunning ... Epic’ Starburst Magazine ‘Immense depth and breadth ... the best voice in the genre’ Three Crows Magazine ‘All hail the queen of grimdark fantasy!’ Michael R Fletcher ‘Grim, gritty and fast paced, with great battle scenes! Anna Smith Spark is one to watch’ Andy Remic ‘Marked by intense, action-packed battle scenes, this grimdark epic fantasy is the escape you need right now’ Kirkus Review ‘Gritty and glorious!’ Miles Cameron ‘On a par with R Scott Bakker’ Grimdark Alliance ‘Brilliantly powerful … enthralling’ Run Along the Shelves ‘The master strokes of a poet who is completely comfortable in her craft ... Joe Abercrombie, Scott Lynch and Mark Lawrence make way because the Queen of grimdark is ready to lead the charge in a new wave of dark fantasy fiction’ Fantasy Faction ‘One of the most unique writing styles I’ve ever read, and it is an absolute pleasure to read’ Superstar Drifter ‘Flowing like molten bronze … it carries all before it’ Fantasy Hive A WOMAN OF THE SWORD ANNA SMITH SPARK Text Copyright 2023 Anna Smith Spark Cover 2023 © Stas Borodin Editorial Team: Francesca T Barbini & Shona Kinsella First published by Luna Press Publishing, Edinburgh, 2023 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on a subsequent purchaser. The right of Anna Smith Spark to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. Names, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead (except for satirical purposes), is entirely coincidental. A CIP catalogue record is available from the British Library www.lunapresspublishing.com ISBN-13: 978-1-915556-05-9 For all the mothers who got through the last few years. Part One - The Soldier One ‘Lidae!’ The voice is so desperate. She lashes out with long fingers, takes a man down, rushes at him to hack him down dead. Panic in the voice calling her. Delin. Poor innocent thing. A man comes at her at a run, almost throws himself into her sword. Useless, she thinks, the way he’s coming at her, but he’s young, she sees it in his boy’s bright eyes as she takes him down, she sees him see her as she kills him and he’s startled. Delin’s voice calls urgently. ‘Lidae! Lidae!’ She says, although he can’t hear her, ‘I’m coming, Delin.’ These poor sweet boys. All a fun game, they think, playing. ‘Let’s fight!’ they shout at each other. ‘Hit me, come on! You a coward or something?’ She says, ‘Hold on, I’m coming, Delin.’ She can look for a moment, the battle ebbs just here just now, it’s strange, she thinks, when she looks back at all the battles she’s fought in, the way killing flows and ebbs. A lump of flesh that might be Delin is down half-way to dying, trying to ward off blows of enemy weight. He was crying last night, in the ranks, his eyes beneath his bronze helmet were sore and red. He sees her. ‘Lidae! Help me! Please!’ ‘I’m coming, I’m coming, Delin.’ They want so much out of her, these poor young soldier boys. ‘You’re like a mother to them, Lidae,’ Eralene the only other woman in the squad says. ‘You should make them learn the hard way.’ But Eralene is so young. And the men—the boys—they’re so young. But the killing had ebbed here, like water ebbs on shingle, the enemy is fighting other soldiers in their army, men she does not know. She runs in three steps over to Delin’s crouching body, kills the man bent killing over him. Delin stumbles to his feet, bloody, coughing. She pulls his arm to get him up quicker, because at any moment the fighting will begin hard again over them. ‘Thank you, Lidae,’ Delin whispers. His voice is dry and cracked, his tongue is dust in his bloody mouth. He’s back crying. Poor boy, she thinks. She shrugs. ‘It’s nothing.’ In the brief pause she takes out her waterskin, goes to drink. She gives it to Delin, first, to drink. Delin’s eyes widen, he stares past her into the melee of the battlefield. Silver light in the sky behind him. Crowns him. He croaks out in terror: ‘The enemy! They’re coming again!’ She thinks, mocking him: this is a battlefield, remember, Delin? A pitched battle that I suspect we may be losing. The enemy ranks— traitors, betrayers, the enemy of all those who serve the true king. The enemy come at us and come at us, gold banners flying proud, for hours we grappled with them, our lines almost embracing, spears gripped teeth clenched we swayed together, knee to knee cheek to cheek. They broke us. Or we broke them. I can scarcely remember. So well matched we were, our lines and the enemy lines in gold, shining. All day we have fought until the black earth beneath us is stained red. The last of it now, knots of men slugging it out with their swords, spears