Sasha

technique and method.

'Sasha,' Kessligh said then, with the note of a man about to begin something…

'I don't know what else I could have done,' Sasha cut him off, tiredly. 'There are lines to be drawn. In this land, respect is everything, and to tolerate such disrespect is to invite our enemies to attack us. Master Farys crossed the line. The north cannot be allowed to think their Lenay enemies will not fight back, otherwise they will continue to push and push, and soon every group in the land that does not agree with their bigoted ways will find themselves under attack.'

'I agree,' said Kessligh. Sasha turned her head against the wooden barn wall and gazed at the dark outline of his face. 'I blame myself, in part. But the way of the uman is not the way of a parent. I cannot dictate your path to you, I can only help you to find your own.

'And I have seen this coming for a long time. I've warned you, haven't I?' Glancing across at her, a faint motion in the dark. 'I warned you of consequences should you continue your attraction to the Goeren-yai so openly. I told you the offence it would cause, here in the north in particular. But perhaps, like so many things, it was meant to be.'

Sasha frowned. 'That doesn't sound like serrin philosophy. That sounds fatalistic.'

Kessligh shrugged. 'I am human, after all. But then it is serrin philosophy, too. Life is a battle, Sasha. All existence is in conflict. We fight the elements, we fight our consciences, we fight the limitations and eventual mortality of our bodies. All things happen by conflict, of one sort or another. The serrin have long recognised this fact. Once, long ago, they fought amongst themselves as we did. But then, having accepted the inescapable reality of conflict, they set themselves toward finding ways of living with it and negating its worst consequences.'

He sighed, softly, and resettled his shoulders against the hard barn wall, seeking better posture. 'It was always going to be trouble, Sasha. Choosing you for my uma.' Sasha's eyes strained to make out his expression. 'I knew it then, and I know it now. But I could make no other choice. I knew the choice would cause conflict, but sometimes, a forest fire brings new life, and from bloodshed can spring renewal. Such matters are not always ours to decide.'

'Renewal,' Sasha murmured. 'That's a Goeren-yai philosophy.'

'Warlike cultures always believe in renewal,' Kessligh replied. 'They have to.' And then, before she could respond… 'Sasha, I'm not happy that you chose a fight. I sympathise with your reasons, but you are far too important to be risking yourself in such a way. Important to your role as uma, and important to me personally.

'However, what's done is done. And I know you, Sasha. You cannot sleep because you feel compassion. Even for a thug like Farys Varan, you feel compassion because you know your skills utterly outclass his. I know because I've faced the same. When your opponent has so little chance, it feels like murder, and then you must face your conscience.'

He reached from beneath his blanket and clasped her shoulder with one firm, sword-hardened hand. 'Feel no pity for him, Sasha. Only you can cause your defeat tomorrow morning. As skilled as you are, any hesitation, any indecision against a man of his talents will surely cost your life. As long as you remain hathaal, he cannot touch you. But hathaal requires total concentration and technical perfection. In that way, he actually has more leeway for error than you. He fights with strength and strength is always strong, even when imperfectly applied. For svaalverd, strength comes from the application itself. Should the application fail, you shall lose not only technique, but strength as well.'

'I know,' Sasha murmured. 'I know that. The edge is fine, even against my opponents in the Baerlyn training hall. At my best, even the best of them is no chance against me. When I fight distracted, or without full concentration, I come home black and blue. But…' and she took a deep, shuddering lungful of cold air, '… you know my moods. I cannot sustain one emotion for any long period. And now, as much as I hated Farys at the time, and still hate him now… it is difficult to sustain. That's all.'

'You hold the Hadryn responsible for Krystoff's death,' Kessligh reminded her.

Sasha nodded. 'I do,' she murmured. 'But it was not by their own hands. It was not by Farys's hand.' A flash of memory… a priest at the door to the tuition room. Musical lessons-the piccolo pipe, no less. A grave, sombre man, kneeling at Sasha's side. Dawning trepidation and terror. 'They misinformed him as to the size of the Cherrovan raiding party. They knew he would charge in and be defeated by superior numbers. Once, I thought I could kill every man in Hadryn for that treachery. But now…' She broke off, unable to finish the sentence. A lump grew in her throat. For a moment, there was only the silence of the vast, cold night.

'Perhaps I don't love him enough,' Sasha whispered. The piccolo pipe, falling to the floor. Breaking. 'He was my only true friend. He had faith in me when no one else would. I dreamed of duelling with Hadryn men for vengeance for many years. I should not be having these doubts. If I'd truly loved Krystoff, I'd kill Farys and dance on his corpse.'

'Dreaming is easy,' said Kessligh. 'Killing is hard.'

'It shouldn't be,' Sasha said. 'Not if you believe in the cause.' She gazed at her uman, her eyes hurting. 'How did you do it? You've killed so many. How do you do it, and not doubt?'

'I always doubt,' Kessligh replied, with as close as Sasha had ever heard him come to a gentle tone. 'When you cease to doubt, you are lost. But the world is as it is, Sasha. One cannot find peace without accepting that. People die and people kill, and even if we are all flawed people, we cannot achieve anything good if we allow our enemies to defeat us. We must survive, Sasha. You must survive. Now, by your own choice, you must kill to survive. And you shall.'

Sasha gazed at the mist upon the lake as she walked behind her honour guard, six men of the Falcon Guards who had volunteered for the duty. The eastern hills formed a dark, rugged line against the pale sky. High above, sunlight caught distant wisps of cloud and turned them brilliant yellow against the blue. The grass beneath her boots was damp, a not-quite frost that lay across the valley plain and gave the huddled white sheep something to drink with their morning feed.

Her honour guard were leading her toward the bridge where the tachadar circle had been formed upon the Halleryn side of the river. The town walls rose close and the gathering by the stream was well within arrowshot, yet all present were safe from Taneryn archers. No Goeren-yai archer would ever disrupt the solemnity of such proceedings. Along the walls, Sasha could see the dark shapes of many men gathered anywhere they could find a vantage. The Hadryn, it was plain, expected the Goeren-yai princess to die this morning. And they wanted the Taneryn to see it happen, first-hand and personal.

She followed her honour guard across the bridge and up the grassy bank toward the gathering ahead. The men of her honour guard were all in the full armour and colours of the Falcon Guard, save for their helms. Long, braided hair hung free on the shoulders of the three Goeren-yai, who marched with the slow, arrogant swagger of Goeren-yai manhood, a hand clasped to the hilt of each sword and threat in every step. The three Verenthane soldiers walked in a line behind their comrades, with no less intimidating a posture for all their lack of swagger. Three of each, Goeren-yai and Verenthane together. It was a clear and defiant symbol. No doubt the Hadryn, and the Taneryn onlookers from the walls, would notice.

Behind, at a suitable distance, followed Damon, Kessligh, Jaryd, Lieutenant Reynan and the six Royal Guardsmen. Captain Tyrun had remained behind with his troops, as at least one senior officer was required to do. It was unclear why Lieutenant Reynan had come, except that his family connection to Lord Jaryd gave him some influence. Alone of the Tyree men, he seemed vastly displeased by proceedings and wore a scowl beneath his helm. Perhaps he hoped she would lose.

Ahead, a party of Hadryn nobles had gathered about the far, northern side of the tachadar circle, some house guards and regular troops amongst them. Perhaps twenty men, Sasha counted as they approached. On the far bank, a great many soldiers were now gathering, their officers attempting to form them into orderly lines, so as not to present disarray in view of the walls of Halleryn. As Sasha's party strode closer, there came some yells from the walls to the right. Encouragement, Sasha realised, although she did not pay attention to the words. The uma of Kessligh was going to fight the Hadryn in honourable combat. Whatever trouble Lord Krayliss had with Kessligh's uma, it evidently did not extend to all the soldiers of Taneryn.

Answering yells came back from the troops across the river and suddenly the still, sombre morning erupted into raucous cheering, one side against the other. Sasha let it wash over her, her breathing calm as Kessligh's training had taught, her pulse level and controlled. Her eyes remained fixed on the gathering ahead and the man in shiny, polished brown leathers beneath a flowing black cloak, standing upon the edge of the circle with his blade unsheathed, point-down on the turf.