brace of perfect power through arms, back and legs. Farys's blade deflected effortlessly by, glancing from her swinging edge like a skate on ice. She could perhaps have finished it then with his guard exposed in the follow- through, the commonest form of death for regular fighters against the svaalverd… yet the perfection was lacking and the feet could not quite position for the stroke the hands desired.
He recovered fast and pressed the attack. This time, there were no enormous follow-throughs, as if someone had thought to coach him what not to do. Sasha retreated, a step to each stroke as their facing shifted, countering one, and another, and then another in a clever, deceptive combination that swung at the last moment to an unexpected, high-quarter slash from an interrupted backswing. But it was the simplest, most beautiful thing in the world to shift her guard from low to high, switching the retreating foot to rear and rotating that defence into a fast, offensive cut.
Farys survived only with a desperate, downward slam of his blade, but his left foot failed the transition, and so she swung to that side instead. His frantic parry barely made it in time, and his balance not at all as he stumbled back a step… and that necessary movement opened the way for the most exquisite shift of balance to her forward pivot foot, as the blade circled to his low, right quarter and slashed him cleanly open from right hip to left shoulder.
Farys stumbled back, slowly collapsing as his eyes stared in disbelief. Blood spurted in a horrid flood, drenching vest and legs, and he crumpled in a motionless heap on the grass. Sasha held that posture, blade held high in final flourish, arm perfectly extended from the shoulder, feet at the precise position and angle. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever done, that killing stroke. So perfect. So supreme. She gazed up at the lethal, gleaming edge, almost bloodless with the speed of her strike, and marvelled at her own magnificence.
Of the horrified gasps, cries and then yells from the Hadryn surrounding, she was only dimly aware. Of the sudden roar from the Halleryn walls, beyond the silent pause that followed Farys's fall, even less so. Except that suddenly, there was a sound of rumpling cloth, a cloak thrown back and a high, metallic slide of a small blade leaving its sheath.
A desperate yell came from the perimeter's friendly side and she spun, aware only of an onrushing threat, her blade slashing to meet it
… and struck the knife from midair, sending it spinning into the nearby turf. The thrower himself was felled a moment later, clutching another knife in his neck, and then there were men breaking the circle on all sides in a flurry of dropping cloaks and flashing blades.
Before she could think to find her target, Kessligh was beside her, dropping one onrushing man with a single stroke of such simplicity, it took her breath away. Another, too, came at him, Kessligh simply stepped inside the swing, cutting him down as a gardener might slash a weed.
Amidst the confusion, someone slashed from her left… Sasha ducked, but already that body was falling, cut down by Jaryd, his eyes wide with fury. Then, as abruptly as it had begun, it all stopped. An entire line of Hadryn lords and men, behind the two Kessligh had felled, were now all wavering, staring with fearful, furious stares at Kessligh. Falcon and Royal Guards alike had closed at Sasha's sides, weapons ready and eager.
'Honour has been satisfied,' Kessligh told them all. His voice was hard, yet calmer than Sasha had heard in many a training session. 'The result is clear. Take your losses and leave. Be thankful I ignore the cowardly knife and do not challenge each of you to mortal combat, one at a time, for your complicity.'
Sasha had never seen any array of faces more furious, and more hateful, than those of the Hadryn lords confronting them. Nor, she thought, more scared. They drew back, gathering the bodies of their fallen as they went. Sasha looked over her left shoulder to where Jaryd still stood above the body of the man he'd killed. It was a long way back to have been a Hadryn man… and she realised with shock that the dead man was a Falcon Guard.
Another guardsman knelt to remove the fallen man's helmet… it had a lieutenant's crest and came off to reveal the heavy, round face of Lieutenant Reynan. There was blood in his mouth and his eyes were sightless. Jaryd stood above him, his sword bloody, breath coming in great gasps. The kneeling guardsman stared up in disbelief.
'What did you do?' he said in horror, a hand creeping to the pommel of his sword.
'No,' said another, stepping forward. 'I saw it. Reynan would have struck M'Lady Sashandra from behind. He meant to kill her in the confusion.'
Sasha stared at Jaryd. Reynan Pelyn had been brother to Lord Tymeth Pelyn, from one of the most powerful noble families of Tyree.
'I'd thought his manner odd last night and this morning,' Jaryd said hoarsely, as Kessligh and Damon pushed in to see. His eyes met Sasha's. 'I asked him what troubled him and he muttered something about 'that brat' ruining everything. He never liked you, M'Lady, I thought he was just… just making talk. I was wary, but I never thought he'd…'
'Treachery,' said a guardsman-a Verenthane. 'Unbefitting of a Tyree man or a Verenthane. He got what he deserved.'
'Even that horse-fly Farys has more honour,' his Goeren-yai comrade agreed. 'At least he gave his challenge to her face, not her back.'
'Coward,' agreed a third.
They withdrew from the circle, leaving their former lieutenant alone on the ground, gazing sightlessly at the grey morning sky. Sasha felt lightheaded and shorter, somehow, her posture no longer quite so perfect, all colours and sounds no longer so sharp.
'You saved my life,' she said to Jaryd, determinedly focused on keeping her balance as they walked. She'd seen an honour duel once before where the victor's legs had folded beneath him in the midst of his victory celebration. Now, she knew why.
'I would have done so even were you my enemy,' Jaryd muttered. His normally confident, carefree expression was darkened with fury. 'Some things cannot be tolerated, even from family allies.'
'Even so,' Sasha added, determined to give further thanks, but Jaryd cut her off.
'Damn fool, I should have known!' he snarled. 'They were plotting, damn them. Now there'll be Loth's ransom to pay.'
The chanting from the Halleryn walls continued, accompanied now by multiple drums, and the piercing shrill of reed pipes. Sasha pushed free of her surrounding company and walked across the open grass before the walls. The cheer erupted louder to a full-fledged roar. She could see a crowd of men atop the walls, fists and swords held aloft. The Goeren-yai. Saluting her as passionately as they'd ever saluted anyone. The tears in her eyes spilled and ran down her cheeks.
She placed the sword down and held both arms aloft, palms outward, then lowered them slowly, requesting silence. Slowly, the volume declined. And then, finally, the morning still returned. An eerie, unreal hush, after the din that had been. Sasha pressed both palms together before her forehead and bowed in thanks and respect. Such triumphalism was not what the situation needed; it had cost far too much already.
A horn sounded by Halleryn's main gate, announcing an imminent departure. The royal party waited and the Hadryn moved their bodies to the stream, where someone had brought a raft to save them the humiliation of the long walk back. Upon the far bank, Hadryn soldiers milled in shock and anger. Even at a glance, Sasha could see much gesticulation, rude hand gestures and raised voices. She hoped that the Falcon Guard, back at their camp, were prepared for any eventuality.
Then, from the main gate, a grand, chestnut warhorse clattered onto the road and turned along the wall toward them. Two more riders flanked their leader, Taneryn banners flying, and Sasha recognised Lord Krayliss astride the leading horse, riding square-shouldered and proud as his men watched on from their wall-top positions.
The riders left the road and approached across the grass, halting before the royal party. Krayliss swung his heavy weight from the saddle, rearranging his cloak about the enormous sword at his hip. His dark eyes peered from beneath thick black brows, his expression unreadable behind the profuse black beard. He inclined his head to Damon and then again, more deeply, to Kessligh at Damon's right hand. He had watched proceedings from the wall, it was very clear. Sasha was only a little surprised when the gaze then swung and fixed upon her.
Lord Krayliss strode toward her, a hand upon the massive hilt of his sword, and knelt to one knee, his head bowed. Sasha blinked. That was unexpected. It brought her no joy, and even less when Krayliss lifted his gaze and beheld her from that position. There was calculation in his eyes. This was a display for his men. A cold dread replaced the general unease in the pit of her stomach. This just got worse and worse.
