The confirmation brought her some comfort. She felt more at ease with her fate in the hands of women. Still, it startled her when the women moved to her sides and the tips of their blades descended toward her. It took every bit of restraint she possessed to remain on the table. As the blades hovered a mere finger's width above her eyes, she hoped and prayed that she had not been duped.
Rolling into a defensive posture, Chase squared off, planting his feet and flexing his knees. Quicker than he'd expected, Benjin charged in again and lunged, overextending himself. Seeing the opportunity to finally score a hit, Chase raised his sword for a mighty blow. Anticipating his move, Benjin spun in the air, landing his practice sword squarely on Chase's knuckles.
'Too slow,' Benjin said as Chase writhed on the grass, holding his knuckles and cursing. 'You had plenty of time to strike me, but you had to draw yourself up like a hero in a fireside tale. Trust me, real battles are nothing like that. If I leave you an opening, take it, but don't leave yourself exposed in doing so. Understand?'
In answer, Chase swung himself and kicked Benjin in the back of the knees. Benjin collapsed to the ground, and Chase approached with caution, ready for a surprise attack. Benjin groaned and held his knee.
'I suppose I deserved that, but try to take it easy on an old man's knees, will ya?'
Chase nodded, ashamed of himself for taking advantage of Benjin that way, and he offered his hand. Benjin clasped it and pulled Chase forward, planting his feet on Chase's chest and thrusting. Chase hurtled through the air and did a complete flip before landing in a not-so-forgiving bush. Two girls, not much older than Chase, watched from nearby, and they giggled as he climbed from the bush.
'Perhaps you should try walking,' one of them said with a smirk. 'You fly like a stone.'
His face flushed, Chase returned to where Benjin waited.
'Don't let down your defenses,' Benjin said.
Captain Longarm approached. 'Takes time to learn such things, but you'll get it eventually. Those practice swords working well for you?'
'That they are,' Benjin said. 'It'd be better if we didn't need them, but these are dangerous times. Thanks again for your generosity.'
'We do what we can,' Captain Longarm said. 'I fear you're right. I've got a bad feeling in my gut.' His statement left tension in the air, and he coached Chase as Benjin squared off. Together they trained into the night.
'Too much you look at bone and muscle,' Vertook said as Brunson stood from his examination of the weanling. 'Look at eyes. Look at heart. Look at soul. There you see true measure of horse.'
Trying not to offend Vertook, Brunson did as he said and was surprised by what he saw. Staring into the eyes of one weanling, he saw fear. In another, rebellion and pride. Off in a corner, though, was a weak-looking filly with short legs. Until then, Brunson had ignored the filly, figuring she was unsuitable for someone his size, but when he looked in her eyes, he saw love and loyalty and a yearning for someone to return those feelings. As he approached her, she trembled not with fear, but with what seemed like anticipation. Running his hands gently over her coat, she leaned into him.
'Now you see, yes?' Vertook asked.
'I think I do,' Brunson said, surprised by his own heart's reaction to the filly. When Vertook had come to him, boasting of the Arghast way, Brunson had been skeptical, believing that his ways were the only ways to properly raise animals. Now he began to wonder if he'd been blind, for much of what Vertook said seemed to be true. Swallowing his pride, Brunson vowed to learn what he could from this stranger, and he felt a new journey was about to begin.
He watched with anticipation as Vertook approached each weanling, looking at their eyes only. When he settled on the colt that had seemed prideful and rebellious, Brunson failed to hide his surprise.
'Like me, this one is: stubborn but strong, willful and defiant. Farhallian is his name. What is filly's name?'
'I hadn't thought of a name yet. I suppose I'll have to think of something suitable.'
'Think? No. She tell you her name. Look in eyes and ask; then you know.'
Not certain Vertook was serious, Brunson knelt down before the filly, wondering if he were being made to look a fool. When he met her eyes and asked her name, though, he was shocked to have something immediately pop into his mind, and he knew it was right. It was not simply a name for the filly, it was her name: Shasheenia.
Vertook nodded and smiled when Brunson spoke the name. His voice an awe-filled whisper, he repeated it over and over, feeling its rightness.
Shasheenia.
Chapter 10
The stench of fear can be cleansed only by eliminating its source.
The feel of cold metal against her skin was the most frightening thing Catrin had ever experienced, but she was not cut or stabbed, and none of her blood was shed. She kept her eyes closed and her breaths shallow as the blades glided across her taught flesh. Starting with her eyebrows, they carefully and skillfully shaved her. Cool air brushed the newly exposed skin left in their wake. Bits of loose hair tickled her face, but she was afraid to flinch as her mind filled with visions of sharp knives biting deep.
Her hair fell away silently, without pain or struggle, but Catrin felt as if she were being assaulted. The robed women continued their ministrations until her head was completely shaved.
Upon completing their task, they helped Catrin stand. After helping her undress, they wrapped her in a warm, soft robe. When not bearing knives, the women seemed much less threatening. She sensed empathy and caring from them, and when they led her through a door in the opposite wall, she followed with a mixture of anticipation and wonder.
They emerged into a long corridor lined with doors on both sides, all of which were closed. Darkness shrouded the far end of the hall, hiding what lay beyond. The women approached the first door on her left, and it opened silently with the slightest push. The hallway beyond was dimly lit by the reddish glow of a small fire. Around a bend was what looked like a natural rock formation, though many of its features appeared to have been shaped by skillful hands.
Pools of clear water filled the room, a haze of steam shifting above them. Near the edge of the largest pool stood another stone table, but this one was topped with a soft pad. The women silently instructed her to disrobe and climb atop the table, and Catrin did so with less inhibition than she would have expected. Her embarrassment dissipated, and she found it liberating.
As she lay on the table, though, a chill tightened her flesh, and she wished for a blanket or something to cover her. Looking about, she saw the women use wooden tongs to remove a variety of smooth stones from the steaming water. They lined the stones along the pool's edge and, using their slender fingers, appeared to test the temperature of each. When they were satisfied with each stone, they placed them under and around her with care. Catrin reveled in the heat emanating from the stones, which were now in her palms, under her feet, and behind her neck, and still more were coming.
