Kicking her dreggan away, her enemy whirled around behind her. He kicked her viciously in the back. Thrown face down into the dirt, she tried desperately to think.
"Kneel," the harsh voice commanded.
She had no choice but to obey. As she came to her knees, she dragged her right palm across the ground, filling her hand with dirt. She knew the killing blow would come any moment now.
Holding her hands at her sides, she forced herself to look up into her killer's eyes. With another smile he raised his sword high, its blade glinting briefly in the torchlight. Duvessa held her breath.
Just as the sword reached its apex she rolled to one side, throwing the dirt into his face. He cried out, and she pulled her dagger from its sheath.
She came to her feet and ran behind him. Grabbing his hair with her free hand she yanked his head back and pulled the blade of her dagger across his throat.
"Enough!" the Minion head instructor shouted.
At his sharp command, all of the warriors stopped fighting. Their chests heaving, they lowered the points of their dreggans to the dirt. Duvessa wearily recovered her weapon.
"You're learning!" the instructor shouted to the group at large. "But each of you has a long way to go before you can claim the rite of ascension. That is why we train as realistically as possible. Remember, only fully realized death blows are not permitted."
The instructor's name was Baltasar. Walking over to Duvessa, he smiled at her.
"Well done," he said. "Any trick that helps you stay alive is by definition a good one. Still, a Minion warrior should never find herself on her knees. With practice, your hands will become accustomed to retaining your weapon as it is struck by another. Even so, I must applaud your resourcefulness."
Duvessa gave him a slight bow. "Thank you," she answered.
Baltasar gave her a reassuring look. "I know that being chosen by the Jin'Sai to lead this new group of female warriors is a heavy burden," he said quietly. "I also realize that each of you is eager to prove herself. And being Traax's mate means that you-even more than the others-shall have a great deal to live up to. You must be the best of them. That is why I push you so hard."
"I understand," she answered.
Baltasar pointed to the white feather emblazoned on the chest of her body armor. "If you become as good a fighter as you are a healer, I think this new force shall be in very capable hands."
After giving her another brief smile, he turned to speak to some of the other female candidates about their progress. At the same time the male Minion warriors they had been sparring with offered their guidance, as well.
Duvessa looked over at the warrior she had just bested. He was still trying to clear the dirt from his eyes. She sheathed her dreggan. Taking a cloth from beneath her armor, she told him to look up at the stars. She gently wiped away the dirt.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"Don't be," he answered. "You won, and that is what matters. Serves me right for assuming that you had given up! Like Baltasar said, any device that keeps you alive in combat is a good one. Had you really meant business with your dagger, I would be watering the ground with my blood."
After giving the warrior a respectful nod, Duvessa went to sit down upon a nearby stone wall and rest.
This area and several others like it had been turned over to the advanced martial training of female warriors. Since the unexpected order had come from the Jin'Sai, hundreds had volunteered. For the last several days the instructors had rousted the recruits from their beds several hours before dawn. Then had come the training lectures, followed by the grueling hours of live practice. They had not complained.
She knew that they weren't ready for their rites of ascension. She also knew that not a single woman who had volunteered for these special phalanxes would give up until she had completed the course.
Looking wearily out over the training field, Duvessa understood how much every woman here aspired to wear the red feather-and serve under her command. It would be a heavy responsibility, but one that she welcomed.
Lost in her thoughts, she didn't see Abbey until the herbmistress was standing right in front of her.
Abbey sat down on the stone wall. During her time here at the palace, Duvessa had come to like Abbey very much, and to respect the talents of the kindly partial adept. As she looked at her now, she could see that the herbmistress was concerned.
"What is it?" Duvessa asked. She immediately thought of Traax.
"Has there been word from Tyranny?"
Abbey shook her head. "Not that I know of," she answered. "Faegan wishes to see you, me, and Adrian in the Redoubt. He told me that it is important." She gave Duvessa a short smile. "I'm afraid your breakfast will have to wait."
Duvessa stood. After a last look at the phalanxes-in-training, the two women began the walk back. As Faegan sat waiting in the cubiculum of humanistic research, he was overcome by several separate but equally compelling emotions. The first was an overwhelming sense of sorrow over Geldon's death. The dwarf's body, preserved by the craft, still lay on the examination table under the black sheet. The necropsy that Faegan had performed had been painstaking. More than once the wizard had been forced to stop what he was doing, wipe away his tears, and force himself to continue.
Another emotion stirring within him was pure, unadulterated wonder. The necropsy had revealed a great deal about the nature of Geldon's death. He knew he had to share what he'd learned with those Conclave members who remained at the palace. As an experienced herbmistress, Abbey's counsel might be particularly helpful.
A third emotion had crept in as his examination progressed. It was a deep sense of anger directed toward whoever had done this to his friend. He still did not know why his friend had been killed, but he meant to find out.
When the three women filed into the room, they could all sense Faegan's outrage. The wizard was without question the greatest living scholar of the craft, and they knew him for his kindness of heart. But this seemed to be a different Faegan. This Faegan wanted revenge, and he clearly meant to have it.
"Please forgive the hour," he said. "I know it is very early. What I have to tell you simply couldn't wait."
Faegan beckoned Duvessa, Adrian, and Abbey to sit at a nearby table. He wheeled his chair over to join them.
Several texts and scrolls lay there. Two other tools of the craft sat next to them. One of them was a blood criterion, used for measuring the quality of endowed blood. The other was a signature scope. Its purpose was to identify the lean of a blood signature. When the women were seated, Faegan placed his gnarled hands flat upon the tabletop.
"I know what killed Geldon," he said.
"You mean why he committed suicide?" Abbey offered.
"No," Faegan answered flatly. "I mean what killed him. Geldon was murdered."
"How can that be?" Duvessa asked. "Several dozen Minion warriors saw him plunge the knife into his own eye. Surely you don't think they are lying?"
"No, no, of course not." Faegan shook his head. "Geldon used the knife, all right. But he was compelled to do it. As I suspected, the craft is afoot here. This particular use of magic is one of the most devious and clever that I have ever seen. So clever, in fact, that I nearly missed it."
"What are you talking about?" Adrian asked.
"When faced with such a difficult problem, it is always best to start with what one knows," Faegan answered. "Geldon was of unendowed blood. Despite all of the problems we are wrestling with, he seemed to be happy. He was one of the most resilient men I ever knew. He had to be, to survive as long as he did in the clutches of the Coven. Suicide was simply not in his nature."
He took up a parchment and laid it flat. The paper held an unidentified blood signature.
"Despite the fact that he was unendowed, this showed up in his blood," he said. "He acquired it just before he died. When I first saw it, I couldn't believe my eyes."