Saunder glanced back to where Massard had disappeared, his lean features dark with disapproval. "You should have seen his face when he saw them bring you in. He looked ready to kill."
"Does this have anything to do with your challenge?" Derrick asked.
"Yes." Sara's tone was firm. "The rest is no longer important."
Kelena slammed her fist on her sword hilt. "But why do you have to fight him? He's bigger and-"
Sara cut in, "And meaner and uglier. I know. I challenged him because I believe it is my duty to defend my honor and do what I think is best for those I serve."
"Like General Abrena?" Jacson said skeptically.
"She is quite capable of managing her own affairs. No, I mean you five. You have been given to me as my responsibilities, and I want to do what I feel is right for our future."
The squires looked startled and even rather pleased at her intensity.
The thing that baffled Sara the most was she meant every word of it. These five young men and women were training to become members of the organization she despised, but for this brief time, they had become important to her, and she wanted to give them her best. Maybe one day they would change their minds about the knighthood.
Jacson still sounded doubtful. "Does that include getting yourself killed?"
"I don't believe it will come to that. Massard is basically an overweening, drunken coward. A poor combination for any officer."
No one could argue that.
"So," Sara said, smiling at their serious faces, "what were you all arguing about earlier?"
Their worry for Sara immediately coalesced into a unanimous contempt for their officer.
"Massard wanted to wake you up to stand your watch," Kelena said in disgust. "Cobalt wouldn't let him near you, so he was yelling at us to get you up."
Sara's eyes flew wide and she groaned, "Oh, no! I didn't stand watch the other night. The officer of the guard will have me on charges."
"Uh, well, no, he won't," Derrick muttered. His blue eyes twinkled. "I followed you out of camp, and when I realized you were going after Massard, I reported for your watch. I told the guards you were detained by our talon leader. Which was only a slight distortion of the truth."
Sara thumped his back gratefully. It seemed the Sixth talon was going to look out for her, too. "It's all in your perspective," she said with a grin.
"My perspective tells me it's time to eat," said Cobalt, "If you're awake to stay, I will go hunt."
Sara scratched his muzzle lovingly and sent him off.
It was late afternoon, and a thick blanket of clouds hung over Neraka vale. A few snow flurries whisked around on the evening breeze, and twilight was closing in quickly.
Sara shivered. Despite a day and a half of sleep, she still felt weak and groggy. Her head ached, and her ankle protested every time she put weight on it. She was grateful General Abrena had given her three days. Often a challenge was accepted and the duel fought on the spot, Sara knew that, in spite of her bold words, she would've been an easy victim for Massard this day. In three days, she hoped she would be stronger and steadier on her feet.
She studied the dead fire ring, her lips pursed. What she really wanted was something hot and nourishing, and as soon as possible. "Are there any good places to eat in Neraka?"
"One," Saunder answered, giving his mustache a twist. "An inn in the outer city. Run by a woman."
"Let's go. I'm buying." Why not? Sara thought to herself. She had a few steel coins hidden away in her belongings. She thought she and the squires deserved an evening to celebrate.
Whoops of glee met her invitation. The five dashed off to get their cloaks.
Sara ducked into her tent, found a few coins and her cloak, and fished a small packet of herbs out of her bag. She sprinkled a spoonful of the herbs into a pot of water and let it sit on the edge of her brazier. By the time she returned, the infusion of feverfew and boneset would be ready to help treat her headache.
In a chattering group, Sara and the five squires trooped off to the tavern in the outer city for a hot meal, The tavern was crowded when they arrived, full of caravan merchants, travelers, and city folk, but a barmaid recognized Saunder's tall form in the doorway. She tweaked his mustache, smiled invitingly, and rearranged enough customers to clear a table big enough for the six of them.
At their request, she brought bowls of steaming stew, loaves of bread, butter, a plate of raisin cakes, and flagons of the tavern's hot spiced wine. It was a very quiet group that ate and ate until every bowl and plate was clean and everyone felt full to bursting.
Sara made it back to her tent on her own feet and drank her hot infusion of feverfew. Kelena and Marika helped her into her cot, wrapped her blankets around her, and added more coal to her brazier. By the time they left, Sara was already asleep.
A messenger from Knight Officer Targonne stood outside Sara's tent the next morning as the squires were rising for breakfast. They roused Sara apologetically and told her there was a messenger with a package for her. She rolled out of her cot, feeling sore and aching in every muscle and joint.
The messenger, a young squire, looked at her askance when she creaked out of her tent and identified herself.
Sara laughed inwardly. She guessed she looked dreadful, and here she had to greet this young man whom she could tell-was destined for the knighthood. Tall, bound with muscles, steely-eyed, and humorless, he would make a perfect Knight of Takhisis.
"Knight Warrior Conby," he said, a taint of doubt in his tone. "Knight Officer Targonne sent me to pass on his regards and to give you this sword with his compliments." He handed her a leather-wrapped bundle before he saluted briefly and hurried away.
Sara untied the strings holding the leather together and uncovered the sword that lay within.
"Wow," said Derrick, who peered over her shoulder.
Sara couldn't agree more. The sword was exquisitely crafted, elegantly simple, and well balanced. To her intense relief, the weapon was plain. There were no death lilies or skulls or other evil symbols adorning its surfaces. The steel blade had a diamond profile and a sharp point for thrusting through plate armor or bursting links of mail. The cross guard was copper gilt and polished to a sheen; the grip was made with black horn and ended in a fish-tail pommel. Sara was interested to see that the pommel had an empty space and four prongs in the butt, as if a stone or something had once sat there.
She gripped the sword in her right hand and hefted the blade. The weapon felt good, not too heavy, not too cumbersome. She wondered if it had originally been made for a woman. She switched the sword to her left hand and gave it a swing over her head.
"Come on," she called to the squires. "We have sword drills today."
Massard was nowhere around to gainsay her, so the talon went to the practice fields and spent the morning working on their fighting skills. Sara wrapped her ankle for support, then led the squires through their exercises and drills. When they finished that, she divided the talon into two teams and set up a mock battle. By noon, she was pleased not only with the new sword Targonne had sent her but with the squires as well.
After a quick meal, everyone went his separate way for the afternoon to fulfill his duties with other knights. Since Massard remained absent, Sara had no one to tell her what to do. Her morning's exertions had seriously tapped her slender reserves of strength, and she considered taking a nap. But there was something else she wanted to do, and she decided not to put it off any longer.