“How dare—”

He lunged and she tripped backward over the ring’s border and fell. He stood over her with the tip of his sword to her neck.

“You’re an easy kill, Captain.” He leered down at her. “You are to report to Gresia three times a week with your lieutenant and Chief Rider. We can’t have any of you growing lax and comfortable.”

“Lax?” she sputtered. “Comfortable? I can’t—”

“The king agrees.”

“Zachary—?”

“Yes, Captain. You can ask him yourself.” He reached out to help her to her feet.

“I don’t have the time!”

“No excuses, Captain.”

“It’s not an excuse!”

“Make the time. Remember, it’s the example you set. Plus, the king has ordered your schedule cleared for training at ten hour.”

Laren was so flummoxed she didn’t know what to do or say. She’d come to give Drent an upbraiding he wouldn’t forget, and the next thing she knew he’d “killed” her in a bout of swordplay. How did they even get there? He was truly in trouble now, she thought, but he was walking away, back into the weapons room.

“Of all the . . .” She trotted after him. When she caught up, he took the practice sword from her.

“Remember, ten hour, Gresia, tomorrow.”

“You are impossible.”

“It is something oft said about you.”

“Why you—you—” She was so outraged she could only sputter.

He turned his back to her to replace the practice swords on their rack, but not so fast that she didn’t see his gruesome grin. Then he turned on her. “Face it, Captain, I won this round.”

“I would not be so smug if I were you.”

“No?” He crossed his arms over his barrel chest. More seriously, he said, “The king wants you ready for whatever may come, not just because he wants the Riders fit for battle, but because he cares about what happens to you. Furthermore, the workout might help you with your rheumatism.”

“My . . . ?” How did he know?

“My job is to observe the bodies of my trainees day in and day out, as they hone their skills. I know when they are hurting, I know when they are injured. I can see it when you walk and how you hold yourself. Gresia is aware, too, so she will work with you appropriately. Vanlynn has also been notified.”

Laren was so aghast that something she had kept to herself for so long was apparently common knowledge that she didn’t know what to say, except, “Bloody hells.”

“You,” Drent said, “are dismissed, Captain.”

“This isn’t over, Drent,” she replied, and she turned on her heel and headed for the door, reddening when his low, throaty chuckle followed her outside. She slammed the door shut behind her. How had he turned it all around on her? How had he gotten the upper hand?

It would not, she thought, happen again.

AN APPOINTMENT WITH AGEMON

As it turned out, Karigan did not have enough time to take a bath, but settled for splashing freezing water from her basin onto her face and changing into a dry, clean uniform. She considered taking one of her swords along to prove to Agemon she really was a swordmaster and approved by the Weapons, but she remembered how, when last he had seen her, she and the Weapons had deceived him into believing she was a Weapon by doing nearly the same thing. Brienne had garbed her in black and lent her a sword with its swordmaster’s silk so she could enter the tombs without any complaint from Agemon. Having a sword along with her, with its black silk band, would not impress him this time around.

She started when a knock came upon the door. She was relieved to find Brienne without, as she had been wondering how she was supposed to find her way to Agemon.

“Ready for your appointment?” Brienne asked.

Karigan grabbed her longcoat and nodded.

“What? No sword?”

“We’re just going into the tombs, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” Brienne said, “but you are a swordmaster and honorary Weapon now.”

“Does that mean I have to carry my sword all the time?”

“Not all the time, but certainly when you are on duty.”

That, Karigan thought, was going to get tedious. She glanced at both swords, wondering which to wear.

“You could carry both,” Brienne said, following her gaze, “as the First Rider once did.”

“I don’t think so.” People would assume she was overcompensating or something. She decided on her new saber. She’d had time with the longsword last night, and it would be good to get acquainted with the saber.

“How many swords do you have?” Karigan asked Brienne.

The Weapon started counting on her fingers and gave up. “Several. Some for practice only, or ceremonies. I have also collected a few antiques that are for display. There are several others that I actively use.”

“I see.”

With that, they were off. The weight of the new saber actually felt good and proper against her hip, much the same as her old one, but it hadn’t the history, the heritage, nor had it been proven in battle. The new one had not belonged to someone else before, and she guessed she’d have to give it a history of its own.

Brienne led her to the royal wing.

“I thought we were going to the tombs.”

“We are.”

Damnation. When they’d entered the royal wing, Karigan had felt the slightest kernel of hope they would not be entering the tombs, after all. They made her skin crawl, all those halls of the dead. Alas, it seemed the more she wished to avoid the tombs, the more she was drawn into them. She could not escape them. And what in five hells did Agemon want with her, anyway?