Jenny shook her head.

Grimalkin drew a throwing blade from its scabbard. “Catch!” she commanded, throwing it slightly to Jenny’s left.

I watched it turn over and over in the air, but Jenny reached out and caught it as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Grimalkin smiled. “You have good reactions, child. I will train you too.”

“Just so long as you don’t expect me to fight the Shaiksa!” Jenny retorted.

And so, in the intervals between our own bouts, the witch assassin began training her. She took it slowly, showing her how to position her feet and achieve the grace and balance necessary in combat. She also instructed her in the art of throwing blades.

It gave me a brief respite, but all too soon, it was my turn to fight again.

When we fought, the witch assassin used the two sabers she had demanded of me back in Chipenden. Had she been planning this even then? Had her intention been for me to fight Kauspetnd all along? It seemed very likely.

Now she used those sabers just as the assassin had, assuming both his strengths and weaknesses; thus the practice could not have been better matched to what I’d eventually face.

She also taught me what she called her dance of death—the whirling, spinning sequence of attacks that were hard to defend against.

Each time the Kobalos fought a new human challenger, we were there, watching, and each time Grimalkin learned something new to pass on to me. I tried to detect any weaknesses myself, but could find none. The Shaiksa seemed flawless, and none of the challengers lasted more than a minute or two. The contests were very one-sided, but one thing had changed.

It hadn’t rained for some time, and I wondered whether up in the mountains, as winter approached, the source of the river was now frozen. Whatever the reason, the river was far lower than it had been when we first arrived. The contests no longer took place in swirling water; they were now mostly fought on dry stones, accompanied by the crunch of boots on gravel.

Somehow I still found time each day to teach my apprentice her trade. It helped to keep my nerves at bay. We were both missing the County; this chilly camp on a riverbank was very different from our life in Chipenden—the life she’d expected to lead as a spook’s apprentice.

“I wish we could go home,” she said. It was a sentiment she expressed at least three times each day.

“What do you miss most?” I asked, wondering if I could make things here more bearable for her.

“The trees—ash, oak, and sycamore. The ones here are all conifers, and they all look the same. And I miss people talking in words I can understand. I really do need to make an effort to learn the language.”

“Grimalkin did promise that we’d return before the onset of winter, before the journey becomes impossible. She’ll keep her word,” I replied.