Kero sighed and took her first, methodical blow. Now that she knew why she was engaging in this exercise in frustration, it wasn’t quite so frustrating. And, she vowed silently, I’m going to be a lot more careful in placing my hits. I just might impress her.

She certainly wasn’t impressing her grandmother. Kethry had tested her in any number of ways, from placing a candle in front of her and telling her to light it by thinking of fire, to placing various small objects in front of her and asking her to identify which of them were enchanted. She’d evidently failed dismally, since Kethry had given up after three days and told her she’d be better off in the hands of the Shin‘a’in.

But she won’t take that sword back, Kero thought in puzzlement, swinging the ax in an underhand arc, repeating the motion over and over, switching from right to left and back again under Tarma’s watchful eye. It’s hers, but she won’t take it back. I don’t understand—it’s obviously magical, and no one in her right mind would give something like that away—but she keeps saying that it spoke for me, and it’s mine.

So, marvelous. It spoke for me. Now what am I supposed to do with it?

“Faster,” Tarma said. Kero sped up her blows, trying to keep each one falling in exactly the same place; right on top of and within the narrow bite she’d incised on the sides of the logs. Those logs were strapped tightly to either side of what had once been a tree. When it had been alive, it had somehow managed to root itself in the exact middle of this clearing and had taken advantage of the full sun to grow far taller than any of the trees around it. Perhaps that had been a mistake. From the look of the top of the stump, some two men’s height above her head, it had been lightning-struck. That top was splintered in a way that didn’t look to be the hand of man.

Maybe Grandmother got in a temper one day....

This was not where Tarma schooled her new pupil and practiced her own sword-work; this was just what it seemed, a kind of primitive back court to the Tower, with a large outdoor hearth for cooking whole deer on one side, the pile of firewood ready to be chopped on the other, and in the center, the old, dead tree with iron bands around it. A big old, dead tree. Kero could circle what was left of the trunk with her arms—barely.