I had no over-robe to cast aside, no gloves to pull off casually to intimidate my opponent, so I just drew my sword and stalked the man I wanted to serve as my high king.

Take him down fast, Stala had advised me, and hard. So I did.

The dwarves were short, but their strength, like mine, was tremendous. I’ve heard men say that dwarves are slow—but that’s what comes from listening to too many minstrels’ songs. No man who’d ever faced a dwarf with an ax or sword ever said they were slow—and no more was I. I had adapted some of their moves—beheading a man a foot taller than I was, for instance, was singularly useless to me, but with a few changes it was effective against a mounted opponent.

Axiel said he thought I was better with a battle-ax than a sword, but I preferred the sword because it made me feel less barbaric. When I fought, part of me loved it, loved flesh parting under my weapon, loved the sounds of metal on metal and bellowing men. And what hitting people with an ax or morningstar made me feel was more than I could comfortably live with afterward. The sword is a cleaner weapon.

The first time my sword hit Kellen’s, it struck sparks. If he hadn’t turned his blade and dodged, I’d have broken his sword then. As Stala had warned, he was well-trained. I could see it in the line he maintained with his body and sword, could see it in the way he managed to save his blade against my longer, heavier sword.

But the weakness of his imprisonment kept him from the edge of speed that he might have otherwise held over me. My use of dwarven techniques kept him from settling firmly into his style. I controlled the fight from the first blow and he was swordsman enough to know it. I allowed eight clashes of blade before I knocked his sword across the ring. Too few for him to adjust to the strangeness of my style. One solid hit from my shoulder and he was on the cold ground with my sword at his throat.

I left him there while I took my aunt’s observations and lectured Kellen on what he needed to work on in a dry tone I also stole from her. And as she did to her new recruits who resented serving under a woman, I left him without a shred of pride. He lay in the dust beaten and raw.

When I stepped away, Kellen rolled to his feet and stalked to his sword, which he sheathed with trembling anger.

“My father’s man was the half-human son of the dwarven king,” I said mildly. “He taught me dwarven style, which works very well for me. That’s why you felt like you couldn’t quite get your balance.”