He reached out for her, lips framing words she did not hear. For in that moment Calenne Trelan’s tortured mind cast off from the shores of the waking world and took refuge upon a sea of turbulent dreams.

Astridas, 2nd day of Radiance

Astridas, 2nd day of Radiance

Friendship is worth nothing unless tested.

Better an enemy of unwavering purpose than an ally of uncertain faith.

from the sermons of Konor Belenzo

Fifteen

Fifteen

Calenne awoke swathed in blankets. A dull ache shadowed her thoughts. Daylight streamed through cracks in the pavilion’s panels, parting gloom sweet with the scent of dew-laden canvas. She heard muffled grunts of men and women at labour beyond, and . . . the clash of weapons?

The previous night flooded back. The wolf’s-heads. The Black Knight.

She sat bolt upright and clutched the blankets to her thin blouse. A blouse that felt tighter about her right arm than was usual. Katya’s coat and boots sat piled beside the low, slatted bed. Her scabbarded sword rested against the tent pole. Where was she?

“Good morning.”

Shadows shifted on the tent’s far side. The scarred face. The eyes.

She half-sprang, half-fell from the bed. Her knee jarred, but her hand closed about the sword. Before the Black Knight could close the distance, she had the blade free. Its point wove uncertainly between them.

“Get away from me!”

The shriek was fear given voice. Calenne hated its tremor.

The Black Knight arched an eyebrow and raised his hands. “You’ve nothing to fear.”

Nothing to fear. From the man who’d slain Katya. “You expect me to believe that?”

Better. She almost sounded in control. Calenne embraced the lie, clutched it tight and willed it to be truth.

He circled closer. She sidestepped to keep the blade between them and realised too late that the motion took her further from the tent’s flaps and safety.

“I hope you’ll apply reason,” he said. “I could have harmed you while you slept, had I desired. Instead, my physician tended your wounds. How is your arm?”

Calenne’s free hand found the bandage below her right wrist, and the scabbed cut upon her brow. Neither felt as bad as they should.

The pavilion’s folds parted to admit a man whose left arm ended in a knotted bundle of cloth a little above his elbow. His tunic bore both the silver swan and a captain’s star.

“Bit of a racket, sah. Everything squared and set?” The newcomer’s voice held the gravelly vowels of one who’d lived his formative years in the heart of Tressia. His one good eye took in the scene with wry amusement. “Begging your pardon, but I’ve warned you about this before. Ain’t no way to meet a woman. Ain’t no way to meet anybody.”