by S. L. Viehl
The Blade Master didn’t even try to dodge my fist. “Then Fayne will prevail over both of you. Is that
what you wish, Sajora?”
That question haunted me through the next days, as the medical people tried once more to patch my knee
back together. Most of it I spent drugged, and when I did have a lucid moment, I usually saw some nurse
or doctor standing beside my berth, making notes or checking my vitals.
“I want to speak to the Blade Master,” I said, croaking the words until a nurse brought me some water.
“He will be here tonight to visit you.” She did something to the infuser line in my arm, and my eyelids grew
heavy. “Rest now, while you can.”
Uel appeared the next time I gained consciousness. He drew back the linens to look at my leg. I felt a
vague sense of surprise to see it still attached. “The doctor has not removed the ruined components. I
ordered him to wait until you have decided what you wish to do.”
“There’s no decision to make. I knew what the risks were.” Everything felt dull and faraway. “It has to be
amputated.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
I focused on his artificial face. “It was a trap. Fayne and her silver buddies were waiting for me. She
smashed my knee and killed Kol.”
“The Skogaq says you killed Yen to lure her into an ambush,” he said. “She admits to being responsible
for your injuries and Kol’s death, but claims inflicting them was self-defense.”
I’d existed in a universe of pain up until that moment. Now my inner beast clawed through the suffering,
tearing everything good and kind within me to shreds. “She’s lying.”
“She has witnesses.” He put a gloved hand on my shoulder. “You do not.”
I slumped back against the pillow. Of course, she could get the silvers to say anything she wanted. “So
I’m out of training, and she wins. Just like that.”
“The League and the Hsktskt have ordered me to conduct the Tåna-Shen tomorrow.” He covered my
leg. “I must, for my allies will not reach us in time. Once the trainees are dispersed, I will be allowed to
remove a small contingency of staff from Reytalon in my personal vessel. I want you to come with us,
Sajora. There is nothing left for you here.”
“I don’t care what happens.”
“I do.” He touched my hand. “It is for the best. Try to sleep now.”
After he left, I didn’t sleep. I replayed the scene in Yen’s quarters a thousand times, late into the night. I
should have been able to save Kol; I should have gotten free of the silvers and cut Fayne’s throat. I
couldn’t move my right leg without biting back a shriek, but my hands still itched for my blades.
She dies for this. Somehow, I have to find a way.
“Thinking about killing, are you?” Bek circled around my berth and studied my face before handing me
my tån and my Omorr blade. “I thought you’d feel better if you had these.”
Nothing felt as good as those hilts in my hands. “Thanks, Trainer.”
“You are welcome.” He pulled up a chair and sat down beside me. “Uel told us you weren’t coming
back. Forgive me, but I had to see that for myself.”
The Chakaran’s brusque affection might have touched me, if I’d had a heart left in my chest. “Well, you’ve
seen me.”
“Your father suffered something similar to this. I thought it would break him, but he prevailed in the end.”
The trainer cocked his scarred head. “A pity his daughter hasn’t the same spine.”
I couldn’t believe it. He was comparing me to Kieran, when my life had just been destroyed and the man
I loved sacrificed for nothing? I drove my tån into the berth mattress. “My leg is gone. So is Kol.”
“And he took your courage with him.”
“What do you want me to do, Bek? Limp out into the arena and challenge the fucking little bitch? I can’t
even stand up straight.”
“I’ve never heard you whine before. You do it well.” He showed me his teeth. “Have you tried standing
up straight?”
I looked down at the traction rig webbing. “No.”
“You might like it better than whining.” He rose to his feet, then showed me something else—an infuser
instrument the nurses had used to administer my drugs. “I’ve calibrated this for your weight and
physiology. It will deliver enough localized neuroparalyzer to deaden half a limb. You infuse yourself
behind the knee. Or what’s left of it.”
“Even if I do, they won’t let me out of here. They’ve secured the door panel.”
“Memorize this code.” Bek gave me a series of numbers, then waited for me to repeat them. “That is the
Blade Master’s access code. It will open any door in the Tåna.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“I once considered your father my finest student. Until you.” He tucked the infuser under my linens. “Now
I must go. I wish you luck, daughter of Kieran.”
I didn’t think very long or hard about what I was going to do. I watched myself pull the intravenous
needles out of my veins almost at a distance, as if it weren’t happening to me. The traction rig took
longer, until I gave up trying to release the straps and used my blade to cut my leg free. Standing took
twenty minutes, and my medications wore off by the time my right foot touched the floor.
Pain filled the world.
“Are you suicidal?” the night-shift doctor shouted when he saw me upright. He tossed down a chart and
came racing toward me. “Get back in that berth. Nurse! Assist me with this patient!”
I adjusted my hold on the bed rail and waited until he reached for me, then poised a blade at his belly.
“Step away.”
“Your knee is crushed. You cannot walk.” He looked down and paled. “You have started bleeding
again.”
“Stop the bleeding and splint the knee.”
“I will not.” He winced as the tip of my Omorr blade penetrated his physician’s tunic. “Even if I stop the
bleeding, you’ll pass out from the pain with the first step you take.”
“Then you can throw me back in the berth.” I bent down and applied the infuser with Bek’s
neuroparalyzer, then straightened. “Do it.”
I stood and fought waves of dizziness as he knelt, unwrapped the bandages, and cauterized two places
spurting blood. Looking down, I felt a little better—my upper and lower leg bones were still intact. Only
my knee joint had been demolished.
After my leg was splinted and rebandaged, I ordered a nurse to bring me garments and help me dress.
The doctor stood waiting for me to pass out, and got more irritated by the moment when I didn’t.
“Whatever you’ve infused yourself with will wear off,” he told me. “Even without the pain, your leg will
not tolerate your own weight. Now that there is nothing left of your knee, the ends of the bones will grind
together, then snap.”
“Give me that suture laser.” When he didn’t move, I sighed and grabbed the nurse, pinning her against me
with one arm and holding my blade to her throat. “Now, give me that suture laser.”
He handed it to me. “You won’t get far.”
I picked up the syrinpress they’d used to sedate me, and infused the nurse. “You’d be surprised, Doc.” I
let her fall on the berth, and grabbed the doctor as he rushed forward and gave him a dose. “Pleasant
dreams.”
I held on to anything I could and dragged my leg the first hundr
ed yards, until it became apparent I
needed a crutch. Transmuting my tån to long-sword form, I drove the tip into the floor and leaned on it as
I pulled my numb leg into my first step. Nothing snapped, nothing popped, but I did hear metal grind on
metal, and a liquid, mushy sound.
The ends of my bones. The shreds of my muscles.
I had three choices of destination, but I knew who I had to see first. There was only one person who
could help me get Fayne alone, so I went to the Blade Master’s quarters. The code Bek had given me
worked like a charm, but when I let myself in I found his rooms empty.
Maybe reconstructs are like Ren, and don’t have to sleep.
I was afraid to sit down to wait, and kept pacing around the spartan front room, wondering if I should try
to access his console and signal him.
The drugs numbing my leg made me feel sluggish and cold, and I opened his garment storage unit, hoping
to find a cloak or jacket I could wear. Instead I found a second console, built into the unit. According to
the screen, it was maintaining a direct, open relay to some point outside Reytalon.
Has to be the ships he’s been trying to get through the rift.
Since it had been left open, I could access the database and replay the last transmission, see what was
happening with the rescue effort. I pulled up the archives and saw messages had been going out every
few hours.
Uel must feel so frustrated. Then I saw a very familiar personal relay code. That can’t be right.
I keyed up the last relay sent to that particular code and put it on vid and audio. The wolfish grin of my
old friend Thgill filled the screen.
“You worry too much, old man,” ‘Gill said. “What is it now?”
Although Uel’s synthetic face didn’t appear on the screen, the audio playback responded with his voice.
“She is in a great deal of pain, Major. You’re sure you can rebuild her leg?”
“Pain is to be expected. I wouldn’t have told you to have your Skogaq hobble her if I couldn’t deal with
it.” ‘Gill leaned forward. “My commander wasn’t happy to hear you’ve made a deal with the Hsktskt, you
know. Even if you are giving us half of your trainees, he thinks it’s treason.”
“Let him think whatever he wants, as long as I get my money.” Uel made a sound approximating a laugh.
“You’re coming down on-planet for the Tåna-Shen tomorrow, aren’t you?”
“Now that Jory’s stuck in medical, there’s no reason for me to stay away. I’ll bring her new leg with me,
so you can have a look.”
“Keep the leg. We can’t do anything until we move her off Reytalon. Bring my payment.”
“Whatever you say, boss.”
The audio and vid switched off.
I removed any sign that I had been in the Blade Master’s quarters, then limped out into the corridor. The
computer room Kol had shown me was only a short distance away, and I used Uel’s access code to let
myself in and secured the door. Then I changed the code, so no one but me could enter or leave.
Bring my payment.
Whatever you say, boss.
I accessed the Tåna database, and pulled up a number of files. It was all there—names, dates,
transaction fees. The order was nothing more than a glorified slave ring. They trained their students to be
highly skilled assassins; that much was true—then put them on the block and sold them like cattle.
I turned off the vid and concentrated on unraveling the tangle of lies and deceit that had brought me to
this place, this moment. Of course, in hindsight, it was deeply suspicious that a person who could fix the
illegal tech holding my knee together just happened to be on the Terran trader. And just happened to
save me from two of his men. And just happened to strike up a friendship with me.
Thgill, waiting somewhere up in space with a new leg for me. Why? Why would Uel hire him to fix
my knee?
At the Rilken outpost, I’d bought passage on the Chraeser, but now I recalled several other stewards
turning me down flat, before I’d even made an offer. Had they been paid off? Probably. And the
Chraeser’s steward had actually approached me first, claiming he’d heard I needed passage out of the
system.
Which brought me to the Shadow—he must have been Uel. As a reconstruct, he could change his voice,
height, and weight simply by adjusting a few controls and switching out some components. And the
dimsilk garments he’d worn had effectively camouflaged his form.
The Shadow tests me—auditions me—then plants the idea of becoming a blade dancer in my head
.
He couldn’t have done anything on Joren; I’d made that mess myself. But he must have sent Uzlac to me.
The Ramothorran had also approached me—not the other way around.
But why would Uel want me on Reytalon? Why have Fayne cripple me? He could have killed me
hundreds of times, anywhere along my journey. Why keep me alive?
Is it just another kind of audition, to find out if I’m coldblooded enough to be like my father? I
thought for a moment, then turned cold down to the bottom of my soul.
It wasn’t an audition.
You learn quickly, Sajora.
He was training me.
… you will become what you were meant to be.
Training me to become like my father.
I copied everything about the enslavement of blade dancers from the database onto disc, sent three
tersely worded signals, then limped out of the computer room. It took me a long time to get to my old
quarters, and from the sound of my knee I didn’t have much time left.
I didn’t care. Fayne had to pay for what she’d done to Kol and me. And Uel; I had special plans for him.
Everyone was sitting around sulking as I staggered through the door. Only Galena got up and started
toward me, but Osrea put a hand on her arm to stop her. No one looked directly at me.
The Jorenian form of the cold shoulder, I’d assume.
“Hi, Jory,” I said, deliberately loud. “Good to see you, how’s the knee, we were so worried about you.
They had to beat us back to keep us out of medical.”
“We were—” Galena started to say, but Danea rose and stood between us.
“Kol embraced the stars for you, Terran.” Her hair seethed like wild yellow snakes.
“I know; I was there.” I scanned the other faces. “Why aren’t you celebrating? Shame to waste such a
great opportunity to party.”
Sparky’s fists clenched. “I should kill you now.”
“You’ll have to get in line,” I said, and limped over to the garment storage unit. “I’ve challenged Fayne.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
“Choose your direction wisely.”
—Tarek Varena, ClanJoren
“What say you?” Nalek shot to his feet. “Have you lost your senses, ClanSister?”
“Something like that.” I pulled out one of Kol’s tunics and held it against my chest. A little big, but it
would have to do. I balanced myself on my good leg while I stripped off my own tunic. The
neuroparalyzer was wearing off; I could feel a dull, fuzzy throbbing gathering around my knee. “I’m finally
doing something a real Jorenian does.”
“Committing ritual suicide?” Os asked.
“No.” I slipped on Kol’s tunic and turned to face them. “I declare ClanKill on the Skogaq Fayne.”
Sparky nodded. “She will do the work for me, then.”
“There’s something else you should know. Uel
hasn’t done anything to get us out of here. He’s auctioning
us—all of us—to the League and the Hsktskt, immediately after the Tåna-Shen. Some of them are
coming down to watch the bouts, see who they want to buy.”
Galena went white. “But he promised he would help us escape the war.”
“He lied. People do that.” I limped over to Renor, feeling the vague pain begin to knot and tighten. “You
told me you worked repairing drones for your HouseClan, right?” He nodded, and I reached down and
tore my trouser leg open. “Can you fuse this enough for me to stand and walk without a crutch?”
The bloody mess that had been my artificial knee seemed to shock everyone but Plas-Face, who
crouched down to examine it.
“Would not the physician do the work?” he asked me.
“No. He says it has to be amputated. What I need is for you to stabilize these”—I showed him the ruined