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Kae’Shaman
shivered so hard he stumbled and sagged against her. She grabbed him, concerned
when she realized how fragile the holy man had become. How old. With Khul’s
passing, it seems as though all
Kae’Shaman’s
vitality had leaked away, leaving only paper-thin skin and sorrowed eyes
behind.

“Wings,” he gasped, shivering. “He
flies. Oh, dear child, I wish the Gods could spare you this trial, but if not
you, then all the world is lost. The greatest, darkest challenge of your life
looms on the horizon like great black wings in the night. If you fall, the
Endless Night swallows us all.”

Her throat ached but no tears would
come. Lady above, she was so tired, so cold and lost. All her life, she’d borne
this great duty, the endless responsibility, and now, on the day she wished to
simply curl into a ball and die from grief, she could only be reminded that she
had no life at all.

“I never had a choice,” she whispered
bitterly. “Khul said choose; Dharman said choose; but Leesha never let me have
any life of my own.”

“Nay, you always had a choice.”
Kae’Shaman’s
voice was so faint and
breathy she strained to hear him. “For generations, others have walked as the
Trinity. They have lived in the flesh, loved whom they chose, suffered for that
choice whether right or wrong, and the world continued to slip farther into
Shadow day by day. Many times, the end has come, only to be averted by the
greatest sacrifice of all. Gregar could have ended it for all time. You could
have allowed the cold waves of Khul’s death to carry you away, but you didn’t,
Khul’lanna. You didn’t.”

“I’m so weary.” She squeezed his hands
and couldn’t feel her fingers. Numb from the cold, but it had nothing to do
with the outer temperature. “It’s all in vain. Even when I win, the costs are
too great. I can’t keep carrying the world on my shoulders, this pain in my
heart, and not end up as bitter and filled with hatred as Shadow.”

“Hang on,” he gasped. “The fragile
threads holding you in this world have nearly snapped. If we lose you to
Shadow, it won’t matter how many descendants of your Lady still live. The
Endless Night will rule us all.”

“My babies!” A massive echoing roll of
thunder crashed in her head and she swayed, nearly dropping the old man. “He
can’t have my babies.”

“They won’t matter if you die. This time
could be the end. Forever.”

Evermore.

Shivering, she remembered the Black
Dragon’s amusement, his perfectly worded insults and platitudes. He knew her
well, this blackheart. He knew exactly what to say to ensure she fought to stay
alive. Why, exactly, would her greatest enemy want her to live? Only to corrupt
her and kill her himself?

Run,
brightheart. Run to death. Run to me.

* * *

WHEN KHUL’S NEAREST BLOOD APPROACHED the
pyre bearing the one he was supposed to protect above his own life, Dharman
could not look upon Varne for fear his disgust and hatred would be all too
visible. How could one who called himself Blood stand by and do nothing while
Khul died? Yet that’s exactly what all nine had done.

They had not a single scratch. It had
never occurred to them to do naught but stand by and watch as Khul surrendered
his life to the
sangral na’kindre
.

A blast of frigid winds through the bond
told him the moment Khul’lanna noticed the warrior pausing before her. Varne
had the audacity to lay his
rahke
on
the ground before her and kneel, bowing his head, as though he could offer some
atonement for the suffering he’d allowed.

“Forgive me, Khul’lanna. There was
nothing I could do.”

At her silence, Varne raised his head
warily. She stared back at him, her lovely face as pale and cold as the snow
blowing in the air.

“It was the greatest honor of all. A
warrior hasn’t been called home to Vulkar’s Clouds in such a manner for
countless years. He died as the greatest Khul we have ever known.”

“Dharman.”

Anticipation surged within him. She’d
often sworn to take the Blood’s head if anything happened to Khul. Perhaps
she’d assign him to the task. “Aye, Khul’lanna?”

“If I had been standing in Khul’s place
and a horse—no matter how holy and magnificent—had galloped at me, what would
you do?”

Without hesitation, he answered, “I
would wrap you in my arms and cover you with my body. The
sangral na’kindre
must take me first before he could carry you to
Vulkar’s Clouds.”

“And what would Sal do?”

At Dharman’s nod, Sal answered in an
uncharacteristically hard voice. “I would cover Dharman’s body with my own. We
would each shield you, Khul’lanna, and ride at your side to Vulkar.”

“Khul never wanted us to fall upon him
like fools,” Varne retorted, his face flushing. “He was a warrior and died like
a warrior.”

“And that is why I challenge you,”
Khul'lanna replied.

He spluttered and surged to his feet,
looking from Dharman to Sal and the other Blood standing with hands on
rahkes
at her back. “You would send each
of your Blood to fight me? So be it. I’ll kill them all, and then who will fall
on you, Khul’lanna, when the next assassin strikes?”

Dharman quivered with fury. He took at
step toward Varne, his teeth aching, jaws straining to keep from bellowing.
Lightly, Khul’lanna dropped her hand to his forearm, and he stopped in his
tracks, but he didn’t drop eye contact with the other warrior. Challenge had
been declared. To look away would be to lose the first part of the challenge,
and by Vulkar, he would never lose a challenge for her sake.

“Not my Blood,” she said pleasantly.
“Just me.”

Dharman whipped his head around so hard
his own hair stung his cheeks. He stared down into her face, letting his fury
and concern flare through their bond, but he didn’t say a word. Not before
their enemies.
:Varne is not to be
trusted. Even Gregar would refuse you.:

:
I was taught by the very best, and it’s well past time that I taught Varne a
lesson.:

She spoke truly, but Dharman still
didn’t like her decision to fight Varne herself. He turned back to Varne and
glared at him, deliberately flaring his eyes and nostrils wide, stiffening his
shoulders, commanding his full presence as First Blood and proudly one of
Khul’lanna’s warriors. He would have been co-mate if Vulkar had but waited
another day.

But what he could he say? To threaten
Varne with harm if he injured Khul’lanna would only diminish her own pride and
honor. So Dharman said nothing, nothing at all, though he had to bite his
tongue so hard he tasted blood.

She unsheathed the ivory
rahke
. “You’ve coveted this
rahke
for a very long time. If you win
this challenge, I’ll give it to you.”

Varne sneered, “And if you win?”

“Then I’ll finally remove that perpetual
glower off your face,” she replied, her voice still even, her manner calm and
confident.

“Give the lad your other blade.”

She arched a brow at him, slowly
unsheathing the black
rahke
Rhaekhar
had given her as a claiming gift.

Dharman’s fingers knew every carefully
carved rose and thorn by memory. It had taken him months to finish it. The
Camp’s master bladesmith had taken as much care with the steel. Blaine had told
him he’d have an apprentice position if he wanted, but there was only one thing
Dharman had ever wanted, and she stood beside him. He’d made the hilt with her
in mind, hoping beyond hope that it might catch Khul’s eye if he finished it in
time.

“Why? Are you afraid of what I’ll do if
I have two blades?”

“The black one isn’t part of our
challenge, only Gregar’s
rahke
.
That’s the one I want.”

She handed the
rahke
to Dharman, and the darkness in her eyes sent a shock of
worry through him. “Very well.”

So cold, so hard, so fragile. He feared
she might shatter beneath the strain, or worse, slip to Shadow. As
unobtrusively as possible, he drifted through her mind, seeking any hint of
Shadow or corruption that might strike her unawares, but he found nothing but
endless snowy fields and sweeping drifts against her Shining Walls, that pride
and self control that she used as a weapon.

Taken aback, Varne was slow to unsheathe
his own
rahke
. “You want to challenge
me now? While Khul lies on his funeral pyre?”

She smiled so widely that Dharman’s
scalp crawled. “Absolutely.”

Kae’Shaman
made no move to approach and make the challenge formal. Instead, he slowly and
painfully lowered himself to his knees beside the stacked wood and bowed his
head. Dharman felt like doing the same. The sheer weight of her grief made his
own heart stutter and die in his chest, yet her face might as well have been
carved from ice.

She didn’t look at him or Sal, but
simply said, “I need you to let go of me now.”

Words bubbled up within him. Her bond
had sheeted over with thick snow laced with treacherous icicles. Instead of
trying to change her mind, he gave her what little he knew of Varne’s fighting
skills.
:Beware his
rahke
shift. He likes to feint at the face and
then toss the blade to his other hand.:

:He
stole that move from Gregar.:

Relief filled Dharman enough that he
dropped his hands and signaled the rest of the Blood to step back and form a
ring about the two challengers. Gregar’s gift of Death had always felt like a
cold frost spreading in the darkest night. If he were present, nothing would
keep Khul’lanna from winning the challenge.

With her attention wholly centered on
Varne and the coming challenge, Dharman used the Blood sign language to give
them his commands.

Guard.

It was the highest level of protection short
of a Death Rider alarm. Deliberately holding his hand unmoving several moments
to emphasize a delay, he gave another command to her golden Blood only.

Kill.

Jorah grinned widely and nodded.

Varne would not leave this challenge
breathing, unless Khul’lanna willed it.

* * *

STARING AT KHUL’S FORMIDABLE NEAREST
Blood, Shannari tried to find some emotion; fear, perhaps, or at least relief
that at last she could settle this long-endured hatred between them, but she
felt nothing.

Rhaekhar had often commented that Varne
and Gregar were the two best warriors he’d ever seen use a
rahke
. They had nearly come to blows at his
Kae’Khul
, yet Gregar, the wicked trickster, had joked his way out
of the challenge. Some may have argued that he’d done so out of wary respect
for Varne’s skills, but she didn’t think so.

She’d drilled against Gregar and nothing
in this world had ever scared—or thrilled—her so much. At any moment, he could
have killed her. She knew it by the cold Shadow of Death rolling from him, the
glittering obsidian of his eyes, and the whispered promise in Dreams where he’d
lain in wait, wrapped in Shadows, and killed her.

After such a teacher, how could Varne
ever think to scare her?

Strategy, though, was another challenge
entirely. What did he expect her to do? Cower away from his towering height and
strength? Tremble at the threat of steel at her throat? Fall upon him weeping?
She saw the sorrow in his eyes. In his own abrupt way, he’d loved Khul as a
brother. He’d devoted his entire life to Rhaekhar’s welfare, and he’d failed.

She would ensure he knew it and paid
dearly for that failure.

Varne inclined his head slightly. He
might have meant it as a small gesture of respect, but with the faint curl to
his lip, she could only see the same condescending bastard that he’d always
been. She shifted the
rahke
in her
palm, deliberately making it less comfortable and natural. He’d always hated
her because she was an outlander.

So
I’ll begin fighting like one.

Once, a short sword had been her weapon
of choice, and Rhaekhar and Gregar both had worked very hard indeed to pry it
from her reluctant fingers for a
rahke
instead. However, it’d been a very long time since she’d held such a weapon.
Mentally, she ran through the old drills she’d learned as a child in Rashan. A
crusty old one-eyed soldier missing several fingers had taught her every dirty
trick he’d learned on the streets in every large city teeming with vermin
across the world. He’d taught her the visualization trick too, how to pull up
an image in her mind and push all her feelings and worry into the image so she
could fight clear.

Yet the Silver Lake she’d always used
was frozen solid. She felt it heavy and cold in the center of her chest where
her heart used to reside. All her emotions were already there, the woman
wailing, sobbing, screaming with fury and pain who’d lost her heart and soul.
She had nothing left to push into the lake.

I’m
already empty.

She lunged in a straightforward attack.
Smoothly, Varne parried her blade away. Building the cadence of wooden practice
swords thwacking in her mind, she gave him the simple strokes—
right shoulder, left, solar plexus, throat
—finishing
with a sweeping arc toward Varne’s head.