could make no other choice. I knew the choice would cause conflict, but sometimes, a forest fire brings new life, and from bloodshed can spring renewal. Such matters are not always ours to decide.”
“Renewal,” Sasha murmured. “That's a Goeren-yai philosophy.”
“Warlike cultures always believe in renewal,” Kessligh replied. “They have to.” And then, before she could respond…“Sasha, I'm not happy that you chose a fight. I sympathise with your reasons, but you are far too important to be risking yourself in such a way. Important to your role as uma, and important to me personally.
“However, what's done is done. And I know you, Sasha. You cannot sleep because you feel compassion. Even for a thug like Farys Varan, you feel compassion because you know your skills utterly outclass his. I know because I've faced the same. When your opponent has so little chance, it feels like murder, and then you must face your conscience.”
He reached from beneath his blanket and clasped her shoulder with one firm, sword-hardened hand. “Feel no pity for him, Sasha. Only you can cause your defeat tomorrow morning. As skilled as you are, any hesitation, any indecision against a man of his talents will surely cost your life. As long as you remain hathaal, he cannot touch you. But hathaal requires total concentration and technical perfection. In that way, he actually has more leeway for error than you. He fights with strength and strength is always strong, even when imperfectly applied. For svaalverd, strength comes from the application itself. Should the application fail, you shall lose not only technique, but strength as well.”
“I know,” Sasha murmured. “I know that. The edge is fine, even against my opponents in the Baerlyn training hall. At my best, even the best of them is no chance against me. When I fight distracted, or without full concentration, I come home black and blue. But…” and she took a deep, shuddering lungful of cold air, “…you know my moods. I cannot sustain one emotion for any long period. And now, as much as I hated Farys at the time, and still hate him now…it is difficult to sustain. That's all.”
“You hold the Hadryn responsible for Krystoff's death,” Kessligh reminded her.
Sasha nodded. “I do,” she murmured. “But it was not by their own hands. It was not by Farys's hand.” A flash of memory…a priest at the door to the tuition room. Musical lessons—the piccolo pipe, no less. A grave, sombre man, kneeling at Sasha's side. Dawning trepidation and terror. “They misinformed him as to the size of the Cherrovan raiding party. They knew he would charge in and be defeated by superior numbers. Once, I thought I could kill every man in Hadryn for that treachery. But now…” She broke off, unable to finish the sentence. A lump grew in her throat. For a moment, there was only the silence of the vast, cold night.
“Perhaps I don't love him enough,” Sasha whispered. The piccolo pipe, falling to the floor. Breaking. “He was my only true friend. He had faith in me when no one else would. I dreamed of duelling with Hadryn men for vengeance for many years. I should not be having these doubts. If I'd truly loved Krystoff, I'd kill Farys and dance on his corpse.”
“Dreaming is easy,” said Kessligh. “Killing is hard.”
“It shouldn't be,” Sasha said. “Not if you believe in the cause.” She gazed at her uman, her eyes hurting. “How did you do it? You've killed so many. How do you do it, and not doubt?”
“I always doubt,” Kessligh replied, with as close as Sasha had ever heard him come to a gentle tone. “When you cease to doubt, you are lost. But the world is as it is, Sasha. One cannot find peace without accepting that. People die and people kill, and even if we are all flawed people, we cannot achieve anything good if we allow our enemies to defeat us. We must survive, Sasha. You must survive. Now, by your own choice, you must kill to survive. And you shall.”
Sasha gazed at the mist upon the lake as she walked behind her honour guard, six men of the Falcon Guards who had volunteered for the duty. The eastern hills formed a dark, rugged line against the pale sky. High above, sunlight caught distant wisps of cloud and turned them brilliant yellow against the blue. The grass beneath her boots was damp, a not-quite frost that lay across the valley plain and gave the huddled