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his sword.
    “Kylar,” Feir said. “What are you going to do with the sword?”
    “I’m going to put it somewhere safe.”
    Feir’s eyes widened. “You’re taking it into the Wood?”
    “I was thinking I’d throw it in.”
    “Good idea,” Feir said.
    “Perhaps a nice idea. But not a good one,” Garuwashi said. He closed the distance between them in an instant. The swords rang
     together in the staccato melody that would climax in death. Kylar decided to feign a tendency to overextend on his ripostes.
     With a swordsman as talented as Lantano Garuwashi, he should only have to show the weakness twice and spring the trap the
     third time.
    Except that the first time he overextended, Garuwashi’s sword was into the gap, raking Kylar’s ribs. He could have killed
     Kylar with that thrust, but he held back, wary of a trap.
    Kylar staggered back, and Garuwashi let him regroup, his eyes showing disappointment. They’d barely crossed swords for five
     seconds. The man was too fast. Ridiculously fast. Kylar brought the ka’kari to his eyes and was even more stunned.
    “You’re not even Talented,” Kylar said.
    “Lantano Garuwashi needs no magic.”
    ~Kylar Stern surely does!~
    Kylar felt an old familiar shiver, an echo from his past. It was the fear of dying. With Alitaeran broadswords, Kylar could
     have crushed Garuwashi with the brute strength of his Talent. Against the elegant Ceuran sword, Kylar’s Talent did almost
     nothing for him. “Let’s get on with it,” Kylar said.
    They began again, Garuwashi feeling Kylar out, even giving ground, seeing what Kylar could do. But there was no holding back.
     Kylar had seen that. Soon Kylar would tire and try something desperate. Garuwashi would be waiting for it—how many desperate
     men had he seen in sixty-three duels? Surely every man who had survived the first clash of blades had the same sick feeling
     in his stomach that Kylar had now. There was no room for self-delusion once the blades began singing.
    Something changed on Garuwashi’s face. It wasn’t enough to tell Kylar what he was going to do; but it was enough to tell him
     that Garuwashi thought he knew Kylar’s strengths. Now he would end it.
    There was a beat. Kylar waited for Garuwashi to advance, those damn long arms of his unbelievably quick, the stance fluid
     and sure.
    “You feel it, don’t you?” Garuwashi asked, withholding his attack. “The rhythm.”
    “Sometimes,” Kylar grunted, his eyes not leaving Garuwashi’s center, where he would see any movement begin. “Once, I heard
     it as music in truth.”
    “Many died that day?” Garuwashi asked.
    Kylar shrugged.
    “Thirty highlanders, four wytches, and a Khalidoran prince,” Feir said.
    Lantano Garuwashi smiled, not surprised at Feir’s knowledge. “Yet today you fight woodenly. You are stiff, slower than usual.
     Do you know why? That day you faced death no less than you do today.”
    Wrong, but I didn’t know that then.
    “Today,” Garuwashi continued, “you are afraid. It narrows your vision, tenses your muscles, makes you slow. It will make you
     dead. Fight to win, Kylar Stern, not to not lose.” It was disconcerting to hear good advice from the man who was about to
     kill him.
    “Here,” Garuwashi said. He lifted Ceur’caelestos and Kylar saw the edges go blunt. “I’ll know when you’re ready.”
    Feir leaned up against a tree and whistled quietly.
    Garuwashi attacked again and within seconds, the dull sword scraped Kylar’s ribs. A few more seconds passed in furious ringing
     and the dull blade grazed his forearm, then jabbed his shoulder. But even as the blows rained down on him, Kylar began to
     remember his master Durzo’s merciless sparring. His fear receded. This was the same, except now Kylar had more endurance,
     more strength, more speed, and more experience than a year ago. And he’d beaten Durzo. Once. Kylar’s vision cleared and his
     pulse slowed from its frenzied hammering.
    “That’s