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do-kha?” she finally asked.
    “I earned it, of course,” Reon said.
    To Fawbry, Malja said, “She’s not Gate. They get their do-kha at birth.”
    Reon’s eyes widened. “Is that what you call the gods? Gate?”
    “They are no gods. And Harskill is no —”
    Reon stepped back, lowering deeper in her stance, and held her arm out to the side. Her do-kha stretched off her forearm and reformed into an impressive blade. She paused to stare at the blade before settling back into her stance. “I told you not to speak about Lord Harskill.”
    Malja swung out Viper. “I’ve known him for years, and I swear that he —”
    “Years? That’s it? I’ve known him my whole life. I’ve waited and watched for him, and I won’t lose my chance to some old lady who barely knows the Lord let alone disrespects him.”
    Reon lunged forward, leading with her blade. Malja danced to the side, not even bothering to block with Viper. The lunge had been slow and sloppy. But her opponent made up for it with effort. Reon did not stumble forward like most novices who found their target had moved. Instead, she pivoted and swung wildly for Malja’s head.
    Ducking the blade and turning the motion into a sideways roll, Malja evaded the attack. Reon swiped through the air and cut across a wide leaf. Several glowing pods dropped and burst open. Seeds popped against the ground, releasing a wretched stench.
    Reon’s do-kha rippled. She gave it a quick shake but the blade collapsed back, forming into a sleeve once more. Malja eased back. She wanted to attack, to take out another Gate, especially one that aligned with Harskill, but this woman had no skill with a blade and couldn’t even control her do-kha. If she was Gate, she would have to be the most sheltered, pampered Gate.
    Maintaining her odd fighting stance, Reon raised two fists. Malja wanted to give another warning — she had no desire to fight sword-to-hand. But she also wanted to smack her opponent for the old lady jibe. Then Reon’s skin changed.
    It happened fast and without any visible effort on Reon’s part. Her skin simply turned green and black in a pattern that blended in with the swamp foliage. If not for the distinctly black do-kha, Malja would never have been able to see her. As if to insult Malja’s thoughts, the do-kha shifted its color to match Reon’s skin. The woman had disappeared.
    “Um, Malja?” Fawbry said.
    “Shh,” she said as she put Viper away. Swinging blindly would do no good and might even cause her harm. Better to have her hands free, able to grapple when Reon attacked.
    Malja pressed her back against the pipe, cutting out the most dangerous attack Reon could attempt — from behind. She might try to drop in from above, but Malja guessed she would hear Reon’s footfalls on the pipe. No, the attack would come from the front or side now.
    She looked for any incongruities in the foliage, any hint of where Reon hid. Nothing. Though she loathed the idea of lowering her eyes in a fight, she had no opponent to keep her eyes upon. Malja took quick glances at the ground, searching for footprints. There were too many — Fawbry’s, Reon’s, the groyles’, and her own.
    She glanced down again and caught the movement of some mud. Right before she felt the blow, she realized the movement was Reon pushing off into an attack. Reon landed a firm sidekick into Malja’s gut. Malja grabbed for the leg, but Reon snapped it back with expert speed and shoved out again with a kick to the head.
    Malja clanged back against the pipe. She saw Fawbry move and put out her hand. “Stay where you are.”
    Reon had some training, that was clear, but Malja had far more experience. She raised her fists to protect her head and waited. She turned left and right, exposing her side. The attack had to come. Her opponent was too cocky to back away.
    Now that she anticipated it, Malja heard the attack before it landed. As expected, Reon kicked at Malja’s exposed flank. This time,