Fortney Nurani stood in a stiff combat stance, her muscles taut, her messy dark hair in strands around her face. Breath sawed in and out of her lungs as sweat rolled down her bronze skin.

  Kadir Rami circled her, eyeing her critically. He was grizzled and massive, a bear of a man, with a graying beard and sharp eyes. In one hand he carried a long, round stick that was covered with dents, scratches, and scars.

  The training hall was long and dimly lit. Most of the rooms of the palace had broad, open archways to release the heat and let in light, but the training hall was closed. Oil lamps of wrought brass lined the mudbrick walls, but only a few were burning. They lit the woven rugs that hung between them, adorned with stylized pictures of various animals.

  Fortney kept her eyes forward and her senses out as Kadir stalked around her. Her hands were loosely clenched, ready to strike in any direction, as though she was surrounded by attackers.

  She sensed his sudden movement behind her. She ducked as Kadir's stick whistled through the air where her head had been. Dropping to one knee, Fortney shifted forward, catching her weight on her fingertips. From her position on the ground she drove a heel back toward the source of the strike. The battered stick cracked solidly into her ankle.

  Fortney didn't have time to wince, though she knew the pain of that mistake was going to be with her for a week. She rolled away, the stick crashing into the floor behind her.

  She sprang to her feet. Kadir was simply standing there, one hand behind his back, looking disappointed.

  Without warning, Fortney drove at him with a series of strikes. Halos of sweat flew from her as she flung attacks at her impassive trainer. He dodged and deflected, stepping backward. He looked almost bored.

  Kadir struck back, lashing out with the stick. Fortney caught the blow with her shoulder, grunting as a new bruise was born. The stick lanced out, aiming for her face. She caught the end, yanking it away from him. She tossed it away and it clattered to the floor. Her fists snapped back up.

  She paused, her mud-brown eyes forward, not focused on any one thing, but paying attention to Kadir, watching his waist to see which way his weight would shift.

  Kadir stepped to one side, angling to her flank. She drove at him with renewed determination, launching blows at him from every direction: her fists and feet slammed into his blocks or shot through the air as he dodged. Still, she flowed from attack to attack, relentlessly driving at him, trying to land a single solid strike.

  Fortney changed one of her strikes at the last moment. Instead of a knife-hand aimed at his neck, she grabbed his lapel. Kadir shifted his hips, preparing to counter a throw, but her knee came up instead, screaming toward his midsection. He barely had time to drop his elbow enough to buffer the blow before she drove her knee into him.

  The strike knocked him back three steps. He stood up and signaled the end of the exercise.

  "Excellent strike," he said. His voice was deep and slow. "Use your enemy's expectations against him." He grunted. "Now, tell me what you did wrong."

  It took Fortney a minute to catch her breath enough to be able to speak.

  "I was too slow to respond to your attack," she said. "I kicked too high, leaving an opening for counterattack." Kadir waited expectantly. She heaved a bit more, thinking. "I... should have set my position before counterattacking?"

  Kadir shook his head.

  "All wrong," he said. "Those were symptoms. The result of your singular failing."

  She bowed stiffly.

  "Forgive me, mo'abbi. I am an ignorant child. Make me stronger."

  "You do not take control of the battle." Kadir gestured at the wall rugs, pointing out specific animals. "You fight like a rabbit, watching, letting your opponent set himself, letting him think. Fight, instead, like the tiger. Make your opponent react to you. Prey on him. He is your victim."

  "Yes, mo'abbi. I will remember."

  Kadir fetched his stick then frowned, staring at her.

  "Have you the spirit for another round?"

  Fortney dropped into a combat stance. Her muscles screamed, and she could still feel the sting of Kadir's blows pulsing under her skin. Her ankle wobbled a little from the crack it had taken, but she tensed her muscles around it to keep it firm.

  "I will do what I must."

  Kadir's mouth tightened.

  "Always, you push yourself so."

  "It is my duty. A princess of Namar?n must always be ready. I must be prepared to take up my father's sword. To protect our people. To protect ourselves."

  "Pray that it never be so." He stared at her for a long moment, considering. Then he signaled the end of the exercise. Fortney's shoulders lowered along with her fists, and her brow crinkled.

  "Mo'abbi? We have not sparred."

  "A different lesson for you, before we end today. A more important one." He walked over to her and she dropped her guard entirely. "Things have grown tense in the city. The Sultan is making treaty with Arden. Many disapprove."

  "The evidence of my father's wisdom will be borne out in the passage of time," she said stiffly.

  "That may be. But for now, there is unrest. Rebellion, some say." He leveled a direct stare at her. "Some say that the hashashim have been seen on this side of the river."

  Tension wound back into Fortney's body. Hashashim. The cult of assassins. Relentless. Unkillable, so the legends said.

  "The guards will--" she began.

  "The guards will fall," Kadir broke in. He stepped closer to her. "The hashashim will not be stopped by pretty palace guards. You know well enough how one determined individual can slip past the sleepy eyes of guards."

  She stepped away from him. "They would die to protect us! "

  "The guards would die, yes." He sighed. "Long have I tried to teach you to depend on others, but the hashashim are different. The walls will not stop them. The guards will not stop them. Your only defense is yourself. Your eyes and your wits."

  "And you, my loyal bodyguard."

  Kadir smiled thinly. "I am a defense. Like the palace guards. Like the walls of the city. But your last defense is you. Ever and only yourself. When treachery strikes, when the hashashim attack, you will stand alone. You are your last defense."

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Fortney looked down at her battered fists. Her hands were raw and bony, with scarred knuckles. She flexed her ropy muscles.

  "I will strike down every foolish rebel and their hired knives," she snarled.

  Kadir grunted. "You know well enough how to fight. But now you must learn to pay attention."

  "What do you m--"

  Fortney's words were cut off as Kadir's scarred stick smashed into the back of her leg just above her knee. She cried out in pain and surprise, and collapsed to the floor on her side.

  Kadir's stick jabbed viciously into her midsection, driving the air from her. She gasped, trying to pull breath. She executed a clumsy roll to get some distance from him.

  "You have rules," he said harshly, advancing on her. "You have expectations." Rattled, she tried to push herself to her feet. The stick crashed down again, smashing into one of her wrists, driving her arm out from under her. She fell to the floor again. "The hashashim do not have rules. The fight will begin when you are not ready." Another blow fell, driving a weak cry from her. "They will strike from the dark." Again. "They will strike where you do not expect." Again.

  Fortney curled in a ball on the floor, covering her head, gasping, all her training scattered in the need to protect herself from the blows.

  Kadir regarded the quivering lump on the floor.

  "I have beaten you with beginner's blows."

  "I was not expecting them!"

  "You never will," he said.

  "I am sorry, mo'abbi!" She rolled onto her knees and held her arms up, trembling. "Teach me!"

  "I have trained you to fight. Now, I will train you to survive. From now on, you are never safe. You will always watch. You will always be aware. And above all, when you are struck, you will strike back. Strike back harder. Faster."

  "I will learn, mo'abbi!"

  Kadir raised an eyebrow.

  "You cannot learn on the floor," he replied.

  "I will!" Quivering with exhaustion, she forced herself up to her knees.

  The stick crashed down on her back, forcing a cry of pain from her.

  "Then why do you cower? Why do you not stand? I will not stop until you stop me."

  Fortney looked up, comprehension dawning. Kadir was raising his stick again. He brought it down, only to have Fortney catch his wrist. Her face hardened.

  "You still have not stopped me," he said, grinning.

  Her face curled into a snarl.

  "I will."

  She drove a palm strike at his midsection. He blocked it with his forearm, but the force of the blow made him step back. He grunted and signaled the end of the exercise.

  Fortney did not relax. She stayed in her ready stance. A huge, toothy grin broke across Kadir's face.

  "Already you learn," he said. "Perhaps you can survive."

  "I will do what I must."

  Kadir grunted and bowed to her.

  "You do not have to be in a combat stance always," he said. "But you must be watchful always. Times have grown more dangerous. Keep your eyes up and your steel heart strong."

  Her brow drew down, and her face set with steel determination.

  "I will, mo'abbi."

  Fortney strode into the viewing-chamber. She had cleaned up and rubbed soothing ointment on her many bruises. She had also traded her training clothes for a white silk top and surwal, softening the hard angles of her muscular form.

  The evening was cool, and the open veranda allowed in the chill night breeze from the plains. It was early enough that the stone columns and floor still held some of the heat of the day, radiating warmth to battle the chill.

  The veranda looked out over the city of Baradon, the Shining City of Namar?n. All was quiet, a counter to the bustle and liveliness of the day. The sky was a deep blue-black, with bright stars winking down. The moon settled, fat and round over the city, shining her comforting rays on the sleeping houses.

  Her father the Sultan stretched out on the cushioned divan in the room. It was positioned to look out from the veranda into the night. Fortney walked up and stood next to him.

  "Ah, my daughter, the Jewel of Baradon," he said. His eyes turned to her. "The garden of a single flower. Like a cool drink on a thirsty day is your presence."

  "You've been writing poetry again," she said shortly.

  The Sultan chortled, his broad face opening in a happy grin. He had a full, rich beard and two rows of perfect, square teeth, with a gap in between the top two. He had round cheeks perched beneath his twinkling eyes.

  "Am I not allowed? If a man, even a Sultan, cannot indulge in beauty, what is the point of living?"

  Fortney crossed her arms, glaring out at the city.

  "They say there is rebellion. They say the hashashim have come."

  "My Fortney, always so serious. Come, enjoy the night. Watch the moon. Serious matters will snatch our attention away soon enough. Take a moment of pleasure where you may."

  Fortney pinched her lips.

  "Why do they rebel? What do they hope to achieve?"

  The Sultan sighed and sat up.

  "They want what all rebels want," he said. "They want the desires of their own selfish hearts. They think that toppling our order will allow them to set themselves on high." He shrugged. "Maybe it will. There is never a shortage of men willing to grieve others for their own ends."

  "You should call the Amtaka, the Immortal Warriors, into the city. Crush the rebellion. Destroy their poisonous words."

  The Sultan smiled indulgently at Fortney.

  "It is too simple a solution for too complex a problem. Ten thousand soldiers in the city would only fan the flames of rebellion. Whispers in doorways, fear carried from ear to ear." He leaned back. "Besides, the rebels hide like roaches in the grain. They burrow in among the people. It is not an army we fight, but a thought."

  "What is the thought that we fight against, father?"

  The Sultan shrugged. "The fear of a treaty with Arden. Many believe the Ardenians are devils."

  "Are they?"

  The Sultan pushed himself to his feet and walked to the veranda, looking out over the city.

  "They are simply men," he said over his shoulder. "They live at ease in their misty land. Where we Namar?nians live by our strong hearts, the Ardenians live by their sharp minds." His gaze grew flinty. "They are peculiarly clever. They have created the most wonderful devices. Fabulous inventions that would help us here in Namar?n."

  "Instead of treaty," Fortney said, joining him on the veranda, "could we not simply eliminate them? Is an accord worth upsetting the populace? We could take the fat of their land and quell these rebellious ideas in one blow."

  "Ever the direct solution from the jewel of my heart." He paused for a long moment. "You do not get more milk by killing the milk-goat. Their land is distant and well-protected. Also, I have read about the weapons the Ardenians use in war. They are fantastical. Scarcely to be believed."

  Fortney raised a skeptical eyebrow.

  "Surely they are not so powerful as all that? A sword is a sword. A spear is a spear. If your weapon is sharp and does not break, one is as good as another."

  The Sultan shook his head. "Their weapons are beyond anything we have seen," he said. "Bottles of lightning that can seize a dozen warriors at once. Great steel beasts that eat everything in their path. We would spill much Namar?nian blood to fight them. Too much. Our soldiers are not a coin to be so lavishly spent."

  Silence fell between them as they stood side by side, gazing out into the cool evening.

  There was a disturbance at the door, and a frantic scratching.

  "And now our pleasant time comes to a close," the Sultan sighed and turned back, walking into the room. "Come," he said to the door.

  A richly dressed servant stumbled in, gasping, and flung himself on the bare stone floor, facing the divan.

  "Batavayzu!" he cried, heaving. "Darozer eh Shah! In humility I come before the Sultan!"

  "Rise and speak," the Sultan said gravely.

  The servant lifted himself to one knee, keeping his face pointed to the floor.

  "A catastrophe, luminous Sultan! The sanat-magi--the priests, they have seen a dire star tumbling from the sky!"

  The Sultan tensed.

  "What is the interpretation?"

  "They did not say, my Sultan!"

  "Then fetch one of them to give me the interpretation!"

  "I will, O Light of Namar?n!"

  The servant fled. The Sultan frowned and stroked his beard.

  "I'll never understand why the sanat-magi don't simply come over and tell me their bad news directly," he muttered. "They do enjoy their theatrics, I suppose. 'The tiger hunts the fields he loves.'"

  It was not long before one of the sanat-magi swept in, his long, ornate robes dragging along the cold stone floor. He had the three long, red marks of an interpreter-priest tattooed on his forehead, cold, dead eyes, and corpse-pale skin.

  "Batavayzu, darozer eh Shah," the priest intoned, bowing.

  "Speak," the Sultan said. "Tell me the of this dire star."

  "It is the star of sundering, O brightness of Namar?n. It falls from the northwest sky. This indicates a foreign land. It came through the constellation of the Viper. This warns of treachery. It came toward our own glorious city of Baradon, home of the Sultan, the cradle of eternal brightness, the harbor of the dawn." The priest raised one arm, pointing at Fortney. "This represents the Sultan and his family."

  The Sultan stared intently at the priest, his jollity evaporating.

  "What does all that mean?" he asked.

  "The interpretation is this, O Crown of Baradon: there are foreign vipers in the land of the Sultan. One will strike, and the house of the Sultan will be divided. Part will be cast away to a distant land, into the heart of treachery itself. This is the interpretation of the star, O bountiful Sultan."

  The Sultan's face hardened into fierceness.

  "I have cast vipers out of my kingdom before," he said. "If they want to touch my family, I will water the kingdom with their blood." He took a deep, steadying breath. "Fortney, from now on, stay close to Kadir. Do all that he instructs you."

  Fortney frowned, but nodded.

  "I will, father," she said quietly.