Into the Dark Lands by Michelle Sagara West

The windows of his study showed sundown was near, but years of discipline kept him at a pretense of work, even when his mind wasn’t on it.
    Latham nodded quietly, walking into the study itself to take
one of four vacant seats. He looked up at the flat, plain ceiling and stretched his neck, pushing his cowl aside. “Pallen’s just arrived, Grandfather. He’s taking a moment with his daughter; he’ll be in shortly.”
    The Grandfather smiled and shuffled his chair around to face his visitor’s. “Not if I know his daughter. But come, what word?”
    â€œAs much as we may both have disagreed with Kerlinda, she seems to be doing her work well; our casualties on the front have lessened dramatically, although apparently she’s ridden three horses into ground. She’s been traveling with the companies, but she goes where she’s needed.”
    â€œWorried?”
    Latham nodded. “But I do that frequently.”
    The Grandfather frowned.
    We both worry, Latham, and we both have good reason. She drives herself harshly. I wonder if she sees the faces of the saved at all—or if she dwells only on the dead. But even that was not the greatest worry. He ran a gray-sleeved arm over his forehead and closed his eyes a moment.
    â€œShe isn’t warrior-trained. Not truly.”
    Latham was grateful to the Grandfather for putting into words the fear that not even he would voice. But having said it, what else was left?
    â€œThe Lady will be pleased.”
    Latham watched the Grandfather closely for a moment.
    Will she? He wondered. Kerlinda is her youngest .
    Â 
    Telvar swung low, pulling his shield back.
    Erin jumped up, feeling the wood of the blade skim the bottom of her boots. She landed to the side as his shield came forward, missing her.
    They had been fighting for fifteen minutes—each one, like this, strenuous and exhausting. He was pleased; she could tell this because he drew the energy—from where, she didn’t know—to step up his attack. He’d not yet managed to connect.
    She parried well, but dodging was more effective; twice the sheer strength of his blow had almost unbalanced her. Unfortunately, dodging required more energy. She bit her lower lip. She was going to lose this one. Then again, she always did against Telvar.
    He feinted low; she began to jump to the side when he shifted the direction of his sword in midswing.

    The sound of wood against bone was unmistakable.
    Against any other opponent, she would have cried out in pain. This was Telvar. She bit her tongue, tasting the tang of salt in her mouth.
    She kept fighting, but less smoothly now, and much more defensively. The pain was bad.
    She tried to concentrate around it, adjusting her movement to favor her injured side. Just as she would have to do if she fought a real enemy.
    Real enemy? The strength of Telvar’s continued attack made her wonder. But not for long; just as she favored her side, he did, striking or feinting for her injuries.
    It wasn’t fair; they both knew it—but they both knew that their enemies would not be fair in battle.
    She concentrated, defending against his attack. His sword hit her side again, less easily and less viciously than before, but no less painfully.
    For a second she wanted to call it—but only for a second. Then she clamped her jaw shut.
    No. Let him call it when he’s finished. She pushed the pain back with the force of her will, raw and angry.
    The pain diminished. Not immediately, but quickly enough that she noticed it. She had no time to wonder; instead she took advantage of her renewed freedom of motion.
    And for the first time, she managed to land a blow. A feeble one, but it didn’t matter.
    Telvar raised his right hand.
    â€œHold.”
    He was smiling.
    Erin couldn’t recall a time when she had seen him smile before, not even outside of the circle.
    She began to back away to the edge of the green.
    Still smiling,