River Secrets by Shannon Hale

blink, and what he did not say seemed to hang above Razo’s head.
Is she better?
    “What do you think?” asked Talone.
    “I don’t think much, Captain. You know that.”
    Talone did not laugh. Razo wondered if that meant he agreed, if he did think Razo was as witless as a startled hare. Razo slumped. “I hope it isn’t Enna.”
    “We need to be sure.”
    “You want me to keep sleeping in her room?”
    Talone shook his head. “Megina is right. And Enna’s safety relies on the fact that no one knows who she is. If we look like we’re protecting her…No, it’s better to watch her from afar.”
    “Finn’ll go back,” said Razo.
    “I know.”
    What if he’s carrying off the bodies she burns?
Razo wanted to ask.
    A knock jumped Razo to his feet, javelin in hand. Talone opened the door, his face as emotionless as ever.
    “Good morning, Captain Talone.”
    Captain Ledel’s hair was a dirty yellow, tied back at his thick neck, the tip flung over one of his warrior shoulders. His eyes looked tired, but he smiled pleasantly into the impressive scar that ran down his jawline. Razo generally approved of facial scars. Sadly, all his own battle marks were on his torso where girls could not easily catch sight of them.
    “You are occupied, Captain?” Ledel asked, looking at Razo. He had a peculiar rasp to his voice that made Razo wonder if he had been up all night.
    “One of my soldiers is here to receive his daily orders,” said Talone.
    Ledel nodded once, an approving gesture. “You are an early riser. I always say, a captain should never sleep.”
    “Not when anyone is looking,” said Talone.
    “I hope you will postpone any engagements this morning. The men need amusement, and tension often yields under the power of some friendly bashing. What do you say to mock combats at the training grounds?”
    Talone barely hesitated before nodding. “I’ll wake my men.”
    “Good. It’s natural for recent rivals to feel animosity. We are all military men, and the war is fresh in our ears, but I won’t tolerate disorderly violence. There is nothing I despise so much as professionals in the art of war who think they can stomp upon its rules.”
    Ledel spoke with a trembling earnestness that raised goose bumps on Razo’s skin. Why was Ledel so desperate to assert his fervor for following the rules of war? It made Razo wonder.

8
The Own’s Worst Swordsman
    Ledel’s men were waiting on the patch of uncovered soil between the two barracks, still bleary-eyed and wincing at the sharp disk of the sun. The morning light exposed every scar on their faces as well as every heap and dip in the dirt. Razo fiercely, desperately avoided looking at the spot where the body was buried.
    Ledel tossed two wooden swords into the fighting ring, matched the first pair, and combat began. Razo squirmed as he watched, thinking of eleven different ways a wooden sword could kill. When one soldier managed to touch his opponent anywhere between waist and neck, one of the captains would call out, “Match, for Tira,” or, “Match, Bayern.”
    A couple of rounds into the exercise, Razo caught sight of Ledel muttering to his secondman, his jaw scar looking pink and raw and his manner intense. Razo shadowed them in time to hear, “…we’ll see how well they perform as soldiers without the fire fighting for them. If only they do not…”
    Razo kept walking and joined Finn.
    “Do you get the feeling they’re just waiting for the chance to poke out someone’s eyeball?” Razo whispered under the din of clacking swords.
    Finn nodded. “Everything about this feels like the war, only without the killing.”
    “So far.” Razo looked for Tumas and squinted against the morning sun, his eyes tearing. “That big brute of theirs, every time he looks at me, I get the crawly sensation that he’s spittin’ eager for the chance to slice me pigwise.”
    “Tumas,” Ledel called the soldier into the ring.
    Razo snorted. “There he goes. I wonder what