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shields.
    Tulkhan signalled the bout was to begin and Imoshen tensed as the men charged, striking right and left. Horses wheeled and went down screaming. At first she thought the Ghebites had gone mad. Their swords were wicked-looking weapons half as tall as a man. Then she realised the men were turning the flat of the blades on each other. Even so, some would pay with broken bones.
    One by one the Ghebites conceded defeat, leaving the field, dazed and bleeding. At last only one horse and rider remained. General Tulkhan.
    The crowd roared.
    Tulkhan stood in the stirrups, black eyes flashing. Damp hair clinging to his broad shoulders, he took a victory lap – the model Ghebite warrior, fearless and terrifying.
    On the battlefield Tulkhan was renowned as a brilliant tactician, able to make intuitive decisions which led his men to victory even against great odds. But it was his personal bravery that had earned him his men’s devotion. They would die for him.
    Imoshen studied Tulkhan. Could he hold Fair Isle? The skills of a general were not the skills of a great statesman.
    By claiming her, he had consolidated his position, and by agreeing to honour the laws of the church, he had earned the support of this powerful body. The Beatific sat in the row behind Imoshen, flanked by her priests, lending the church’s sanction to today’s display. But Tulkhan no longer had the backing of the Ghebite Empire, and he held Fair Isle with only his loyal commanders and army. They were a formidable force, yet spread over the population of Fair Isle they were like pebbles on a sandy beach.
    Then there was Reothe, the late Empress’s adopted son turned rebel leader. The whole island knew he bided his time in the impenetrable Keldon Highlands with his ragtag army, awaiting the moment to strike.
    To retain Fair Isle, Tulkhan had to win the support of its conquered people. Imoshen knew her people. If only Tulkhan would trust her enough to heed her advice. Irony warmed her. Since when did a Ghebite listen to a woman? She was not even a True-woman, but T’En, cursed Dhamfeer in their language. And when they called her by that name, they made it an insult.
    Her hands shook with anger as she poured wine into the victory goblet and raised it high, to the applause of the crowd.
    This martial display had not only given her stronghold guard an opportunity to display their skills to the Ghebites without bloodshed, but it had reassured T’Diemn’s townsfolk.
    As word about the tourney spread across the capital, shopkeepers had locked up and harnessed their horses, piling children, blankets and food in carts. Quick-thinking bakers had thrown hot buns into calico sacks, and by noon everyone had marched out to the field where the annual spring fair was held.
    Determined to remind Tulkhan that she was not one of his slavish Ghebite women, Imoshen had taken her place in the T’Enchu display. She was wearing the traditional loose-fitting trousers, and her pure white tunic proclaimed her skill equal to that of a teacher. T’Enchu was more than a form of unarmed combat, it was a moving meditation; and it had come from the T’En homeland beyond the seas. The artform had been maintained and polished since then, and it was said a T’Enchu master could defeat an armed opponent. T’Enchu also placed males and females on an equal footing, because it relied on speed and used the opponents’ strength against them.
    Imoshen had delighted in the precision needed to pull her attacks so that she left no mark. Blows that could have broken bones merely brushed her sparring partner’s tunic. Because this was a display match and she fought a partner of equal ranking, they wore no protectors.
    But when it had come to the T’En swordsmanship bout, she had bowed out after the first round, having only just begun her training last year.
    Heart racing from the exertion, she had returned to the hastily erected dais to take her seat beside the General. As the display bout