by S. L. Viehl
“Who are you?” I shouted.
“Jory. Let us not battle here.” Renor walked in and inclined his head briefly, then said to the
black-shrouded figure, “One of our females requires immediate medical attention.”
As the boys got to their feet, our captor made a shallow bow, then walked into one of the entrances
without uttering a single word. Other entrances to several corridors branched off in different directions.
Now I was totally confused.
“Do we follow him?” I asked Kol, who appeared to be seething.
Muscles started bulging as he flexed his arms. “I plan to.”
We went into the entrance after the figure, and walked a short distance into what looked like a formal
reception hall. Sparse decorations made odd patterns on the walls, but there were no furnishings and only
an inset com unit next to a door panel. The black-shrouded figure stood there waiting until we all
appeared, then tapped something on the panel, which opened.
Another figure in black emerged.
“I see you have escaped from the breeding pit,” a low, arid voice said from beneath the featureless mask.
Masculine, from the sound of it.
“If that was a breeding pit, I’m a swarm-snake,” I said. “You the head flesh peddler?”
The mask tilted to one side. “I beg your pardon?”
Kol stepped up to eye the new arrival. “Where are we? Who are you?”
“I am Dursano, second-level inductor.” He lifted a glove and removed his mask to reveal an austere,
humanoid face. “I will be briefing this group on the next level of your training.”
Osrea stepped in front of Galena. “You’re not touching our females, slaver.”
“We need to find an infirmary, Os,” I said, then gestured toward Danea as I addressed Dursano. “Our
ClanSister needs medical attention.”
He nodded. “I will see to it at once. Here.” He produced a stack of black garments. “Put these on.”
No one made a move to take them. We’d become a suspicious bunch after what had happened in the
slave pit.
“What do you mean, next level of training?” I looked at the bare chamber. Maybe this was some sort of
test to determine how resourceful we were. “What’s this second level?”
“You have done extremely well thus far. Not many students have successfully graduated from the first
level within the first week of training.”
Whatever answer I was expecting, it wasn’t that. Students, training—what the devil was he talking about?
“Where are we?”
He went to a wall console and pulled up a split image on the vid screen—one of our prison cell, and
another of the magma pit. He touched the keypad, and both vanished.
In their place were bare rooms with odd-looking grids on the floors and walls.
“They are dimensional simulators,” Kol said.
“That is correct.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “So you’re not slavers, and this isn’t Garnot.”
“You are on Reytalon.” He turned and inclined his head. “Welcome to the Tåna.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Honoring the path is as much duty as burden.”
—Tarek Varena, ClanJoren
We got dressed in the formfitting garments, which were black, but not made of the N-jui dimsilk that the
dancer on the Chraeser had worn. This fabric felt a lot like Terran cotton. The clothes also left our
hands, feet, and heads bare. Once we were all decent, Dursano led us down a corridor to a large,
well-equipped medical unit—a completely empty unit, except for two nurses and a physician, who
immediately tried to take Danea from Renor.
I stepped in. “She’s an aquatic; she needs water.” A glance around didn’t reveal any large amount handy.
“Where are your immersion tanks?”
“Give the female to us.” The doctor, a flat-faced alien with an abbreviated horn in the center of his square
brow, glared at me. “We will deal with her treatment.”
Nalek stepped in front of Renor and folded his big arms, making the sleeves of his shirt stretch. “You will
show us the immersion tanks.”
Horn Head looked at Dursano, who gave him a slight nod. Then the physician made a choppy gesture
toward the back of the facility. “This way.”
Nalek went with Renor. Kol watched them go, then addressed Dursano. “You owe us much in the way
of explanation, Inductor.”
“Yes.” Dursano waited until Nal and Ren had rejoined us. “There is a briefing room across the corridor.
Your comrade will be safe here.”
“Ren,” Kol said. “Stay with Danea.”
The inductor made no objection, and led the five of us into an anonymous meeting area across the hall.
Despite the empty chairs around a large dimensional projector, no one sat.
Dursano took a position at the projector control panel. “The aquatic requires time for proper treatment.
When she is recovered, your group may enter the second level of training.”
“Really. After being captured, operated on, and thrown in prison?” I didn’t bother to hide my sarcasm. “If
that’s level one, I can hardly wait to see what’s next.”
That got me a bland look. “You contracted transport to Reytalon, did you not?”
“Yeah, but our contractor changed his mind and sold us to slavers.” I paused. “Or was that part of the
training setup, too?”
“For security reasons, I cannot discuss our induction methods,” the inductor told me. “However, if any of
you wish to leave Reytalon, you may do so at this time.”
“We are not leaving.” Kol moved toward the console. “Not until you explain what you have done to us.”
He touched the place on his shirt that covered the new scar we all had. “Begin with these implants.”
Dursano’s lean, four-fingered hand touched the panel, and a holoimage of a round, flat object appeared
above the console. “Each of you has been given a proximity implant, placed over your primary cardiac
organ. The device provides tracking information on all students. It also records training bout ‘kills.’ “
“Asking if we wanted them would have been nice,” I pointed out.
“We do not make requests of those who come to Reytalon. You endure, you leave, or you die.” Dursano
smiled briefly at our collective reaction. “Perhaps it is better that I begin with the nature of your training.”
He waved his hand over the panel, and five apertures opened, each producing what looked like a
bladeless hilt.
“These are tåns, holographite transmutational weapons used to train our students. Take them.”
Kol picked one up and examined it. So did I. The material of the hilt felt odd. I realized why when I
clutched it in my fist and it adjusted to my grip. Biomalleable hilts. Just what every trendy assassin
needed.
The image of the implant disappeared, replaced by a projection of a tån, this time with a long, heavy
blade attached to it.
“Students use the tån to train and learn combat skills through the shahada. The weapon goes through
seven stages of transition, beginning with raen-tån, or great sword.”
“How do you change the size of the blade?” I asked.
“Transmutation controls, located on the pommel.” Dursano pointed to tiny, recessed spots on the curved
butt of the hilt, then added several other images of different-sized blades. “As training levels are achieved,
our students learn to wield progressively shorter blades, seen here. The thion-
tån, rangi-tån, jyan-tån,
shou-tån, and elok-tån.” He erased all but the smallest image, which abruptly divided into two. “In the
final stages of training, the student masters the osu-tån, or dancing blades.”
“One for each hand,” Kol said.
Dursano gave him a sharp look. “Yes. The discipline of the tån ultimately leads to close-proximity,
two-handed fighting. Using the osu-tån is the deadliest of all dances.”
“Yeah, I can see me running into hordes of two-handed knife fighters,” I said, disgusted, and tossed the
tån back on the console. “So this is it? Just fancy blade tricks? You don’t teach more advanced skills;
how to use other weapons?”
“There are none. There is only the blade.”
“Oh, come on.” I gestured toward the tåns. “A trained soldier with a pulse rifle can take down any idiot
armed with one of these, given enough distance.”
“Indeed.” Dursano erased the image of the two blades, and bent down. A moment later I reflexively
caught the displacer rifle he’d thrown at me. The instructor walked out from behind the console and made
himself a target by standing a few feet from me and spreading his arms. “Prove your words, Sajora
Raska. Shoot me.”
I laughed. “I don’t think so.”
“Then you are a coward who will fail in all things.”
I didn’t like being called a coward, so I lifted the rifle and aimed for his upper right arm. As I pulled the
trigger, Kol yelled, and Dursano moved slightly.
Something sliced across the back of my hand and knocked the rifle to the floor. The sound of something
thunked behind my head, and out of the corner of my eye I saw a knife imbedded in the wall panel. I
grabbed my wrist and looked back in time to see the instructor cross the distance between us with some
weird, fluid, rolling movement. A heartbeat later I was staring down the very short length of another blade
he held to my carotid artery.
The entire thing had taken maybe three seconds.
Dursano pulled the osu-tån out of the wall. “You were not fast enough to kill me, Sajora Raska.”
No, I wasn’t, but that wasn’t what bugged me the most. “That blade should have sliced my fingers off.
Why didn’t it?”
“Holographite blades dematerialize upon contact with any student’s body.”
“Not instantly, or it wouldn’t have cut me.”
“You are bleeding,” I heard Kol say in a low, dangerous voice.
“Do not attempt to attack me, Jakol Varena.” Dursano never moved as Kol came up behind him. “The
blade I hold at Sajora’s throat is not holographite.”
“It’s okay, Kol. No harm done.” I flexed my hand. “I’ll need a little bandage, that’s all.” I regarded
Dursano. “How did you do that move? What’s it called?”
“I am a blade dancer. The move is called the Banner Extends.” The instructor removed the knife from my
throat. “If you choose to continue, you will learn thousands of moves like it in the shahada.”
“And what do you get out of it?”
“Should you graduate, we offer employment, and membership in the order.” He sheathed his knife.
“Whether you serve the Tåna or not always remains your choice.”
Dursano didn’t press us for an answer, but sent us back to the medical unit. The horn-headed doctor
cleaned up my wound while the others went to check on Sparky.
“Well?” I asked when Ren appeared with the others—minus Nalek. “Is the disagreeable shrew all right,
or what?”
“Danea is conscious and appears to be recovering.” Ren’s crystalline face glittered as he grinned. “Her
first words were, ‘Tell that deranged Terran female I am fine, no thanks to her.’ “
I laughed. “Sounds like she’ll live.”
After we were served a plain but substantial meal, Dursano reappeared and took us to yet another
chamber for the remainder of our briefing. The instructor reviewed the main points of entering
second-level training, but revealed nothing about what lay ahead of that.
“Students are ranked by color bands. White is the lowest rank, which you will wear.” He tossed a
handful of white bands on the console. “Followed by yellow, orange, red, green, blue, and purple.”
I picked one up. “Rainbow outerwear. How cute.”
“Placement is symbolic and a personal choice. Around the thigh, soldier for hire; the arm, defender; the
brow, warrior. Perhaps you seven will wear yours around your necks.”
“What does that mean?” Osrea asked.
“Assassins.”
We also learned our sleeping quarters, meal intervals, and cleansing units were communal, and that we
would be allowed only four hours of sleep each rotation. The school’s curriculum was simple: a blade
dancer killed. We would be taught to use the tån in all its forms for that purpose, and that purpose only.
“How do we advance to the next level in training?”
“To attain the next color band, one must defeat two next-level students in training bouts. This is for all
ranks except purple and black. To attain purple, one undergoes the physical trial run.”
“What about the black band?” Galena asked.
“The order of the black is worn only by Tåna graduates, who have entered the quad during the
Tåna-Shen and defeated twelve white, ten yellow, eight orange, six red, four green, two blue, and one
purple.”
Kol’s white eyes narrowed. “All of those in one bout?”
“Of course. That is the only way to join the order.”
We all had questions—who wouldn’t?—but Dursano declared the session over and sent us to our
temporary quarters at the end of the corridor.
“Enjoy these last hours of comfort,” he said as we left. “You have until the time the aquatic female has
recovered to choose to leave Reytalon. Should you decide to remain, you will join the others in the
second level.”
“How long does it take to go through all the levels?” I had to ask.
“It takes until you are ready to graduate and join the order, Sajora Raska.” Dursano pulled the
feature-obliterating mask over his face. “Or until you die.”
Our hours of comfort lasted exactly two rotations. We spent them taking turns watching over Danea in
the infirmary, eating, sleeping, and otherwise collecting ourselves for what lay ahead.
Oh, and we argued, too. That was becoming a given.
“We got this far, Snake Boy,” I said as I checked my knee brackets. One of the nurses had grudgingly
given me a caliper that made adjustments a breeze. “I’m not backing out now.”
“He said until we die,” Osrea said, and ripped two more holes in the side seams of his student tunic.
With a sigh of relief he eased his extra limbs through the tears. “I came here to learn to kill. Not be killed,
ClanSister.”
“Nor am I enamored of the thought of killing other students,” Ren put in.
“He probably said die meaning of old age.” I pulled down my thermals and checked the room console.
“Time to relieve Nalek. Whose turn is it to baby-sit Sparky?”
“Mine.” Galena, who never liked it when we fought, jumped to her feet and headed for the door panel.
I wasn’t letting her off that easy. “Birdie, do you want to stay or go?”
She skidded to a halt and her winglets arched. “I will stay.” Out she went, as though chased by a herd of
stampeding t’lerue.
I eyed Osrea. “Gue
ss that means you’re staying, right, pal?”
“I am not your pal.” Snake Boy stomped off to the prep unit and dialed up some disgustingly raw
concoction.
“They will attempt to separate us, will they not?” Renor asked no one in particular.
Kol ran a hand over the dark stubble that had appeared on his scalp—Jorenian hair grew back fast.
“Perhaps. We will not allow it.”
“How much we will be allowed to do remains to be discovered.” Ren went to the viewport and stared at
the static white blizzard raging just beyond.
Nalek entered, looking happy. “Danea has regained her mobility and her corporeal field is fully
recharged. She will be released in the morning. What say you, ClanSiblings?”
