An arrow nicked the shoulder of her tunic and pinned her cloak to the side of the sledge behind her. Yanking the brooch pin loose, she dropped to one knee and continued to shoot.

A dozen or more bandits fell to their arrows, but an equal number were closing in around them.

"Swords!" Beka shouted. Drawing her blade, she strode out to meet a bearded man in scarred leather brigadine and ragged leggings. Ducking his wild swing with a broadsword, she whirled and struck at the back of his neck.

She'd practiced the move a thousand times against her father and others; this time she drew blood.

There were plenty more with him, though, and she drew a long dagger in her left hand, using it to fend off thrusts to her open side.

Syrtas was to her right, Kaylah to the left.

Covering each other as best they could, they waded into the knot of bandits.

The attackers outnumbered her side at least three to one, but Beka quickly realized that most of them relied more on brawn than skill. With almost disappointing ease, she ducked another swing and ran a man through, then pulled her blade free in time to strike another on the arm as he attacked

Kaylah. The girl flashed her a grin, then lunged at a tall, scrawny youth who turned tail and fled.

Looking around, Beka realized that there were mounted fighters at work, too. Mercalle and the others had come back at some point and were charging into the fray, their helmets flashing in the sunlight as they scattered ambushers and struck down the stragglers with their swords.

The bandits were already beginning to fall back when more riders of the Horse Guard thundered down the road from the direction of the column. Tobin was at their head, with Portus and Braknil beside him.

The enemy broke for cover and the horsemen followed, driving them into the trees and dismounting to give chase.

"Come on!" cried Beka, rallying her blood-streaked comrades. "Let's not let them steal all the fun!"

When the rout was over, more than twenty ambushers lay dead in the snow. Beka's riders had sustained nothing worse than a few sword cuts and arrow wounds.

"By the Flame, that was a fair-sized gang," Mercalle exclaimed.

The lead carter crawled from under his sledge. "Looks like old Garon's crew. They been harrying the traders up and down the valley for nigh onto three years now. The sheriffs couldn't never catch 'em."

"They chose the wrong prey this time," Sergeant Braknil remarked, grinning as he strode over to join them. "Looks to me like you had things pretty well in hand by the time we got here, Lieutenant."

"I wasn't so sure," Beka said, noticing for the first time how shaky her legs felt. "What are you doing here, anyway? Not that I'm not glad to see you."

"When Barius and Marten showed up, I sent Tobin and Arna back," Mercalle explained. "But all of a sudden they came belting back with word that you were under attack. They didn't know how big the force was or who, so I sent Arna back to the column for help and came on with the others. As it turns out, Braknil had talked the captain into letting the rest of the turma come meet you. He and Portus were less than a mile away when Arna met them."

The rest of the turma had drifted over to listen.

"Any losses?" she asked.

"Not a one, Lieutenant!" Corporal Nikides reported proudly. "Not bad for our first battle, eh?"

"I don't know that I'd claim routing bandits as a battle, but we acquitted ourselves well enough," Beka said, grinning around at the others. "You did well, all of you."

Braknil exchanged a look with Mercalle and cleared his throat. "With all due respect,

Lieutenant, there's a custom some of the riders should observe. For their first kill, that is."

"Drinking the blood of the first man you kill to keep off the ghosts, you mean?"

"That's the one, Lieutenant. Some call it superstition nowadays, but I say the old ways are sound."

"I agree," said Beka. She'd heard of the custom from her father, and from Alec, who'd done the same after his first fight. "How many of you made your first kill today?"

Everyone in Mercalle's decuria stepped forward, and several more from the others. "All right, then. All of you archers, find your first killing shaft. Come back here when you find it. The rest of you bring your swords."

Beka walked to the body of the first swordsman she'd killed, a middle-aged brigand with a braided beard.

He lay on his back, a look of mild surprise on his unremarkable face. She stared down at him a moment, making herself remember the murder in his eyes as he charged at her. She was glad to be alive, but not to have killed him.

It was an odd mix of feelings. Shaking her head, she pulled the arrow from his chest and joined the others standing in a rough half circle beside the road. When everyone else had come back, she looked around and felt the weight of the moment settle upon her.

"Sergeants, I'm as new to this as the rest of them. Are there any special words to be spoken?"

"Whatever you want to say," Braknil replied with a shrug.

Beka raised the arrow in front of her. "May we all fight together with honor, mercy, and strength."

With that, she touched the arrowhead to her tongue and the coppery tang of the blood flooded her mouth. She wanted to grimace and spit, but she kept her face calm as she cleaned the arrowhead in the snow and dropped it back into her quiver.

"Honor, mercy, and strength!" echoed the others, doing the same with arrows and sword blades.

"I guess that's it. Now we've got supplies to deliver," she told them. "Anyone seen my horse?"

That evening Captain Myrhini's troop feasted on the first fresh meat they'd had in weeks and drank the health of Beka and her turma several times over.

When they'd finished and were settling in their tents for another cold night, Captain Myrhini drew Beka aside.

"I've been talking with some of Mercalle's riders," she said as they walked together past the campfires of the various turmae. "Sounds to me like you kept your head and took care of your people."

Beka shrugged. She'd been doing some thinking of her own. "It's a good thing. I made a mistake sending out two riders when three were already up on point. I don't think it was any accident that those ambushers jumped us when they did."

"Oh?" Myrhini raised an eyebrow. "What could you have done differently?"

"I was going to relieve Mercalle anyway. I should've ridden up alone and sent the other two back for their replacements."

"But that would have left your riders without an officer or sergeant."

"Well, yes—"

"And the way I hear it, it was you who kept those green fighters from wasting all their arrows on the bushes, which the raiders were probably counting on. The fact is, it was me who made a mistake today."

Beka looked at her in surprise, but Myrhini motioned for her not to interrupt. "I assumed that because we were in neutral territory, it was safe to send a decuria out on its own. If you'd had the turma with you, those brigands would never have attacked. Of course, you were far too tactful and inexperienced to bring this to my attention when I gave you that order, weren't you?"

Beka couldn't quite read the officer's cryptic smile. "No, Captain, it just never occurred to me that we'd need any more people than that for a supply run."

"Then we were both in error," Myrhini said. "But learn and live, as a certain friend of ours always says. You did well, Lieutenant. Sergeant Mercalle thinks you've got the makings of a good fighter, by the way."

"Oh?" Beka asked, caught between pleasure at the veteran's appraisal and a certain pique that the sergeant had evidently not had the same confidence in her abilities before now. "What made her say that?"

"I think it was the way you were grinning as you fought," Myrhini answered. "At least, that's what she hears from those fighting beside you. Tell me, were you scared?"