“What’s wrong with you?” Damar frowned markedly.

“Something I ate,” Belkynn shrugged, wiping sick from her mouth.

“Nonsense,” he growled. “I fixed dinner last night.”

They had been at the morning session of exercises and sparring for nearly a month now. Perhaps longer. Belkynn Kallon was too tired and nauseated to think back that far. He was tough as an old mulegoat, was Damar. And she had grown far stronger than she thought possible. She tried now and again to cook while he foraged or cut wood, but even in ranger training she had been renowned as a miserable failure at the cookpot.

“Maybe the wine?” She kicked at him vaguely. Just to show him she was ready to recommence their sparring.

“No more wine for you, then. We have work to do.”

She shrugged and engaged him in a blur of punches and kicks. Damar smiled maniacally as he fought to save himself from the onslaught. His eyes glowed, pride obvious in his every gesture. She split his lip suddenly, and both dropped back in shock, hands at the ready and balanced lightly on the balls of their feet.

“I’ve never seen a more apt student,” he beamed, wiping blood from his lip. She giggled nervously at the red stripe it left in his beard. He grinned fiendishly back.

“Let’s go again,” she grinned. “Winner gets a rub down.”

“Oh no,” Damar looked around as though anyone might be watching them. “You know what happened last time . . .”

“It was one time,” she slapped him playfully. “And we were both drunk from the new wine.”

“It happened, nonetheless.” His smile vanished, shadows clouded his eyes more deeply than she had yet seen.

“I claim the right of challenge!” She spun into a kick, but her leg snapped against empty air.

Damar swept her legs from under her. She rolled into the fall nimbly, turning the momentum to slam her elbow into his forearm, where he met and blocked it with unerring precision. She clutched for his shirt, but he was behind her. She whirled, lunging low to kneecap him. Again, he evaded her. She leapt, pivoted her hips, and spun into a feint. She came down hard with her left leg, but he anticipated the blow. Blocking the kick, he struck her hip with his open hand. She tumbled into the scrub grass in agony, her lower back and hips on fire and throbbing.

“You okay?” He had his arms around her, holding her as though she were a fragile child with a skinned knee.

The pain was too much. She couldn’t answer. Concentrating fully on her breath, she refused to cry out.

Damar picked her up gingerly and carried her to a place where the ground was flat and relatively smooth. He put her down gently, turned her onto her stomach, and then felt her hips and lower spine carefully with his fingers.

“So sorry,” he said earnestly. “I hit you far harder than necessary. Your pelvis is torqued. I’m fairly sure your spine is intact though.”

Damar took a deep breath and then carefully adjusted her hips, rocking her slightly to keep from aggravating the injury.

“Here,” he held a marlbutton to her mouth. “Eat it!”