Duchess Nova
The great royal training hall lay broad and tall, its enormity resounding with recollections of numerous training duels. Lines of arena rings stood in quiet vigil under the arcing beams, each defined by chill stone and shiny steel. But on this day, nearly all of them were vacated—quiet and still, shadows of the hot conflicts they once contained. The normal growl of sparring troops had faded to a muted whisper, overcome by an ominous stillness that bore down on the atmosphere.
. In only one ring beat raw energy, circled by waves of guards shoulder to shoulder, eyes locked and tenseguards in compact groups, faces strained with expectation. About that ring, almost every soldier stood shoulder to shoulder, eyes locked on the savage battle within. From the center sounded the ring of metal—hard, unrelenting—broken through by raw screams of pain and effort. The noise had a perverse appeal, raw and unflinching.
