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one of the blades.
    It was often said that there was no fighter anywhere in the three corners of the earth to equal a Kintish swordmaster; such a warrior had a special Kintish title which Koroll could not immediately recall. A Kintish swordmaster used two blades where others used one, and used them so fast that he could kill two armed men before either could even draw a sword. Of course, the training was said to take five years, and half the students reputedly died in the process. Therefore, it wasn't something the average Kintish soldier undertook; and so the Valdani beat Kintish armies as thoroughly as they beat everyone else's. Indeed, the ancient Kintish Kingdoms had lost much territory to the Empire in recent centuries.
    However, regardless of the stranger's origins or identity, the most intriguing item among his belongings was undoubtedly a single dagger, carefully wrapped in a finely painted silk scarf and hidden in a tightly laced pocket inside the satchel. After four years in Sileria, Koroll recognized the workmanship of both items. The scarf was a particularly fine example of centuries-old Silerian craftsmanship, covered with delicately painted flowers native to the island. Koroll had never seen a man carrying one, and it seemed incongruous for the stranger to have such feminine finery. However, it was the dagger which truly interested Koroll.
    He knew instantly what it was, though he had never actually seen one before. Having heard such weapons described for years, there was no mistaking this one. It was a shir , the deadly, wavy-edged dagger of a Society assassin. Shir were made only by the waterlords, those unpredictable and secretive Silerian wizards who controlled the Honored Society and, if truth be known, much of Sileria, too. The Emperor had sworn to destroy the Society in his lifetime, and most of the waterlords now lived in hiding. Their power was not to be underestimated, though; they could bring Cavasar to its knees if they didn't receive their tribute from the people. They controlled water, the most precious commodity in Sileria, as easily as a man controlled the fingers of his own hand. Although Koroll was skeptical about the many whispered stories told about them, he had learned to regard them with respect.
    Moreover, he had just learned that at least one of those whispered stories was apparently true. It was said that only three people in the world could touch a shir with impunity: the waterlord who fashioned its deadly blade out of water, the assassin for whom it was made, and the man or woman who killed him. Having unfolded the delicate silk which hid the shir from view, Koroll found that it was bitterly cold, colder than anything he'd ever known, and the brief touch of it against his fingers made them ache with fierce pain long after he dropped the thing.
    Had the stranger killed a Society assassin and taken his shir ? If so, then he just might be the right man to solve Koroll's problems. Surely killing one Silerian peasant would seem a small enough price to a mercenary who would otherwise be charged with inciting a riot and causing the deaths of two Outlookers. Of course, releasing such a man and giving him his weapons back was risky, but Koroll was counting on an extra incentive to ensure the warrior's cooperation; the final item of unusual interest among his possessions was a hefty bag of gold. If Koroll held onto that until the swordmaster brought him proof of the shallah 's death...
    He heard a knock at the heavy door to the chamber and called, "Enter!"
    Four Outlookers, young and arrogant in their smooth gray tunics, leggings, and new boots, escorted the swordmaster into Koroll's presence. Koroll studied the shackled prisoner closely as he shuffled into the room. Now that the stranger's eyes were open, Koroll saw that they were the deep brown color typical of most Silerians; they were watchful and intelligent, and they gave away little as the warrior surveyed his belongings spread out on the