Savine's Honor

"Savine, I must speak with you."

She glanced up from the knob of bone she carved. "Speak then, Oath-Brother." Her eyes turned back to her hands.

He hesitated for a moment longer. "There is talk among our numbers that your conduct has not quite been befitting of an Oath-Sister."

"Such is the talk, then?" She did not turn her gaze from her carving.

He sighed. "You are a fine warrior, Savine, none would dare gainsay that. Only, there are those who would say your methods are not - appropriate for one of our order."

"This is said, then, because I use stealth?" There was no outrage, bitterness, no denial in her tone, only something akin to acknowledgement.

He rubbed his jaw, finding no pleasure in this conversation. It went against his grain to question the honor of an Oath-Sister, even in such an indirect fashion.

"Indeed," he said, and still she did not look away from the steady working of her hands. "And this talk has reached the ears of the Twice-Sworn, and such murmuring concerns them."

"And so, they have sent you. Tell me, what do they say?"

"None have gone so far as to decry your honor."

"Yet it has entered their thoughts."

He winced inwardly. "They do not wish your actions to be - misconstrued when you are carrying out Order business. They do not wish our reputation to be - questioned."

"So they fret and hesitate like old men, arguing whether or not I have broken oath."

When he did not reply, she sighed and finally set aside her knife. "Where lies my supposed dishonor?" Still, there was no heat in her voice.

"The more outspoken say that to kill in secret is the coward's way."

"I see. All combat is the pitting of one warrior's skill against another."

"That is indeed true."

"Tell me, when you face an opponent, what would happen if your strength failed you, and you could not match the speed of your enemy's attacks?"

"He would fell me."

"And if your eyes were slow, and you did not see the shift of his stance?"

"The same."

"What if your ears were dull, your instinct weak?"

"Again, I would fall."

"I see." She turned the bone in her hand, smoothing a thumb over an edge.

"I believe their concern lies in that you offer no warning, give no opportunity to defend, to flee, to call for mercy."

"Is that so? Answer me this: does Tova call out before she looses an arrow?"

He jerked his head, acknowledging her point. "No."

"Do you speak the direction of your swing before you cleave your enemy?"

"No, Oath-Sister, I do not."

"It is left, then, to your opponent's senses to deflect your attack." She bent her head, peering at an imperfect curve of the bone. "Is it not the same? Does not that lost opportunity you speak of lie at their door? Is it not still a pitting of my skill against theirs?" She lifted her knife and deepened a groove of the carving with care. "If my enemy's instincts exceed my stealth, I am no threat to them."

"You make a good argument," he admitted.

"But it was never needful to prove myself to you, was it, Oath-Brother?" She sighed again, and lifted her gaze to meet straightly his. "It is those of the Second Oath that doubt my honor."

He tightened his jaw. "It does not befit them."

A glimmer of what might have been appreciation slipped through her eyes. "Tell them this, Brother: I do not raise my blade against the innocent; I do not strike against the weak. I am not careless. I do not prolong death, nor do I revel in pain; there is no pleasure for me in killing. My blade is never drawn without need, and while such need means that when my weapon is unsheathed I expect to let blood, I do not draw with anger, nor in unconsidered vengeance. Finally, and perhaps to them most importantly, I do not strike in stealth those I could not meet in open combat." She stood, sheathing her wood knife as she did so. "Honor to you, Brother. May we speak again on happier things."