ALBERN COCKED HIS HEAD. “DO you know why they called Mag the Uncut Lady?”

The question seemed to come from nowhere. “I … do not think so,” said Sun. “I know they call her the Wanderer because of the way you two crisscrossed all the nine kingdoms.”

“Yes, but she was called the Uncut Lady long before that,” said Albern.

“I always assumed she could not be touched in battle, and so had never been cut.”

Albern smiled. “You are not wrong.”

Sun grinned back. “I notice that you do not say if I am right.”

He gave a great laugh at that. “Oh, well done. You speak the truth of Mag’s name, but you understate the matter. Let me tell you another, smaller tale that will explain further. It happened at the end of Mag’s second day with the company. As you know, sparring is sweaty, dirty work. It was common for the recruits to go and bathe in the river Skytongue at least once every few days. Some recruits were more modest than others, and they would find places to bathe alone. But most of us stayed together, stripping down to our skins and flinging ourselves into the water.”

Albern paused for a moment as he saw color rising in Sun’s cheeks. “Ah. You would have been one to bathe alone, I suppose? I do not need to tell you this story if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Sun shook her head. “I am not uncomfortable, and I would not have bathed alone. Just because I have never done it before does not mean I would be … squeamish.”

He hesitated only a moment before nodding. “Very well. Then, with your permission, I will continue.”

“Please,” said Sun.

“Well, we were all young, then, and blood flowed in our veins. Recruits often stole glances at each other from time to time—though there is nothing very lovely about bathing, truth be told. But in any case, I got a better look at Mag than most. I will not dwell overmuch on the details. Suffice it to say that she had a fine body. Exquisitely muscled and strong and … well, she was worth glancing at, let us say.”

Sun’s blush deepened, and Albern gave her another smile. “Are you sure you do not want me to stop? I had nearly forgotten about the proclivities of noble children.”

“Oh, please,” said Sun. “I am not some trembling son of Selvan. I am fine.”

“Well, then. It was quite some time before I noticed the oddest thing of all about Mag. She had no scars. None at all. Not on her body, her arms or legs. Not even her hands.”

“That makes sense, considering how well she could fight,” said Sun.

Albern frowned. “It does not make sense. No matter how skilled a fighter may be when they learn warcraft, they still have to learn it. And everyone, when they are learning to fight, gets injured. Training accidents are common. Your opponent is trying to strike you with a blade. No matter how blunted it is, no matter how padded your training armor, at some point, everyone spills a little blood. You yourself have scars on your hands that do not look like they came from a cooking accident.”

Sun frowned and looked down at a few tiny ridges on her knuckles. “That? That was no injury, only a blister from the back of my shield.”

“I knew that before I mentioned it,” said Albern. “Yet what I am trying to tell you is that Mag did not have even that much of a mark upon her. Her skin was perfect. Flawless.”

He paused, looking at Sun, who suddenly realized her eyes were wide and her mouth was hanging open slightly. Albern nodded.

“Yes. Do you understand now? Can you begin to understand Mag’s prowess? How skilled do you have to be—how naturally talented, I mean—to avoid any wound at all, even early in life? Even when you are first training to use a blade, or fight with soldiers by your side? And as time went on, we got to see Mag train—if you could call it training. Privately, I thought it was more of a demonstration that she was the best among us, and we were unworthy to march beside her. No one could touch her, no matter how many opponents they put against her in the practice ring.

“That was the beginning of her legend—right there, in the Upangan Blades. How could she be real? Think beyond her skill with a blade. How could she have avoided any cuts her whole life, even on her hands and knees as a child, running amid mud and rocks and scaling to the tops of trees?”

“It … it does not seem possible,” breathed Sun.

Albern slapped his hand lightly on the table. “And yet, there it was,” he said. “The evidence of it was plain—it lay right before our eyes. The Uncut Lady. I came up with that name myself, by the way.”

Sun felt herself entirely caught up in the wonder of it. But then the tavern’s door opened, and there came the sound of new voices. Sun glanced behind her—and felt her blood freeze.

There in the doorway stood the two guards from earlier, the ones from her family. They looked about the place, and for a frightful moment Sun thought they were still searching for her. But they stood relaxed and lazy, and when they saw an empty table on the other side of the room, they moved towards it.

They were not here for Sun, but only to get a drink. Although her pulse seemed to resume after a long moment of holding its breath, Sun still felt herself far too exposed. She glanced back at Albern, whose eyes had widened slightly.

“I take it you do not want those women to see you,” he said. “As with the constable.”

“You are correct.”

“Then ignore them, and talk with me as if we have been conversing all night.”

“If you will promise to keep an eye on them for me.”

“Of course.”

Sun sighed. “Very well. Tell me what happened in Northwood.”

A shadow passed over Albern’s face. “Many things, and nearly all of them dark. But it did not start out that way.”