A Secret Atlas Read Free

swordsman
    intended, it crushed fingers against the bow and knocked the fifth arrow flying. The archer
    screamed, dropping his weapon, and turned away with his broken hand nestled beneath
    his right armpit.
    Moraven Tolo’s sword came up, the silver blade pointing straight at Pavynti’s throat. “Have
    you finished that circle yet?”
    She threw her sword aside and dropped to her knees, then fell to her belly with her face in
    the dirt. “ Jaecaiserr, forgive this wretched one for her arrogance.”
    “Which arrogance was that, Pavynti? Claiming ranks you do not have? Believing those
    who travel to the capital are your prey?” Moraven let his voice get cold and deeper. “Or
    the dishonorable arrogance of letting your friends attack me before we could engage in
    our duel?”
    “All of them, Master.”
    “Up. Remove that overshirt. Take up your sword.”
    Disbelief widening her eyes, the woman rose, dusted the overshirt off, then removed it.
    Hesitantly she leaned over to pick up her sword, and a little circular silver talisman fell
    forward, dangling on a rawhide thong. She slowly straightened. “Do I continue drawing the
    circle?”
    He shook his head. “Scorpion form, the first.”
    Pavynti blinked, then moved into that stance. He nodded then called another form, and
    another. She flowed through them quickly enough, doing best with Crane and Eagle, least
    well with Wolf and Dog. He kept her at it for a full nine minutes, which was all the time it
    took for his traveling companions to crest the hill again. The two farmers positioned
    themselves to thump the giant soundly if he regained consciousness.
    When she was dripping with sweat, he called a halt, and she dropped to one knee. He
    could tell she was tempted to stab her sword into the ground and hang on to the hilt, but
    she knew better than to show that level of disrespect to her weapon. Breathing heavily,
    she glanced up. “What else would you have of me, Master?”
    “The answer to a question.”
    “Yes?”
    “You have Jayt’s overshirt, but not his sword. What became of it?”
    The flesh around her eyes tightened. “I am a bandit, Master, but not a barbarian. The
    blade was sent on to his family, for their shrine.”
    Moraven said nothing, but crossed to where the archer cowered and kicked the bow into a
    tangle of thornbushes. Resheathing his sword, he slid it back into his overshirt’s sash and
    waved the archer further from his weapon. By the time he turned around again, Conoursai
    had advanced and raised her quirt to lash the bandit.
    “Don’t do that.”
    The merchantman’s wife sputtered indignantly. “She was going to kill us all. She should be
    punished. You should kill her.”
    Moraven slowly shook his head. “A life broken can be mended. A life taken cannot.”
    “Then break her.” The woman gestured imperiously, though not quite as confidently as
    before. “Have the farmers thrash the giant and the archer.”
    “They struck at me, not you. Their fate is in my hands.”
    “By what authority?”
    Moraven frowned, then looked past her to where Dunos had collected Macyl’s overshirt
    and neatly folded it. “Why can you not be like the child? As it is said, ‘One action
    accomplishes more than ten thousand words.’ ”
    “Her action was to slay us.”
    “No, her action was to show respect to a fallen foe. Her words, as yours, are nothing.
    Now, be silent, lest I be forced to act.” He turned from her scowl and eyed the archer.
    “How much have you stolen from the Festival pilgrims?”
    “Not a prince’s ransom. Not even his petty spending.”
    “It is still too much. You and your giant will take all you have stolen and go to the Festival.
    You will give alms to the beggars until you have nothing, then you will leave for the west.”
    “But there are Viruk and Soth there, and wildmen. The chances of our survival . . .”
    “. . . Are better there than here.” Moraven smiled. “Chances are excellent I shall never see
    you