The Warrior Returns - Anteros 04 Read Free

maid, if you can imagine a seven-foot beauty who could lift a castle's keystone with ease. I'd seen her charge a line of shields, burst them apart with her axe, and then pulp the men in their armor.
    By the gods, I thought, if I had Polillo with me, the job would be much easier. But she's dead.
    It had taken a mighty wizard to take down Polillo—the last Archon of Lycanth.
    I mourned her as I honed my axe and set up a target—a spare hatch cover about the size of a man. My first throw went wide, chipping the rail and nearly going over the side. I tied a long leather thong to the handle, looping the other about my wrist so I wouldn't lose the axe if I missed again. My second throw hit the hatch, but the axe had tumbled too much and struck the wood with its butt instead of the blade.
    I considered the many errors I'd made in only two attempts. I thought about Polillo and how she'd trained our green troops in the art of axe throwing.
    "What do I have to do to get your attention?" she'd snarl at an errant recruit. "Get your tit out of your ear and listen. See yon target?" The frightened recruit would nod. "How far is it?" The recruit's bobbing head would now swerve side to side.
    "Are you telling me you've been tossing that damned thing all day and you don't know how far you're throwing it?" There'd be a shamed nod of yes. "Well, step it off, then." The recruit would pace the distance then trot back to tell Polillo the result. 'Twenty paces, you say? Very good. Now, watch closely."
    Polillo would haul back, talking as she moved. "Think of your throwing arm as a bar of iron. Completely straight Don't bend your elbow. And for Te-Date's sake, do not—I repeat, do not bend your wrist. Now the leg. The one on the same side as your throwing arm. Think of it as the extension of your arm—that iron-bar arm.
    "Next, when you throw, take a step forward with your opposite foot. Not quite a full pace. Keep the whole side of your body stiff. Don't use just the strength of your arm and shoulder. Your throw will be as weak as a lad who tends the tavern piss pots. Use all the power of your body as you come forward ... and let go ... like this!"
    And she'd let the axe go. It would turn once in a long slow tumble, then thunk into the target dead on—burying its head so deep that only Polillo could draw it out.
    "You saw how many turns it made?" she'd ask. The recruit would nod, yes, and hold up a single finger.
    "That's right, once. So properly thrown, this particular axe will turn once in twenty paces. If it's forty, it'll turn twice. Ten, half a turn. Thirty, a turn and a half. Got it?" Much eager nodding would commence, for now that the recruit had learned the secret, she'd be anxious to test it. If she followed Polillo's direction, she'd rarely fail again.
    I remembered Polillo's barked instructions as I made my third try. How far? Ten paces. Half a turn, then. Iron-bar arm. Welded to the leg. No elbow bending. No wrist bending. Step forward with the opposite foot. Throw.
    The axe bit deeply into the hatch.
    An axe has never been my weapon of choice, and it should only be thrown as a last resort. But it can come in handy when pressed by large numbers, and there are few things that can tone you up faster than repeatedly hurling it, switching hands frequently to give all parts of the body a heavy working.
    My left hand, the false one, is very strong. So I have to be careful that the right gets full attention; although it can never be the equal, for not only is my sinister hand metal, but it's enchanted metal, formed from a substance I stole from Novari. I call it my ether h and.
    It can withstand intense heat and cold. It has a grip that can crush stone. More remarkably, with my mind I can command it to behave exactly as a living hand would behave, flexing the fingers, rotating the thumb—anything but cracking the knuckles.
    My etherhand is a wondrous thing indeed. But I missed its warm, weaker sister. She'd been a good hand to me, and