Warrior's Song Read Free

and anticipation. He didn't look away from her as he shouted back toward her own men, "All of you remain where you are."
    Â Â Â Â She said again, "Tell them that they will leave if I beat you."
    Â Â Â Â "Oh, no, I will not tell them that. It would make them fall off their horses with laughter. You can't beat me, Chandra. Give it up." He had the gall to hold out his hand to her.
    Â Â Â Â It was too much. She gave an animal growl deep in her throat and lunged forward toward his left side. Her sword struck his. She nearly dropped like a stone. There had been no give, no weakening at all. It was as if she had slammed her sword against a rock. She remembered her father's words, spoken over and over during the years, "Keep your damned head, girl. Don't panic, ever, for if you do, you're dead. If you're alive, then there's hope, but you must keep your head. If you fail with your first attempt to bring your man down, then keep seeking until you find his weakness. Every man has a weakness."
    Â Â Â Â "You have no weaknesses," she'd said to him, but she knew that every other man did. Lord Richard had grinned at her and cuffed her shoulder just as he would a boy's.
    Â Â Â Â And so she stepped quickly aside and hammered her sword against Graelam's, high, near his hand. He leaped back, releasing. She'd made him retreat. Just a step, but it was a beginning. Then she heard his laugh. He was laughing at her.
    Â Â Â Â He thought she was amazing, a girl who aped a man's ways, a girl who dared to raise a sword at him, and her anger nearly sent her straight at him. No, she had to be calm or it would be all over. She slipped her right hand into her cloak and slowly pulled her knife from its sheath at her belt. She looked steadily at her own sword, distracting him, readying herself. Ellis was yelling behind her, quite conscious now. She could see him from the corner of her eye struggling to get his sword, clutching at his right leg.
    Â Â Â Â Graelam engaged her this time. He slammed his sword against hers, slicing downward, dragging her sword with his. He didn't pause, just hammered again and again, giving her no respite. She knew he would crush her soon; his strength and his skill were simply too great. She fell back, slowly, slowly, her eyes on his face, hoping to see his strategy mirrored in his eyes. Soon now. Soon she would make her move. His blows were rhythmic, unending, and it seemed to her that each new blow was harder than the last. She wondered if he ever tired. Soon now. She danced to the side. When he turned slightly to come after her, she knew it was the moment she'd waited for. She leapt toward him, her knife out and raised. She struck her knife with all her strength at his naked throat.

CHAPTER 2
    She saw her knife driving forward, straight and strong toward his unprotected neck, felt her own power behind that driving blow, limitless, focused, and then, suddenly, he had twisted about, and his hand in its leather gauntlet had somehow closed around her wrist and he was only inches from her face.
    Â Â Â Â "A trick your father taught you, I assume," he said, and she saw that he wasn't breathing hard at all. She was nothing to him, nothing at all. The pain of knowing that was nearly as great as the pain in her wrist.
    Â Â Â Â He squeezed slowly until she felt she would die from the pain. "Stop this. I have no wish to break your wrist. Drop the damned knife." And in the next moment, her knife dropped from her numb fingers. She tried to bring up her sword, but he grabbed her and pulled her back against his chest. Both of their swords clattered to the rocky ground. He held one arm around her, and with his other hand, he pulled off her cap.
    Â Â Â Â He was silent for a moment; then he said, very close to her ear, "You smell like sweat and fury and boar's blood, but now it is over. I have won."
    Â Â Â Â So very easy for him, she thought, wanting to grab