David Farland - The Wyrmling Horde

Talon swung at his unprotected back.

The emir tried to dodge, but she grazed his flank, then danced out of range.

"Getting slow in your old age?" Talon asked. "There s still time to withdraw."

The emir grinned. "What, and miss sparring with such a lovely opponent?"

Talon glanced back, grinning at him, her eyes flashing dangerously. He had never fought a woman before, and suddenly her beauty and her vulnerability smote him.

He stepped back a pace, wishing that he were not here, feeling like a cornered animal. I m not just fighting her, he realized, I m fighting all of my protective instincts.

The emir circled wide, then rushed at her again. He was used to ranging the fields and woodlands, doing a hard day s work, and he knew that he could put up a good, long, sustained fight. But what he couldn t know was how hard she had trained, in those days when with every moment, she had to watch her back for assassins.

For the next five minutes, the two of them raced around the ring, putting on a demonstration of skills that both of them had purchased with a lifetime. Many were the cheers and the ooh s and ah s of the crowd. Many times he feared that he would kill her with the next swing, and many times she survived, until he began to realize that he might well have met his match.

Sweat began to glaze his brow, and it made Talon s long red hair cling to the sides of her face. Both of them began to pant from exertion, but she seemed to be able to go on all day.

The axes whirled and sang. The two of them danced away from blows and took them head-on.

Some old graybeards began to murmur in astonishment, "In seventy years, never have I seen two such worthy opponents!"

Within moments, the entire crowd began to take up chants, some cheering for the emir, some calling, "Talon, Talon, Talon!"

The emir felt grateful. He suddenly realized what Talon had done. Whoever won this battle would truly gain the support of the people, enough support to take endowments.

But he could not let her win.

This is Aaath Ulber s daughter, he thought. We fought side by side. Dare I betray a friend so? Dare I kill his child?

Suddenly he realized that he had been holding back, making a show of it. He hadn t truly committed to a killing blow.

If she lives through this next one, he decided, she will have earned a victory. If she can beat me, she truly deserves the honor of saving her brother.

He swung mightily, giving it all that he had.

It was dangerous for her to try to block such a blow, for her ax handle could easily break. But among the warrior clans, a warrior needed to demonstrate the strength to take a blow in order to win her people s approval. Talon lunged in, forcing the emir to try to shorten his lop in midswing.

She brought up her ax handle and braced herself for a crushing blow. It landed with such a jolt that the emir s joints ached and his bones seemed to shiver.

The audience cheered.

To the emir s astonishment, she not only managed to block the blow, she smiled through it.

Then Talon pushed her weight back and leapt in the air, doing a complete somersault. Two more leaps and she was at the edge of the circle.

The emir charged, his ax spinning, though with one blade shattered it was a bit wobbly. He tried to swing with his own version of the "Circle of Steel," but had never had to practice with such an unwieldy blade.

Talon committed to a lop, a downward stroke that could split a man in two. He halted a hairsbreadth before the blow landed and had brought his own ax handle up to block.

It will be a simple matter to kick her from the ring, he thought.

Her blow landed, and immediately the emir prepared to kick her in the chest, pushing her from the ring, but quicker than thought Talon grabbed his ax and somersaulted over his head. She held on to the handle as she flew, so that it rose in the air.

Instantly she was over his head, and she jerked the handle tightly, so that she and the emir were standing back-to-back, with her gripping the handle while it rested against his throat.

Her momentum gave her the advantage, and when she hit the ground she merely arched her back, tipping the emir up onto her shoulders, so that she had him in a stranglehold.

The emir s back was upon hers, and though he kicked, he could find no place to land his feet. She had the ax handle to his throat, and he could not break her grip. She was strangling him. He kicked and twisted, struggling to break free.

Where did she learn this move? he wondered.

Not on this world, he realized. I ve seen hundreds of ax fights. This tactic is not from this world.

The crowd gasped and broke into applause for Talon.

The emir struggled, strangling, as she balanced him on her back. It would have been a small matter for her to jerk the handle forward while shrugging at the same moment, and thus break his neck, or at the very least, crush his esophagus.

The crowd was wild with anticipation, watching their finest warrior struggle, at the mercy of a mere woman.

She has them, the emir thought. She has won.

Talon turned a half-circle and lifted up a bit. The emir gasped, and then got a fresh grasp on the handle of his ax. He planned to renew the fight-just as Talon dropped her shoulder and threw him-out of the ring!

Amid the cheers and the applause, the emir sat among the pine needles for a moment, gasping.

Talon picked up her ax, then offered him a hand up.

The emir waved her away; he was still struggling for air. When he was able, he climbed to his feet and stood beside her, raising her hand in sign of victory. There was no anger in his heart, only well-earned respect.

"Aaath Ulber has trained his daughter well," the emir said, as the people cheered. "For my part, I believe that she has won the right to fight in Rugassa to free her foster brother, Fallion Orden. If anyone here would like to argue the point-well, then you try fighting her."

There was a good deal of clapping from the crowd. No one challenged her.

The emir added, "And if there are any who are willing to grant her their endowments before she goes into battle, I encourage you to do so."

The applause faded, and one woman shouted, "Speed, I can give her my speed." "Grace," a second woman said. And others called out their offers-all women, offering to gift their champion. A young man, a boy of perhaps seventeen, called out soberly, "She ll need a man s strength. I ll give mine."

Then the offers began in earnest.

The emir patted her shoulder, and headed back under the base of the tree. He felt like a failure, like a whipped dog slinking away from a fight. He d felt this way far too often before-but only after battling wyrmlings.

"Where are you going, Tuul Ra?" one old warlord called. It was grandfather Mallock, a scarred old graybeard who had survived many campaigns but was so crippled by arthritis that he had been forced into retirement.

The emir wasn t certain where he was going. "I want a drink, something strong, though I doubt that much can be found in camp."

Old warlord Mallock laughed and reached down under his breastplate and pulled out a glass flask with honey-colored liquid. "Will whiskey do?"

The emir took the proffered bottle, downed a swig.

He thought his old friend would offer condolences. Instead Mallock was studying the emir s face with reverence. "I saw Bannur Crell fight with a wyrmling s ax back in my youth. He was a legend in his own lifetime, but you could have bested him easily."

A couple of other graybeards stood at Mallock s back, and they grunted agreement.

"I haven t got much time left on this earth," Mallock said. "The wyrmlings took my home, my family, my country. But I ve got my wits still. Will you carry them into battle one last time for me? Perhaps they ll do you some good."