“Well enough,” answered a male, and I turned my head to see the two standing to my right, examining the weeping females. The male was large and light of hair and eye, clad in leather breech and leather boots, a swordbelt firm upon his hips. The tall female also wore the same, her large breasts unashamedly exposed, her brown hair worn loose and long to her thighs.
“Could there be one in which I would find interest?” murmured the female, moving her dark eyes over the village females.
“Vanin, leave them be!” snapped the male called Tastil, his annoyance clear as he looked down upon her. “The females are ours to toy with, not yours!”
“There will obviously soon be one male lost to me.” She called Vanin shrugged, gesturing unconcernedly in Ceralt’s direction. “I am therefore entitled to choose one of yours, to test my blade or wet it. Do you wish to protest before the Golden One?”
The female had turned to lock eyes with the male, mockery and supreme confidence clear in her manner. The male regarded her in silence a moment, then made a gesture of disgust.
“To what purpose?” he growled, resting hand upon sword hilt. “All know you to be the Golden One’s favorite. Take what wench you will and be damned.”
The female Vanin grinned, her mockery increased, then she turned from the male to look again upon the females lined before her. Each wept and shook and clung to another, all appearing wide-eyed and miserable—save one. Famira stood perhaps a pace to my right, dry-eyed and nearly calm, no more than concern for Ceralt filling her large, dark eyes. She stood alone as she had stood alone for all of the journey, refusing to mix with the village females, unwilling to disturb my silently demanded solitude. Vanin, grinning, moved slowly till she stood before Famira, causing the village female to look up into her eyes with bewilderment.
“You seem the largest here,” remarked Vanin to Famira, examining her with an insolent gaze. “How long do you feel you might stand against me with sword in hand?”
“I do not understand,” stumbled Famira, her skin paling. “I do not know the wielding of a sword.”
“You will soon wish you had studied the matter,” laughed Vanin, pleased with Famira’s fear. “The largest is ever my choice as opponent, and you are largest.”
“You are mistaken,” said I to Vanin, rising from my crouch. “She is not the largest among us.”
Vanin’s head turned quickly toward me, her grin becoming a frown. She and I stood eye to eye, obviously of a size. Even with a pace separating us this was clear, and then the female’s grin returned.
“Much more to my liking,” said she, leaving Famira to stand herself instead before me. “I dislike striking down the small and the helpless. There is little effort needed and little sport to be found. How am I to prove my prowess when she who stands before me cowers?”
“To strike the small and helpless requires no prowess,” said I, folding my arms. “It requires only fear.”
“Fear!” raged this Vanin, immediately taking insult. “I fear no mortal being! I am a warrior, and not to be spoken to so!”
“Warrior?” I echoed with raised brows, allowing a faint smile to touch me “In what manner have you proven yourself warrior? Through the murder of innocents? In the swagger of your walk? In the dishonored blade you wear at your side? Such are not the qualities of a warrior.”
“I am a warrior!” screamed Vanin, her fists raised high, a madness in her eyes. “You will die slowly for those words, horribly cut to ribbons by my blade! That you will have a blade of your own matters not! You will fall before me! Tastil, give her your blade!”
The female stepped back, nearly foaming in her fury, allowing the male Tastil to approach me. He drew his sword and proffered it by the guard, the look in his eyes calling me fool for having spoken so. I turned my head from him to look toward Ceralt, seeing anger and fear on the faces of Telion and Lialt, pain and distress upon Ceralt himself. Armed males stood close about them, preventing Telion’s attempt to intervene, preventing Lialt’s attempt at protest. Again I smiled, partly at the fact of Ceralt’s continued existence, then looked again at the male Tastil.
“I choose not to take the sword,” said I, continuing to keep my arms folded. “Proceed with this farce in any manner you wish.”
“Take it, you fool!” hissed the male, again proffering the sword, yet his anger was naught compared to that of Vanin. The female shouldered by him, bringing a small growl to his throat which she took no note of, and put herself again before me.
“You will not refuse!” she shrilled, nearly beside herself with rage. “Take the sword! Take it!”
“I do refuse,” said I, unimpressed with her anger, and then her hand flew toward me, striking me across the face, sharply, with a good deal of strength. I staggered, caught off balance, and her other hand came, striking even harder in the backswing. I went to the ground, a buzzing in my ears, a blurriness in my sight, a trickle of blood at the corner of my mouth. I shook my head to dislodge the difficulty, angered almost beyond bearing. The female begged to have her blood spilled, yet it was not I who would be privileged in the doing of it. Sounds of dismay came from all about, sharpening as I prepared to regain my feet, and then another sound came, no more than a whisper, no more than a rustle of nearly dead leaves.
“Jalav,” called Ceralt, all strength gone out of his voice. “Jalav, I release you from your vows. Do not allow her to harm you. ”
I turned quickly to search Ceralt’s face, disbelieving the words I had heard, seeing only that the effort to speak had cost him consciousness. Lialt quickly sought the spark of life in his sprawled, motionless body, seemed to find it, yet wept at how low it was. The chill of the shining floor entered me, feeding my grief and anger, driving me again to my feet. Vanin stood but two paces distant, impatiently awaiting the return of my senses. When she saw I had regained my feet, she gestured toward the male Tastil.
“Bring her closer to me,” she commanded a male who stiffened in anger. “I will beat her to bloody ruin if necessary, to convince her to take the sword. Then I will strike her down!”
“Such is to be seen,” said I, my voice harsh, the blood-lust tinge in it keeping Tastil where he stood. With one motion I removed my leather chest covering, hurling it from me in disgust, leaving me with breech and boots, just as Vanin wore. Again a muttering arose all about, and Vanin sneered.
“Do you think emulating my dress will save you?” she asked, placing fists on hips. “My skill with a sword does not depend on it.”
“Nor mine,” said I, walking forward to take the sword Tastil yet held. The hilt fit well in my long-deprived hand, its balance easily to be found. The male smiled as he walked to stand with others, and I turned full to face Vanin.
“It is time,” I informed her, keeping my point low. “You spoke earlier of warriors, therefore allow me to introduce myself. I am Jalav, war leader of the Hosta, foremost of all the clans of Midanna—who are warriors. I spit on your concept of warriorhood, on your concept of honor. Face me if you dare, for I mean to have your life.”
“War leader?” she scorned, reaching to her sword and unsheathing it. “Of the Midanna? What a fool’s tale you tell, wench. I am of the Midanna, chosen favorite of Mida the Golden. I shall soon have your blood upon my sword, dedicated in whole to the glory of Mida.”
“Such is to be seen,” I said again, advancing to where she stood. “Do you mean to slay me with words?”
The jibe brought her anger as I knew it would, causing her to cut at me as though I stood weaponless. It was a fool’s move, easily blocked and easily riposted, leaving her with a thin line of blood down her arm as she retreated.
“You fiend, I will have your life!” she screamed, the fingers of her free hand finding the blood I had caused to be. She rushed at me again, swinging her sword all about, much like a young warrior-to-be, determined yet unskilled. Again I met her flurry of swings, turning them with little effort, again I left a line of blood on her, felt deeply when she retreated.