THE CHOOSING

by PhyllisAnn Welsh

  He ticked off his conditions as if he were counting bales of hay.

  “That’s quite a list, elf-man. However, since I can not fail to defeat your sorry backside, I will accept your terms. Toss me the sword.”

  He stood with a sword in each hand, then appeared to have another thought.

  “One more thing,” he said, holding up her sword. “You will stop addressing me in that insulting way. You may call me ‘your highness’ or ‘Prince L’Garn.’ I do not like it when you call me elf-man.”

  “Too bad,” she sneered. “Now, toss me the sword and we will commence with your lesson.”

  He tossed the sword with his left hand. It arched through the air gracefully, and Feenix had plenty of time to snatch it in mid-flight. The hilt slapped her palm neatly and fit into her hand as if it had been made for her.

  By the god’s right ear, it had been too long since she had held a blade in her hand. She sliced an arc over her head and around to the side. The passing of blade through the air made a most delicious song. Her arm was stiff, and she could have used an extra few moments to limber up, but she could see that the prince was impatient with her antics.

  Probably thought he would disarm her in the first pass, Feenix conjectured.

  Well, Prince Elf-Man was in for a very large surprise. She chuckled to herself and stepped into the middle of the room, the sword held across her body as she looked at it.

  “Nice blade,” she said to him, conversationally. “Needs a bit of cleaning, but that’s to be expected from Night Elf scum. You probably don’t even know a blade should be kept clean in order to stay sharp.”

  He raised his own blade in a casually defensive position and smiled at her. Again he reminded her of a wolf.

  “It is obvious you have listened to warriors before, Teela, but that is not the way one should stand when holding a sword.”

  She pretended to be surprised.

  “Oh? How should I hold it, prince? More like this?”

  As she uttered the last word, she lunged and ducked beneath his guard, opening a small slice on his left thigh. Before he could react, she had retreated and stood in a militarily correct position of defense, waiting for his response.

  He clapped his hand over the wound and starred at her with wildly surprised eyes.

  She grinned like a silly girl.

  “Lesson number one: Never under estimate your opponent. Especially when your opponent is me.”

  With deliberate purpose, L’Garn straightened and gripped the hilt of his sword more securely.

  “Well done,” he said with disdain lacing his voice. “Now let us see if it was luck or skill, shall we, Teela?”

  L’Garn raised his sword and attacked her in a flurry of efficiently calculated thrusts.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  He could not remember when he had enjoyed himself so much. It had been far too long since he had verbally sparred with anyone, and Teela’s quick wit and caustic tongue only made him want to tease her all the more.

  Despite what he had told his grandfather, and Teela herself, he had no intention of forcing himself on her or of demanding she become his concubine. No, that was only a diversionary tactic to get his grandfather’s mind away from the thought of killing her.

  L’Garn grinned to himself. However, baiting Teela with the threat of her new duties was providing him with more amusement than he had anticipated. She was so easy to tease, and she rose to his bait every time.

  It was not as if he would not enjoy having her as a concubine, of course. He was honest enough with himself to admit that. She was a delight to his eyes and she had caught his interest and continued to hold it, by the god’s teeth. No female had held his attention for so long a period.

  He wondered if the reason he found her so interesting was because he had yet to bed her. Perhaps, he admitted, but for some reason he did not believe that was the full truth. She certainly knew how to kiss. He smiled to himself.

  Each time their lips had met was a different experience. The first time she had caught him totally off guard. He had never expected her to initiate such a strong kiss. It was almost as if she was trying to convey something to him, prove that even though he held her pinned in his arms, with her neck open to an attack, she was still in control.

  He wanted to believe that, while Teela had started the kiss to prove her mastery over him, by the time it was over she was just as affected as he had been.

  The second time was the most powerful. He had been in such a fury, he wanted to dominate her. Actually, if he was completely honest with himself, he had wanted to hurt her physically, punish her for the words that had cut so cruelly through him. When he pinned her against the wall, the urge to overpower and master her completely was too much to resist. He had been afraid he would injure her physically, so he kissed her in an attempt to deflect his anger.

  It had not worked as well as he had hoped.

  Instead of quenching his rage, the emotions had been channeled into a storm of lust the like of which he had never experienced before. Furthermore, the challenge of his kiss had been met by Teela with an answering force; a force that had melded their emotions and wills together in such as way that he had no doubt there could have been only one possible conclusion to the episode. If not for Lala’s timely knock on the door, Teela would have been his slave in body as well as in name.

  His mouth became dry when he remembered the brief but tantalizing glimpse he had of her full, round breasts, and the way they filled his hands to overflowing. Such smooth and luscious skin. How he had wanted to taste that ripe flesh.

  The third time they kissed, while in the lift coming Atop, had been completely different from the two previous times. The woman was like one of those rare, tiny dragons he had heard of, the ones that could change and adapt themselves to whatever environment they were in. It was disconcerting, to say the least.

  That last kiss was gentle and needy. She had been frightened, he knew, and that in itself was a surprise to him. He had begun to think that Teela was afraid of nothing. To discover her weakness for heights seemed to make her more real to him in some way. He could not explain it, but she had suddenly became more like what he had long thought was his ideal female—soft and tender, needy and weak, totally dependent upon him for protection and support.

  The kiss was sweet and giving, and if he had not experienced the other two kisses, he would have thought it was perfect. But oddly enough, he knew the person who had been in his arms during the assent Atop was not the true woman, the woman he was beginning to realize he had to know in all ways.

  To distract himself from that strange thought, he began baiting her as they traveled down from the shaft towards the farm buildings. He would amuse himself and see just how far he could push this strong-willed slave.

  But truth to tell, he was beginning to think of her not as a slave, but as an equal, and that truth disturbed him more than all the others.

  It was hard for him not to turn and watch her as she stumbled down the path, trying to keep her balance at the same time she struggled with her temper. He knew she would have been very happy to hit him with a rock or anything, and he would have given just about anything to see her face when he told her he admired her for trying to improve herself. He just could not keep from laughing when she had informed him she would make an outstanding concubine if she wanted.

  Yes, he was enjoying himself hugely.

  Until she called him a monstrosity.

  It was if she had been in conversation with his grandfather. Or as if she could read the deepest part of his mind. Why did she have to discover the truth about him before he had the opportunity to teach her to like him a little?

  He had smothered the childish thought and rushed them to the house as quickly as possible. The gods damn her for her cutting tongue. He was a monstrosity, but why could he not pretend to be a normal being, just for one night? Why did his illusion have to be shattered, and by the one person on Tylana with whom he wanted to spend some time
?

  She fell when he pushed her into the house, and he wanted to help her up, truly he did, but by then the rage had such a strong hold on him, he did not dare touch her. There was no telling what he might do if he put his hands upon her.

  “Can’t you deal with a little rejection?”

  Again she knew instinctively just what to say to cause him pain.

  “Oh, I can deal with rejection, human.” If she only knew, he thought. “I have perfected the art of dealing with rejection, in fact. Have dedicated my life to the project, you could say.”

  A voice from somewhere in the vicinity of his heart told him he was almost out of control, but he paid no heed to it. He advanced on her, and watched as she tried to back away from him.

  You will ruin everything if you do not regain control of yourself, he tried to reason, but a darker force from within smothered the tiny voice. He wanted—no, he needed—to prove that she and his grandfather, and all of the Night Elf nation, were right about him. There was no reason to try to fight it any longer. He was a monstrosity, an Outbreed, and he would never be anything else besides unworthy of the throne.

  But still that small part of him struggled to regain some command of his emotions. He watched her stand and pull her dignity around her. She was magnificent, and still she did not waver or cower before him.

  He admired her spirit, but knew if he were a true Night Elf, he should quench her defiance ruthlessly. Especially when she dared to lecture him on how he should conduct himself as the prince of his people. How dare she?

  He threw the table aside and lunged for her, intent only on proving to her, and to them all, that he knew his duty. That he, in fact, could perform his duty better than all of them.

  She slipped past his grasp and escaped to the corner by the fireplace.

  “You know nothing! But you will learn, Teela. Oh, yes, you will learn.”

  He knew his words were a prophecy. He would teach this unruly slave just exactly what her position was, and how little he regarded her words.

  He leapt over the fallen table and captured her between his arms, his palms against the wall of the house. She had nowhere to run, no way to escape. Now he would show her he was strong enough, brave enough, worthy enough to be Prince L’Garn of the House of Meedrion.

  She should have been cowering before him. She should be a puddle of female tears on the floor at his feet.

  Instead she stared him in the eye and threatened him. The sight almost made him laugh.

  And then she called him a coward.

  Enough of this foolishness. He would put an end to her bluster and lies for all time. He would give her what she wanted—a sword—and he would force her to admit she knew nothing of such weapons and that he was the dominant one in this relationship.

  It never occurred to him to wonder when he had begun to think of them as having a relationship other than master and slave. Instead, he turned away from her and opened the door to a room that held a supply of weapons.

  He tossed her a sword and he grinned knowingly when she fumbled it and it dropped to the floor with a metallic clang.

  “Take these chains off me, so I can fight you! Or are you afraid of the damage I might do in a fair fight?”

  Why not? She was not going anywhere, even if she managed to somehow escape him and his lesson. If she managed to get outside, the lift would not take her down without his command, and she certainly could not scale the mountain walls. She would never survive; no one ever had.

  The Watcher made sure of that.

  Secure in his knowledge that he had nothing to lose, least of all his slave, he again offered to remove the chain for good if she but agreed not to try to escape. But Teela was uncanny in her ability to read him.

  “I have already explained to you it is my duty to escape,” she told him.

  And then she dared to make him a wager. Again, why not?

  Teela could never overcome him in a sword fight. He could gamble the two moons of Tylana without fear of paying a penalty. He could even agree to call her by her human name, Feenix, without fear.

  However, just so she would not see how completely he had trapped her with her own greed to be free, he put some conditions on the wager. He really was taking advantage of her, he knew, but she needed to have this lesson ground into her for all time.

  “You will agree to serve me faithfully without argument, forego any escape attempts, answer to the name of Teela, and accept your fate as my concubine.”

  Perhaps he would force her to fulfill that duty after all. He was certainly earning the right, with all this bickering and bargaining over the details of a ridiculous wager.

  He tossed her the sword and watched as she struggled to hold it properly. She made some inane comment about it needing to be cleaned, but he knew she was merely stalling, trying to figure a way out of the predicament she found herself in. He would give her no quarter.

  “It is obvious you have listened to warriors before, Teela, but that is not the way one should stand when holding a sword.”

  He almost smiled when she looked at him in surprise. She had been so sure she was doing everything right to convince him she knew how to wield a sword. The passes she made over her head with the blade were somewhat impressive, but anyone could have done them. Although, he admitted to himself, she had a natural grace and ability. If she had a few lessons, she might be able to make a decent thrust or two.

  “Oh? How should I hold it, prince?”

  Finally. She was almost ready to admit that she did not know the first thing about weapons, and swords in particular. He waited for her admission, or at the very least, a request to show her how to hold it.

  Burning pain stabbed through his left thigh before he realized, in complete amazement, that she had actually sliced him. He stared at her as she assumed the most correct position of defense he had ever seen. The wound was not deep—only a scratch in fact—but her sword should never have made contact with his leg.

  “Lesson number one,” she said, behind a triumphant grin. “Never underestimate your opponent. Especially when your opponent is me.”

  Enough, his darker side yelled in his brain. This miserable slave had hit him, spit in his face, kissed him without permission and now sliced him with his own sword! He would take no more!

  L’Garn gripped the hilt of his sword more securely and acknowledged her hit with a slight tilt of his head.

  “Well done. Now let us see if it was luck or skill, shall we, Teela?”

  A best defense is a swift and merciless offense, and this woman was going to get absolutely no mercy from him. He lunged and attacked with the full intent to disarm her and get this farce over with in a hurry.

  Instead he met a wall of steel defense backed up with a blur of offensive thrusts and parries that sent a shock of awareness racing through his body. He might actually lose this wager!

  She advanced on him, and backed him toward the door. He realized she was instinctively trying to get him into a more lighted area of the room, and away from the fallen table and clutter of chairs.

  As he parried her attack, a part of him watched her skill with amazement. She did know how to use a sword. In fact, she was brilliant in her attacking thrusts and parries. L’Garn tried to find the pattern of her attack, but so far had not been able to predict any of her movements.

  She had grasped the skirt of her gown in her left hand, pulling it tight across her body to allow free movement with her sword arm. The material clung to her thighs and breasts in a way that distracted him.

  Before he could regain his wandering attention, Teela had sliced open the sleeve of his tunic, and cut a surface wound in his biceps.

  “Lesson number two,” she laughed, dancing back to watch him. “Pay attention at all times!”

  By the Jewels! She was enjoying this more than was seemly for a slave.

  “Where did you learn to wield a sword, Teela?”

  The gods damn her, she was not even breathing heavily. He realized the wage
r would be won only with some hard work on his part.

  She lunged for his left shoulder, and he deflected her blade easily before advancing on her. She dodged around a long wooden bench and parried each of his thrusts with short, cutting movements.

  “I picked it up here and there, elf-man.”

  It was her turn to advance, and his to retreat with skillful parries of his own. Again she slipped past his defense, and this time sliced open the sleeve on his other arm. The touch of her blade was a mere whisper on his skin, and he suddenly realized she was toying with him.

  He dropped his stance and fingered the shredded material of his tunic. Then he looked at her and almost bellowed in rage. The woman was laughing at him—Prince L’Garn of the House of Meedrion!

  “Come, elf-man,” she taunted. “The wager cannot be won unless you put a little more effort into it.”

  “You are sorely in need of a lesson in manners, Teela.”

  He could feel the blood pumping throughout his body, and he knew that if he did not gain control of his temper, he would fail to disarm her before she did him some serious injury.

  “Are you planning on teaching me, then? Bring it on, scum!” She dropped her skirt and made a beckoning motion with her fingers. Teela flashed him a charming grin. The urge to wipe it from her lips was overpowering.

  With a growl of anger, her lunged at her, thrusting and slicing over and over. But she managed to parry each of his thrusts, despite the fact that their blades clashed with such force he felt the vibrations all the way to his neck.

  By the Jewels, she was magnificent! Her skin glowed and her eyes sparkled. Her teeth flashed white in a huge grin as she danced and parried, thrust and whirled as if she had done this deadly dance thousands of times before.

  L’Garn admitted to himself that she probably had. Teela had not lied when she told him she was a warrior.

  “Where did you learn that move?” he asked, after she performed a particularly graceful pirouette, followed up by another thrust to his leg. The material on his thigh gapped open and a thin red line beaded with blood.