Chapter VI
“The Honor of a Warrior”
Maybe two hours later, Alirah lay upon the bed in her room. By then she had bathed in a big, copper tub which had been provided and filled with hot water by some of Surim’s workers. She’d eaten supper: a strange but delicious concoction of grilled beef, peppers, and other vegetables, along with a few folds of thin, spongy bread. Now she lay staring up at the ceiling.
A single flickering, tallow candle lit the room. She watched its light dancing among the ancient rafters. Beneath her she could still hear the ceaseless murmur of the crowd, punctuated now and then by a shout or a burst of laughter. The floor and walls were thick, however; the sound was faint even though she knew it must be riotous below. She could just barely hear Kelorn snoring contentedly in the next room, but that sound reached her more through the open windows than through the wall.
A war raged in her mind. She felt sleepy after her meal, and wonderfully relaxed after the long, hot bath; but she was still dressed. After her bath she’d put on the rose colored skirt she’d worn the day she met Kelorn, along with a simple linen shirt. She’d brushed out her hair and then tied it back again with Kaya’s bright ribbon. A part of her wanted to go to sleep. That same part of her admitted that she was in a strange city for the first time. The people downstairs were strangers in a much more complete sense than she was used to from her life among the little panas of the Kwi’Kiri. But another part of her longed to do anything other than go quietly to bed. Kelorn’s words still rang in her ears.
Wandering around down there… Like a flower… Like a little flower!
Twice she started to sit up and get out of bed, only to lie back down uncertainly. Then finally, scowling up at the ceiling, she clenched her hands into fists. I’ll give them a flower, she thought, angrily.
Quiet as a mouse she slipped off of the bed and pulled on a pair of light shoes she’d brought from home. Then, recalling all the weapons she’d seen in the crowd below she snatched up her father’s old sword belt and cinched it about her waist. She paused for a moment to make sure she still heard Kelorn’s snores, and then she tiptoed from the room.
Cautiously at first, but relaxing a little with every step, she crept downstairs. In the common room the festivities were still going strong. By then a number of patrons had gone home, but many remained. Those who were left were even more flushed with drink and merriment. To her relief she saw no sign of Surim anywhere; she guessed he’d gone to bed. There were also a few new faces in the crowd. One group in particular caught her eye.
Near the fireplace, before which the minstrel still strummed away, a handful of young men lounged about a few tables which they’d pulled together. They had fairer complexions and they wore their hair longer than most of the men she’d yet seen in Rusukhor. Their garments looked plain, but they were clean and neat. Even dulled by drink, the men’s eyes still shone with pride. Long, curved swords hung at their sides.
With them sat four young Dua women. Their hair was so dark as to look utterly black in the dim room, and it fell loose in plentiful waves. They wore colorful dresses with long, flowing skirts and snug tops. Rings glittered upon their fingers, and hoops of silver and gold dangled from their ears. Each one wore some article of clothing, skirt, blouse, or delicate scarf, of a vibrant maroon color.
Not knowing what else to do, Alirah sat down upon one of the rickety stools by the bar. A few older men sat dispersed among the other stools. All of them looked at her with obvious wonder as she sat down. She gave them a smile that was half friendly and half defiant. Most of them looked quickly back down into their cups, but the one who sat nearest smiled back at her. He was an elderly Jeddein man with white hair and a toothy grin. He patted the empty stool that stood in between them. Alirah hesitated a moment, then with an inward shrug she slid over beside him.
“You’re new,” said the old man. His voice was a little raspy and wavering. He spoke the common tongue with a thick accent which she took for that of the Jeddein. His voice sounded slow and strong, like rocks carved by a desert wind.
“I am.”
“Well what brings you to Surim’s, darling? You’re no caravaneer.”
“No, I’m not. I’m… travelling with my friend.”
“Your friend?”
“He’s upstairs in bed,” Alirah explained. “But he brought me here. He stayed here once before. What brings you here?”
The old man shrugged. “Nighttime.”
He took a long drink from an earthenware cup of red wine which he held before him. When he set the glass down it was empty. He motioned to the barkeep, a big Jeddein man of middle years with muscular arms and a generous belly. The barkeep swept his eyes over Alirah with obvious surprise.
“One for the young lady,” said the old Jeddein, grinning.
Alirah started, realizing first that she’d left her own little coin purse in her room, and second that she had no idea how much a drink, or the rooms, or anything else would cost. Money was not often used among the Kwi’Kiri. Her purse contained a motley assortment of copper and silver coins that she’d accumulated slowly and kept for those rare occasions when the tribe traded with more worldly peoples. She had only a vague idea as to their value.
The old man noticed her discomfiture. He smiled gently. “It’s on me, darling. A pretty young lady doesn’t buy her drinks when she drinks them with Minar.”
The barkeep set a cup of red wine before each of them, accepted a copper coin from Minar, and went about his business. Alirah hesitated again, looking warily at the drink and then at Minar. He winked, once, and she was instantly reminded of a grandfather among her own people, to whom every girl and woman under fifty or so was Sweetheart, and with whom everyone was perfectly safe.
“Thank you,” she said at last, smiling. She took a cautious sip of the wine. It tasted of black pepper and summer fruits.
For a while they sat and spoke together. Alirah told Minar about the Kwi’Kiri and her journey to Rusukhor, though she never mentioned exactly why she had come. He did not ask. She drank her wine slowly and carefully. She spent much more of her time talking while Minar drank steadily from his own cup, which the barkeep refilled several times. He told her that he was an old caravaneer himself. He’d spent most of his life plying the long road between Rusukhor and the far cities of Arjuun and Calimshaan. His travelling days were now over, however. He spent his daylight hours doling out sage advice to his many grandchildren, and his evenings drinking wine.
Alirah had downed about half of her cup, and the room was beginning to look brighter and cheerier, when a commotion arose behind her. She heard a loud crash and a heavy thump. Alarmed, she swiveled on her stool and looked out across the room.
Something had happened between the young men and women she’d noticed upon entering the room. One of the men now lay sprawled upon the floor with his chair beside him and his arms and legs akimbo. A young woman stood over him, poised on the balls of her feet as if she’d been dancing. In one hand she held a forgotten tambourine. She looked flushed with exertion, or anger. All the rest of the men and the other three women were all rolling with laughter and in danger of falling out of their own chairs.
“Who are they?” asked Alirah.
“Trouble,” said Minar, glowering at the young men. “Anyway the boys are trouble. Everyone’s afraid of them, and they know it. Those girls must be Khor’dua, all wearing red like that. I’ve seen them in here before and they seem decent enough, but they should know better.”
“What do you mean? Know better than what?”
“Looks like you’ll get the chance to find out for yourself.”
Abruptly Minar turned back around and looked studiously down into his wine cup. For a moment Alirah was at a loss, then she realized that one of the young men had risen and was walking toward her.
She whirled around herself and took hold of her own cup reflexively
, as though it were a talisman that might keep her safe. But a moment later she heard his heavy footfalls come to a stop behind her. His strong, tenor voice rang out.
“Hello there.”
She turned back and swept her eyes over him deliberately. He was a tall man: strong and well-built. The scruffy beginnings of a beard shadowed his face. He was a handful of years older than she was. Something about him seemed familiar, though she could not have said what. His clothing looked a little finer than that of his comrades. The sword at his side hung in a black and silver scabbard embroidered with flowing pattern like a horse’s mane. His dark eyes glittered as he gazed down at her.
“Hello,” said Alirah.
“I’ve never had the pleasure of seeing you here before,” said the man.
“I’ve never been here before.”
His lips curled into a grin. “How fortunate for me. But I’m glad you haven’t. This is no place for a pretty young girl.”
“So I keep hearing. Did you tell that to your friends over there, too?”
Alirah nodded over his shoulder at the dark-haired young women he’d been sitting with. Three of them had begun to dance again, moving in time to a rhythmic stomping and clapping that was beginning to spread among the crowd. But the oldest of the four, who was well into her twenties, was at that moment gazing back at Alirah with a look of bemusement in her large, expressive eyes.
The man noted Alirah’s gaze but he did not turn to follow it. His grin broadened and he lowered his voice secretively.
“Ah, but they aren’t like you, are they? They’re just some money-grubbers’ daughters out looking for a good time. And my boys will give them one, believe me. But you aren’t like them. You’re something special.”
Alirah gazed up at him for a moment before answering. He was ruggedly, almost ferociously, handsome; but she did not like the look in his eyes or the supremely confident tone of his voice. She shook her head.
“Nope. Not really.”
A frown passed over his face almost too quickly to be seen. Then his easy grin returned. He laughed, mockingly.
“Oh come now, you’re no tavern wench. You’re a princess.”
Alirah blinked, startled. He smiled knowingly down at her, but she could not tell if he meant the word literally, or if it was just a part of his flirting. Regardless, she felt ever more uncomfortable under his gaze.
“Who are you?” she demanded. “What do you want with me?”
This time he burst out laughing. “Isn’t it obvious? I want to speak to you and to enjoy the pleasure of your company. As for who I am, my name is Riuk. Tar Riuk, actually. I am a warrior and a prince among my people.”
“Oh, really? And what people is that?”
“Can you not guess? Do you not see the way the sheep of this town cower in fear? You speak to a warrior-prince of the Taragi, young lady.”
He said this proudly, and gave a half-mocking bow without ever quite taking his eyes off of her. Alirah could not fully suppress a gasp of alarm. Instantly she knew why he’d seemed familiar. She’d seen him before. Not only was he Taragi, he was the one who’d come to a halt just before her and Kelorn as they’d crouched in hiding. If he’d worn armor and come upon her in the dark, she’d have known him at once.
“I see you have heard of us,” said Riuk.
“I’ve heard of you,” snapped Alirah, recovering herself. “I’ve heard of the people you’ve killed and enslaved. I’ve heard of all the awful things you’ve done!”
Riuk shrugged. “Only to those who oppose us.”
Alirah snorted.
He laughed again. “What can I say? Some people are meant to conquer, and others are meant to be conquered.”
His eyes never left hers as he spoke. With an effort she met his gaze for a few moments, but she felt herself blushing. Finally she turned away.
“I think you should go,” she said quietly.
He went on as if he hadn’t heard. “I’d like to know who you are. What’s your name? And what is a beautiful young woman doing sitting around in some old money-grubber’s inn, with a sword at her side?”
His eyes flickered down to the sword at her waist and lingered there. She was about to answer, to tell him that he could go on wanting to know, when suddenly his expression changed. His eyes narrowed, then flew wide in wonder.
“That’s gold!”
Without warning he reached for the sword. Before she could react he’d closed his hand upon its hilt and started to pull it free of its sheath. Alirah leapt up with a startled cry.
“Hey!”
She seized his big hand with both of hers and tried to push the sword back down. To her surprise, he did not let go immediately, but actually brought his other hand over to pry hers away.
“Hey now, don’t be like that!” he said, chuckling.
Straining his powerful arm, he began inch by inch to pull the weapon from its scabbard. As more of the blade was exposed she had to arch her middle away from it to avoid being cut. At last, desperate, she hurled herself up and forward so that all her weight bore down upon his hand. She accidently kicked her stool as she did so, and it fell with a loud bang. At last Riuk let go of the sword, but her weight on his hand forced it downward. His hand nicked against the blade before he could move it away. He drew back from her with an angry yelp.
“Watch it, you little hussy!”
Alirah ignored him. As soon as the sword was safely back in its scabbard she reached up and slapped him hard across the face.
“Get away from me!”
Her voice resounded through a room that was suddenly quiet. Between the crash of the stool, Riuk’s yelp, and her ringing slap, everyone had turned to look at them.
Alirah stood up straight and tall, glaring at Riuk, but inside she felt deeply afraid. Her heart hammered in her chest. For a moment a dreadful light shone in his eyes. Some twisted amusement still lingered in his expression, but it was now mixed with brutal anger. She fully expected him to hit her back. He loomed over her, scowling, while his big hands clenched into fists.
“I don’t think she likes you!” cried a new voice: a young woman’s proud contralto.
Alirah did not want to take her eyes off of Riuk, but she risked a quick glance back towards the center of the room. There the young Dua woman whose eyes she’d met earlier was on her feet, looking none-too-kindly at Riuk.
Laughter erupted around the room. It sounded strained but enthusiastic, as though everyone were anxiously seizing upon levity as an alternative to fear. Alirah realized she was not the only person in the room who was afraid of Riuk and his wrath.
Though he still glowered darkly at Alirah, Riuk forced out a laugh of his own. He grinned and then bowed as if it were all a joke that he’d been in on. As he did he spoke in a low voice that only she could hear.
“You watch yourself. Young girls who play with swords have a way of getting hurt.”
Without waiting for a reply he turned away and started to walk back towards the woman who’d called out.
“Now now, Seilann,” he called. “There’s no need to be jealous! This little girl just hasn’t learned how to play nice with others.”
Seilann laughed. “Oh don’t you worry, I’m not jealous. I don’t like you either. I’m just using you for your cute friends here.” She glanced down at Riuk’s young companions and smiled. They grinned back appreciatively.
Soon the four Dua women and the young Taragi went back to their flirting. Seilann cast a final, lingering glance at Alirah that was filled with sympathy and concern, but then she rejoined her group. Alirah was left standing beside her fallen stool with Riuk’s words ringing in her ears.
She stood there for a moment, breathing deeply. She felt furious, humiliated, and afraid all at the same time. For a few moments almost everyone in the room stared at her, but as they realized that nothing more was going to happen they went back to their conversations. At la
st, trembling slightly, Alirah gathered up her fallen stool and sat back down upon it.
“Well I’m off,” said Minar, suddenly. She’d forgotten he was sitting there and she jumped a little, startled.
“Sorry,” he said.
“It’s okay,” she murmured.
“I’ve had enough for one night,” Minar continued. “And I suggest that you have too. Go to bed. That lot’ll be gone in the morning.”
Without another word he stood up, creaking, and tossed a few more copper coins upon the bar. He then bowed to Alirah in Jeddeinin fashion and hobbled away with short, stiff strides. Alirah watched him go, then turned back to stare down at the surface of the old, worn bar. Unasked, the barkeep set another cup of wine before her. She snatched it up and drank deeply.
By then it was quite late, and many in the crowd had begun to slip away. The minstrel still plucked away at his lute, encouraged by generous tips from the Taragi, but otherwise only a handful of patrons remained. Though now Alirah wanted nothing else than to go back upstairs and sleep, she did not do so. She could feel Riuk’s eyes upon her. Once or twice, when she turned to look at him deliberately, she found him looking back at her already with a grin.
I’m not going to bed until he does, she thought. He’s not chasing me out of here! At the same time she wondered how well the door to her little room could be locked, and how thick it was. A part of her wanted to wake Kelorn and tell him what had happened. Most of her was utterly determined not to do so.
After what felt like an hour, she forced herself to look again across the room at Riuk. She meant to show him she was not afraid, though her heart still raced in her chest. This time she found that something else had finally captured his attention.
Seilann had started to dance. Her three girlfriends now lounged snugly with three of the other Taragi warriors, but the whole attention of that group was now focused upon Seilann herself. Her movements were slow but extraordinarily graceful. Now and then she punctuated them with a quicker thrust in time to the beat of a tambourine. Her long skirt twirled around her, and she held a delicate scarf in her hands that trailed artfully through the air.
Seilann danced right next to the room’s little fire. By then it had burned down to embers, but as the Dua woman swept down beside it, the fire flared suddenly back to life. Alirah gasped aloud as crimson flames shot up. For an instant the room was drenched in a passionate, red light. The fire died away again quickly, but before it did Seilann trailed her scarf through it. The fabric seemed to kindle in flames, but it was not consumed. Seilann held it aloft in her bare hands without being burned. As the common room grew dim again, it seemed as if Seilann was left all alone, dancing in the darkness with a ribbon of living fire that she held above her head. Smaller wisps of flame fell around her, sometimes catching in her hair or trailing along her skirt, sometimes merely settling onto the floor like burning flowers. Neither hair nor fabric nor floorboards were scorched.
Alirah gaped in open-mouthed amazement, and she was not the only one who did. A few of the caravanersai’s patrons grinned with more ordinary excitement, as if they’d seen such a thing before; but most looked thunderstruck. There was nobody in the room whose attention was not riveted upon the Dua woman. Except for Riuk.
Alirah would never have noticed him if she were not already afraid. As captivated by Seilann as she was, she could not keep her eyes from flickering back to him like a deer who’d sighted a wolf in the distance. Riuk gazed at Seilann for a few minutes, but then shook himself abruptly. He gave a sharp nudge to one of his companions who had no woman in his arms. That young man jumped as if startled, then hesitated. Riuk jerked his head again in an insistent nod.
Seilann and her friends had left their cups of wine on one of the little wooden tables around which they sat. Now, as everyone’s eyes were upon Seilann, the young man drew forth a little cloth pouch from his pocket. His movements were eerily unobtrusive: he could have picked the pocket of a city guard on patrol. He leaned forward and sprinkled something from the pouch into each of the women’s cups, then leaned back into his chair just as the dance ended. Seilann’s red fire died away. The dim, ordinary light of candles and embers filled the room again.
Alirah had no idea what the stuff was, or why he should do such a thing. But from the scared, guilty expression on the young man’s face she knew he had done something wrong. As the other patrons burst into cheers and applause, she rose to her feet in alarm.
Then she froze. Riuk had noticed her movement and turned to stare at her. His eyes glittered. Whatever his younger companion had done he, Riuk, knew she had seen it. Now as they stared at one another the horrible grin returned to his face. He leaned back in his chair as though to show her how unconcerned he was. Then he drew one finger across his neck in an unmistakable gesture.
For a few seconds Alirah hesitated, gasping and petrified. Then as Seilann reached for her cup, she clenched her hands into white fists and stepped forward.
“Don’t drink!” she cried. “They put something in it!”
Everyone left in the room turned to look at her again. Silence fell a second time. Seilann had picked up her glass first, and now stopped with it halfway to her lips.
“What?”
“Something…. Some powder… I don’t know,” stammered Alirah. She pointed towards the Taragi boy, who’d gone as white as a bleached skeleton. “He put something into it.”
Seilann whirled and threw the cup at the boy, splattering him with red wine. Before the boy could say anything for himself, and before any of the other girls could react, Riuk leapt to his feet. Whether by accident or by design he bumped the table as he rose. It fell over with a bang and the other drinks splashed onto the floor.
“You lie!” He shouted at Alirah.
“I… I do not!” Alirah shouted back, stammering from fury rather than fear. “You watched him do it! You told him to do it! You miserable…”
“Enough!” Riuk’s voice resounded like thunder in the room and overwhelmed her own. “I will not stand here and be called a liar by a tavern wench. You have insulted the honor of one of my men, and now you have insulted mine. And that I will not allow!”
“You won’t allow it?” cried Alirah, half disgusted and half genuinely confused.
Riuk’s grin returned through his fury. “I will not. I promise you, were you a man or even a boy, you would die for your lies…”
“I am not lying!” she cried, now looking around the room for help. “Search him! He has a little pouch of something on him somewhere!”
Nobody moved. Suddenly Alirah realized there wasn’t anyone left in the common room who was going to search the young man against his will, or against Riuk’s. Aside from herself, there was only the barkeep, a couple of serving girls, and a handful of others who were mostly old men. Seilann and her friends had already backed a few paces away. They looked like they’d sooner go near a nest of vipers than approach the young warriors again. Alirah supposed that the city guards might be sent for, but nobody made a move to do that either. Fear of the Taragi and a reluctance to antagonize them lay heavily upon everyone in the room.
Riuk’s grin broadened and he shook his head. “Nobody is going to search a Taragi warrior as if he were some common street thief. Nor does a self-righteous little hussy get to insult one without paying a price.”
“I’m not a hussy and I’m not afraid of you!” shouted Alirah.
“No? Are you a warrior then with that sword of yours? If so, I demand satisfaction!”
Another silence fell. Alirah had no idea what he meant. She looked around the room for help, but everyone’s face was a scared, blank mask. Only Seilann looked furious. From some hidden place she’d drawn forth a dagger that glinted firelight. But she held the weapon low against her side and so far made no movement.
Finally the barkeep moved out from his post to stand big and bulky beside Alirah.
�
�You cannot demand satisfaction of a young girl,” he growled at Riuk.
“Of course not,” agreed Riuk, at once. “But I can of a warrior. So which one am I looking at? Are you playing dress-up with that sword? If you are, if you’re just a little liar, then of course I’ll settle for an apology… and for the sword, of course. I can’t let you hurt anyone else with it, can I?” He held up his cut hand as if it was evidence.
As he continued on he addressed his words more to the room as a whole than to Alirah herself. “But if she is a warrior, and one who’s insulted my honor and the honor of my men, then I’ll have satisfaction from her!”
“You want me to fight you?” Alirah realized aloud.
“That’ll restore your honor all right,” snarled Seilann.
Riuk threw a murderous glance at the Dua woman, then turned back toward Alirah. The barkeep shook his head.
“Don’t be absurd,” he said.
“I am not,” said Riuk. “But I am losing my patience. What’ll it be, girl? Admit you’re a liar and beg my forgiveness, or face my anger. The choice is yours.”
Alirah stared up at him, terrified but furious. She guessed suddenly that if she just started screaming for help, Riuk would be forestalled. The caravanersai’s guards would certainly come, and maybe the city guards would be alerted as well. More and more people would wake up and all them would be on her side. Kelorn might wake up himself.
But as scared as she was, she did not want Kelorn to wake up. I’m not his little flower! she yelled at herself. He’s not coming to rescue me! And the more she glared at Riuk, the more she hated him. She hated his perpetual grin. She hated the haughty confidence in his eyes as he gazed down at her, perfectly secure in his great size and strength. She hesitated a little longer than she’d have liked, but when she finally answered him her voice was firm.
“Do I have to kill you, or can I just hurt you?”
For a split second her words hung in silence. Then came an uproar. A few of the old men still in the room hollered and cheered their approval. Even a couple of the young Taragi let loose cries of admiration until Riuk silenced them with a glare. At the same time the barkeep let out a curse in the Jeddeinin tongue. Seilann called out urgently.
“Don’t be stupid, kid! He’s a monster. You’ve already stood up to him. You have nothing to prove!”
Alirah ignored her. She glared at Riuk, who scowled back at her. She knew at once he was displeased. He did not actually want to fight her. He was not afraid, she was certain, but maybe deep down some shriveled part of him knew he could not really win a fight against a young girl who was half his size. But now he could not back down. She seized upon his hesitation and made her voice light.
“Shall we do it in here, or should we go outside?”
His scowl deepened. He did not answer, but suddenly strode toward her quickly. He did not draw his sword, so she hesitated to draw her own. Before she knew what he intended he seized her wrist in a grip of iron. Then he strode from the room, dragging her after him. She gave a cry, and struggled, but his strength was horrible. She could neither free herself nor resist his pull.
Without a word he dragged her out into the caravanserai’s now-dark courtyard. Then he flung her roughly ahead, so that she had to stagger onwards for a few paces to stay on her feet. She heard and saw many of the people from the common room rushing out after them, finally shouting in protest and alarm.
“Somebody do something!
“Find Surim!”
“He’s going to kill her!”
“Not kill her!” said Riuk loudly. “I am not without mercy. We’ll fight only to first blood. But watch yourself, or I’ll leave my mark on that pretty face of yours.”
He looked back at Alirah as he finished. He drew his sword and flourished it eagerly in the air before him.
Out of the corner of her eye, Alirah saw Seilann’s three girlfriends dart out of the courtyard at a run. At the same time the two gate guards came rushing in with their scimitars drawn. Three of the Taragi warriors intercepted them.
“This is an affair of honor and you must not interfere,” cried one. His accent was as sharp and hard as a blade.
The guards drew up short. They looked dubious, but thoughtful. Apparently an affair of honor was a real thing that they were prepared to respect under certain circumstances. At the same time Alirah sensed a stirring in the courtyard; those who had chosen to sleep out there were all waking up. Candles were being lit in the caravanserai’s second story windows. With mingled hope and dread she guessed the commotion would soon awaken Kelorn.
“Last chance, little girl,” continued Riuk. “Will you say you’re sorry and give me your sword, or shall I give you a nice big scar to remember me by?”
With a great effort Alirah stopped her trembling. Taking big gulps of breath, she drew her own sword. The blade flashed red and golden in its own light as she held it aloft.
“You watch yourself,” she cried. “Or you’ll find out what I do to bullies!”
A smattering of thin cheers rang out in the courtyard. Riuk shook his head, then raised his weapon and started towards her. Alirah retreated as he advanced, but she kept herself ready on the balls of her feet, and she held her sword in a steady hand.
Riuk did not seek a quick end to the fight. It was obvious that he did not see a slender girl with a ribbon in her hair as a real opponent. He came at her with big, theatrical slashes meant as much to terrify as to harm. The strokes kept her darting back and forth across the yard, while cries of alarm and dismay rose steadily in the gathering crowd. A few times his blade met her own with a resounding clang, and then it was all she could do to deflect his powerful blows. But at last, with an eager snarl, he swung so hard that he overbalanced and left his whole side exposed. Alirah leapt close and thrust out her own sword. Her blade cut across the outside of his arm and shoulder, leaving a long, deep slash. He recoiled, bellowing horribly in pain and rage.
“I win!” cried Alirah.
The crowd, which had grown as more and more people in the caravanserai had woken up, erupted into cheers. Alirah felt a wave of relief so intense she almost swooned. She could not help smiling as she panted for breath. When she saw the look of hate and humiliation on Riuk’s face she beamed even brighter. Without taking her eyes off of him, and without letting go of her sword, she dropped a deep, graceful curtsey.
It was a mistake. Something snapped inside of Riuk. She saw a tremor pass over his face and through his long, muscular limbs. Suddenly, with an incoherent roar, he lunged at her again. Alirah barely had time to raise her sword again before he was upon her. He struck now to kill, yelling all the while. She met his deadly strokes but was sent reeling and staggering backwards by each of them. Jeers and furious shouts rang out from all sides, but Riuk moved so quickly that nobody had time to do anything.
Still, she did not fall easily. Four brutal attacks she deflected, and then though her sword was getting heavy in her hand she thrust out and gave Riuk another wound upon his other side. But then as she darted away, avoiding a counter-attack that would have cut her in half, her foot slipped on some grit.
Before she knew what had happened she fell hard. Her head whipped against the packed earth. Instantly her vision spun. Blackness closed in about the edges of her sight, though she did not quite pass out. Riuk loomed up over her, his form blurry and backlit with a weird halo of distorted firelight.
Alirah’s sword had fallen from her stunned hand. She groped for it now, but he kicked it away.
“Stop! You will not murder her!” shouted a voice. Surim, looking old and frail in a nightgown, leapt between them with his arms spread wide. But Riuk’s face had become an unseeing mask twisted of hate and glee. With a sweep of his arm he sent the old Jeddein reeling away.
“Out of the way, old fool!”
Alirah climbed dizzily to her feet, but she was too slow. Before she cou
ld do anything Riuk seized her throat and lifted her with one mighty arm until she stood upon her tiptoes. She clawed at his hand, but it was like trying to pry away a tree root.
For an awful moment she knew she was going to die. She could not breathe. Her sight grew ever more dim. Her arms and legs felt like leaden weights that she could not command properly. Riuk smiled. He raised his sword, and Alirah squeezed her eyes shut.
Suddenly but faintly, as if from across a vast, windy darkness, she heard a yell and felt a muffled impact. Riuk released her throat abruptly and she fell. She gasped for breath, but this new drop and the lack of air before it was too much. Blackness closed in. The last thing she saw was Kelorn leaping out of the rushing dark, his sword blazing in his hand like a pale flame. Then oblivion took her.
A Daughter of Kings, Part I Page 6
