by Cheryl Dyson
******
They walked for a number of hours. Brydon and Toryn conversed about myriad things, avoiding the subjects of Falara and Redol by mutual agreement. Brydon watched Alyn covertly. She rode as if she had been born on the back of a horse. It was possible, he reflected. No one had ever seen an Akarskan without a horse, and there were myths that horses lived inside their houses with them.
"Can you not walk any faster?" Alyn demanded.
"We only have two legs, not four, milady," Brydon said.
"Perhaps milady would like to climb down here and walk with us lowly ones?" Toryn suggested.
"I will not." She sniffed.
"Probably forgotten how," Toryn murmured to Brydon, loud enough for Alyn to overhear. Toryn seemed to enjoy baiting the girl, a practice Brydon thought extremely unwise.
"If he is your prisoner, why isn’t he tied?" she demanded.
"Why aren’t you tied, Toryn?" Brydon asked, using his sword to push aside small branches that leaned into the path.
"But I am tied, milady," Toryn said.
"By what bonds?" she asked.
"By bonds no female would understand," Toryn replied.
Brydon closed his eyes for a moment, wondering if she would spur her horse over the top of Toryn, but she apparently had more control than Brydon feared. "You are probably too stupid to think of a way to escape," she snapped.
Brydon laughed. "You may have to watch yourself with her, Toryn."
"Oh? Well, what kind of a woman wears pants, anyway?" Toryn asked scornfully.
"I am no simpering female, bound by skirts and yowling children," she replied, apparently warming to the conversation as she ducked her head to go under a branch. "I am free to come and go as I please, and most likely more of a woman than you’ll ever have!"
"Is that a challenge?" Toryn asked, green eyes lighting eagerly.
"Take it as you will. It is nothing to me." She cantered by them, almost knocking Toryn down, and took the lead for a while.
They later approached a stream that babbled over stones as it wandered across their path. Brydon halted and took off his pack. Alyn shrugged and dismounted; her horse cropped the thick shore grass while she washed her face and hands in the water.
"Do we have anything to eat?" Toryn asked as he sank down on the bank and pulled off his boots. He wriggled his toes in the water and Brydon watched him enviously, tempted to join him. The day had grown warm, but they needed food. They had depleted everything but a handful of raisins.
"No," Brydon replied, and then turned to Alyn. "Is it lawful to hunt?"
She nodded and picked up her bow. "I will go."
"Try not to waste too many arrows," Toryn called as he tugged his pant legs higher and dunked his feet deeper into the water. She threw him a glare, mounted, and galloped off. Both men watched her go.
"She’s not a bad-looking girl," Brydon commented.
"Yes, and I suppose we will have a scant dinner tonight," Toryn complained and sighed. He started to unplait his hair. "Aren’t you supposed to be married soon?"
"I’m not married, yet," Brydon said, looking at the tufts of white cloud in the sky.
"Well, I am amazed!" Toryn said. He removed one of the leather thongs from his hair and set it aside. His black hair was wavy from the braid and hung down to the middle of his back. He undid a second braid. "It is not very honorable, you know, to think impure thoughts about women when you are practically engaged. You need not concern yourself with the Akarskan, though. She wants me. She just doesn’t know it, yet."
"You do have an oversized ego, don’t you?" Brydon asked. He rearranged his pack just in case Alyn brought back some meat. Not that he had any doubts about her hunting skill, but Toryn was right—she was a woman.
"Me? Certainly not. I am as humble as a holy man. But you should know, Falaran, women find me irresistible," Toryn said. He splashed water with his feet.
"Good luck to you with this one," Brydon replied with a laugh.
"What do you mean by that?"
"She doesn’t seem exactly warm to your advances."
"That’s just a game. You’ll see."
"I’m certain I will."
A short time later, a scream echoed through the forest and brought them both to their feet. Brydon grabbed his bow and he caught Toryn’s grimace when his hand grasped the empty air where his sword-hilt should have been.
"This way!" Brydon yelled.
Toryn followed and they crashed through the underbrush.
"Alyn!" Brydon called.
"Here!" The cry was faint, but audible. Brydon headed straight for the sound. Toryn tripped, but Brydon grabbed his arm and kept him moving until he regained his balance. He yanked his arm out of Brydon’s grasp, and they burst on the scene a moment later.
A huge, red-colored wildcat had cornered Alyn in some rocks. She seemed to have wedged herself in, but the animal clawed into the opening with one massive, talon-tipped paw. Brydon gaped for a moment—the creature was nearly the size of a small horse. Toryn shouted to attract the beast’s attention. The lion turned to snarl at them and they saw one of Alyn’s arrows imbedded in the cat’s huge neck.
"Come away from there, beast!" Toryn yelled. He picked up a rock and lobbed it. It bounced off the lion’s snout. It turned baleful yellow eyes on Toryn with a terrible yowl, and then it quit Alyn and dove for them, lightning-quick. Brydon put two solid arrows into it as Toryn bolted. A third arrow bounced off the cat’s thick skull, where it left a bloody furrow. The cat roared and rushed at Toryn. A huge paw flashed down.
Toryn bellowed and dove away, scrabbling to escape. Brydon loosed another arrow and then yanked the sword from his scabbard.
"Toryn!" he yelled and threw the blade hilt-first. Amazingly, Toryn snatched the blade in midair, whirled, and slashed. A mass of claws narrowly missed his head when he ducked away.
Brydon furiously put arrows into the cat’s head and neck, but the creature was too quick—most of them missed as the creature moved to avoid Toryn’s sword thrusts. Toryn leaped back to avoid another swipe of claws and slammed—hard—into a tree. He staggered aside, obviously dazed.
Arrows spent, Brydon threw down his bow and leaped for the lion, pulling his dagger from its sheath. The wounded cat dove for Toryn, but Brydon was on it first. He gripped the thick fur around its neck and drove the dagger deep. The cat was a huge mass of solid muscle and flexible sinew, twisting wildly to dislodge him. Brydon felt his grip slide.
The beast reared back and gave a terrible roar. An immense paw reached up and ripped Brydon off. He slammed into the ground with brutal force and lay still, stunned. He waited for the crush of claws and teeth. The lion roared once more, with Brydon’s dagger buried in its skull, and then crashed to the ground next to him.
Brydon let blackness lap over him in relief.
