Lightnings Daughter by Mary Herbert (read me a book txt) 📕

"Lord Athlone, tell her she is not to interfere."

"I do not need to, Caurus. She would not do so."

"So be it. Begin the duel."

The Hunnuli and the travelers withdrew to the edge of the ring of people as Athlone and Gringold approached each other. The two men faced off silently and raised their swords above their heads until the two points touched. Gringold's anger had hardly abated from the night before. His rugged face was twisted into a sneer of rage. Athlone was almost expressionless, and his eyes watched the wer-tain with the calculating calm of a hunter.

Into the silence stepped the clan priest of Surgart. He raised his arm. "God of war, god of justice,"

he shouted. "Behold this contest and judge these men. Choose your champion!" At his last word, the priest swung his arm down and the two men brought their swords dashing together.

Eurus's observation was right; Gringold held his sword only in his right hand, but he used his left to punch, gouge, and grab, and his reach was several fingers longer than Athlone's. His strength was greater, too, and he bore down on the chieftain with the power and fury of a bear.

Athlone met Gringold's sword attack blow for blow. He soon realized, though, that without a shield, he could not keep up his guard against the brute strength of the wer-tain. He ducked to avoid a punch to his head, slipped under Gringold's arm, and, switching his sword to his left hand, nicked the man in the ribs. The wer-tain roared in rage and doubled his attack.

The sounds of dashing swords rang through the treld as the men fought in wordless fury. Time and again Gringold tried to beat down Athlone or crush him with his greater strength, but the chieftain was faster, more agile, and used his sword with either hand. Neither man could force a kil ing blow on the other, so they both struggled to wear the other down and catch a weakness or a fatal slip.

Before long, the men were sweating heavily. Gringold was bleeding from several cuts and nicks from Athlone's sword. Athlone's jaw throbbed from a wel -landed punch, and his muscles were aching.

He drew back a moment to wipe the sweat from his eyes.

"Too much for you?" Gringold sneered. "Would you care to kneel here and let me end it? I'll kill you swiftly."

Athlone jeered with contempt, "You couldn't hit a dead horse, you lumbering oaf."

Gringold charged the Khulinin, his sword swinging in a vicious arc. Athlone dodged and slashed at the man's legs as he passed. The blade caught Gringold's right thigh and cut deep into the muscle. The man staggered.

At that moment, Gabria heard Sayyed mutter a strange phrase, and she saw Gringold pitch forward to land heavily on the ground. To everyone else the wer-tain appeared to have fallen because of his wounded leg, but Gabria knew better.

Her hand clamped around Sayyed's arm. "Stop that, now!" she hissed.

The Turk shrugged like a boy caught in mischief. "Do you want Lord Athlone to lose?" he whispered.

"Of course not. But he has to win this alone. He would not tolerate our help."

“Al right, but if you change your mind . . ."

They turned back to the duel in time to see Athlone press his attack on the fallen man. Gringold barely avoided the chief’s sword by rol ing under the blow and deliberately tripping Athlone with his legs. The chief fel on top of him, and Gringold took the opportunity to land several punches on Athlone's face.

The Khulinin chief, his head reeling, struggled out of the way and climbed to his feet. He faced the wer-tain with his sword in both hands. He could taste blood in his mouth, and his eye was beginning to swell. He drew some deep breaths as the wer-tain staggered to his feet. They glared at each other through their blood and sweat.

Swinging his sword in short, wicked slashes, Athlone feinted toward Gringold's wounded leg just enough to force the man's sword down, then he cut upward for the throat. The Reidhar's reflexes were not fast enough to parry the jab, so he slammed his fist into the chief’s stomach. The blow deflected Athlone's arm just enough to throw off the blade. The sharp edge cut the skin of Gringold's neck and slid by.

The heavy punch threw Athlone off balance, and he stumbled, gasping for air. Instantly the wer-tain jumped after him and jabbed his sword toward the chief’s upper body. Athlone saw the blade coming.

He tried to twist out of the way, but the point caught him in the hol ow of his right shoulder. He snarled in pain, wrenched away from the blade, and fell heavily on his side. His sword was jarred out of his hand.

It landed in the dirt a few feet away from his outstretched fingers.

Gringold shouted in delight. The wer-tain, his neck and leg running with blood, slashed his blade down at Athlone's head. The Khulinin twisted away from the blow and reached for his weapon.

"Oh, no, you don't,” Gringold cursed. Unable to reach Athlone's fallen sword himself, he tossed aside his weapon and jumped on the chieftain. He wrapped his hands around Athlone's throat and grinned at the delight of killing a man with his bare hands.

"Gabria, please!" Sayyed whispered fiercely.

The sorceress clenched his arm. "No."

Athlone's world suddenly closed in around him in a red vise of pain. He struggled desperately to dislodge the heavy wer-tain sitting on his chest and to pul off the hands that were slowly strangling him.

He might as well have tried to move a mountain. Inexorably the agony increased. The blood roared in his ears, and the used air burned in his lungs. His strength drained away.

Unbeknownst to him, the power of his sorcerer's blood began to build in every fiber of his being. In his last moments of lucid thought, he remembered his sword lying only inches away from his