Dragon Blood (Hurog #2)(70)

I had no over-robe to cast aside, no gloves to pull off casually to intimidate my opponent, so I just drew my sword and stalked the man I wanted to serve as my high king.

Take him down fast, Stala had advised me, and hard. So I did.

The dwarves were short, but their strength, like mine, was tremendous. I've heard men say that dwarves are slow - but that's what comes from listening to too many minstrels' songs. No man who'd ever faced a dwarf with an ax or sword ever said they were slow - and no more was I. I had adapted some of their moves - beheading a man a foot taller than I was, for instance, was singularly useless to me, but with a few changes it was effective against a mounted opponent.

Axiel said he thought I was better with a battle-ax than a sword, but I preferred the sword because it made me feel less barbaric. When I fought, part of me loved it, loved flesh parting under my weapon, loved the sounds of metal on metal and bellowing men. And what hitting people with an ax or morningstar made me feel was more than I could comfortably live with afterward. The sword is a cleaner weapon.

The first time my sword hit Kellen's, it struck sparks. If he hadn't turned his blade and dodged, I'd have broken his sword then. As Stala had warned, he was well-trained. I could see it in the line he maintained with his body and sword, could see it in the way he managed to save his blade against my longer, heavier sword.

But the weakness of his imprisonment kept him from the edge of speed that he might have otherwise held over me. My use of dwarven techniques kept him from settling firmly into his style. I controlled the fight from the first blow and he was swordsman enough to know it. I allowed eight clashes of blade before I knocked his sword across the ring. Too few for him to adjust to the strangeness of my style. One solid hit from my shoulder and he was on the cold ground with my sword at his throat.

I left him there while I took my aunt's observations and lectured Kellen on what he needed to work on in a dry tone I also stole from her. And as she did to her new recruits who resented serving under a woman, I left him without a shred of pride. He lay in the dust beaten and raw.

When I stepped away, Kellen rolled to his feet and stalked to his sword, which he sheathed with trembling anger.

"My father's man was the half-human son of the dwarven king," I said mildly. "He taught me dwarven style, which works very well for me. That's why you felt like you couldn't quite get your balance."

"What was this for?" he asked around his rage. He stayed half the ring away from me. Probably so he wouldn't act upon his impulse to separate my head from my body - I sometimes have that effect upon people. "Why the lesson?"

"There's not much wrong with your style or technique," I said. "The list I gave you is very short for my aunt - who provided it to me when I asked. What you do not have is strength or endurance. The only way to gain either is time and hard work. Rosem was correct in holding you back last night. We didn't know what it was or what it could do."

"So I was to let an old man and a woman take it out?"

I raised an eyebrow and let my voice grow cold. "That old man is the toughest raider Shavig ever produced. He's a veteran of the Oranstone Rebellion and has fought in a hundred lesser battles - would you have thought of grabbing a pike? A peasant's weapon, when there were swords about? I didn't think of it, either. And as far as Tisala goes, I've fought with her and she's better than half the Blue Guard. Did you see her slice the man's skull in half? That takes skill and strength."

"So I'm supposed to stay in the background while you all fight my battles?" The rage was leaving him, I could see the emptiness of defeat in his eyes.

I shook my head and allowed my tone to sharpen. "No. You are supposed to be smart. Use that. Use the people around you. Rosem is not stupidly overprotective." Not if Stala trained him. "He'll not get in your way when you are ready to stand on your own. But when he tells you to stay back, listen to him. We, none of us, knew what that thing was capable of. If Tisala had died, it would have broken my heart, but not the kingdom's soul. If I had died, my uncle would have served you as Hurogmeten as well as ever I could. Keep your goals in mind. There will be battles enough in front of us."

"So you think I should forgive Rosem for holding me back?" There was no temper in his face or voice, but the tones were acidly polite.

I narrowed my eyes. "No. I don't."

He stared at me a moment and then the mask of royalty dropped from his face and he grinned sheepishly at me. "You think I need to apologize."

I nodded slowly. "I think you owe him."

"I think you're right." His smile fell away and left him looking tired. "Thank you."

"We are demanding a lot of you," I told him. "If you aren't strong, we are all ruined. We need you to be a hero who can face Jakoven and triumph over his power and his games in a way that we have not been able to. But Rosem loves you more than he loves us. He will keep us from destroying you with our demands. Keep him by your side."

He stared at me, an odd look on his face. "You sound humble," he said. "You're big and you talk slowly - it leads people to underestimate you. But somehow we always do what you want us to do."

I grinned. "I'll be glad to knock sense into you whenever you feel you need it."

Oreg was waiting for me in the library.