Masques (Sianim #1)(12)

This unchecked anger was unlike him; a good warrior strives above all for control. It was also far too sudden. Since when had Talor become a devotee of the Archmage? She knew something was terribly wrong, but his ruthless barrage left no more time for speculation or analysis. She cleared her mind and concentrated on slaying alive.

Finally, one of his swings caught her hard behind the back of her knees and she fell backward, letting his staff carry her legs up with it. She turned the fall into a roll, going over backward on her shoulders and coming up on her feet. As soon as her feet touched the floor, she automatically raised her staff to guard position, trying to protect her face and torso.

The roll had forced her to take her eyes from her opponent, and she barely saw the flicker of movement as his staff came under her defenses. Rather than the standard sweep-strike, Talor had chosen to thrust. The end of the staff caught her low in the chest and drove the breath out of her body. Without the protective padding she wore, it would have broken ribs. Had his staff struck just a few finger-widths higher it would have been fatal, padding nr not.

She twisted frantically to the side, trying to dive out of striking range. It was a desperate maneuver, exposing her vulnerable back to her opponent, and after the blow she'd just received she knew she was moving far too slowly. Even as she moved, she waited for his strike - knowing that there was no way for her to evade the impact of the metal-shod staff that would shatter bone like kindling.

The blow didn't come. She completed the diving roll and snapped to her feet, staff poised and lungs working desperately for air.

Talor stood in the middle of the ring, leaning against the staff. He shook his head like a wet dog and then looked up at her in dazed bewilderment. "What has happened to me?" He whispered the words. "Are you all right, Aralorn?"

"Fine." She gasped the word out, her diaphragm not operating quite correctly yet. "Don't ... worry about it. No harm done, and I ... needed a workout. Your stick work has improved, but you're still a little slow on your returns .... Watch your hands. You hold on too tightly when you're mad, and it makes it easier for your opponent to force you to drop your staff." As she got her breath back she made heir tone more baiting, trying to get him to forget what had happened. If she were correct about the cause, then it would do him more harm than good to worry about it.

He took the refuge she offered. "You need to pay more attention to the opponent's eyes. You watch the body too much, and that doesn't give you much advance warning. If you'd been watching more closely you could have avoided that last hit."

She dropped her staff and waved her hands out in the traditional surrender and said, "Okay, you beat me. My reputation is in tatters. Just do me one favor and don't tell your brother about it. Last time you beat me, he challenged me, and then I had to put up with his sulks for a week."

"I had to go out on maneuvers with him and he sulked for almost a month. Okay, I won't tell him. Besides" - here he struck up an obviously false pose and looked down his nose at her - "it ill becomes a man to brag about beating a woman."

For all of his humor Aralorn could tell that he was feeling uncomfortable, and she wasn't feeling much better. The wild idea that she'd been toying with as an explanation was becoming more and more reasonable. Talor reacted to her unflattering observation about the ae'Magi the same way that she would have reacted to it when she had been in the Magician's castle had she not had the benefit of unorthodox heritage. Somehow, the ae'Magi had increased the area of effect of his charisma spell greatly.

Talor excused himself as fast as he could, before the awkwardness grew further. When she turned to watch him leave she noticed the Wolf lying just inside the doorway, his head on his front paws. Talor stooped and patted him on the back, which Wolf answered with a small movement of his tail, but his clear yellow eyes never wavered from Aralorn's face.

Aralorn waited until Talor was gone before dropping exhausted to the floor and patting the space beside her in invitation. The Wolf obligingly got up and trolled over and resumed his relaxed pose, substituting Aralorn's shins for his chinrest.

They sat like that for a while, Aralorn running her hand through the thick fur - separating the coarse dark hair from the softer, lighter-colored undercoat. When her breathing had returned almost to normal, she broke the silence.

"It's good to have you back," she commented. "I take it that they didn't kill you."

"I think that is a safe assumption to make, yes." His voice was more noncommittal than it usually was.

She gave him a half-hearted grin.

"How long have you been here?" she asked.

"Long enough to see you put your foot in it and almost let that clumsy young fool remove you from his life."

She obligingly rose to his bail. "Clumsy! I'll have you know that he is the second best staffsman in Sianim."

"You being the first?" Amusement touched his voice.

She cuffed him lightly. "And you know it, too!"

"It looked to me as if he had you beaten. You might have to step into second place." He paused and said in a quieter voice, "Finally noticed that people are a bit touchy concerning the ae'Magi, have you?"

She looked at him, startled. "Has it been going on for a long time? I hadn't noticed anything."

He grunted an affirmative. "I noticed it starting about a year ago, but it seems to have gotten much more intense."