The Treason Blade (Battle for Alsaar Book 1) (10 page)

Traevyn was
back on his feet. He settled back into a fighting stance, looked at her and
frowned. Ishar’s smile widened. Good. His moves turned wary with the sense that
an ending to this fight might not be as quick as he thought. They begin to
circle each other, guardedly, looking for a weakness to exploit. Ishar lost
track of time as first one, then the other sought to gain superiority in the
match. Traevyn was her opponent. He was everything at this moment. There was
nothing else. In battle, she would slide this focus back a fraction, but for
now, Traevyn filled her world.

Ishar
recognized that time had passed by the fact that both she and Traevyn were
drenched in sweat and the daggers had grown dangerously slippery. A rational
part of her warned her that they should call off the match. Each had obviously
proved their ability to go toe to toe with the blades. But the ingraining of
her father’s training to never give up to a still advancing opponent prevented
that. She put her focus back on the fight and realized she had allowed her body
to tense. Ishar forced her shoulders to relax,
then
worked her way down the muscles of her body even as she continued to circle
Traevyn. She studied his movements for weakness.

He lunged
inward, trying to use his body to overwhelm her and trap her blades at the same
time. It was a dangerous move. Traevyn had assumed she was exhausted, too
exhausted to react or stop him. The dangerous part was the four blades that
were now between their two bodies. The only way to truly prevent a cut was to
allow Traevyn to trap her. Ishar balked at the thought. She would rather risk a
cut than allow such a simple defeat. She reacted instinctively and brought a
knee up between their bodies even as she slid her elbow up and drove it up and
back. Traevyn’s head snapped back from the blow and Ishar felt one of his
blades skim across her armor right before hot pain sliced down her lower arm as
Traevyn was driven backward and to the ground.

Ishar held
back the sudden urge to spin and finish him with a kick to the throat. It was a
good thing. She doubted he would have blocked. Traevyn lay on the ground,
still. For a second Ishar wondered if her blow had been stronger than intended.
Then she saw that he was staring at his blade that now dripped red with blood.
He glanced back at her and his eyes dropped to her arm. He was on his feet and
by her side the next second.

“You little
fool,” he hissed. “You would rather risk a cut than have
me
trap you?”

“In battle,
if the choice was capture or chancing a cut, I would risk it,” Ishar stated
bluntly, “As would you. I fail to see why my choice here should be any
different. Besides, the cut is nothing.”

She did not
know how it was possible, but Traevyn’s eyes darkened and his expression grew
taut. “Nothing?” he ground out, grabbing at her arm.

Ishar looked
down. Red blood ran down her lower arm, coating her left hand. She glanced back
at Traevyn. “It bleeds, yes but slowly and soon it will stop.” Ishar frowned.
“It is not a hindering wound; it only grazed the surface.”

Traevyn did
not look placated by these words. His gaze thundered at her but he was silent
as if he struggled with his words.

Davaris moved
beside them and set a wrapping of thick linen against Ishar’s arm. “If I had
known the fight would prove this interesting, I might have let coin flow,” he
stated softly.

Ishar and
Traevyn looked up puzzled. Their eyes widened as they glanced around. The space
around the training area was full of soldiers. All watched. A few feinted
imaginary blows with a fellow brother in arms. Ishar glanced back at Traevyn in
surprise. He was frowning. She quickly realized Traevyn had been as lost as she
in the fight.

Gavin and
Glyndwr worked their way through the crowd. Glyndwr frowned at the sight of
Ishar’s bloody arm.

Gavin’s look of disapproval was aimed at Traevyn.
“I thought when Davaris said you might kill her he was joking,” he muttered,
displeased.

“It was an accident,” Davaris said gruffly, pulling
up on the linen to check the flow of blood. He frowned and replaced the
makeshift bandage. Ishar winced at the sharp pain from the pressure.

Traevyn shook
his head. “No, Gavin is correct. I was careless.”

Ishar
frowned. “It was my decision to fight Traevyn.” She stared intently at Glyndwr.
“I accept as much fault as he.”

Glyndwr
ignored her. He fixed his eyes on Traevyn’s bloody blade before looking up
stunned. “What were you doing using true blades? When grappling is involved, we
work with training blades. You know that.”

Traevyn’s
voice was neutral. “It was my call.”

Glyndwr
narrowed his eyes and studied Traevyn. “It was a bad call. The blade could have
cut her throat as easy as her arm.”

“Wait just a
minute,” Ishar muttered as she shoved her way between the three arguing men who
were ignoring her. “The blades were also my choice,” she stated forcefully.

Gavin’s
friendly normally friendly gaze had turned fierce. “Traevyn knows better. We do
not practice with true blades. It is dangerous enough with the blunted training
blades.”

Ishar
frowned, confused. “Warriors of my people who have finished training always
fight with their own blades.”

Glyndwr
wrinkled his brow in a frown. “It is a dangerous practice, Ishar.”

She shrugged.
“So is war. A cut will let us know if we are being reckless when a dull blade
might let a weakness pass by unnoticed. We have a saying: better a nick in
practice than death on the field.” Ishar held up her arm. “This is a nick.”

Davaris
brought her arm back down and kept the pressure applied. “It is apparently a
nick that will require thread and needle.”

There was the
sound of horses and a moment later, Lysandr and Ber walked through the crowd.
Both stopped at Davaris’ side. Traevyn’s face went rigid at the sight of them.

Lysandr’s
eyes took in the training area and the blood on Ishar’s arm and hand before his
gaze delved down at the weapon in Traevyn’s hand. Lysandr jaw clenched. He
glanced up and spoke tightly, “What happened?”

It was
Traevyn who spoke. “It was my fault. We did not use training blades.”

Before
Lysandr could speak, Ishar wretched her arm out of Davaris’ care. She stepped
up to Traevyn’s
face,
her angry green eyes a scant breadth
from his own. “Say that one more time, Traevyn, and so help me we will finish
this match, and with the blades with which we started,” she hissed.

Traevyn
opened his mouth and then closed it. He eyed her warily.

Davaris
sighed and moved closer. He replaced the cloth.

Lysandr
turned to Gavin and Glyndwr. “Get these men to practice,” he muttered under his
breath. His gaze flickered to Ber. “Help them.”

Ber glared
but a second later his roar had men racing to obey. Lysandr turned back toward
Ishar. “My lady, please let Davaris take you inside. Eira will see to the arm.”
Lysandr turned back toward Traevyn whose face was impassive as he stared
straight ahead past them.

Ishar
recognized that she had been dismissed. Her eyes flared. “I can take care of the
arm myself. You need not concern yourself with its welfare.” Before Lysandr
could respond she continued. “This wound was not Traevyn’s fault. I made the
choice to fight him and as I told Glyndwr, fighting with true blades is a
common practice among my people.”

Lysandr
stiffened and she saw that Traevyn winced. Lysandr turned back toward her, his
eyes narrowed.
“On the contrary, my lady.
You are a
guest of this holding. Therefore your welfare, and that does include your arm,
are a serious part of my concern, as is how my men conduct themselves in your
presence while in the holding.” Lysandr stepped closer. “I do not care how you
and your men chose to spar with weapons. Traevyn knows the rules. He knows to
abide by them.” Lysandr looked past her toward Davaris. “Please see Ishar into
the fortress and to Eira so her arm may be attended.”

Davaris
placed his hand on her arm gently.

Ishar felt
rebellion rise but Traevyn quelled it quickly by saying, “Ishar, please go with
Davaris. This time, please, just go.” His voice, oddly tired, was touched with
just the barest note of a plea. Davaris walked over and picked up her sword.
Ishar stared at Traevyn for a long, still moment, and then let Davaris lead her
away.

*

Lysandr
watched Ishar walk away. He turned a furious glance back at Traevyn. “What the
hell were you trying to do? You talk to me the first night she comes of needing
this peace and now I find you trying to kill her.”

“It was an
accident,” Traevyn muttered. “I did not intend to harm her. It just happened.”

Lysandr’s
eyes narrowed. “You were trying to test her,” he stated pointedly.

Traevyn’s jaw
tightened and he looked away. “Perhaps a bit,” he admitted. He sighed and
glanced back at Lysandr. “She does not know the word yield.”

“Apparently
neither
do
you,” Lysandr murmured. He shook his head
in disgust. “I do not need her dead.” His eyes bore into Traevyn. “Do you know
what would happen if she wound up in such manner? What a war it would create?”
Lysandr took a deep breath. “We do not need to explain to Ryen of the Haaldyn
that his daughter, who he sent down to negotiate peace, has died at the hands
of one of Varyk’s warriors in a training bout.” Lysandr moved closer and said
through clenched teeth, “I seriously doubt he would believe us, even if it was
the truth.”

Traevyn
snorted in disgust. “That was never my intention. She is an excellent fighter.
We just both got too involved with winning the match and took risks.” His gaze
swept up and met Lysandr’s squarely. “It will not happen again. This, I promise.”

Lysandr’s
hard gaze eased. He put his hand on Traevyn’s shoulder. “I know you were not
really trying to harm her, but as you so recently told me, this is important
her being here. I wanted to send her packing, but Eira is adamant that we not
and since she is set on peace, we must be at care in our actions.”

Traevyn
nodded, “I understand. I promise you, I will not attempt to kill her again.”
This he stated with a half-smile before adding, “Although, I am not sure I
could. She knows her way around the handle of a dagger.” The smile deepened. “I
wonder how she is with the sword or bow.”

Lysandr had
frowned at Traevyn’s mocking tone. Now he studied Traevyn as he listened to the
man’s words. “Truly, she is well seasoned?”

Traevyn’s
smile widened. “Yes,” he said with a grin, “I had forgotten how well a Haaldyn
fights in battle. I can say with honesty I would not mind her by my side.”

Lysandr
nodded. “I will remember that. However, let us hold off on trying her skills at
other activities until this particular injury has healed.”

Traevyn
nodded with a wry grimace. Lysandr slapped him on the back and both men walked
across the area and through the inner gate toward the training area next to the
soldiers’ barracks where Ber’s voice roared over the crowd of fighting men.

Traevyn nursed his drink at the table in Ber’s
house, and watched Ber and Davaris arm wrestle. Glyndwr and Gavin stood close
by, urging on whom they wanted to win. Both Ber and Davaris were strong as oxen,
their faces set and resolute. Their hands gripped tight to each other, both
arms upright. That each man was determined to win was visible as their muscles
flexed and bulged and their jaws tightened even more.

Traevyn
glanced up as Lysandr slipped inside. His departure earlier had been to check
on the switch between the evening and night watch and make sure all was well.
The Britai soldiers were learning but it only took one apathetic attitude to
produce a vulnerable link in the line. Now, when there were no invaders, was
the time to discover weaknesses, not when the Tourna were pounding against
their defenses. Lysandr made his way over to where Traevyn sat and settled down
beside him on the bench, observing the game. Jaya stepped up to the table and placed
a cup before him. She clasped Lysandr’s shoulder in a silent hello and then
moved back to finish cleaning the remnants of the evening meal. The children
had been sent to bed hours earlier, though a few giggles still floated down
sporadically from the loft above the small kitchen.

Lysandr took
a sip. He nodded toward the tussle before them. “Who is winning?”

Traevyn
smiled. “It looks to be a long night. Neither will give an inch.”

“Why does
that sound familiar?” Lysandr asked. “Ah yes, it reminds me of you and Ishar.”

Traevyn
frowned. “I told you, it will not happen again.”

Lysandr
laughed softly. “Your competitive edge is rising.” He leaned back in his seat.
“What is it about her? You would never have chosen true blades with any of us.”
Traevyn raised an eyebrow. Lysandr shrugged. “Okay, perhaps you would,” he
said,
circling
the room with his hand, “but it is
unlike you to choose an unknown stranger to fight in such a manner. Unless you
wanted the stranger dead to
began
with,” he added in
retrospect.

Traevyn’s
smile flickered before fading. He shrugged and stared at the two struggling men
before them for a moment before he spoke. “Perhaps it started out as a test.”
He sighed. “I do not know. Time is running out for us. We have to know these
people if we are going to have them stand with us. She is all we have by which
to judge their character.”

“We have only
known her a few days,” Lysandr spoke quietly, “in that time from what I have
seen and heard from the men, she appears a competent warrior who seems to seek
this peace as earnestly as Eira.” He paused,
then
shrugged. “I have found no fault in her.” He raised an eyebrow as he added
moodily, “But it has only been a few days.”

Traevyn
smiled. “Then where does that leave her?”

Lysandr
wrinkled his brow. “I think she has the possibility of being trustworthy.”

Traevyn’s
chuckle turned into a laugh and his eyes watered as he rose and wiped his
mouth. “Then I think I will leave you,” he muttered, “on that declaration.”

Lysandr
looked surprised. He motioned toward Davaris and Ber. “Are you not going to see
who wins?”

Traevyn wiped
a sleeve across his mouth. “No. It
will be
evident when I see Ber in the
morning,” he said with a smile. “Give everyone my tides of leaving.”

“Where are
you going? It is early to bed,” Lysandr stated curiously.

Traevyn patted Lysandr on his shoulder and moved
past toward the door, “For a walk.” He slid out into the dark.

Traevyn was a
quiet shadow that moved through the inner gates, up the stone steps and into
the fortress. Though there were servants moving about, he
slide
effortlessly by and after a quick inquiry, made his way through the hall and up
the stairs. He stopped in front of a wood door and hesitated, then raised his
hand and gave several strong knocks. The rap of his knuckles sounded loud and
hollow in the hallway.

There was
only quiet on the other side. He waited a few seconds and lowered his hand. Of
course, he thought with a twinge of guilt, she was asleep. After the day she
had, he should not be surprised. Traevyn turned to go.

There was a
creak and he turned back. A moment later, the door slid open a crack.

Guardedly, Ishar stared out from the dark interior
perplexed.
“Traevyn?”

Traevyn gave
a short bow. “I see I have disturbed you. You were asleep. Perhaps I will see
you tomorrow.” He turned to go.

Ishar opened
the door more and held out her hand. “No, Traevyn, do not go.” She opened the
spaced wider and slipped her body through the opening. She motioned within.
“Please. I was not asleep,” she stated casually, “Just thinking before the
fire.” She hesitated for a moment, before continuing, “Sleep would not come.”
Ishar stepped back and held open the door. “Do come in. I could use the company
of one warrior to another on this restless night.”

Traevyn
paused. Then found himself obeying as he stepped softly into the room. He
studied the warm interior; its glowing fire and the furs spread across the
floor to cut the cold before he glanced back toward Ishar. She was dressed as
she had been the first night, with pants and a long tunic. “I will not be
long,” he began cautiously. “I came to see how you were and to apologize again
for my misjudgment this afternoon.”

Ishar heaved
a sigh. “You seemed destined to annoy me today, Traevyn.” She shook her head, a
smile hovering along the edges of her mouth. “However, I refuse to allow that.”
Ishar chuckled and held up her bandaged arm. “I do not know how many times I
must speak of this to you. The cut was shallow. It sliced lengthwise and barely
injured the muscle.” She wrinkled her nose as she opened and closed her left
hand several times. “I will begin to work the arm tomorrow so as not to lose
strength and movement.”

Traevyn
frowned. “The cut may be shallow but if you work it then you may tear the
stitches.”

Ishar
shrugged. “The arm will still heal.”

“But it will
leave a scar,” he frowned.

She laughed
out loud. “I am a warrior. I have scars, Traevyn, and with the coming war, I
will likely gain more.”

Traevyn’s
frown deepened. The image of Ishar scarred by war displeased him. The face
before him was void of the vicious reminders of battle he had seen on countless
men. Davaris carried a scar above and below his right eye that luckily had not
blinded him. At the thought of that, his own skin itched along his left cheek
from a long-healed dagger slice. Though Ishar bore the mark of the sun and wind
across her nose and cheeks, there was nothing to indicate these scars she spoke
up. Traevyn continued to frown as he spoke, “Are you never serious?”

Ishar studied
his expression. “You are serious enough for the both of us.”

Traevyn shook
his head. “I do not understand you,” he muttered as he turned back toward the
fire. He added absentmindedly, “I think at times I might, but no, I do not
understand you at all.”

“Well, at
least you are honest. It is a trait I approve of.” Ishar half-smiled as she
moved beside him and glanced up. “Since that is the case, answer me this: why
did you suggest we train with true blades?” She asked the question in a puzzled
tone. “Do not get me wrong, I was fine with the choice but I could tell from
the men’s reaction it is not normally done.” Ishar drew her right hand roughly
through her hair. “It made me curious, that is all.”

Traevyn was
silent. He glared into the orange blaze and fought the answer he wanted to
give. “You were not so gracious the last time I was honest,” he spoke with
caution.

“There is the
wisdom of looking over one’s words carefully before they leave your mouth,” she
admitted.

Traevyn watched the fire weave and dance around the
wood. He sighed as he spoke softly. “You make me reckless, Ishar, and I do not
think I like this part of me I am discovering.”

He turned
back in time to see Ishar studied him with a puzzled look. “What is wrong with
an instant gut response?” she asked slowly with a broadening smile. “I have
seen it be a soldier’s best defense.”

There was
honesty in her words. Traevyn’s somber gaze fell to her wrapped injured arm as
he answered, “You are a soldier. You already know the answer to that. A gut
response can save your life occasionally but it is the deep training over time
that truly saves our lives in battle. You train to the point that you know
yourself so surely that you simply react with complete assurance of the
outcome.” Traevyn’s glance flickered up to the serious eyes so intent upon his
own. He studied their depths, uncertain how such eyes could make his heart
pound as if he was racing for an uncertain finish. So intent was his reaction
that for a moment, Traevyn could do nothing but look away. Studying the bare
stone wall, he added, “I am only beginning to understand what is between us.”
Traevyn was not certain whether he spoke the words to her or to himself, but he
continued, turning to face her as he did so, “I only know this: you are
dangerous to me. When I am around you, I do not think. I just
react,
and that is not who I am.”

She had
apparently failed to notice his slight discomfort. Ishar chuckled. “Afraid of
what I will inspire you do?” Her grin widened. “You need not worry, Traevyn.
None of my warband has ever died because of my arrogance. I assumed the mantle
of leadership with the knowledge that my words could inflict death if used
incorrectly. I learned this at my father’s knees.” She smiled ruefully. “Know
that I am a competent warrior in battle. My people follow me because of that.”

Traevyn
swallowed. She had misunderstood. He opened his mouth to reword his meaning.

Ishar cut him
off. “Please,” she said, taking his hand and motioning toward the fire, “Sit.
We can talk of tactics, both Haaldyn and Raanan, and see our differences.”

He blinked as
he stared down at the warm pale hand that grasped his. Traevyn was pulled
forward reluctantly.

She nodded,
deep in thought. “My father spoke to me much before I left about his desires
concerning a peace and possible alliance with Varyk. I believe he is right with
the words he spoke. There is so much our people can do if we work together,
even beyond driving the Tourna from our lands with such force that they cringe
from the thought of ever wanting to return.”

Her voice
grew soft and husky as she spoke, warming to a favorite subject. Traevyn
swallowed hard with realization: he had been wrong to come here tonight.

Ishar felt
his resistance and glanced back. Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. “What
are you afraid of, Traevyn?”

He was a
fool. He found that he could not help himself. Traevyn took one step closer.
What was wrong with him? The draping from the window was down and a faint
breeze ruffled the flame of the fire and her green tunic. The fabric shifted
and the delicate beading caught the fire’s glow. Warm honey spread inside
Traevyn. He caught his breath in shock: it was like the pull of a warm fire on
a bitter rainy night. Traevyn clenched his teeth and grabbed hold of the surge
of anger that followed the sudden flash of desire. He fed it, needed it to
fight the stirring craving. Traevyn stared at Ishar with bleak, harsh eyes.
“Today I could have killed you,” he whispered hoarsely. “Do you know what would
have happened between your people and mine if that had happened?” At the
perplexed silence that draped her face he continued.
“Exactly.
That is what reckless reaction without thought gets us.”

Ishar blinked
in surprise. He could see she was not prepared for the attack. She took a step
back. “I thought we had moved past this afternoon,” she said bitingly as she
tilted her head and studied him, hurt at his censure.

She had good
reason. Traevyn was at a lost. He did not wish to leave angry. In frustration,
he turned and paced the length of the room to the window. The cool breeze was
in the process of turning cold. He let it wash over him for a moment and then
walked back. He stopped a length from her. “I am sorry,” he began awkwardly. “It
has been a trying afternoon and the words were not meant the way they came
across.” Traevyn blew out a huff of air and tried again. “I meant: what I mean
and what I say are not always the same, even though they occur at the same
time.” Ishar blinked in confusion. Traevyn tried to explain further. “See—”

Ishar held up
her left hand. Her other covered her mouth. A chuckle slipped out.

Traevyn felt
a flush spread across the back of his neck. He stopped and stood there, unsure
of what to say next.

Ishar motioned
toward the fire and a stool that was situated close by. “Please, Traevyn, sit.
Let me do the talking,” she stated, laughing softly, “
your
tongue seems to have failed you.”

Traevyn
hesitated. He had the opportunity to leave. He should use the anger to do it.
Instead, he followed her toward the fire.

Ishar knelt
on piled pillows and slid elegantly to one side. “We were talking about our
people and the differences that will have to be melded or understood so we can
work together.”