angry she was fast but wild, easy meat for the skilled swordsman. When cool her movements were stilted, her attacks easy to read and counter. The end result of any combat, therefore, would be the same.
She had been gone perhaps an hour when he heard her light footfalls on the hard-packed clay of the clearing. He looked up as she entered, her tunic drenched in perspiration, her face red, her long hair damp. The sword was still in her hand. 'Did you carry it all the way?' he asked softly.
'Yes. That's what you told me.'
'You did not drop it on the trail and pick it up on your return?'
'No!' she answered, offended.
He believed her, and swore inwardly. 'Do you always do as you are told?' he snapped.
'Yes,' she told him, simply.
'Why?'
Throwing the sword to the table top she stood before him, hands on hips. 'Are you now criticising me for obeying you? What do you want from me?'
He sighed. 'Merely your best - and you gave that today. Rest now. I will prepare supper.'
'Nonsense,' she said sweetly. 'You are an old man, and you look weary. You sit there and I'll bring you some food.'
'I thought we had a truce,' he said, following her to the kitchen, where she took down a large ham and began to slice it.
"That was yesterday. That was before you set out to cheat my father.'
His face darkened. 'I have never cheated anyone in my life.'
She swung on him. 'No? What would you call ten thousand in gold for a few days' work?'
'I did not ask for the sum - he offered it. And if you were eavesdropping - a womanly skill, I've found - then you will have heard me tell him I'd do it for fifty.'
'You want cheese with this ham?' she asked.
'Yes, and bread. Did you hear what I said?'
'I heard you, but I don't believe you. You were trying to force me to fail. Admit it!'
'Yes, I admit it.'
'Then that's all there is to say. There's your food. When you have finished it, clean your plate. And then do me the kindness of spending the evening in your room. I've had enough of your company today.'
"The training doesn't stop just because the sun's gone down,' he said softly. Today we worked your body. This evening we work your mind. And I will go to my room when it pleases me. What are you going to eat?'
"The same as you.'
'Do you have any honey?'
'No.'
'Dried fruit?'
'Yes - why?'
'Eat some. I learnt a long time ago that sweetmeats and cakes sit more easily on a tired stomach. You'll sleep better and wake more refreshed. And drink a lot of water.'
'Anything else?'
'If I think of anything I'll tell you. Now let us finish this meal and start to work.'
*
Having finished his meal Angel cleared away the ash of the previous night's fire, laid fresh kindling, and struck a spark to the tinder. Miriel had eaten in the kitchen, and had then walked through the cabin and out into the night. Angel was angry with himself. You are no teacher, he thought. And the girl was right -he wanted her to quit. But not for the reasons she believed. He sighed and leaned back on his haunches, watching the tiny flames devouring the kindling, feeling the first soft waves of heat from the fire.
He had tried to train the boy, Ranuld, showing him the moves and defences he would need in his new career, but Ranuld had died from a disembowelling cut in his first fight. Then there was Sorrin, tall and athletic, fearless and fast. He had lasted for seven fights - had even become a favourite with the crowd. Senta had killed him - heelspin and reverse thrust to the throat. Good move, beautifully executed. Sorrin was dead before he knew it.
That was the day Angel retired. He had fought a dull Vagrian, whose name he couldn't recall. The man was tough, but slowed by a recent wound. Even so he had almost taken Angel, cutting him twice. After the battle Angel had sat in the arena surgery, the doctor stitching his wounds, while on the table opposite lay Sorrin's bloody
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