Read Online In the Realm of the Wolf by David Gemmell - Free Book Online Page A

snapped. “It was hardly the most complex of instructions.”
    “Then do it!”
    “How many times?”
    “As many as you can. I want to see the limits of your strength.”
    She leapt upward, her fingers hooking over the branch, and hung for a moment, adjusting her grip. Then slowly she hauled herself up.
    “How does it feel?” he asked.
    “Easy,” she answered, lowering herself.
    “Again!”
    At three she began to feel her biceps stretching. At five they began to burn. At seven her arms trembled and gave way, and she dropped to the ground.
    “Pathetic,” said Angel. “But it is a start. Tomorrow morning you will begin your day with seven, eight if you can. Then youcan run. When you return, you will do another seven. In three days I will expect you to complete twelve.”
    “How many could you do?”
    “At least a hundred,” he replied. “Follow!”
    “Will you stop saying ‘Follow’! It makes me feel like a dog.”
    But he was moving even as she spoke, and Miriel followed him back across the clearing. “Wait here,” he ordered, then walked to the side of the cabin where the winter wood was stored. Selecting two large chunks, he carried them back to where Miriel was waiting and laid them on the ground twenty feet apart. “I want you to run from one to the other,” he said.
    “You want me to run twenty feet? Why?”
    His hand snaked out, rapping against her cheek. “Stop asking stupid questions and do as you are told.”
    “You whoreson!” she stormed. “Touch me again and I’ll kill you!”
    He laughed and shook his head. “Not yet. But do as I tell you and maybe you’ll have the skill to do just that. Now move to the first piece of wood.”
    Still seething, she walked to the first chunk, his voice following her. “Run to the second and stoop down, touching the wood with your right hand. Turn instantly and run back to the first, touching it with your left hand. Am I going too fast for you?”
    Miriel bit back an angry retort and started to run. But she covered the distance in only a few steps and had to chop her stride. Feeling both ungainly and uncomfortable, she ducked down, slapped her fingers against the wood, then turned and ran back.
    “I think you have the idea,” he said. “Now do it twenty times. And a little faster.”
    For three hours he ordered her through a series of grueling exercises, running, jumping, swordwork, endless repetition of thrusts and cuts. Not once did she complain, but nor did she speak to him. Grimly she pushed herself through all his exercises until he called a break at midday. Tired, Miriel strode back to the cabin, her limbs trembling. She was used to running, inured to the pain of oxygen-starved calves and burninglungs. In truth she even enjoyed the sensations, the sense of freedom, of speed, of power. But the weariness and aches she felt now were all in unaccustomed places. Her hips and waist felt bruised and tender, her arms leaden, her back aching.
    To Miriel strength was everything, and her faith in her own skills had been strong. Now Angel had undermined her confidence, first with the consummate ease of his victory in the forest and now with the punishing routines that exposed her every weakness. She had been awake when Waylander had made his offer to the former gladiator and had heard his response. Miriel believed she knew what Angel was trying to do: force her to refuse his training, humiliate her into quitting. Then he would claim his fortune from her father. And because Dakeyras was a man of pride and honor, he would pay the ten thousand.
    You will not find it easy, Angel, she promised. No, you will have to work for your money, you ugly whoreson!
    Angel was well satisfied with the day’s training. Miriel had performed above his expectations, fueled no doubt by anger at the slap. But Angel cared nothing for the motivation. It was enough that the girl had proved to be a fighter. At least he would have something to work with. Given the time, of