Read Online Lady Of The Helm (Book 1) by T.O. Munro - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: T.O. Munro
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village.”
His words stung, stung because she knew them to be true, because she’d seen the evidence of the invader’s retribution lining the roads across the province, or the walls of the towns. She’d laid a few of the poor souls to rest, cut them down to give their broken bodie s at least the blessing of the Goddess. But all too well she could picture the scene Davyn was describing.
“Everytime you kill one, they kill a hundred. They’re beasts.”
“And that is why I fight them, to defeat them. To save our people from slavery, none of the salved should ever be slaves, so says…”
“So says the Goddess yes,” Davyn interrupted her. “You can’t defeat them though, you can’t save them from slavery. You and your father, you had your chance and you lost. You lost it all at Bledrag field. Now just leave it to the people who’ve lived here all our lives, let us handle it. By the Goddess just let us survive.”
“Handle it ?” she aped back at him. “Handle it how? By becoming the Governor’s lackeys? Let me guess. What fat freehold did Nordag give your father? The right to lord it over the others, to be slavemaster to a generation of slaves.”
“My father is no fool, not like yours was. You know they say that’s t he only reason why old King Bulveld let him have this province. That in his madness he somehow knew it was past saving. Why else would he trust it to a hack of an old general rather than his own son?”
“That’s not fair,” Niarmit snapped back, her vision blurred by tears even as Davyn’s rising anger gave him strength to strike. He lunged. She saw it late and ducked but not fast enough to evade the blade entirely. It ran through her left sleeve, scoring a deep cut across her upper arm. She twisted quickly after that, stepped away as he tried to follow. At the sight of her blood dripping redly onto the stones where once they had held a lover’s tryst, he hesitated again.
“Niarmit, I’m sorry.”
“For what? The insults or the fact that you have to kill me ?”
“For both, for everything. Nordag’s death has brought more tears than you ever could have imagined,” he grimaced. “More tears shed for the death of a corrupt ogre than ever for poor Prince Matteus.”
“Or his daughter?”
“I have no choice,” he pleaded.
She decided then. “Very well, no more of my people will die cursing my name.” He looked at her in surprise as she dropped her hands to her side, waiting meekly for his blow. She had it all planned. He was a bad fighter. The way he threw his weight on one leg showed whence his attack would come from. She would lean the other way, grab his wrist as his blade flew past and slam it across her knee. A kick to the groin and then the solar plexus would incapacitate him and, as he moaned through the pain she would be standing over him sword in hand. But she would not kill him, she would let him have some blood stained clothing that may convince others he had succeeded in his mission and then she would leave, cross the Hadran mountains and never once return to a land that wanted neither her nor her father’s memory. Yes she had it all planned.
Yet still he hesitated.
“Go on.”
“Niarmit, I never wanted this. I loved you, always loved you.” The tears were flowing down his cheeks as he misconstrued her apparent surrender. She grew weary of the charade, armed or not he had as much chance of overcoming her as Kaylan had of becoming a priestess of the Goddess.
The sword wavered. He looked away. Too late she recognised the rustle of the bushes the soft sound of Kaylan’s feet arriving at speed.
“No,” she screamed. “Kaylan, no!”
The sword dropped from Davyn’s fingers. He looked down at the bloodied point of Kaylan’s blade which had burst through his chest. Then with darkening eyes he looked up at her in surprise. “Niarmit?” he said, then grunted as the blade was pulled free.
His words stung, stung because she knew them to be true, because she’d seen the evidence of the invader’s retribution lining the roads across the province, or the walls of the towns. She’d laid a few of the poor souls to rest, cut them down to give their broken bodie s at least the blessing of the Goddess. But all too well she could picture the scene Davyn was describing.
“Everytime you kill one, they kill a hundred. They’re beasts.”
“And that is why I fight them, to defeat them. To save our people from slavery, none of the salved should ever be slaves, so says…”
“So says the Goddess yes,” Davyn interrupted her. “You can’t defeat them though, you can’t save them from slavery. You and your father, you had your chance and you lost. You lost it all at Bledrag field. Now just leave it to the people who’ve lived here all our lives, let us handle it. By the Goddess just let us survive.”
“Handle it ?” she aped back at him. “Handle it how? By becoming the Governor’s lackeys? Let me guess. What fat freehold did Nordag give your father? The right to lord it over the others, to be slavemaster to a generation of slaves.”
“My father is no fool, not like yours was. You know they say that’s t he only reason why old King Bulveld let him have this province. That in his madness he somehow knew it was past saving. Why else would he trust it to a hack of an old general rather than his own son?”
“That’s not fair,” Niarmit snapped back, her vision blurred by tears even as Davyn’s rising anger gave him strength to strike. He lunged. She saw it late and ducked but not fast enough to evade the blade entirely. It ran through her left sleeve, scoring a deep cut across her upper arm. She twisted quickly after that, stepped away as he tried to follow. At the sight of her blood dripping redly onto the stones where once they had held a lover’s tryst, he hesitated again.
“Niarmit, I’m sorry.”
“For what? The insults or the fact that you have to kill me ?”
“For both, for everything. Nordag’s death has brought more tears than you ever could have imagined,” he grimaced. “More tears shed for the death of a corrupt ogre than ever for poor Prince Matteus.”
“Or his daughter?”
“I have no choice,” he pleaded.
She decided then. “Very well, no more of my people will die cursing my name.” He looked at her in surprise as she dropped her hands to her side, waiting meekly for his blow. She had it all planned. He was a bad fighter. The way he threw his weight on one leg showed whence his attack would come from. She would lean the other way, grab his wrist as his blade flew past and slam it across her knee. A kick to the groin and then the solar plexus would incapacitate him and, as he moaned through the pain she would be standing over him sword in hand. But she would not kill him, she would let him have some blood stained clothing that may convince others he had succeeded in his mission and then she would leave, cross the Hadran mountains and never once return to a land that wanted neither her nor her father’s memory. Yes she had it all planned.
Yet still he hesitated.
“Go on.”
“Niarmit, I never wanted this. I loved you, always loved you.” The tears were flowing down his cheeks as he misconstrued her apparent surrender. She grew weary of the charade, armed or not he had as much chance of overcoming her as Kaylan had of becoming a priestess of the Goddess.
The sword wavered. He looked away. Too late she recognised the rustle of the bushes the soft sound of Kaylan’s feet arriving at speed.
“No,” she screamed. “Kaylan, no!”
The sword dropped from Davyn’s fingers. He looked down at the bloodied point of Kaylan’s blade which had burst through his chest. Then with darkening eyes he looked up at her in surprise. “Niarmit?” he said, then grunted as the blade was pulled free.
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