For a few moments she paced anxiously by the door until, finally, to take her mind off her worries, she retrieved the horse brushes from the baggage and carefully brushed the dust off Nara and Eurus until their ebony coats glistened. She combed their manes and tails and brushed the colt’s scruffy coat.
When she was finished grooming the horses, she leaned against Nara and tried to be patient.
Abruptly the wooden door of the hut swung open and Athlone strode out, followed by his four hearthguard. Piers, Sayyed, and Khan’di. Gabria stared at the Khulinin lord with pride. He wore only a pair of tight-fitting breeches, and he carried his sword in one hand. His muscles, while not as bulky as Gringold’s, were well-formed and as dangerously sleek as a mountain lion’s. His skin had been rubbed with oil to make it difficult for his opponent to hold him; his hair was tightly bound.
Gabria recognized the concentrated look of resolution in his eyes. He had withdrawn from everything but the battle at hand. “My lord,” she said softly. “Your mount is ready.”
Athlone looked at her, then at the great Hunnuli stallion that stood watching him with those deep, intelligent eyes. He hesitated for a breath while his reluctance to ride a sorcerer’s steed gave way to his common sense. He and Gabria knew the horses only accepted magic-wielders, yet the rest of the clans only knew that a man who could ride the magnificent horses was a man to be honored and respected. His appearance on Eurus would make a valuable impression on the minds of the Reidhar and hopefully unnerve his opponent.
Athlone vaulted to Eurus’s back, raised his sword, and shouted, “Khulinin!”
The four hearthguard warriors repeated his cry, and their shouts reverberated through the valley. They immediately took their positions beside their chief, and the others fell in behind. Nara walked with Gabria, for the sorceress did not want to distract the Reidhar’s attention from Lord Athlone. To her relief, Piers laid her hand on his arm and walked beside her while Sayyed stayed close behind.
On Eurus’s back, Athlone looked out over the Reidhar camp and saw the clanspeople swarming to the path to watch his approach. He grinned with pleasure and held his sword, blade down, as a gesture of peace to the Reidhar clan. The people cheered their approval. They did not care if he was an opponent to their wer-tain. All they saw was a proud clan warrior astride a great Hunnuli, his sword gleaming in the sun, his body ready for battle. In that moment, Athlone became a thrilling embodiment of the clans’ hero, the legendary warrior, Valorian.
They cheered as the group approached the hall, then fell silent and gathered in a ring around the wide, open space before the building. Lord Caurus and the wer-tain were waiting by the entrance. Gringold’s body was oiled like Athlone’s and laced with scars from many fights.
Athlone paused for a moment to run his hand down Eurus’s neck. He felt so alive, so natural, sitting on the back of this Hunnuli. He was as comfortable and at ease with this horse as he had ever been with Boreas. It was like coming home to an old friend.
Eurus twisted his head around and looked at Athlone through his long forelock. His reach is longer than yours, but he only uses his sword in his right hand.
The chieftain chuckled. “You know him well?”
Merely observant. Keep your head down.
With a laugh, Athlone slung his leg over Eurus’s withers and slid to the ground. He saluted Caurus.
The Reidhar chief returned the salute, as one lord to another. He tried to appear calm, but his face was grim, and his red beard fairly bristled with his agitation.
“Lord, a moment,” Gringold said. “I must ask a favor.”
“What is it?” Caurus asked impatiently.
The wer-tain turned and pointed to Gabria. “The sorceress. She must not interfere. Keep her at swordpoint.”
Before anyone else could move, Sayyed drew his long curved blade and planted himself before Gabria. “Do not try it,” he said flatly.
Athlone caught Sayyed’s glance, and the chief gave a slight nod of approval. Sayyed grinned.
The Reidhar warriors edged forward, waiting for their lord’s command until Caurus waved them back.
“Lord Athlone, tell her she is not to interfere.”
“I do not need to, Caurus. She would not do so.”
“So be it. Begin the duel.”
The Hunnuli and the travelers withdrew to the edge of the ring of people as Athlone and Gringold approached each other. The two men faced off silently and raised their swords above their heads until the two points touched. Gringold’s anger had hardly abated from the night before. His rugged face was twisted into a sneer of rage. Athlone was almost expressionless, and his eyes watched the wer-tain with the calculating calm of a hunter.
Into the silence stepped the clan priest of Surgart. He raised his arm. “God of war, god of justice,” he shouted. “Behold this contest and judge these men. Choose your champion!” At his last word, the priest swung his arm down and the two men brought their swords dashing together.
Eurus’s observation was right; Gringold held his sword only in his right hand, but he used his left to punch, gouge, and grab, and his reach was several fingers longer than Athlone’s. His strength was greater, too, and he bore down on the chieftain with the power and fury of a bear.
Athlone met Gringold’s sword attack blow for blow. He soon realized, though, that without a shield, he could not keep up his guard against the brute strength of the wer-tain. He ducked to avoid a punch to his head, slipped under Gringold’s arm, and, switching his sword to his left hand, nicked the man in the ribs. The wer-tain roared in rage and doubled his attack.
The sounds of dashing swords rang through the treld as the men fought in wordless fury. Time and again Gringold tried to beat down Athlone or crush him with his greater strength, but the chieftain was faster, more agile, and used his sword with either hand. Neither man could force a killing blow on the other, so they both struggled to wear the other down and catch a weakness or a fatal slip.
Before long, the men were sweating heavily. Gringold was bleeding from several cuts and nicks from Athlone’s sword. Athlone’s jaw throbbed from a well-landed punch, and his muscles were aching. He drew back a moment to wipe the sweat from his eyes.
“Too much for you?” Gringold sneered. “Would you care to kneel here and let me end it? I’ll kill you swiftly.”
Athlone jeered with contempt, “You couldn’t hit a dead horse, you lumbering oaf.”
Gringold charged the Khulinin, his sword swinging in a vicious arc. Athlone dodged and slashed at the man’s legs as he passed. The blade caught Gringold’s right thigh and cut deep into the muscle. The man staggered.
At that moment, Gabria heard Sayyed mutter a strange phrase, and she saw Gringold pitch forward to land heavily on the ground. To everyone else the wer-tain appeared to have fallen because of his wounded leg, but Gabria knew better.
Her hand clamped around Sayyed’s arm. “Stop that, now!” she hissed.
The Turk shrugged like a boy caught in mischief. “Do you want Lord Athlone to lose?” he whispered.
“Of course not. But he has to win this alone. He would not tolerate our help.”
“All right, but if you change your mind . . .”
They turned back to the duel in time to see Athlone press his attack on the fallen man. Gringold barely avoided the chief’s sword by rolling under the blow and deliberately tripping Athlone with his legs. The chief fell on top of him, and Gringold took the opportunity to land several punches on Athlone’s face.
The Khulinin chief, his head reeling, struggled out of the way and climbed to his feet. He faced the wer-tain with his sword in both hands. He could taste blood in his mouth, and his eye was beginning to swell. He drew some deep breaths as the wer-tain staggered to his feet. They glared at each other through their blood and sweat.
Swinging his sword in short, wicked slashes, Athlone feinted toward Gringold’s wounded leg just enough to force the man’s sword down, then he cut upward for the throat. The Reidhar’s reflexes were not fast enough to parry the jab, so he slammed his fist into the chief’s stomach. The blow deflected Athlone’s arm just enough to throw off the blade. The sharp edge cut the skin of Gringold’s neck and slid by.