MistyTrail nodded and smiled and Marak began describing Khadora to the young woman while StormSong and HawkShadow set up camp and Halman and Gunta tended to their weapons. The discussion was interrupted by a simple meal of fruits and dried meat and afterwards everyone sat around the small campfire HawkShadow had started. Marak and MistyTrail continued to share cultural experiences and trade humorous stories. HawkShadow, Halman, and Gunta listened to the conversation, but StormSong wandered off into the woods tired of the parlor talk about lords and ladies and wondering why her time was being wasted escorting some pampered youngster while the armies of Omunga were gathering to attack her home.
After a while, Marak rose and excused himself and strode out of the campsite. He heard rustling in the woods and stealthily moved towards the sounds. He stopped when he saw StormSong with her sword unsheathed going through the movements of battle. He stared at her for a while, watching her graceful but efficient movements, with admiration. Eventually, StormSong stopped dancing and Marak walked towards her. Her sword came up reflexively and angled towards his chest.
“Isn’t it a little early in your trip to be spying?” she snapped.
Marak raised his hands and backed up a few steps. “My apologies,” he offered. “I did not think admiring a warrior’s dance was considered spying in Sakova. In fact, I have never known anyone to shadow practice other than myself. You are very talented.”
“Well thank you my Lord,” she snapped sarcastically. “I don’t practice as a form of entertainment though. I practice to perfect my skills, not for some display of false ability.”
“As you should,” Marak sighed. “Have I offended you in some way, StormSong? I have detected your hostility since we met and if I have erred in my behavior, I would like to apologize and understand what it is that I have done.”
“Your behavior has been impeccable,” stated HawkShadow as he stepped out of the dark shadows. “StormSong probably just has a lot on her mind.”
“Do not apologize for me, HawkShadow,” berated StormSong. “I merely want to practice in peace without babysitting some youngster whose daddy made him a lord for his birthday.”
Marak smirked and shook his head. “Shadow dancing in a great way to stay in shape, StormSong” he said, “but it is more efficient to practice with a partner. Perhaps you will let me practice with you. A vigorous workout will peal that anger out of your system as the perspiration cleanses your pores.”
“Lord Marak,” HawkShadow interjected quickly knowing what it could mean to the upcoming meeting to have the Khadoran guest show up in bandages, “it is not a good idea to practice with StormSong. If you wish lessons, I will gladly offer myself for your training.”
“No, I might enjoy ridding myself of my anger,” sneered StormSong. “Better it be at night when the shiny hilt of your unused sword will not blind me by reflecting the sun.”
“Excellent,” smiled Marak as he removed his cape and tossed it aside. “What are the rules?” he asked as saw the rest of the party gathering around.
“There is only one rule,” snarled StormSong. “The match ends when you cry for mercy.”
“I will make a point of crying loudly then,” chuckled Marak as he drew the Sword of Torak, its long sinuous blade as black as the hilt that had been hidden under his cape.
HawkShadow’s face frowned at the sight of the ominous sword, but StormSong did not appear intimidated. She waited impatiently for the pampered lord to come at her. Marak held his sword awkwardly, as if he was not used to its feel in his hands, and moved towards StormSong. The Sakovan warrior lunged at him and Marak twirled his black blade upward deflecting his opponent’s sword. StormSong moved immediately to her left and spun, bringing her sword around in a deadly waist-high swing. Marak swiftly dropped to the ground and pivoted so that his feet swept into StormSong’s legs and she tumbled to the ground. StormSong jumped to her feet as swiftly as the Khadoran Lord and smiled at him.
Both warriors feinted and attacked, probing the other for weaknesses, for a while and then settled into a brutal match of clashing blades and amazing acrobatic displays. The match dragged on with Marak and StormSong perspiring heavily and still neither party seemed to gain the upper hand.
“Why is he holding back?” MistyTrail heard Halman whisper.
MistyTrail smiled as she heard Gunta reply, “He is accomplishing the mission at hand, which is breaking her anger without breaking her spirit. She is really a fantastic fighter. She may be holding back herself.”
After a grueling two hours, MistyTrail ordered a stop to the fighting. “As much as we are enjoying this display of fighting prowess,” she smiled, “we must get an early start in the morning.”
Marak and StormSong needed little excuse to stop as both of them were dripping wet and fatigued to the point of exhaustion. StormSong held her hand out to Lord Marak and he shook it firmly.
“You are a mighty fine warrior, StormSong,” congratulated Marak. “That was the best spar I have had in a long time.”
“You dropped your pampered Lord act too soon,” laughed StormSong. “I really enjoyed that fight. I would like to do it again before you leave.”
“As would I,” agreed Lord Marak. “Preferably somewhere where a bath is available afterwards though.”
Everyone laughed and the group moved back to the campsite where Marak and StormSong sat together with their backs against a huge fargi tree and talked for a while before turning in for the night.
Chapter 30
Convergence
“Where are we?” growled Master Malafar. “What happened to my clothes?”
“We are several leagues outside Okata,” answered StarWind, “and your clothes will be here shortly. We could not smuggle you out of the capital dressed as yourself.”
“So you drugged me?” accused the Katana killer. “What gives you the right to do whatever you wish with me? How dare you presume to know what is best for me.”
StarWind shook her head and bit her lower lip. “Look,” StarWind spat, “we risked our lives to get you out of the city and it was not to hear you act like a child. If you are so determined to commit suicide there is little I can do to stop you, so when Goral brings your clothes, you can get dressed and march back into town.”
“A child?” raged Malafar. “I should blast you so hard that the rest of your merry little band can fit in the crater where you stood.”
Goral came into the clearing carrying a bundle and looked quizzically at StarWind. “I hid the litter where it will not be found for some time,” he reported. “Is there a problem here?”
“No, Goral,” she sighed. “Give Malafar his clothes so he can leave. I will leave so he can get dressed.”
StarWind spun and stomped out of the clearing and Goral watched her leave before giving Malafar the bundle of clothes. “You were not very nice to her,” he said softly to the old mage.
“And what business is it of yours?” scowled Malafar.
“She is my friend,” Goral declared. “Have you never had a friend you would die for?”
“What are you talking about?” murmured Malafar as he shed the womanly disguise and started dressing.
“You threatened to kill her,” Goral frowned. “That is not a nice thing to do. Then I would have to kill you and that would make me sad because of Lyra.”
Malafar stopped dressing and stared at the balding giant. “What makes you think you would live long enough to kill me?” quizzed Malafar. “And what does this have to do with Lyra?”
“I did not say that I would survive when I killed you,” clarified Goral, “I just said I would have to kill you. Neither of us would probably survive.” He walked closer to Malafar to sit on a stump and the old man backed away nervously. “You do not need to be afraid of me,” he stated, “unless you kill my friends. We smuggled you out of the city to take you to Lyra. I thought you would be happy, but that just shows how smart I am I guess.”