Of Fire and Night - Kevin J. Anderson [74]
When the three Isix cats glided forward to sniff Anton's fingers, he absently scratched the head of the nearest cat, and the other two came forward for their share of attention. Yazra'h was always astonished by her deadly pets' behavior around him, though Anton wasn't. "A cat is a scholar's best friend. I can't tell you how many hours I spent translating epics with a cat curled on my lap. It helps concentration, you know."
Yazra'h frowned at her Isix cats as if disappointed in them. The animals blinked up at her, but did not move away from Anton's scratching fingers. "It seems they approve of you. We should spend more time together."
Anton suddenly felt intimidated by Yazra'h's lithe beauty, her strength, her confidence. "Uh, normally I only talk with shy academics."
She flexed her arms. "You have shown me your stories. I invite you now to exercise with me on a combat field." She cocked her eyebrows. "It is my way of returning the favor."
He laughed. "I prefer enjoying great battles vicariously. I already did my heroic deed on Maratha. That's quite enough for a simple historian."
"As you wish," she said. "Then you can come and watch me."
As she led him through the training grounds, the clamor was deafening. Anton stuck close beside the bronzed woman, who seemed anything but threatened by the howling, bone-jarring crashes. Instead, Yazra'h reveled in the sights, the sweat, the excitement. Her cats prowled along beside them, ranging afield, sniffing at the muscular fighters, but always coming back to her.
"I love to watch combat." Her voice was warm with approval. "Each soldier has the same training but slightly different skills. Thus, each match is unpredictable."
Two heavily armored guards clashed crystal katanas against each other. They moved in a choreographed dance, parrying edges with edges, straining, grunting. Blood splattered from a thousand shallow cuts and injuries, but the fighters hardly seemed to notice.
Anton winced. "And you . . . spend your free time training here?"
"I have defeated many of these men myself, though only half of my blood comes from the soldier kith."
"I hope you don't ever want to fight with me! I've got nothing to prove. You'd defeat me--and that's an understatement."
She smiled down at him with genuine amusement. "That would be a most unfair match, Rememberer Anton. If we should encounter great peril, I would use my strength to defend you." Her lips quirked upward. "Afterward, you could use your talents to tell tales of my prowess. That would please me."
"It's a deal."
Out in the open field, Ildirans hurled themselves against each other with great gusto. They let out bestial howls as they fought with sheer fury, hammering at each other with heavy clubs and slender, mirrored blades.
Anton wondered why the Ildiran military spent so much time preparing for ground combat. A standing army? Were these soldiers anticipating a fight that Anton didn't know about? Against whom? Even these armored warriors could not possibly stand against hydrogues. Who else might they be pitted against? Klikiss robots? He hoped they'd go after some payback, considering what the black monstrosities had done to his companions on Maratha.
In a packed-clay arena, movable mirrors were set up against the low walls. Riders in polished armor sat astride lizardlike creatures, carrying laser lances that they fired at their opponents' half-reflective shields.
"One day I will take you to an Ildiran jousting match," Yazra'h said. "It is our greatest sport. You will enjoy it."
Anton watched the sluggish beasts, saw the riders jabbing their lances in a confusing play of mirrors and shields. "I've never been much of a sports fan."
"Nevertheless, you will enjoy Ildiran jousting."
"Doesn't sound like you're giving me any choice in the matter."
"I am not."
As the two of them walked among the combatants, he wondered if Yazra'h was walking with him because she enjoyed his company, or if she had been ordered to keep an eye on him. The Ildirans still