Treasures of Fantasy - Margaret Weis [95]
“I’m fine!” she said, glaring at him.
“Did you ask about Wulfe—”
Aylaen flushed guiltily. “I didn’t . . . have a chance. I’m sorry.” She hunched her shoulders and turned away from him.
The ogre came into view, lumbering across the playing field. The day before, Skylan had told his men that an ogre godlord was going to teach them how to fight. He told them what he learned about the Para Dix, which was, in truth, next to nothing because he hadn’t been paying attention. At first Sigurd and the others refused to believe him, and then, when he swore an oath on Torval’s beard that he was telling the truth, they were outraged—at him.
“We are supposed to fight and bleed while these goat-fornicating Southlanders jeer at us!” Sigurd said angrily.
“You can always go back to picking up rocks,” Skylan said. “You were good at that, I hear. I, for one, want the chance to hold a sword in my hand.”
Sigurd glowered, realizing he’d put himself in a bad position. Given manual labor or the chance to fight—no matter if it was for show—the other Torgun would side with Skylan. Even Sigurd’s most loyal supporter, Grimuir, was looking uncertain.
“I will fight in this Para Dix,” said Sigurd grandly. “The men will need their Chief to lead them.”
Once, not so long ago, Skylan would have leaped down Sigurd’s throat. He had come to the realization that rainy night on the Venjekar, when he had almost given way to despair, that the Torgun’s greatest strength lay in each other. To win this battle, they would have to stand together, shoulder to shoulder, as in the shield wall.
Keeper ordered the Torgun to stand, the tattoo of Aelon keeping them under control. The Torgun obeyed, sullenly, glaring at the detested ogre. Keeper looked them over, eyeing them up and down.
He walked over to Sigurd. “You call yourself a warrior, Graybeard? I am not surprised you ended up as slaves.”
Keeper clenched his large fist and punched Sigurd in the face. Sigurd went down in a heap, his face covered in blood. Grimuir leaped on the ogre’s back, wrapping his arms around Keeper’s neck. The ogre reached behind, grabbed hold of Grimuir, and flipped him up and over his head. Grimuir landed flat and lay there staring stupidly at the sky. Zahakis and his men were lounging on the sidelines, watching, grinning.
“Get up, both of you,” Keeper ordered.
Grimuir heaved himself to his feet. Sigurd muttered a curse and spit a gob of saliva mixed with blood on the ogre’s boot. Keeper walked over to Sigurd and, using the maltreated boot, kicked him in the head, knocking him out cold.
Keeper looked around at the others.
“Any of the rest of you want to test me? Or maybe you just feel like hitting someone. Come on.” The ogre beckoned. “Go ahead. Give it a try. No? Then we will start practice. Our time is limited. Your first game is tomorrow afternoon.”
He glared at Aylaen, who was standing with her arms crossed over her chest, staring at her boots.
The ogre looked sourly at Zahakis. “I have never trained a female. Does the Legate insist on putting her in the game?”
Zahakis nodded. “He believes she will be an attraction. The crowd will love her.”
Keeper scowled.
Zahakis shrugged.
Keeper heaved a sigh and asked Aylaen sourly, “Have you been tested in battle, Female?”
Aylaen was somewhere else. She didn’t even seem to hear him.
“You, Female!” Keeper said loudly.
Aylaen blinked and lifted her head.
“Are you battle-tested?” Keeper asked.
“She has been tested,” said Skylan. “She fights well.”
Keeper was puzzled. “Is it the custom of your people for females to fight?”
“Aylaen was chosen by the Goddess Vindrash to fight for her. The goddess gave her a blessed sword to use in battle.”
The ogre was regarding Aylaen with new respect. “You know that the Para Dix is dedicated to Aelon, Female. Will fighting for a god of the Southlanders offend your goddess?”
“Of course it will,” Aylaen said coolly. “The rage of Vindrash will strengthen my arm.”
The Torgun glanced at each other and nodded.
“Tribune Zahakis,” said Keeper, “see to it that the female’s sword is