hard staff that was swinging high to strike again.
Culaehra
stooped to catch up his sword, then lunged at the old man's midriff—but the
staff swung down, cracked again, and Culaehra dropped his blade with a yowl of
pain. He lashed out with a kick, and the old man stepped aside—but he stepped
too slowly, and the kick caught him on the hip. He grunted with pain even as
his staff moved in a blur, the butt coming up to catch Culaehra under the chin.
His head snapped back and he fell. Lua cried out in fright—Yocote flashed her a
glance filled with surprise and pain—but Culaehra rolled and came up in a
wrestler's crouch, shaking his head to clear it, growling, for all the world
like a bear.
Kitishane
finally realized she could do something again— and what chance had an old man
against a bear in the prime of his youth? She caught up her sword and stepped
toward Culaehra.
“No!”
the old man barked at her, even as he laid his staff aside. “He is mine to
fight—and with no more weapons than he has!” He, too, dropped into a wrestler's
stance, though it looked quite different from Culaehra's. He began to move
around the outlaw, east to west.
Chapter 4
C ulaehra
gave a gloating laugh and charged the old man, stooping to catch up his fallen
dagger on the way. Kitishane and Yocote shouted in alarm as he swung his arm
high, stabbing down—but the old man blocked his stroke. There was a brief
flurry of movement, swirling robes and flapping black sleeves— then Culaehra
shouted with pain as his dagger dropped on the ground. The old man released
him, almost throwing him back. For the first time a glimmer of fear showed in
Culaehra's eye—but it submerged quickly under anger, and he bellowed as he
charged the old man, arms outspread to grapple. The stranger stepped aside, but
again too slowly, and Culaehra caught him with one outstretched arm, sweeping
him into a bear hug. Kitishane heard the old man's ribs creak and cried out in
alarm, and Culaehra gave a gloating laugh. Then, suddenly, he was falling
backward, the old man falling with him, and the two of them seemed a single
churning mass until Culaehra gave a shout that verged on a scream, and the old
man shoved himself back to his feet, backing away, breathing hard—and waiting,
ready. Very ready. Culaehra pushed himself up, panting and clumsy, blood in his
eye, growling low in his throat. He advanced on the old man, but slowly now,
feet wide apart, almost waddling, arms uplifted, until only a yard separated
the two men. Then Culaehra lunged.
What
the old man did, Kitishane couldn't have said—but Culaehra went whirling
through the air to land heavily on his back. He scrabbled at the forest floor,
breathless, the wind knocked out of him, and finally managed to turn himself
over onto his stomach. Breath rasped in his throat at last, and he pushed
himself up again, feet spraddled, arms low and circling, head down, glowering
and gasping for breath.
The
old man stepped in, feinted with his left fist, swung low, and as Culaehra
tried to block, stepped in, smashing his right fist into Culaehra's jaw. The
big man straightened, his eyes glazing, then toppled and crashed into the
underbrush. Kitishane and the gnomes stood frozen, breathless, waiting—but
Culaehra lay still.
“Have
no fear,” the old man wheezed. “He will not ... rise again ... till he wakes.”
He moved toward his staff, but Yocote was there before him, dashing to pick it
up and present it to the old man in outstretched hands.
The
movement broke Kitishane's trance. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart,” she
said, breathless. “I cannot thank you enough—but why did you save me? You do
not know me at all!”
“I
have some reason of my own to punish this man,” the old man said, leaning
heavily on his staff now. His face was grim as he said, “He is my affair—so I
would prefer that he do no more harm.”
“It
is for all of us to thank you,” Yocote said.
Lua
nodded, eyes wide.
Culaehra
stooped to catch up his sword, then lunged at the old man's midriff—but the
staff swung down, cracked again, and Culaehra dropped his blade with a yowl of
pain. He lashed out with a kick, and the old man stepped aside—but he stepped
too slowly, and the kick caught him on the hip. He grunted with pain even as
his staff moved in a blur, the butt coming up to catch Culaehra under the chin.
His head snapped back and he fell. Lua cried out in fright—Yocote flashed her a
glance filled with surprise and pain—but Culaehra rolled and came up in a
wrestler's crouch, shaking his head to clear it, growling, for all the world
like a bear.
Kitishane
finally realized she could do something again— and what chance had an old man
against a bear in the prime of his youth? She caught up her sword and stepped
toward Culaehra.
“No!”
the old man barked at her, even as he laid his staff aside. “He is mine to
fight—and with no more weapons than he has!” He, too, dropped into a wrestler's
stance, though it looked quite different from Culaehra's. He began to move
around the outlaw, east to west.
Chapter 4
C ulaehra
gave a gloating laugh and charged the old man, stooping to catch up his fallen
dagger on the way. Kitishane and Yocote shouted in alarm as he swung his arm
high, stabbing down—but the old man blocked his stroke. There was a brief
flurry of movement, swirling robes and flapping black sleeves— then Culaehra
shouted with pain as his dagger dropped on the ground. The old man released
him, almost throwing him back. For the first time a glimmer of fear showed in
Culaehra's eye—but it submerged quickly under anger, and he bellowed as he
charged the old man, arms outspread to grapple. The stranger stepped aside, but
again too slowly, and Culaehra caught him with one outstretched arm, sweeping
him into a bear hug. Kitishane heard the old man's ribs creak and cried out in
alarm, and Culaehra gave a gloating laugh. Then, suddenly, he was falling
backward, the old man falling with him, and the two of them seemed a single
churning mass until Culaehra gave a shout that verged on a scream, and the old
man shoved himself back to his feet, backing away, breathing hard—and waiting,
ready. Very ready. Culaehra pushed himself up, panting and clumsy, blood in his
eye, growling low in his throat. He advanced on the old man, but slowly now,
feet wide apart, almost waddling, arms uplifted, until only a yard separated
the two men. Then Culaehra lunged.
What
the old man did, Kitishane couldn't have said—but Culaehra went whirling
through the air to land heavily on his back. He scrabbled at the forest floor,
breathless, the wind knocked out of him, and finally managed to turn himself
over onto his stomach. Breath rasped in his throat at last, and he pushed
himself up again, feet spraddled, arms low and circling, head down, glowering
and gasping for breath.
The
old man stepped in, feinted with his left fist, swung low, and as Culaehra
tried to block, stepped in, smashing his right fist into Culaehra's jaw. The
big man straightened, his eyes glazing, then toppled and crashed into the
underbrush. Kitishane and the gnomes stood frozen, breathless, waiting—but
Culaehra lay still.
“Have
no fear,” the old man wheezed. “He will not ... rise again ... till he wakes.”
He moved toward his staff, but Yocote was there before him, dashing to pick it
up and present it to the old man in outstretched hands.
The
movement broke Kitishane's trance. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart,” she
said, breathless. “I cannot thank you enough—but why did you save me? You do
not know me at all!”
“I
have some reason of my own to punish this man,” the old man said, leaning
heavily on his staff now. His face was grim as he said, “He is my affair—so I
would prefer that he do no more harm.”
“It
is for all of us to thank you,” Yocote said.
Lua
nodded, eyes wide.
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