The Sword And The Pen (20 page)

She made an involuntary sound. Jole looked up. He stood a few yards away in conversation with another man, but he couldn't have heard Donoval's words. Unwilling to be caught eavesdropping, Serilda hurried away from the tent toward the training field. It would be good to burn off her confusion with physical exertion.

In the past she'd always been able to predict Donoval's reactions. This new Donoval perplexed her. She had no idea what he might do next.

Now watching him as he strode ahead of Jole toward where she waited at the edge of the training field, Serilda couldn't take her eyes from him. Dressed in borrowed, ill-fitting armor, he still cut a dashing figure. Strong. Determined. Kingly.

Instead of leaving his long blond hair to flow free around his shoulders as was his usual style, he'd tied it in a neat, more practical manner at the back of his neck. She shook her head. What did she know of his current habits? They'd been apart for over three years. People altered their behavior to suit their circumstances. But, did what was inside them ever truly change? Despite growing evidence, she was loath to believe Donoval had altered himself. Doing so left her vulnerable to emotions she had no wish to revive.

*** *** ***

The midmorning sun had burned away the dew and warmed the air, and sweat that owed little to that warmth trickled down my spine. As I approached the training field, a crisp blue sky lent an air of reality to the surreal scene that met my eyes.

Spread out over the open field were dozens of men, ranging in age from beardless boys to grizzled veterans, all engaged in exercises and drills. Swords clanged against shields as they fought mock battles. Some wrestled bare-chested. Rolling on the ground, they grunted in exertion. Sweat dripped from their brows, making their sun-darkened skin glisten.

Further away, horses thundered across the ground, the men on their backs swinging swords and mallets. Men, metal and horseflesh clashed. Close in, the horses leaped and kicked, deliberately missing their opponents by distressingly narrow margins, in a carefully orchestrated dance.

I gasped. The sweet scent of trampled grass and the sour smell of human and animal sweat flooded my nostrils. The thought of joining that chaos made my heart race. Prickles of fear chased up and down my spine. I clenched my fingers over the hilt of the sword hanging from my waist.

To keep from bolting in the opposite direction, I locked my gaze on Seri. An oasis of calm in a raging storm, she kept my panic at bay. Dressed in a simple white shirt covered by a plain brown tunic and snug, dark leather trousers and boots, with a sword strapped to her waist, she looked nothing like the half-naked barbarian warrior woman that graced the covers of my books. When had she started dressing this way? Sunshine turned her hair to a crown of flames, and her blue-green eyes to the opaque color of a mountain lake, reflecting everything but revealing nothing. The sight didn't help slow my heart rate.

When I reached her side, activity on the field slowed to a halt. One by one the men paused their practice and turned to watch me. Their faces showed a myriad of reactions, some hopeful, some resentful, some frightened, some I couldn't read.

Seri stepped forward and seemed to study me. Could she read the growing dread in my eyes?

"Are you ready to train?"

A glance around at the men waiting and watching told me I didn't have much choice. These men fought for their country, their families, their lives, but following a woman strained their sense of rightness, their sense of order, their sense of their place in this world. I'd written them this way, and it wasn't a stretch to accept it as real.

In a universe where women were held in little regard, Serilda's rise to a position of power, her ability to command and lead hardened warriors into battle showed her strength of mind and body. My appearance threatened her hard-won authority, I now saw. One word from me, King Donoval of Shallon, and they'd abandon her. And she knew it.

If I refused to spar with her, if I disrespected her skill, she'd lose the regard of her men. They'd see it as an indication that I, King Donoval, didn't believe her strong or capable enough to lead them against Roark.

Her willingness to risk losing the loyalty of her troops spoke to her devotion to Barue. She'd give up everything she'd fought for to save the people, the country she loved.

"Are you well enough?" The concern in her softly voiced question shook me from my daze.

"Do I have a choice?" My question came out harsher than I intended.

Her careless shrug couldn't disguise the tension in her body. "Life is full of choices. Make one." She strode through the crowd to an open area and pulled her sword. A half-circle formed around her. Silence fell over the field. All eyes turned to me.

Legs spread in a wide stance, she held her sword in both hands, ready to meet my attack. Her eyes challenged me. In theory this was a training session, but she knew it was far more. It was a fight for control that neither of us could win.

The smooth hilt of my sword pressed into my sweaty palm. My muscles clenched. Even if I wanted to seize control from her, which I definitely did not, there was no way could I match her with swords. Though I seemed to inhabit Donoval's muscular, toned body, the mind was mine alone. What if I miscalculated my swing? What if she didn't duck? What if I struck her? Bile burned the back of my throat.

Conversely, I had no doubts about my safety. I had no fear that she'd accidentally strike me.

With trembling fingers, I unbuckled the sheath from my waist and let it and the sword slide to the ground. A low murmur started. As I moved into the ring, the murmur grew to a grumble. When I was a few feet from Seri the circle closed around us.

"What are you doing?" Her whisper didn't reach the men. Her sword dipped toward the ground.

"Serilda d'Lar's skill with a blade is renowned," my voice rose over the rumble of the men. "As is mine," I added. Donoval wasn't known for his modesty. "There is little need for us to test our mettle against each other. I'll save my arm strength for separating Roark's head from his shoulders."

"Yes!" a man yelled from the crowd, obviously elated that I had joined their force. Someone banged his sword against his shield. Soon the field erupted in clanging and shouting.

Seri sheathed her sword, stepped close to me and whispered, "I don't know why you refuse to spar with me, but this will not satisfy them for long."

She was right. These men demanded that their leaders train and fight as they did.

"We are equally matched. Our sparring proves nothing," I replied.

Her eyes widened in surprise then narrowed in suspicion. Donoval had never acknowledged her equal skill with a sword.

"The men will demand to see some contest between us. What do you propose?" Her eyes sparked with blue-green fire, and she watched me warily.

The scent of her, sun-warmed woman, leather and spice, rose on her body heat to surround me. The effect left me dizzy with longing. With difficulty, I gathered my wits.

"A wrestling match?" I spoke loud enough for the crowd to hear. They answered with a cheer of approval.

Color flagged her cheeks, but she nodded in agreement. While I pulled off my armor and shirt, she removed her sword and tunic. Helpful hands took the items.

Wrestling was an inspired idea. With my greater strength, size and reach, I had the advantage. Being bested by a woman in swordplay would damage Donoval's standing with the men, but her being defeated by me in a wrestling match wouldn't hurt her in their minds. They wouldn't expect her to prevail against a larger, stronger opponent. It was a win-win scenario.

Now all I had to do was win.

Without warning, Serilda lunged. Her shoulder hit my gut. Half the crowd cheered, others groaned.

"Oof!" The air whooshed out of me. I folded in half over her, knocking us both off balance.

In a tangle of arms and legs we went down. I landed on top of her. From knees to waist, her body pressed against mine. My thigh pressed between hers. Her chest heaved with exertion. Moisture sheened the hollow of her throat where her pulse throbbed. Wisps of hair clung to the damp skin of her face. Her warm, musky scent filled my straining lungs. Unbidden, heat unfurled inside me. The circle of men around us faded from my mind.

Resting my weight on one arm, I hovered over her. In the scuffle, my hair came free and flew around my face. Her eyes darkened as my body responded to her nearness.

"Wrestling is more fun than playing with swords, isn't it?" I whispered.

At my quip she scowled.

"Do you yield?"

"Never!"

She wrapped her leg behind mine and twisted. Off balance from holding my weight off her, and unprepared for her sudden move, I flopped onto my back. She was quickly atop me. My head bounced against the ground. Pain exploded behind my eyes. Pinwheels of colored lights spiraled across a black field. She levered herself up. With a gasp, I sucked air back into my collapsed lungs.

"Are you injured?"

Groaning, I blinked away the remaining black spots and peered up at her. A haze of dust from the dry grass filled the air. I coughed. Concern darkened her eyes.

"I'll live, but I think my pride just bit the dust."

Satisfaction sparked in her eyes as she grinned down at me. "Do you yield?"

Now her thigh nestled between mine. Her heat burned my skin.

"No." I wasn't finished quite yet."

I reached up and cupped the back of her head with my hand. My fingers threaded through soft warm curls. She didn't resist as I tugged her face to mine and closed my lips over hers. Beneath mine, her lips felt cool and firm. I slid the tip of my tongue along the seam of hers. With a tiny gasp they parted, and I delved within. The taste of her, like crisp, sweet mint, exploded in my mouth. I lifted my other hand to her face and stroked my thumb along her cheek. A fine tremor ran through her.

The men shouted and stamped their feet. I could feel the vibration against my back. Or was it the rapid pounding of my heart?

"Yield?" I whispered against her lips.

Her lips tightened to a hard line beneath mine. She jerked her head from my hold, jumped to her feet and strode off the training field.

The fight had lasted less than five minutes. Whichever way you looked at it, I lost.

*** *** ***

After Seri left, the training session continued. Against my better judgment I was roped into sparring and wrestling. The men didn't seem to notice my ineptitude with a sword, or at least none of them mentioned it. I managed not to skewer or be skewered by anyone. I only dropped the blade once.

After being trounced by Seri, to my surprise I did better at wrestling, managing to win several of my matches as I grew more comfortable in the body I now inhabited, Donoval's body. I felt him inside struggling to take over my mind to become me. Part of me wanted to give in, to accept that I was Donoval, not some neurotic writer transported into his fictional world. Despite the insanity of what was happening, I held tight to reality. If I gave in, I'd be lost and Seri along with me. Donoval couldn't, hadn't saved her. Only Brandon could.

When the shadows grew long, training came to a halt. Josef, an older soldier in charge of training, slapped me on the back. I winced and tried not to stumble at his powerful blow.

"Don't worry, young king, you did well enough." He laughed not unkindly.

His words shattered my hopes that no one had noticed my ineptitude. I let out a groan. "Was I that bad?"

"After being trounced by a woman, you need ask?" This time his laughter boomed. Several men smiled and nodded at the sound. He slapped me on the back again.

When I stumbled, this time he grabbed and hauled me upright.

"But, take heart. The men realize that sitting on a throne of peace makes different demands on a man than leading troops into battle. Your skills are a mite rusty, but your heart is strong. Come, we eat now." Without waiting for my acceptance, he gripped my arm and pulled me toward the encampment.

At the smell of roasting meat my mouth watered. Campfires lit the growing gloom of evening and warmed the air. Josef led me to a circle of men sitting around one fire. They greeted me with nods.

Though I couldn't put names to every face, I recognized most of them from the training field. These were the commanders, the ones who led the younger men into battle. They were either professional soldiers or men who'd long ago lost any other place they might have held in the world. Older men, seasoned veterans of many wars and battles, they talked quietly among themselves. Their words of battles won and lost, of times and places long gone, of men killing and killed were sad and left me feeling bemused.

At that moment it was hard to believe I'd created this world, these men. I didn't recognize them as characters with whom I'd peopled my fictional world. As with much of this world I found myself thrust into, they had a presence, a reality that far exceeded my feeble imagination.

No one spoke of the coming battle with Roark, as if to do so would awaken Fate and alter the outcome.

"Here. Eat." Josef handed me a wooden platter loaded high with rare meat dripping with blood and chunks of dark coarse bread. Into my other hand he thrust a cup of what smelled like beer; then he sat down next to me.

Thirst made me imprudent. I took a healthy swallow of the beer and choked at the strong bitter taste.

Laughing Josef tossed back half his own cup without taking a breath. "Weaker than I like, but it'll do, hey, lad?" He nudged my arm with his elbow. Half the contents of my cup sloshed out onto my thigh.

As the men ate and drank, talk turned from battles past to other things: food, drink and women. Though none spoke directly of Seri, at times when the discussion grew rowdy they eyed me with curiosity and what might have been envy.

Hunger and thirst overcame my aversion to the tough, gamey meat. Now that I knew what tarak tasted like--awful--I'd have to apologize to Seri. I also wolfed down the coarse, gritty bread and bitter beer. I ate and drank along with the men, taking care to sip slowly. Though foul-tasting, the beer did help ease my aches and pains, leaving me feeling almost human again.