The Treason Blade (Battle for Alsaar Book 1)

by Keech, Jenny Rebecca

  Davaris’ grin widened. “That sounds even better. I will help you ready the meat.”

  They dismounted and lead their horses toward the gathering place across from the barracks. Several soldiers came forward to help take down the deer and prepare the meat. More men arrived and quickly led Gavin and Glyndwr’s horses away. Glyndwr looked around and glanced back at Davaris. “Where are Ber and Lysandr?”

  Davaris nodded toward the east. “They went to check on the beach area and see how the work was going.”

  Gavin and Traevyn made their way over to where Ishar stood, slightly apart from the rest of the crowd.

  Gavin focused his gaze toward her. “You are more than welcome to join us tonight,” he said lightly.

  Ishar knew that the invite was well meant but her smile was missing as she answered bluntly, “I am honored but I do not think Ber will be overjoyed to come home and find a Haaldyn at his evening meal. I have done all the fighting for my food that I want today. I have no desire for another fight to defend my honor.” She sighed. “Truth be told, a man should be able to sit in peace in his own home.” Ishar gentled her smile. “Please, the offer is appreciated. Perhaps another time.”

  Gavin nodded as if he understood. “Another time. I will hold you to that.” He moved away and began instructing the men on where to take the meat before moving toward the place where Jaya stood watching. He held his and Traevyn’s pouches in his hands.

  *

  Traevyn stood still a moment, staring at the reins in his hands. He tilted his head toward the inner gate. “Shall we?”

  Ishar nodded and led Simi behind Traevyn’s horse toward the horse shelter. Jusa met them at the door but Traevyn waved him away. Ishar followed him within the confines and down the aisle. They stopped, tied up their horses and begin to unsaddle the animals. Traevyn was his quiet self and this no longer bothered Ishar as much. She found she was becoming used to this calm silence of his. Ishar worked in stillness alongside him, broken only by the sound of their work and the other horses moving around within their separate partitions. Ishar set her saddle on top of the wood beside Simi’s stall and reached for a hanging rag with which to rub down her mare. Simi kept brushing her head across Ishar’s shoulder. The horse wanted her forehead scratched. Ishar obliged the mare with a running of her fingers across the soft hair above Simi’s dark eyes.

  she finished and put Simi in her stall, then looked up to find Traevyn watching her from across the aisle. He was leaned against the wood stall of his horse, waiting with his usual patience. She slid out of the stall and stared back in silence.

  Traevyn smiled with a glint in his dark eyes. “I told you I have met Haaldyn in battle. They were fierce warriors to fight as I recall, but that has been quite some time ago. Perhaps my memories are not what they used to be. Would you care to remind me, Ishar?” he said, his voice deceptively soft.

  Ishar felt her heartbeat start to race in excitement. She walked over to him and lightly ran her fingers over the wood he leaned against. She watched the movement of her fingers as she answered nonchalantly, “The Haaldyn you fought must have been showing kind consideration.” Ishar’s eyes flashed as she turned her head and stared into his. “Trust me, Traevyn, match me, and I will ensure you never forget your impression of a Haaldyn warrior. I will make certain it is imprinted forever on your mind.”

  Traevyn’s smile was feral. He leaned in close. “What shall we use?” He asked, his voice a low rumble.

  Her nose flared. Ishar could smell the scent of damp air and woodland from the hunt on him. She narrowed her eyes at his close distance. “Swords or perhaps fighting daggers?”

  Traevyn raised an eyebrow. “Fighting daggers are best used when your opponent does not outweigh you to such an extent. You would have to get in close.” His mouth brushed her ear. “That could be dangerous.”

  Ishar laughed softly and stepped away. She leaned back against the wood and crossed her arms. “So, the choice is fighting daggers. I see you have a lesson coming the hard way.”

  Traevyn shrugged. “I think I will prove you wrong. However, fighting daggers it is. We will have plenty of time later for me to instruct you in swordsmanship, after I have instructed you in the proper use and time for daggers.”

  His tone held an arrogance that was unlike Traevyn. She knew he was purposely baiting her but Ishar could not help but feel her blood begin to pound hot within her. Her Haaldyn training kept her calm. “Shall we see then?” She asked impassively.

  Traevyn turned away. “Follow me.”

  He made his way out of the horse shelter and to the area between the hay storage and the fortress. It was the training area of the Raanan warriors. Ishar took deep breaths to calm her breathing and prepare her for the match. Excitement flowed through her. She wondered at Traevyn’s skill, the way he bore himself spoke of the confidence of a seasoned warrior. Ishar wondered what it would be like to face Traevyn as an opponent. She was about to find out.

  Traevyn faced her once they were in the training area. “We are not wearing full gear. We must be careful if we use true blades. If you wish, I can acquire dulled training blades.”

  Ishar arched an eyebrow at him as she slid off her sword and set it on the ground off to one side. “I am not a fresh recruit. I understand the risks, Traevyn. True blades are fine with me.” As she spoke, she drew the blades from their scabbards at her calves. She bent her stance and knees ever so slightly and kept her weight on the balls of her feet for quickness as she readied herself for Traevyn’s attack. Her padded top and burda would prevent any deep cuts from occurring, though she wished for a moment that she had wisely strapped on her forearm guards.

  Traevyn pulled his own blades out. He balanced his stance and faced her. Once more Ishar sensed the calmness that flowed through Traevyn and marveled at his control. When he moved she nearly missed it but met the arching blades squarely before deflecting them down and away to her left. Traevyn spun and arched a right hook toward the back of her right leg. She knew what he had planned. He had hoped to pull her leg forward and knock her backwards and off balance. The true art of fighting with daggers was having the knowledge that grappling was necessary to winning. An opponent had to be willing to get in close to defeat his enemy. Staying outside was playing it safe and there was no win in that.

  Ishar recognized the move and went with it, letting her right leg flow forward as she kept her full weight on the left. Once his right leg had passed, she brought her right leg up, twisted slightly and kicked out, catching him in the side. Traevyn fell backward. He rolled with the blow and was back on his feet and balanced within seconds. Ishar smiled. He was good.

  Ishar launched herself forward, her body angled to avoid a frontal blow as she slashed inward with her left hand and held her right blade in a block position that quickly turned into a downward thrust. The move required that Traevyn respond to both attacks simultaneously. She wanted to test his reflexes. Traevyn blocked the left blow and stopped the right downward thrust. He moved quickly, sliding his right leg behind her right and shoving forward, driving her backwards and down.

  Ishar felt the loss of balance and realized that she was going backwards only a second before she felt the shift of his weight coming down with her. Oh no, you will not, she thought, falling backward and rolling immediately to gain a space between their bodies and throw him off balance. She was ready for him as his weight fell on top of her. Her feet caught his chest and with the rolling motion of her body, she managed to throw him over and behind. She wasted no time. Her body’s recoil from the throw brought her to her feet and she twirled and faced her opponent. They both still carried their blades.

  Therein lay the art. It was one thing to grapple. It was another to fight blade to blade. The combining perfection was achieved when one could grapple and the blades become a part of your appendage, an extension of your arm and hand. A part of you that could not be put away.

  Traevyn was back on his feet. He settled back into a fighting stance, l
ooked at her and frowned. Ishar’s smile widened. Good. His moves turned wary with the sense that an ending to this fight might not be as quick as he thought. They begin to circle each other, guardedly, looking for a weakness to exploit. Ishar lost track of time as first one, then the other sought to gain superiority in the match. Traevyn was her opponent. He was everything at this moment. There was nothing else. In battle, she would slide this focus back a fraction, but for now, Traevyn filled her world.

  Ishar recognized that time had passed by the fact that both she and Traevyn were drenched in sweat and the daggers had grown dangerously slippery. A rational part of her warned her that they should call off the match. Each had obviously proved their ability to go toe to toe with the blades. But the ingraining of her father’s training to never give up to a still advancing opponent prevented that. She put her focus back on the fight and realized she had allowed her body to tense. Ishar forced her shoulders to relax, then worked her way down the muscles of her body even as she continued to circle Traevyn. She studied his movements for weakness.

  He lunged inward, trying to use his body to overwhelm her and trap her blades at the same time. It was a dangerous move. Traevyn had assumed she was exhausted, too exhausted to react or stop him. The dangerous part was the four blades that were now between their two bodies. The only way to truly prevent a cut was to allow Traevyn to trap her. Ishar balked at the thought. She would rather risk a cut than allow such a simple defeat. She reacted instinctively and brought a knee up between their bodies even as she slid her elbow up and drove it up and back. Traevyn’s head snapped back from the blow and Ishar felt one of his blades skim across her armor right before hot pain sliced down her lower arm as Traevyn was driven backward and to the ground.

  Ishar held back the sudden urge to spin and finish him with a kick to the throat. It was a good thing. She doubted he would have blocked. Traevyn lay on the ground, still. For a second Ishar wondered if her blow had been stronger than intended. Then she saw that he was staring at his blade that now dripped red with blood. He glanced back at her and his eyes dropped to her arm. He was on his feet and by her side the next second.

  “You little fool,” he hissed. “You would rather risk a cut than have me trap you?”

  “In battle, if the choice was capture or chancing a cut, I would risk it,” Ishar stated bluntly, “As would you. I fail to see why my choice here should be any different. Besides, the cut is nothing.”

  She did not know how it was possible, but Traevyn’s eyes darkened and his expression grew taut. “Nothing?” he ground out, grabbing at her arm.

  Ishar looked down. Red blood ran down her lower arm, coating her left hand. She glanced back at Traevyn. “It bleeds, yes but slowly and soon it will stop.” Ishar frowned. “It is not a hindering wound; it only grazed the surface.”

  Traevyn did not look placated by these words. His gaze thundered at her but he was silent as if he struggled with his words.

  Davaris moved beside them and set a wrapping of thick linen against Ishar’s arm. “If I had known the fight would prove this interesting, I might have let coin flow,” he stated softly.

  Ishar and Traevyn looked up puzzled. Their eyes widened as they glanced around. The space around the training area was full of soldiers. All watched. A few feinted imaginary blows with a fellow brother in arms. Ishar glanced back at Traevyn in surprise. He was frowning. She quickly realized Traevyn had been as lost as she in the fight.

  Gavin and Glyndwr worked their way through the crowd. Glyndwr frowned at the sight of Ishar’s bloody arm.

  Gavin’s look of disapproval was aimed at Traevyn. “I thought when Davaris said you might kill her he was joking,” he muttered, displeased.

  “It was an accident,” Davaris said gruffly, pulling up on the linen to check the flow of blood. He frowned and replaced the makeshift bandage. Ishar winced at the sharp pain from the pressure.

  Traevyn shook his head. “No, Gavin is correct. I was careless.”

  Ishar frowned. “It was my decision to fight Traevyn.” She stared intently at Glyndwr. “I accept as much fault as he.”

  Glyndwr ignored her. He fixed his eyes on Traevyn’s bloody blade before looking up stunned. “What were you doing using true blades? When grappling is involved, we work with training blades. You know that.”

  Traevyn’s voice was neutral. “It was my call.”

  Glyndwr narrowed his eyes and studied Traevyn. “It was a bad call. The blade could have cut her throat as easy as her arm.”

  “Wait just a minute,” Ishar muttered as she shoved her way between the three arguing men who were ignoring her. “The blades were also my choice,” she stated forcefully.

  Gavin’s friendly normally friendly gaze had turned fierce. “Traevyn knows better. We do not practice with true blades. It is dangerous enough with the blunted training blades.”

  Ishar frowned, confused. “Warriors of my people who have finished training always fight with their own blades.”

  Glyndwr wrinkled his brow in a frown. “It is a dangerous practice, Ishar.”

  She shrugged. “So is war. A cut will let us know if we are being reckless when a dull blade might let a weakness pass by unnoticed. We have a saying: better a nick in practice than death on the field.” Ishar held up her arm. “This is a nick.”

  Davaris brought her arm back down and kept the pressure applied. “It is apparently a nick that will require thread and needle.”

  There was the sound of horses and a moment later, Lysandr and Ber walked through the crowd. Both stopped at Davaris’ side. Traevyn’s face went rigid at the sight of them.

  Lysandr’s eyes took in the training area and the blood on Ishar’s arm and hand before his gaze delved down at the weapon in Traevyn’s hand. Lysandr jaw clenched. He glanced up and spoke tightly, “What happened?”

  It was Traevyn who spoke. “It was my fault. We did not use training blades.”

  Before Lysandr could speak, Ishar wretched her arm out of Davaris’ care. She stepped up to Traevyn’s face, her angry green eyes a scant breadth from his own. “Say that one more time, Traevyn, and so help me we will finish this match, and with the blades with which we started,” she hissed.

  Traevyn opened his mouth and then closed it. He eyed her warily.

  Davaris sighed and moved closer. He replaced the cloth.

  Lysandr turned to Gavin and Glyndwr. “Get these men to practice,” he muttered under his breath. His gaze flickered to Ber. “Help them.”

  Ber glared but a second later his roar had men racing to obey. Lysandr turned back toward Ishar. “My lady, please let Davaris take you inside. Eira will see to the arm.” Lysandr turned back toward Traevyn whose face was impassive as he stared straight ahead past them.

  Ishar recognized that she had been dismissed. Her eyes flared. “I can take care of the arm myself. You need not concern yourself with its welfare.” Before Lysandr could respond she continued. “This wound was not Traevyn’s fault. I made the choice to fight him and as I told Glyndwr, fighting with true blades is a common practice among my people.”

  Lysandr stiffened and she saw that Traevyn winced. Lysandr turned back toward her, his eyes narrowed. “On the contrary, my lady. You are a guest of this holding. Therefore your welfare, and that does include your arm, are a serious part of my concern, as is how my men conduct themselves in your presence while in the holding.” Lysandr stepped closer. “I do not care how you and your men chose to spar with weapons. Traevyn knows the rules. He knows to abide by them.” Lysandr looked past her toward Davaris. “Please see Ishar into the fortress and to Eira so her arm may be attended.”

  Davaris placed his hand on her arm gently.

  Ishar felt rebellion rise but Traevyn quelled it quickly by saying, “Ishar, please go with Davaris. This time, please, just go.” His voice, oddly tired, was touched with just the barest note of a plea. Davaris walked over and picked up her sword. Ishar stared at Traevyn for a long, still moment, and then let Davaris lead her away.


  *

  Lysandr watched Ishar walk away. He turned a furious glance back at Traevyn. “What the hell were you trying to do? You talk to me the first night she comes of needing this peace and now I find you trying to kill her.”

  “It was an accident,” Traevyn muttered. “I did not intend to harm her. It just happened.”

  Lysandr’s eyes narrowed. “You were trying to test her,” he stated pointedly.

  Traevyn’s jaw tightened and he looked away. “Perhaps a bit,” he admitted. He sighed and glanced back at Lysandr. “She does not know the word yield.”

  “Apparently neither do you,” Lysandr murmured. He shook his head in disgust. “I do not need her dead.” His eyes bore into Traevyn. “Do you know what would happen if she wound up in such manner? What a war it would create?” Lysandr took a deep breath. “We do not need to explain to Ryen of the Haaldyn that his daughter, who he sent down to negotiate peace, has died at the hands of one of Varyk’s warriors in a training bout.” Lysandr moved closer and said through clenched teeth, “I seriously doubt he would believe us, even if it was the truth.”

  Traevyn snorted in disgust. “That was never my intention. She is an excellent fighter. We just both got too involved with winning the match and took risks.” His gaze swept up and met Lysandr’s squarely. “It will not happen again. This, I promise.”

  Lysandr’s hard gaze eased. He put his hand on Traevyn’s shoulder. “I know you were not really trying to harm her, but as you so recently told me, this is important her being here. I wanted to send her packing, but Eira is adamant that we not and since she is set on peace, we must be at care in our actions.”

  Traevyn nodded, “I understand. I promise you, I will not attempt to kill her again.” This he stated with a half-smile before adding, “Although, I am not sure I could. She knows her way around the handle of a dagger.” The smile deepened. “I wonder how she is with the sword or bow.”

  Lysandr had frowned at Traevyn’s mocking tone. Now he studied Traevyn as he listened to the man’s words. “Truly, she is well seasoned?”