Age of Swords (The Legends of the First Empire #2)

Is she really so confident?

“No pressure, Moya. Just the future of every Rhulyn-Rhune, and maybe even all of humanity, is in the balance. So, nothing to really worry about.”

Moya glared.

“Seriously, though…” Persephone hesitated. “It’s just…he isn’t a demon. Does that bother you? Killing a person, I mean?”

Again, Moya looked at Udgar. “Not him it doesn’t.”

Persephone nodded. “Okay, then.”

The mob drew away, pressing toward the walls, giving the two plenty of room. Raithe moved close to Persephone as they both backed up to the edge of the crowd.

Persephone said a silent prayer to Mari as Moya pulled five feathered shafts from her belt pouch. One without feathers had been lost and the other one had been fixed by Roan during the boat trip back.

“Sticks? You fight me with sticks?” Udgar laughed at her. He hefted his spear and pounded it against the face of the shield secured to his arm, making a mighty whump! “Come get me with your sticks, little girl.”

Moya held all five arrows in her pull-hand, fitting one in the string. “Don’t need to.”

Udgar raised his spear and took one charging step forward. Moya drew back, bending the bow. Just as with Balgargarath, she made a fine image—straight and confident.

She loosed the arrow. A sound like the whisper of a small bird taking flight issued, and across the courtyard the Gula champion stopped his charge and collapsed to the dirt.

In the wake of his fall, there wasn’t a sound. The courtyard remained silent. No cheer, no shouts of anguish. Bewilderment infected every face as the crowd continued to lean forward with anticipation for a battle that had already ended.

Udgar thrashed on the ground, clawing at his neck, a spray of blood forming a pool. His legs kicked, and an awful gurgling sound bubbled from his mouth along with a wellspring of blood.

The spectators still stared.

“What’s happening?” someone asked, as confusion held everyone in shock.

Finally, Udgar stopped moving altogether. The pool continued to spread, soaking the dirt. Still, there was a shaking of heads, a narrowing of eyes, questions whispered.

One of the Gula-Rhune clansmen approached Udgar’s prone form and examined him. Everyone waited for the explanation to the riddle. When the man stood, he had a look of shock on his face. “Udgar…Udgar is dead.”

Still, no one cheered. This wasn’t the answer they had expected. If not for the blood, they might have thought Udgar was faking. Trying to lure his opponent closer, so he could strike. Not even their own eyes were enough to prove that a petite woman had killed the Gula giant. That she had done so in the span of a single breath, made it even more unbelievable.

Raithe looked at the fallen warrior, and then at Moya, who was already unstringing the bow. “You did it.” He turned to Persephone. “She did it. She actually did it! That was…that was amazing.”

“You all right, Moya?” Persephone asked.

Moya nodded, but there was no smile, no flippant remark. Instead, Moya wore a grim, serious expression—the look of a warrior.

“By the blessed hand of Mari,” Lipit muttered as he took a hesitant step forward, struggling to believe. He stared at the prone form of Udgar facedown in the dirt. Then the chieftain of Tirre looked at Persephone with awe. “You really are the keenig.”

Tegan nodded. “You are the keenig.” Then the chieftain of Clan Warric upstaged Lipit by kneeling before her.

“Yes, you are the keenig,” Harkon affirmed as he also took a knee.

So did Krugen and Alward, making it official.

“I’d pledge my sword,” Raithe told her, “but all of mine are broken.”

“I’ll make you a new one,” Roan told him. “A good one. One that won’t break…ever.”

Tekchin ran to Moya. “And here we thought you couldn’t throw a spear! That was amazing! I’ve never seen anything like it. Didn’t even see it fly.”

She whirled on him. “No? Well, trust me, you will if you ever hurt anyone I love again!”

Tekchin pulled back, confused.

Moya leaned in, jabbing a finger at him, her eyes filled with far more fury than she’d showed Udgar. She pointed at Gifford. “If you ever do that, I swear to Mari, I won’t hesitate to—”

Tekchin threw his hands up in defense. “I didn’t—”

“But you didn’t stop it, either. I mean it, Tekchin! I’ll drop you like the poisonous snake you are. You or any Galantian.” She stared fiercely at Eres. “And I’m pretty sure I could do so at more than a hundred yards.”

“Moya,” Gifford said, “it’s all wight.”

“No, it isn’t!” Moya glared at Tekchin. “You could have done something, but you just stood there and watched…watched while he…he…”

“I didn’t like what happened, either,” Tekchin said.

“But you didn’t stop it! Why didn’t you stop it? Why? You stood there like everyone else, just watching. You heard Gifford’s cries; you heard his screams. And what did you do? Nothing!”

She was sobbing.

“Moya, I—”

She held up a hand in front of Tekchin, wiped her tears away, and then slowly walked over to Gifford. She couldn’t look him in the eye; instead she stared at the potter’s feet. “Gifford, I’m…I’m…sorry. I’m so very, very sorry.”

Gifford let his crutch go, hopped a step, and put his arms around her, hugging her close. “It’s okay.”

She shook her head against his chest.

“Moya, you just saved us fum Udga the Tewible. I absolve you.”

“Absolve?” Moya asked.

Roan looked over. “He means forgive, he just can’t pronounce the r.”

Gifford smiled. “I might even owe you a few mo’ snapped bones. You did so much.”

While Gifford held her and Moya cried, Tekchin started to walk away, his head down.

“Wait!” Moya called when she noticed. She gave Gifford a kiss on his forehead. “Thank you,” she whispered. Then she turned toward Tekchin. “You’re ugly. You know that, right?”

Tekchin nodded. “You’ve mentioned it once or twice.”

Moya shifted her weight to the hip that carried her sword. She folded her arms roughly and gave him a scowl. “Well, in case you forgot, or thought you might have improved while I was gone, I wanted to let you know you haven’t. You’re still uglier than Tetlin’s ass on a bad day…but…”

“But?” Tekchin tilted his head to one side. His eyes narrowed and his lips parted just slightly as he studied her. “But what?”

“But it doesn’t mean I want you to leave.”

The Fhrey smiled.

“Don’t go grinning at me,” Moya said.

Just then a scuffle broke out among the Gula-Rhunes in the small group across the yard.

“It’s the law!” one of the Gula yelled. One shoved, and the other pushed back.