in to their struggle. Your calm will help them.” The
woman’s low voice steadied Avanelle, and she willed her body to stillness, ordered
her mind to concentrate. Raised voices from the people surrounding her couldn’t
distract her now, no matter what point of combat they were praising.
Mateen
was pressing the attack against his Madoc ; somehow
the other man had been wounded on his chest, and blood poured down his torso.
He was stumbling back, circling the edges of the crowd all while keeping his
eyes on Mateen as he advanced. With a whirling spin, Mateen closed the distance
between them, throwing out his leg in a rapid kick that knocked the sluggish Madoc off his feet. The other man’s axe clattered on the
stones as he dropped it, and Mateen kicked it away. His face was set in hard
lines as he advanced on his attacker; no apparent rage, no bared teeth, just
intense concentration on the task at hand. The other man scrambled, but slipped
on the stone. Perhaps oil or sweat from their bodies marred the surface, but he
couldn’t gain his footing in time to avoid the huge blow Mateen delivered. He’d
raised his armored arms in a protective gesture, and as Mateen’s axe crashed
down, the edge caught in the gap between two of the bronzy plates. Mateen set
his foot on the fallen man’s heaving chest and tugged at the handle of his axe
in an effort to free it as the crowd roared approval. The Madoc’s arm swung wildly as Mateen pulled, while his other arm beat ineffectively at
Mateen’s legs.
There
was a loud cry from several in the audience, and Avanelle sought out Bynton and
gasped at the sight. The man who’d landed on top of him was sprawled
motionless, but Bynton was struggling to rise from his knees, swaying as he
tried to rise and help his bondmate. With a moan of anguish, Avanelle rushed
toward him, only to be restrained by the strong grip of the man in white. He
held her arm tight and shook his head once, eyes narrowed at her in a way that
promised punishment if she disobeyed. Past caring, desperate for Bynton and
Mateen, Avanelle burst out a wordless shout and pulled against him with all her
strength. It didn’t move him, but she continued to struggle. Standing on the
sidelines while they suffered was no longer an option.
Mateen
pulled his axe free and hefted it at his side.
“Submit!”
he shouted down at the last conscious Madoc , who
still flailed at him from the pavement. “Your bondmates are gone.”
The Madoc roared out and rolled to his side, then his
feet. Instead of attacking Mateen as she’d feared, the battered man instead
stumbled toward the Madoc who’d been cut open,
touching his shoulder and muttering in his ear. On shaky legs, the Alphan knelt at the fallen man’s side and let out sharp
cry, then rose and stumbled to the final Madoc . He
knelt again and awkwardly lifted him in his arms, the dented armor restricting
his movements.
Avanelle
supposed she should appreciate the pathos of the scene, feel a smidge of
sympathy for the incredible loss this man had just suffered, but she didn’t.
Cold satisfaction filled her as she realized the battle was over and her men
had triumphed. She turned to stare at the man in white.
“Let
me go!” Her shout seemed to matter this time, for he released her arm. She scrambled
toward her men, first to Bynton as he balanced on his
hands and knees, chest heaving, his head hanging low. His skin was hot as she
ran her hands over him, and his muscles trembled. He sat back on his haunches
and swung his head her way, his features marred by rapidly swelling bruises on
his jaw and above his eye. He blinked then flung his arms around her in a
powerful hug. She smelled his sweat, his blood, felt his heart hammering, and a
wave of joyful relief filled her.
“You
are ours,” he muttered, and she nodded against his shoulder, not caring that
the armor scratched her cheek. “Mateen fought well.”
“Of
course he did, as well as you.” Avanelle drew back and
woman’s low voice steadied Avanelle, and she willed her body to stillness, ordered
her mind to concentrate. Raised voices from the people surrounding her couldn’t
distract her now, no matter what point of combat they were praising.
Mateen
was pressing the attack against his Madoc ; somehow
the other man had been wounded on his chest, and blood poured down his torso.
He was stumbling back, circling the edges of the crowd all while keeping his
eyes on Mateen as he advanced. With a whirling spin, Mateen closed the distance
between them, throwing out his leg in a rapid kick that knocked the sluggish Madoc off his feet. The other man’s axe clattered on the
stones as he dropped it, and Mateen kicked it away. His face was set in hard
lines as he advanced on his attacker; no apparent rage, no bared teeth, just
intense concentration on the task at hand. The other man scrambled, but slipped
on the stone. Perhaps oil or sweat from their bodies marred the surface, but he
couldn’t gain his footing in time to avoid the huge blow Mateen delivered. He’d
raised his armored arms in a protective gesture, and as Mateen’s axe crashed
down, the edge caught in the gap between two of the bronzy plates. Mateen set
his foot on the fallen man’s heaving chest and tugged at the handle of his axe
in an effort to free it as the crowd roared approval. The Madoc’s arm swung wildly as Mateen pulled, while his other arm beat ineffectively at
Mateen’s legs.
There
was a loud cry from several in the audience, and Avanelle sought out Bynton and
gasped at the sight. The man who’d landed on top of him was sprawled
motionless, but Bynton was struggling to rise from his knees, swaying as he
tried to rise and help his bondmate. With a moan of anguish, Avanelle rushed
toward him, only to be restrained by the strong grip of the man in white. He
held her arm tight and shook his head once, eyes narrowed at her in a way that
promised punishment if she disobeyed. Past caring, desperate for Bynton and
Mateen, Avanelle burst out a wordless shout and pulled against him with all her
strength. It didn’t move him, but she continued to struggle. Standing on the
sidelines while they suffered was no longer an option.
Mateen
pulled his axe free and hefted it at his side.
“Submit!”
he shouted down at the last conscious Madoc , who
still flailed at him from the pavement. “Your bondmates are gone.”
The Madoc roared out and rolled to his side, then his
feet. Instead of attacking Mateen as she’d feared, the battered man instead
stumbled toward the Madoc who’d been cut open,
touching his shoulder and muttering in his ear. On shaky legs, the Alphan knelt at the fallen man’s side and let out sharp
cry, then rose and stumbled to the final Madoc . He
knelt again and awkwardly lifted him in his arms, the dented armor restricting
his movements.
Avanelle
supposed she should appreciate the pathos of the scene, feel a smidge of
sympathy for the incredible loss this man had just suffered, but she didn’t.
Cold satisfaction filled her as she realized the battle was over and her men
had triumphed. She turned to stare at the man in white.
“Let
me go!” Her shout seemed to matter this time, for he released her arm. She scrambled
toward her men, first to Bynton as he balanced on his
hands and knees, chest heaving, his head hanging low. His skin was hot as she
ran her hands over him, and his muscles trembled. He sat back on his haunches
and swung his head her way, his features marred by rapidly swelling bruises on
his jaw and above his eye. He blinked then flung his arms around her in a
powerful hug. She smelled his sweat, his blood, felt his heart hammering, and a
wave of joyful relief filled her.
“You
are ours,” he muttered, and she nodded against his shoulder, not caring that
the armor scratched her cheek. “Mateen fought well.”
“Of
course he did, as well as you.” Avanelle drew back and
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