Cathexis: Necromancer's Dagger (62 page)

Anger smoldered in his eyes, he was not used
to being thwarted in his desires by a woman. He now realized that
he had made a mistake by allowing her to fight Nostrils, under his
own rules he had publicly granted her the rights of a full warrior.
Now he was bound by those rules. He had not anticipated this
stunningly good looking woman besting a tough warrior like
Nostrils. The now dead bandit had been a fairly tough fighter, as
good as any man in the camp other than one of
Wernok’s
commanders. For the time being Wernok
knew he would have to let this arrogant woman have her way, but
only until he could figure out how to get what he wanted.

His voice became stern as he said, “First,
you are under my command, so you will call me ‘Sir’. Second, get
out of my cabin, you are obviously a man in more than just fighting
skill and I wish to entertain a real woman.”

But Elizabeth stood her ground as she said,
“I have another question, SIR,” she said with a little too much
emphasis to be respectful, “How did ye become the
leader
?” Since her aura sight was blocked by his
shield the sorceress watched his eyes for signs of falsehood.

“I was a lieutenant of the former leader, I
challenged him and over his dead
body,
I took his place. If you make lieutenant some day
and if you think you can take me, by all means challenge. I will
enjoy you thoroughly as my slave. Remember that I’ve seen you
fight, I know I can take you,” he answered, showing no fear in his
expression. “Now get out of my sight and remember what you passed
up when you are bruised, cut and bleeding from your first
defeat.”

“At yer command, Sir,” she
replied
and walked from the cabin.

When Elizabeth walked out of the cabin she
noticed that most of the crowd had dispersed, most of them figured
the bandit leader was having his way with the new woman. She
thought about what she had learned of the bandit’s ways. They had a
barbaric method of leader selection, but it probably worked fairly
well. Only the smarter warriors would win the challenges and the
price of failure probably kept the challenges to a minimum.

Elizabeth knew that Wernok was probably
correct when he told her she needed the respect of the warriors
before she could challenge for leadership. As she walked toward a
large tree that stood in the center of the camp she decided to get
started on gaining their respect immediately.

The sorceress stopped twenty feet from the
tree and pulled out three daggers.

Four of the bandit men were sitting on the
grass nearby eating a loaf of bread that had a thick spread of
butter. They watched her suspiciously.

Elizabeth ignored them and started throwing
her knives. Each landed within a finger’s width of the others and
stuck in the tree. She threw them overhand, underhand, spinning,
tumbling, two at once and even with her eyes closed. All struck the
tree in a tight grouping.

The fourth time she retrieved the knives,
one man watching got up and walked over. He looked to be in his
early forties and was thin, but in fair shape. His face was lined
from his time spent on patrol duty in the sun. He still wore the
tattered green uniform of Autrany. When he was near Elizabeth he
said, “You’re pretty good with those, how did you learn to throw so
well?”

“Practice and I had a good teacher. Would ya
like
te
try? I’ll watch ya and try
te pass on the tricks my teacher taught me,” she said in a friendly
tone.

“No, I couldn’t do that, I... ”

Gertha’s
voice called out, interrupting, “Go on Quarrel, afraid she’ll bite
you?” The short woman had walked up and started to watch.

“I’m not afraid of the
lass
,” the older man replied.

“After what she did
te
Nostrils, I don’t think ya should be call’in her a
lass
,” another of the men
interjected.

“She did right, he was a worthless
biej
. I used to hang the likes of
him before the Usurper came,” Quarrel replied. He opened his hand
and Elizabeth set the hilt of a dagger within the tough callused
palm.
Quarrel
took a throwing
stance and launched the dagger at the tree. It stuck about two feet
lower than Elizabeth’s.

“Yer pretty good already, aren’t ye?” she
replied.

“I’ve thrown a dagger or two in my time, but
bows are my specialty,” he replied with a grin. “Do you have any
suggestions for improving my throw?” he asked.

“Watch where yer hand goes
afterward
, it trailed down and
te
the right. Yer follow through is as important
as yer release when
throw’in
a
dagger. Here, try it again,” she said, handing him another
dagger.

He threw this one and it struck closer to
the mark.

“Try it one more time, concentrate on that
follow through, point yer hand where you meant the dagger te
land.”

He threw again and it struck within a hand’s
span of her other daggers.

“Now yer gett’in it!” she said, her voice
showing enthusiasm for his improvement.

Soon she had the other three men up and
throwing. She kept giving pointers and positive encouragement.

Soon a few others gathered to watch the
instruction; nothing grabbed a warrior’s attention like a pretty
woman combined with weapons.

Elizabeth was soon being accepted in a
friendly manner by the mountain bandits. Elizabeth turned to
Quarrel and said, “Ya say yer good with a bow, how about
giv’in
me some pointers?”

“Sure! Have you shot much before?” he
asked.

“I’ve shot the bow some, but let me see ya
shoot a few before I stick my neck out and say I’m good,” she
replied.

Elizabeth followed Quarrel to the stocks, a
sizable group of spectators followed to see how the newest addition
to the bandits fared against their best shot with the bow.

The stocks were set up in an open glade with
a steep hillside behind to stop stray arrows. Quarrel picked up his
bow and quiver from a small cabin along the way.

“Would the lady like to shoot first?” he
asked politely.

“Show me how it’s done, then perhaps I will
take a shot,” she replied honestly.

“As you wish,” he turned and drew in one
motion; his release came immediately upon reaching full extension
of the bow.

The arrow struck the target one ring from
the center.

Elizabeth watched with her Kirnath sight
following his entire shot. Keeping her concentration on the target
she stepped forward. “May I borrow yer bow?”

“By all means,” he replied handing her the
weapon and an arrow.

When he stepped back Elizabeth stepped into
the exact position of his previous shot, though she was careful not
to bring attention to what she was doing.

With her eyes still on the
target,
the sorceress pictured his shot, the
feel of the pull, the aim on the target, and the texture of the
string. She quickly pulled and released her shot in the exact
motion he had used.

Elizabeth’s shot was a
virtual
duplication of Quarrel’s, but due to the
variance in the wind and her
height,
her shot landed slightly more
centered
but low in the second circle. In
points,
they were equal, though
Quarrel’s
was nearer the
center.

“Excellent shot, I see that knives are not
your only talent,” Quarrel complimented her.

“A competition!” a voice called out from the
watching bandits.

Other cheers of encouragement rang out
following the idea.

Quarrel smiled. “They wish us to compete,
but I don’t think it’s fair, I have the advantage. This is my field
and
bow
while you have shot just
one arrow here,” Quarrel said graciously to Elizabeth.

“Then you must shoot first,” she
replied.

“What are the rules and stakes?” he asked
with the hint of a smile on his face.

“Three shots each, you shoot first, and
total points
wins
,” Elizabeth
suggested.

“If we tie then you win, I have the
advantage of familiar surroundings and friends,” he countered.

“I think it unfair to ye, but I accept the
rules,” Elizabeth answered.

“And what of the stakes?” he replied.

“If I win, ye owe me a favor,” Elizabeth
suggested.

“Accepted, and if I win you owe me the
answers to three questions,” and lowering his voice, so only she
heard, he added, “truthfully answered.”

Elizabeth nodded her agreement and
immediately began reading Quarrel's surface thoughts to see what he
suspected. She caught portions of a thought; something about her
was familiar to the ex-palace guard. He lacked conclusions, but
something about her had him puzzled.

He had decided she would bear watching.

She now knew he would bear watching.

Quarrel stepped up to the line and drew his
bow carefully this time. He took the wind into consideration,
measured his breathing and the rocking motion of the tip as it
passed back and forth through his aim point. At the proper moment,
he began an exhale and then released the arrow.

It flew true and struck the center ring, two
finger widths from the exact middle.

The watching crowd cheered and clapped for
their champion; Elizabeth applauded with them. “An excellent first
shot, I hope I can duplicate it.”

She stepped to the line and repeated the
sequence she had followed in his mind. In a
way,
she allowed him to fire the weapon with her
body.

She aimed slightly higher than he had, to
compensate for their height this time. She over corrected and her
arrow struck the target a little high, but still within the center
ring.

They were tied.

There was a smattering of clapping from the
crowd, then a man with whom she had been giving knife throwing
pointers bellowed out loudly, “Way te go, Poison!”

There was a ripple of laughter.

Quarrel faced the crowd and clapped until
they all joined in loudly.

When he turned back Elizabeth acknowledged
his gesture with a nod and handed him the bow. “Yer shot,
Quarrel.”

Quarrel stepped up to the line with
confidence and launched his next arrow. It flew true and struck the
target one finger width from the center.

The crowd cheered wildly.

As the cheering died down Elizabeth jumped
up onto a rock and faced the crowd. “Excuse me, but do any of ya
know if he ever misses?”

The crowd laughed and she stepped back down,
giving Quarrel a rueful look as she took his bow.

She stepped up to the line considering her
next shot.
Now is the time to miss, just a little. I don’t dare
win this match; they would resent me beating their local
hero.

She took her stance and began to repeat his
last shot from her memory, but before she fired she repositioned
her aim a hand’s span to the right. Her arrow flew true to her aim
and hit the second ring one finger’s width from the edge of the
center ring.

Cries of “Aw,” came from the crowd, some of
them were starting to cheer for the newcomer.

As she aimed to miss her shot she wasn’t
reading Quarrel, so she didn’t pick up his thought nor did she see
the squint of his eye as he picked up the readjustment that caused
her to miss.

He clapped politely as he said, “Nice try,
but your aim was a little off at the line.”

“Yes, I guess a lined up a little
crooked.”

He stepped up to the line and released
quickly.

There was another and even more shocked,
“Oooo,” from the crowd when his arrow missed the inner circle and
struck the second ring on the left.

“It looks like you have the chance to tie,
and therefore win,” he said, handing her the bow.

Elizabeth started to read the thought behind
that comment when Gertha called out from behind her breaking her
concentration. “You can do it, Poison.
Nobody‘s beat
‘im
fer
quite some time!”

Gertha’s untimely interruption caused
Elizabeth to miss the thought that went with Quarrel’s
statement.

Elizabeth took her stance and thought,
I
must not win,
and then readjusted one hand’s span to the right
and let fly.

Just as she released she picked up Quarrel’s
thought, “
So… I was right.”

Elizabeth wondered what she had just
confirmed, but his thoughts weren’t on that right now, so she
lacked an immediate answer.

When her arrow struck the second ring giving
the win to Quarrel the crowd cheered wildly. A couple of his
friends picked him up to carry him on their shoulders once around
the clearing.

But Quarrel caught Elizabeth's eye and gave
her a look, and Elizabeth knew that he knew she had thrown the
match. He nodded to her acknowledging that she understood he was
not fooled.

Many people clapped Elizabeth on the back in
consolation, which pleased her greatly, she was well on her way to
being accepted and she had only been there three bells.
Next,
she needed to bring the women in on her
side.

One man was not happy with how things were
proceeding.

Wernok watched the end of the archery
competition from fifty yards away.
There’s something dangerous
about this woman, and it isn’t her fighting skills. She’s getting
exactly what she wants, too quickly. She knows how to make people
think the way she wants them to, how to manage them, how to lead. A
skill like that isn’t born, it’s taught, either by others with the
skill or by long trial. Where did she come from? Where did she
learn these skills? I’ll have to find these answers, and soon. From
the looks of
things,
she’ll have these people eating out of her
hands by nightfall.