8
Oi. Wakeup.”
Riann lifted his head from the cot and focused his bleary eyes on the man outside his cell. To his surprise, it was Wellion, dressed in a simple tunic and leggings, his sword strapped to his belt. What was the bandit leader doing downhere?
“Couldn’t find a lackey to come and wake me up this morning?” he asked as he pushed himself up. He raked a hand through his hair, and his fingers snagged on a knot—he really needed to brush it out. When was the last time he’d had access to creature comforts? He could barelyremember.
Wellion did not rise to the bait. “I cannot seem to find a suitable sparring partner this morning,” he said. “I was hoping you might rise to thechallenge.”
Riann lit up on the inside at the prospect of training, even with a brute like Wellion. But he kept his expression carefully blank. “I might actually beat you, youknow.”
Wellion smirked. “You cantry.”
Riann followed Wellion out of his cell and upstairs to the training courtyard. It was still early, the sun just cresting over the high walls of the keep, so there were only three other men in the courtyard. They all stopped briefly when Riann and Wellion entered the area, but quickly went back to what they were doing when Wellion gave them a coollook.
Riann had wondered if he was going to be allowed to use his sword for the training match, but when Wellion crossed over to a wall on the far side of the courtyard, he had his answer. There were a variety of weapons mounted on the wall—staffs, swords, maces, daggers, and others. To his surprise, Wellion selected two wooden training swords, and tossed Riann one ofthem.
Riann blinked as he caught it. “You don’t train withsteel?”
“Most of the time I do,” Wellion said. “But I want to see what you can truly do without having to hold back, and I also don’t trust that you won’t try to kill me.” He gave Riann a lopsidedsmirk.
Riann shook his head. He didn’t know what had gotten into Wellion, but the bandit was being downright friendly with him. “I’m almost beginning to think you like me,” he said as Wellion used the tip of his sword to draw a large circle in thedirt.
“I thought that you were bluffing when you said that you weren’t going to sleep with my sister,” Wellion said. “But she came to me in a towering rage last night after you left her chambers, saying that you refused her yet again.” His eyes narrowed. “You must love your woman very much to resist the strength of a lovepotion.”
Wellion leapt forward, jabbing at Riann’s midsection. Riann twisted to the side and met Wellion’s wooden blade with his own. “To be fair, I think she may have mixed it incorrectly,” he said as he pushed off Wellion’s blade, then struck. “All I felt were some tingles and a lot of heat, as if I had afever.”
Wellion’s face was inscrutable as he blocked the blow. “My sister has been mixing potions since she was old enough to walk. I doubt she would have gotten itwrong.”
A bead of sweat slid down Riann’s back, and it had nothing to do with his exertions. He had been confused last night after leaving Sallara’s rooms, but after he’d had time to calm down, and the effects had faded, he realized that Tariel’s magic must have protected him from the potion’s effects. It was the only explanation he could come up with, and he wondered if the bond might also protect him from other potions. At least if Sallara tired of him, and tried to poison him, he wouldsurvive.
Riann did not answer Wellion’s unspoken question, instead throwing himself into the practice round. Their sword arms were a blur of motion as they thrust, sliced, parried, and whirled, and Riann was once again impressed by Wellion’s skills. His enhanced speed and strength, courtesy of Tariel, made him stronger than the average man, but Wellion’s footwork was quite good, and he was still nearly Riann’s equal in strength, getting in just as manyblows.
Riann swung his blade at the side of Wellion’s head, and the bandit ducked low to the ground. The former knight pulled his blade back around, preparing to parry, but Wellion popped up, then threw a handful of dirt in hisface.
“Gah!” Riann sputtered as he stumbled back, blindly holding out his sword in front of him. Wellion took advantage of the weakness and sliced low, whacking his sword against Riann’sthighs.
“You might have the upper hand with your fancy maneuvers,” Wellion said, and Riann could hear the smirk in his voice, “but as long as you’re not willing to fight dirty, you’ll never beatme.”
Growling, Riann swiped his hand across his eyes, then attacked with renewed vigor. The other bandits had stopped fighting completely, and several more filed into the courtyard to watch thematch.
This time, when Wellion tried to fling dirt into Riann’s face, he was ready. When Wellion ducked down low, Riann stepped to the side, then swung at Wellion’s back. Wellion anticipated the maneuver and immediately tucked into a roll, but he was too slow, and the flat of Riann’s sword smacked into the back of his head. The bandit grunted as he sprang from his crouch, swaying on his feet, but managed to block Riann’s nextblow.
“Do you surrender?” Riann taunted as they lockedswords.
“Not even close.” Wellion shoved him back hard, then went for Riann’s exposed midsection. But this time, when Riann blocked the blow, he twisted to the side and slammed his knee into Wellion’s ribs. The larger man let out a startled cry of pain as he slammed sideways into the ground, and Riann grinned as he pressed the point of his sword into the bandit’sthroat.
“Now do yousurrender?”
The courtyard was deathly silent as Wellion stared up at him with hard eyes. The bandit’s glare turned into a laugh, and he pushed the tip of Riann’s sword away. “Maybe you’ll be useful after all,” he said, pushing himself up. “Despite your peskymorals.”
Riann helped Wellion to his feet, and the two of them went to the washroom to rinse the sweat from their bodies. After Riann felt clean again—he even convinced Wellion to find a comb so he could untangle the snarls in his hair—they went to the kitchens to grab breakfast, and sat together on one of the upper balconies of the keep while they munched on fresh bread, sausage, andapples.
As they ate, Wellion asked questions about his life as a knight. Riann tried to answer as honestly as he could without giving away too many details—while Wellion seemed to be warming up to him, he had not forgotten that the man was still a criminal. Even so, he couldn’t help but like him, and he tried to show Wellion that people could live honest lives while remaining—more or less—happy.
“If that is the case,” Wellion said as he tossed his apple core over the balcony, “then why are you on the run? It sounds like the woman you wanted was unmarried, and not promised to anyone, and yet because of social convention, you are hunted as if you were just as much a criminal as I.” He scoffed. “What is the point of trying to fit in with society when the rules are soridiculous?”
“I agree that Fjordland has some ridiculous rules,” Riann said cautiously. “But many of the laws have served to protect the people, and for the most part, the system works. We don’t have to live in fear of criminals burning down our homes or stealing our women orcattle.”
