“Come on, come on,” Beom snarled. “Delay will not assist you.”
“Let me just find the perfect...” Simus’s eye fell on the wooden sword and dagger he’d won from Pive.
Snowfall was watching him. He gave her a sly wink. “Oh, here’s just the thing.”
With that, he snatched up the child’s weapons, turned and brandished the wooden sword and dagger.
A startled gasp rose from the watching warriors, followed by snorts of laughter. Yers gave out an angry oath.
Beom’s mouth dropped, and then his face filled with rage. “You mock me,” he growled.
“Why, yes.” Simus strode into the circle. “Yes, I do.” He took up a dramatic defensive pose, as youngsters often did with their first weapons, and gave Beom his best vicious smile. “What are you going to do about it?”
Beom charged.
Simus waited, dodged, and swung at the lad’s wrist, dealing a stinging blow, calculated to enrage his opponent.
It worked. The lad slid to a stop at the edge of the circle, turned and charged again.
His choice of weapons had been impulsive, but Simus wouldn’t take another risk. He went on the defensive, warding off the blows as quickly as they fell. The lad was young and strong and fast, but angry, and it showed in his strikes.
Simus waited, using the wood of his blades to counter the steel of his opponent. Waiting for—
Boem’s sword bit deep into the wood.
It was what Simus had been waiting for. He jerked his blade, forcing Boem’s sword down, and then twisting it, hoping that the wood would hold long enough to—
Boem’s sword went flying from his hand just as Simus’s blade cracked in half.
Simus skipped back, his wooden blade broken off with a jagged end. Boem just stood there, stunned.
“Enough?” Simus asked.
Boem blinked at him, and for a moment Simus was sure he’d attack. But the anger in Beom’s eyes cleared, and his mouth twisted in resignation. “Yes,” he said, twirling his dagger and placing the point at his heart. “I would offer my surrender, Warlord.”
Simus gave him a grave nod. “Accepted,” he said as he took the dagger.
A buzz of talk rose from the watching warriors. This story would be all over the camps before the nooning.
Boem turned on his heel, and walked off, surrounded by what Simus hoped were friends. The lad would need them this night. Simus chuckled, and turned to rack his weapons.
Yers was standing there, scowling. He jerked his head toward the command tent.
Simus followed him in.
Simus settled onhis gurtle pad, accepting kavage from Snowfall. Looking into those eyes, nothing showed.
Didn’t mean he couldn’t feel her disapproval.
Yers’s reaction was clear. The warrior paced in the area before the platform. “I would ask for your token, Warlord.”
“There is no need for tokens between us, Yers.” Simus gestured with his mug. “Speak your truths.”
“Have the winds taken your wits?” Yers demanded, coming to a halt before him. “That you would risk all on a child’s weapons?”
Simus paused with his mug before his mouth. “The skies favor the bold,” he said, raising his cup in a salute.
“And the earth covers the stupid,” Yers snapped. “Marcus would gut you were he here, for risking everything Keir of the Cat has worked toward on a stupid—”
