Fall of a Kingdom (The Farsala Trilogy) by Hilari Bell Read Free Book Online Page A

potted forest had been placed at the ends of the field, and a maze of small hills had been constructed, but the center of the field was clear. In spring or midsummer the ground would have been perfect; damp but firm. In winter it would have been a sea of churned mud, but at least an anxious watcher could have seen what was going on. Now, between the dry earth and the dry grass, every pounding hoof raised a puff of dust, and the battle between Commander Merahb and Garshab’s second aide raised so much of the djinn-cursed stuff…There!
    A breeze swept the field, and the dust cloud dissipated.
    Commander Merahb leaned forward, swinging the heavy wooden sword he used for flags and lances with all the strength of his powerful shoulders and arms. The sword met his opponent’s with a crack that should have broken wooden blades, but both swords held.
    The younger man’s seat slid under the force of the blow, and Merahb launched another. But his opponent spun his horse away, so the powerful swing met only air.
    A lesser horseman would have been unbalanced, as Garshab’s aide clearly intended, but the high commander just gripped harder with his legs, and even twisted his body to block the blow that looped toward his helm with the lance in his left hand. Most men only hurled the light, blunted lances—it took an expert to use one as a shield. But Commander Merahb was an expert—and so was his horse. Rakesh had been only a foal when the commander had named him after Rostam’s legendary steed, but he’d lived up to the name. Now he spun on his haunches, to give his rider another opening.
    Dust rose again, obscuring the white sock on his off hind leg, which contrasted with his dappled chestnut hide. One white foot was thought to be unsightly, unbalancing a horse’s beauty, but the commander swore he’d never have won a match or survived a battle without Rakesh. Jiaan might have believed it, except Rakesh was only five years old and the commander had been winning for over twenty years.
    The swords cracked and cracked and cracked. The aide’s bay mare sidestepped again. She was almost as good as Rakesh, Jiaan thought, but not quite, and the dust had risen so high now that it concealed the white blaze on Rakesh’s face. Soon the riders would be invisible. Again.
    Never taking his eyes from the duel, Jiaan moved across the open ground between the two sets of stands that served as both the commander’s team’s base camp and his enemies’ goal.
    When the great banner passed under the arches that spanned the openings at both ends of the field, the team that carried it earned ten points, and that battle round ended. The banner hadn’t been touched in this round.
    In the previous round the banner had been carried by the same lancer the commander now engaged, galloping through the arch not three yards from where Jiaan and the servants stood scowling. But Commander Merahb’s team had fought so well, it had only given Garshab’s team a three-point advantage.
    The horses spun again, and the dust rose high.
    Soraya, in the seat of honor just below the gahn’s shaded dais, was on her feet and screaming, clutching another girl her age, who stood beside her. Unladylike, and not much like someone who was about to be sacrificed, either. The lady Sudaba, seated several rows away, was too far off to intervene, but her faint scowl promised retribution to come. Jiaan felt a pang of sympathy. Soraya would no doubt be hearing about her behavior after the match but at least she was high enough to see. Could Jiaan climb a few levels on the crowded stand? He shuffled toward it.
    When his ankle first encountered a hard bar, Jiaan thought he’d walked into something, but the shove on his shoulder that sent him stumbling to his knees told him otherwise. The lance butt that had tripped him was whisked away.
    “Clumsy bastard, isn’t he?”
    Jiaan glared up at the sneering faces—far up, for Markhan and Fasal were still mounted. The barrage of