Peaceweaver by Rebecca Barnhouse Read Free Book Online Page B

flying. Even the ravens in the birch tree cawed with mirth as she picked it up, and she couldn’t help laughing along with them.
    “So you’ve learned one trick,” she said. Grinning at him, she took her position again. “Let’s see if you know any more.”
    His smile was still broad, but she could tell he was concentrating, watching her as carefully as she was watching him. He was coming
under
her blade and she couldn’t let him do that again. “Ready? Go.” As fast as she could, she slipped her point underneath his and advanced. He backed up, eluding her easily. She kept her eyes trained on the point of his sword, feeling the way he was leaning forward, letting everything her father had taught her, and all her experience from years of practicing with her cousin, guide her hand. He’d always been hesitant for fear of hurting her, and she would capitalize on that. Again, she advanced, keeping her weapon below his, but instead of retreating, he stepped forward, his blade moving so quickly she couldn’t follow it.
    And there she was, again, walking across the grass, laughing, to retrieve her sword. He’d learned to fight. She didn’t know when or how, but he had, and she was glad of it.
    She leaned over to pick up the sword, shaking her head in amusement at the way he’d fooled her, wondering how she would get him back for it. And how had he done that with his blade? Was it something they taught all the boys, or was it a special move of his own? Whatever it was, she’d make him teach her.
    She stood, pulling a long piece of grass from her sword hilt, and looked back toward Arinbjörn—just as three men stepped out from behind the boulders. The Brondings.
    Arinbjörn was watching her, laughing; he hadn’t seen them yet. They moved toward him, smiles on their faces.
    Then he heard them and looked at them, his lips slightly parted, in surprise or speech, she wasn’t sure. A wave of dizziness made her catch her footing. As she steadied herself, the sky seemed to brighten, and she blinked. The odor of smoke, acrid and burning, bit at her throat, and in that moment, she knew without knowing the why of it that the Brondings’ smiles were fox grins, far from friendly. The man closest to him raised his hand toward Arinbjörn.
    Within Hild, something snapped. White-hot fury filled her, and without realizing what she was doing, she grabbed her skirt in one hand, her sword in the other, and ran blindly toward her cousin. In less time than it takes a hawk to plummet from the sky after its prey, she was acrossthe practice area, shouldering Arinbjörn aside and pushing with her sword. Her arm jolted as the weapon met resistance, but she shoved back against something she couldn’t see, then shoved again, pushing her blade in front of her as it buried itself in something solid.
    Everything stopped. Insects in the grass quit their chirring mid-note, the breeze in the birches held its breath, the bright autumn sky blanked into white—
    —and then a weight was on her sword as the man standing in front of Arinbjörn staggered.
    Now her own lips were parted and she stepped back, taking her blood-spattered hand from the sword, which was still embedded in the man’s guts, and looked over his shoulder at Arinbjörn. A tuft of her cousin’s hair was sticking up on one side, she noted incongruously. It gave him a comical appearance.
    A raven cawed, unlocking the stillness, shocking the world back to life.
    “Hild, what have you done?” Arinbjörn said, and his voice sounded different than she’d ever heard it before. Then his face caught up with his voice, and he gave her a look of such horror snaked round with contempt that she didn’t think she could bear it.
    He was going to kill you
, she meant to say, but no words came out before the man crumpled to the ground, almost taking her with him.
    He was dead.

SIX
    H ILD COULD SCARCELY COMPREHEND THE FLURRY OF action around her. Shapes and colors rushed together. Her knees gave