The Sage by Christopher Stasheff Read Free Book Online Page B

man snarled.
    “Yes,
master!” The gnome-maiden snatched the kettle off the fire—and dropped it with
a cry of pain. The stew went running out over the ground.
    “You
clumsy get!” The man leaped up. The gnome-maiden turned to run, terrified, but
he caught her by the neck and yanked her off her feet, then began to strike her
with the other fist.
    Kitishane
stared through the underbrush in outrage, then raised her bow.
    “Let
her go, Culaehra!” The other gnome leaped up from the shadows and sprang at the
big man, clutching his belt and leaping up to strike at his face with a tiny
fist.
    “Let
her go? As you please, Yocote!” Culaehra dropped Lua and seized Yocote by the
neck, pummeling him instead. Lua cried out in pain as she struck the ground,
but rose to strike small, ineffectual blows at Culaehra's legs.
    “Let
them both go!” Kitishane cried in rage. She stepped from the underbrush,
drawing the arrow back to her cheek.
    Culaehra
dropped Yocote indeed, turning to Kitishane in surprise, then slowly grinned. “Let
them go? Aye! You're more my size!” He stepped toward her, ignoring her arrow.
    Kitishane
had seen the same sort of look on the young men who had tried to bear her down.
Without the slightest tremor of conscience, she loosed the arrow.
    But
Culaehra leaped aside, and the dart flew past him into the trees. With a howl
of triumph, he sprang at Kitishane; there were no memories to bar him from a
woman full-grown.
    No
time to draw another arrow, or space to fire it. Kitishane dropped her bow and
drew her sword, slashing at the big stranger. He hadn't expected it; he tried
to reverse direction, jumping aside, but the blade scored his arm and blood
welled. With a snarl of anger he drew his own blade and came at her.
    He
had all the finesse of a bull in heat, which was nearly what he was. Kitishane
snapped her blade up to parry—but the sheer power of his stroke bore her back.
She retreated, parrying frantically, but Culaehra followed closely with
lumbering strokes that sent pain shooting up her arm. The lust in his eyes, the
greed in his grin, waked enough fear for her to try desperate measures. She
ducked under a blow and thrust, but the big man leaned aside, and her blade
ripped nothing more than his tunic. “Clawed cat!” he snapped. “You'll mend that
for me!”
    “Only
for your funeral!” she spat, but his next stroke drove her back even farther;
she tripped on a log and fell. With a cry of victory he was on her—but the
gnome Yocote dove for his leg, wrapped both arms and legs about it, and bit.
    Culaehra
howled, kicking violently, and the little man went flying—but Kitishane rolled
away and up, then threw herself into a lunge, sword tip aimed straight at the
big man's heart.
    At
the last second he spun aside and seized her wrist. “Let go!” she raged, and
kicked at his groin. “Let go of me!”
    He
blocked the kick with his thigh, then yanked hard on the wrist, pulling her up
against him. “Let go? Aye, when I've had my fill!”
    Kitishane
swung her dagger at him left-handed. He dropped his sword, moving his head
aside enough so the dagger missed, then caught her left wrist, too, and twisted
both. Kitishane cried out in pain, dropping both sword and dagger—and the vile
man forced her wrists down behind her back, where he caught them both in one of
his huge paws even as he pressed his lips against hers, wet and wide.
Disgusted, she shoved him away—but he caught at her neckline, and she couldn't
strike his hand away, he was holding both of hers behind her back ...
    “Hold!”
a deep voice bellowed, but Culaehra only snapped, “Be done with your tricks,
Yocote!” and yanked at the neckline, but the leather held, only pulling
Kitishane up close, into a stench of sweaty, unwashed body, and unclean
clothing ...
    Something
cracked, and Culaehra howled, letting go of Kitishane as he swung about—to face
an old man in black robes, with short grizzled hair and beard. He also had a
long,