The Skull of the World by Kate Forsyth Read Free Book Online

you will probably never see me again. I would like to think we could part as friends."
    The young warrior scowled, seizing the knife and spinning it in her hand. "Is it because you are afraid or because you know you speak falsely that you refuse my challenge?" she jeered.
    Isabeau saw mistrust and contempt on the faces of all around her and sighed. "It is because I do not want to be the one to break the peace between our prides," she answered. "I will not allow you to call me dishonorable, however. To doubt my honor is to doubt my teachers and the Firemaker herself."
    She turned and bowed to the Old Mother. "If I must fight to prove the truth of my telling, so be it. Let it be clear to all who watch that I mean no ill to the Pride of the Fighting Cat nor to those of the Red."
    The Old Mother bowed her head in acceptance of her words. Swiftly the watching Khan'cohbans moved back so a wide circle opened around the cousins. Isabeau slowly stripped off her shaggy coat and folded it neatly, placing it to one side with her fur cap. Just as deliberately she set aside her satchel and took off her heavy boots, knowing that her calmness was only inflaming her cousin's rage. The Khan'cohban warrior was taller and stronger than Isabeau and had won three scars, the two slashes on her left cheek indicating she was an accomplished fighter. Isabeau must win this fight, which meant she must take every advantage she could. Her only chance was to goad her opponent into making ill-considered moves.
    She saw Buba's head peep out of the pile of furs and sent her a silent message to lie still. Her enemy must underestimate her. Seeing Isabeau was accompanied by an owl would make her cousin think twice; Isabeau wanted her to think not at all.
    With her red-tasseled staff in one hand, she bowed low to the Old Mother and then to her enemy. The Khan'cohban warrior gave her the most curt of acknowledgments then attacked in a flurry of swift movements, her dagger in one hand, her sharp skewer in the other. Isabeau made no attempt to return the attack, merely swaying out of reach while she watched intently for any clue to her enemy's strengths and weaknesses. An icy calm had settled over her. She breathed slowly and steadily, ignoring her enemy's cruel jibes, her feints and pyrotechnics. The turning of the planet seemed to slow until each heartbeat was like the muffled pound of a drum, her enemy's spins and kicks and blows as slow as a stately minuet.
    Isabeau felt as if she was one of the watchers in the dark cave, not one of the combatants. She was still, the maypole around which her enemy swung and danced. She felt she knew every tactic the warrior would use before she herself did. Not one blow had connected, yet the Khan'cohban warrior was fighting with all her skill and training. Floating somewhere beyond her body, Isabeau knew her enemy was growing both tired and desperate, only her anger fueling her savagery. She was blind and deaf with anger, her breath rasping in her chest, while Isabeau was using the minimum of energy to evade her enemy's attacks. Somewhere deep inside she was conscious of surprise at herself, for she had never been considered a skilled fighter. All her teachers' training had come together, though, into this one pure flame of being. Isabeau was at one with the coh.
    Her enemy lunged at her recklessly and Isabeau sidestepped gracefully, so that the lunge turned into a stumble. Isabeau could have cracked her staff down on her cousin's back, but instead she stood back courteously, waiting for her to recover her balance. The warrior snarled at her, mad with rage, and flung her dagger straight at Isabeau's heart. Without thought Isabeau's hand came up and she caught the knife only inches from her breast. She was unable to help grinning with amazed pleasure, and tossed the knife out of the fighting circle. The warrior flushed red with humiliation and drew her little mace with a curse. Her attack grew more frenzied, and Isabeau had to