Warrior's Song by Catherine Coulter Read Free Book Online Page B

lives.
    Â Â Â Â She heard a yell of fury, saw that Graelam was at the head of a knot of his men, his sword arm moving in great arcs as he fought his way back toward the doors of the Great Hall. He'd given it up, realized he couldn't overcome all the men, and she knew he hated it, but he would escape, damn him. Abaric, holding his shoulder, his face without color, was staggering behind Graelam, and Graelam was protecting him. No, she couldn't allow him to escape. She managed to break through her circle of protectors, simply because they believed her safe now and grateful for it, and ran toward him. Her skirt ripped up the side, but it didn't matter. Suddenly Jerval de Vernon, the young man who had pretended to be Father Tolbert, was there between them and she froze for an instant. She really looked at him now, really saw him. By all the saints, she was looking at her father in his youth. This was a young man so golden, his eyes so brilliantly blue, his body large, so very hard with muscle, that he should have been her father's son. He was big, sweating, his arm never tiring.
    Â Â Â Â "Let me by you!"
    Â Â Â Â He gave her a quick smile. "Not as long as I am still alive."
    Â Â Â Â She tried to run around him, but he blocked her. Then he leapt toward Graelam, yelling, "Come, Graelam de Moreton, fight me!"
    Â Â Â Â Graelam saw Chandra behind Jerval de Vernon, and knew she wanted to take his place. For an instant, he felt deep pleasure at the sight of her, at the taste of her rage, the bloodlust in her eyes, the rip in her gown, the blood on that incredible fabric. Damnation, he knew he couldn't get to her. He looked at the man who faced him now and knew he was a man of his own strength.
    Â Â Â Â "Damn you to hell and beyond," he said low, and swung his sword in a powerful arc directly down at Jerval de Vernon's bare neck. But Jerval's sword blocked his. They hacked at each other, the clash of steel on steel ringing above the cries of the wounded soldiers.
    Â Â Â Â The great oak doors were flung wide. Graelam's men streamed through them and down the narrow outside stairs, Abaric with them. Graelam drew Jerval with him. He heard his men getting the horses together, gathering their weapons and their supplies. No, he didn't want it to end like this. He hated failure, tasted it, strong and hot in his mouth.
    Â Â Â Â With a sudden cry of rage, he plunged his sword downward with all his strength, shearing away Jerval's shield.
    Â Â Â Â They were both panting, sweat blinding them. Graelam saw Owen, his father's man, bold and coarse, weakening under the onslaught of a younger man. Graelam swung his sword in great arcs, pushing Jerval back, but he was too late. Owen fell hard into a pool of his own blood. Graelam lunged at Jerval as Owen's death yell sounded loud in his ears.
    Â Â Â Â They were evenly matched until Jerval slipped on a slick of blood. He saw Graelam's sword above him as he flailed the empty air to find balance.
    Â Â Â Â Suddenly, Jerval heard a soft, hissing sound. Graelam staggered back, his hand clutching at his shoulder. A dagger lay deep in his flesh. Jerval turned quickly to see that she had thrown it, that she was staring at Graelam, at the knife in his shoulder. She moved now to stand beside Jerval, her hand on his arm. "I'll kill him now. Quickly, quickly, give me your sword."
    Â Â Â Â Even knowing what she'd done with the dagger, even seeing her save Mark's life, even knowing she'd saved his own life, he hesitated, unable to comprehend what she had done.
    Â Â Â Â "There will be another time, Jerval de Vernon!" Graelam grunted in pain as he jerked the dagger from his shoulder. He started to fling it to the ground when he saw it was Abaric's knife, given to him by his father. He cursed, then shouted, "Your aim is that of a girl, Chandra, not a warrior. The next time, I shall teach you." He laughed then even as his