Read Waylander II:In The Realm Of The Wolf for Free Online Page A

cheekbones and scarred and hairless brows, a nose flattened and broken, a harsh gash of a mouth. The chin was square and strong, the neck bulging with muscle.
    He paused before her. ‘The path is narrow,’ he said, politely enough. ‘Would you be so kind as to move aside?’
    ‘Not for the likes of you,’ she hissed, surprised that her voice remained steady, her fear disguised.
    ‘Is it customary in these parts to insult strangers, girl? Or is it that you rely on gallantry to protect you?’
    ‘I need nothing to protect me,’ she said, stepping back and drawing her sword.
    ‘Nice blade,’ he said. ‘Now put it away - lest I take it from you and spank you for your impudence.’
    Her eyes narrowed, anger replacing fear, and she smiled.
    ‘Draw your sword - and we’ll see who suffers,’ she told him.
    ‘I do not fight girls,’ he replied. ‘I am seeking a man.’
    ‘I know whom you seek, and why. But to get to him you must first pass me. And that will not be easy with your entrails hanging to your ankles.’ Suddenly she leapt forward, the point of her blade stabbing towards his belly. He swayed aside, his arm flashing up and across, the back of his hand cannoning against her cheek. Miriel stumbled and fell, then rolled to her feet, her face burning from the slap.
    The man moved to the right, slipping the thong from his green cloak and laying the garment over a fallen tree. ‘Who taught you to lunge like that?’ he asked. ‘A farmer, perhaps? Or a herdsman? That is not a hoe you are holding. The thrust should always be disguised, and used following a riposte or counter.’ He drew his own sword and advanced on her. Miriel did not wait for his attack, but moved in to meet him, thrusting again, this time at his face. He blocked the blow and spun on his heel, his shoulder thudding into her chest, hurling her from her feet.
    She sprang up and rushed in, slashing the blade towards his neck. His own sword swept up, blocking the blow, but this time she spun and leapt, her booted foot cracking against his chin. She expected him to fall but he merely staggered, righted himself, and spat blood from his mouth. ‘Good,’ he said softly. ‘Very good. Swift and in perfect balance. Perhaps there is something to you after all.’
    ‘You’ll never know,’ she told him, launching an attack of blistering speed, aiming cuts and thrusts to face and body. Each one he blocked, and never once made the riposte. At last she fell back, confused and dismayed. She could not breach his defences, but what was more galling was that he made no attempt to breach hers.
    ‘Why will you not fight me?’ she asked him.
    ‘Why should I?’
    ‘I mean to kill you.’
    ‘Do you have a reason for this hostility?’ he enquired, the ugly gash of a mouth breaking into a smile.
    ‘I know you, Morak. I know why you are here. That should be enough.’
    ‘It would . . .’ he started to say, but she attacked again, and this time he wasn’t quite fast enough, her blade slicing past his face and cutting his earlobe. His fist lashed out and up, thundering against her chin. Half-stunned, Miriel lost her grip on her sword and fell to her knees. The newcomer’s blade touched her neck. ‘Enough of this nonsense,’ he said, moving away from her and picking up his cloak.
    Gathering her sword she faced him again. ‘I will not let you pass,’ she said grimly.
    ‘You couldn’t stop me,’ he told her, ‘but it was a game effort. Now where is Waylander?’ She advanced again. ‘Wait,’ he said, sheathing his sword. ‘I am not Morak. You understand me? I am not from the Guild.’
    ‘I don’t believe you,’ she said, her blade now resting on his throat.
    “Then believe this: had I wished to kill you I would have. You know that is true.’
    ‘Who are you?’
    ‘My name is Angel,’ he answered, ‘and a long time ago I was a friend to your family.’
    ‘You are here to help us?’
    ‘I don’t fight other men’s battles, girl. I came to