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

warn him. I see now it was unnecessary.’
    Slowly she lowered her sword. ‘Why are they hunting him? He has harmed no one.’
    He shrugged. ‘Not for many a year, I’ll grant you that, but he has many enemies. It is one of the drawbacks of an assassin’s life. Did he teach you to use a sword?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘He ought to be ashamed of himself. Swordfighting is heart and mind in perfect harmony,’ he said sternly. ‘Did he not tell you that?’
    ‘Yes he did,’ she snapped.
    ‘Ah, but like most women you only listen when it suits you. Yes, I can see that. Well, can you cook?’
    Holding back her temper she gave her sweetest smile. ‘I
    can. I can also embroider, knit, sew, and what else? Ah yes . . .’ Her fist cracked against his chin. Standing alongside the fallen tree he had no time to move his feet and steady himself, and a second blow sent him sprawling across the trunk to land in a mud-patch on the other side. ‘I almost forgot,’ she said. ‘He taught me to fight with my fists.’
    Angel pushed himself to his knees and slowly rose. ‘My first wife was like you,’ he said, rubbing his chin. ‘A dreadful woman, soft as goosedown on the outside, baked leather and iron inside. But I’ll say this, girl - he did a better job of teaching you to punch than he did to thrust. Can we have a truce now?’
    Miriel chuckled. Truce,’ she agreed.
    Angel rubbed his swollen jaw as he walked behind the tall mountain woman. A kick like an angry horse and a punch almost as powerful. He smiled ruefully, his eyes watching the way she moved, graceful and yet economical. She fought well, he conceded, but with too much head and too little instinct. Even the punches she had thrown had been ill-disguised, but Angel had allowed them to land, sensing she needed some outlet for frustration at having been so easily defeated.
    A proud woman. And attractive, he decided, somewhat to his surprise. Angel had always favoured big-breasted women, buxom and comfortable, warm between the sheets. Miriel was a mite thin for his taste and her legs, though long and beautifully proportioned, were just a little too muscular. Still, as the saying went, she was a woman to walk the mountains with.
    He chuckled suddenly, and she turned. ‘Something is amusing you?’ she asked, her expression frosty.
    ‘Not at all, Miriel. I was just remembering the last time I walked these mountains. You and your sister would have been around eight, maybe nine. I was thinking that life goes by with bewildering speed.’
    ‘I don’t remember you,’ she said.
    ‘I looked different then. This squashed nose was
    aquiline, and my brows boasted hair. It was long before the mailed gloves of other fist-fighters cut and slashed at the skin. My mouth too was fuller. And I had long red hair that hung to my shoulders.’
    She leaned in close, peering at him. ‘You were not called Angel then,’ she announced.
    ‘No. I was Caridris.’
    ‘I remember now. You brought me a dress - a yellow dress, and a green one for Krylla. But you were . . .’
    ‘Handsome? Yes, I was. And now I am ugly.’
    ‘I did not mean
    ‘No matter, girl. All beauty passes. I chose a rough occupation.’
    ‘I don’t understand how any man would wish to pursue such a way of life. Causing pain, being hurt, risking death -and for what? So that a crowd of fat-bellied merchants can see blood flow.’
    ‘I used to think there was more to it,’ he said softly, ‘but now I will not argue with you. It was brutal and barbaric, and mostly I loved it.’
    They walked on to the cabin. After he had eaten Angel sat down by the dying fire and pulled off his boots. He glanced at the hearth. ‘A little early for fires, isn’t it?’
    ‘We had a guest - an old man,’ said Miriel, seating herself opposite him. ‘He feels the cold.’
    ‘Old Ralis?’ he enquired.
    ‘Yes. You know him?’
    ‘He’s been plying his trade between Drenan and Delnoch for years - decades. He used to make knives the like of