Xymund was red, a vein in his neck throbbing. “Father adored you. Even when you refused to be an obedient Daughter of Xy. I knew I could surpass you, outshine you as the heir, as a warrior, but you became a healer, and Father was so proud.”
“He was proud of you as well,” I said quietly.
Xymund continued on, spitting in his fury. “Damn them all, they all watched me, waiting for me to fail.
Whispering behind my back, that I was a coward, that I panicked. Always my mother’s son, never my father’s heir.” His voice grew shrill. “So I sent Arneath and his men to kill you and any with you. Arneath swore he’d give his life for me, got that fool boy Degnan and hired scum.” Xymund paused, breathing heavily.
“And so they died.” I was bitter and so sick at heart with disappointment. I’d have wept at the waste, but my anger was stronger. “And in the marketplace? Did you hire them as well?”
“Market?” Xymund paused, “I wanted you dead in their camp, dead in breech of this so called peace.
Arneath failed me. I will do what he could not.” With one swift move he pulled his sword and advanced on me.
I froze.
Marcus, still at my feet, did not. He sprang forward, pulling two daggers as if from thin air. He took Xymund’s charge, catching his blade in the daggers, and stopping him cold.
Xymund swore. Marcus smiled up at him. For a brief moment, they stood there, Xymund towering over the thin and wiry older man. The tableau broke as they pulled away from each other. Xymund tried to move back, stumbling over the stumps and tables, and Marcus was quick to press his advantage.
Holding his sword held out before him, Xymund drew a dagger with the other hand, and glared at Marcus with a wild look.
Epor and Isdra leaped forward, weapons out. They circled the combatants to reach my side, followed by the guards from outside, who paused in the entrance, drawn by the noise.
“Xymund, put down your weapons.” I moved forward, angry that he would attack Marcus.
Marcus swore and moved between Xymund and myself. “Lara, you idiot, get back.”
I stopped where I was, but Epor had other ideas. He pushed me back as he and Isdra interposed between me and the threat.
Marcus held his hands to his sides and gestured for Xymund to come at him.
“A cripple?” Xymund laughed. He lunged in, swinging his sword in a fierce arc. Marcus dodged in, blocked the sword and parried the dagger. Xymund broke away. Marcus danced back. Xymund came in again, thrusting his sword at Marcus’s body. But Marcus had already moved, and seeing that Xymund’
s reach was extended, leaned in and cut him on his cheek.
Xymund jerked back, shocked. Marcus moved to press his advantage, driving him back, away from me.
“Marcus, be careful,” I called out, afraid for him. I would have moved toward them, but Epor and Isdra prevented me. “Xymund, in the name of the Goddess, please—”
“I’ll kill you, bitch.” Xymund howled, like a dog gone mad.
Marcus laughed and smirked at the sweaty and bleeding Xymund. He stopped pressing him and backed away. Marcus struck his chest with his fist, clearly defying Xymund, daring him to attack. What was he thinking? Xymund was bigger and stronger. Why didn’t Epor help him?
Xymund glared at Marcus, panting and dripping blood. “I will kill your servant, and kill you where you stand, you miserable whore.”
Marcus’s face went flat, the one eye narrowing. He’d recognized the word ‘whore’. The atmosphere in the tent changed. Marcus was no longer playing, his stance and attitude changing subtly. Xymund seemed to feel it as well. He tightened his grip on his weapons and crouched lower. Suddenly I understood that it was Xymund in deadly danger, not Marcus.
From outside came the sounds of horses, lots of them galloping to a halt outside the tent. Some of the guards by the door stepped out to confront the newcomers.
Still, I pleaded, “Xymund, stop this. Whatever you feel about me, remember the peace. Your oath demands…”
Xymund snarled and attacked Marcus viciously. His face was distorted, eyes bulging and mouth twisted.
He rushed in, sword slashing at Marcus’s face. Marcus parried with a kind of contempt, catching the blades with his daggers, he moved in close and spat in Xymund’s face.
Screaming in rage, Xymund reared back and instinctively lifted a forearm to clean his eyes. Marcus saw his chance and took it, striking the sword from Xymund’s hand. One dagger dug into Xymund’s neck, the tip of the other rested just above his groin.
Xymund froze.
