Free Two Rivers by Zoe Saadia Page A

respectable company. I would expect you to huddle here in the woods
with the savage cub you were defending so eagerly yesterday, maybe enjoying him
like the last of the captive women. You are good for nothing else, you coward!”
    He heard it like a thunder behind his back, the words hanging
in the air, lingering, filling his whole being with the black wave of hatred,
so intense he could feel its bitter taste in his mouth. The world stopped, died
for a heartbeat, the regular sounds gone, with nothing left but those words.
They pierced him and made his heart freeze, filling his stomach with ice, the
blackish, muddy ice of the springtime.
    He didn’t remember himself moving. One moment he was on the
trail, stunned, breathless, staring in disbelief. A heartbeat later, his body
was pressed against his slightly taller rival, pinning the broad man to the
tree, slamming his back against it, his knife pressing at the exposed throat,
his eyes seeing nothing but the hated face and the widely opened, gaping eyes.
    “Take that back, you filthy lowlife!” he heard someone saying,
and it took him a moment to realize that it was he who had been talking. “Take
it back, or I swear I’ll cut your filthy throat and feed your rotten flesh to
the wolves.”
    The eyes staring at him did not blink, glazed. Through the wild
pounding of his heart, he could hear the others coming back to life, rushing
toward them.
    He didn’t struggle, when they pulled him off. He didn’t press
the knife, either. But as their arms drew him back, he made himself ready,
seeing the eyes of his rival filling with life, a whole gamut of emotions
chasing each other across the incredulous gaze – shock, fear, hatred, fury.
    As the man threw himself forward, he ducked, pulling away from
the clutching arms, avoiding the punch. His own fist shot forward, colliding
with the man’s belly. The groan of his opponent was music to his ears, but the
powerful kick of the decorated moccasin surprised him, connecting with his
side, sending rays of pain up his own stomach.
    Fighting to catch his balance, he saw the formidable fist
nearing his temple and tilted his head in time to avoid the worst of the blow,
feeling the man’s knuckles sliding along his cheekbone, instead. It made his
head reel, but he paid it no attention, clenching his teeth and hurdling
himself onto his rival, oblivious of reason, his senses screaming danger.
    His fingers claws, he grabbed the man’s throat as they wavered
and lost their balance, collapsing onto the ground. Struggling against the
hands that were pulling him off, he pressed hard, anxious to render his rival
unconscious, afraid of the danger he presented, now more than before, because
of the insult. The kicks of the man were vicious, but they grew fainter as the
gurgling sounds filled his ears, until he could not resist the others’ strength
any longer, pulled to his feet by the force that was not his.
    Breathing heavily, he stared at the man upon the ground,
watching him squirming, coughing, his mouth wide open, gulping the fresh air.
He tried to shake the hands off, but their grip tightened, digging painfully
into his flesh.
    “Let me go,” he growled. “I won’t attack him again.” He could
feel their hesitation enveloping him like a heavy cloud. “I promise!”
    They moved away, one by one, and he shook his head, trying to
make it work. It was full of hazy mist, the wild pounding of his heart not
making the thinking process easier. Two of his companions were kneeling,
helping the assaulted man up.
    He took his gaze away, then bent to pick up his knife. They
tensed, and he hurried to put it back into its sheath, his hands numb and
trembling.
    “Let us forget this event,” he heard one of the men saying.
“There were words that should not have been uttered, and deeds that should not
have been done. Yet, no one was seriously hurt, therefore, I propose to forget
what happened.”
    He could feel Iraquas nearing, standing by his side,