Free The Necromancer by Michael Scott

of Arc slid down the grassy incline and rejoined her companion on the banks of the narrow stream. “What do you call twenty-two saber-toothed tigers?” the slender, gray-eyed woman asked breathlessly. “A pack, a pride?”
    “I call them trouble,” Scathach said shortly. She straightened and looked back up the incline. “And you’re about to tell me they’re heading this way.”
    Joan nodded. “They are heading this way,” she said with a grin.
    Scathach tapped her foot at the edge of the stream. It fit into a huge splayed footprint sunk in the mud. “This is their watering hole.” Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply and then pointed with one of her matched short swords. “More are approaching from the south.”
    “And from the east,” Joan added.
    Scatty opened her eyes and looked at her friend. The late-afternoon sunshine turned Joan’s pale skin golden. “How do you know?”
    The Frenchwoman caught the red-haired warrior’s shoulder and turned her. Three enormous saber-toothed tigers had appeared out of the tall grass. They stood still, savage jaws gaping, eyes wide and unblinking, only their tails twitching slightly. “Fight or run?” Joan asked.
    “If we run, they’ll chase us,” Scatty said matter-of-factly.
    “If we fight, they’ll overpower us. There are too many of them. Maybe thirty in total.”
    The largest of the saber-toothed tigers moved almost in slow motion and took a tentative step forward. Enormous slit-pupiled golden eyes fixed on Scathach.
    “I think he likes you,” Joan murmured. She touched the sword strapped to her shoulder and realized that if all the creatures attacked at once, her weapon would be useless.
    “I’ve always preferred dogs,” Scathach said, watching the creature carefully. “You know where you are with dogs.” She slid her matched swords into their sheaths on her back and pulled her nunchaku from their pouch on her hip. “Stay here,” she commanded, and then, before Joan could reply, she raced toward the tiger.
    The huge creature froze.
    A dozen steps carried the warrior across the ground, the nunchaku buzzing and spinning in her right hand.
    The tiger hunched, tail swishing wildly, ropy threads of saliva on its enormous teeth … and then it jumped, thick claws extended.
    “Scatty!” Joan managed to gasp, even as the red-haired warrior launched herself into the air, like a swimmer diving into the sea. Her leap carried her straight over the tiger, and her nunchaku snapped out, the blunt end of the twelve-inch length of carved wood catching the creature on the back of the skull. Scatty spun in midair and landed lightly on her feet. The tiger, stunned by the blow, crashed to the ground in a tangle of limbs. The beast immediately clambered shakily to its feet, wobbled and then fell over again.
    Scatty turned to face its two companions, tapping the nunchaku in the palm of her left hand. The creatures looked at her, looked at their companion, then stepped back, melting into the long grasses.
    When Joan spun around, she discovered that the other tigers had disappeared too. “Very impressive,” she said.
    “You just have to show them who’s boss,” Scatty answered, kneeling beside the huge saber-toothed tiger. She ran her hand over the back of its head, then raised its eyelid to look at it. The beast rumbled but made no attempt to get up.
    Joan crouched beside her friend. She looked at the tiger’s teeth. The incisors were the length of her hand and tapered to points that could probably pierce armor.
    “The trick,” Scatty said, “is to hit them just where the base of the skull touches the spine. The blow stuns them.”
    “And if you miss?”
    “Then you just make them mad.” Scatty’s smile revealed her own savage teeth. “But I don’t miss.” She patted the huge beast. “It’ll wake up with a headache.”
    Joan of Arc straightened and tapped her friend’s shoulder.
    “What?” Scatty looked up.
    Joan nodded toward the hill. The