Free Drenai Series 05 - Waylander II: In the Realm of the Wolf by David Gemmell

corpse. Beside it sat Senta, a bandage soaked in honey and wine being applied to a shallow cut in his shoulder. 
    'You trained him well,' said Senta. 'He almost took me.' 
    'Not well enough,' answered Angel. 
    'I look forward to meeting the master.' 
    Angel had looked into the young man's eager eyes, seeing the mocking expression on the handsome face, the smile that was almost a sneer. 'It won't happen, boy,' he had said, the words tasting like acid in his mouth. 'I'm too old and slow. This is your day. Enjoy it.' 
    'You are leaving the arena?' whispered Senta, astonished. 
    'Yes. That was my last fight.' 
    The young man nodded, then cursed as the orderly tied the knot in the bandage on his shoulder. 'You dolt!' snapped Senta. 
    'I'm sorry, sir!' said the man, moving back, his face twisted in fear. Senta returned his gaze to Angel. 'I think you are wise, old man, but for myself I am disappointed. You are a favourite with the crowds. I could have made my fortune by defeating you.' 
    Angel added wood to the fire and stood. Senta had only fought for one more year, then he had joined the Guild, earning far more as an assassin than a gladiator. 
    The door opened behind him, and he felt a cold draught. Turning he saw Miriel walking towards her room. She was naked and carrying her clothes, her body wet from a bath in the stream. His gaze took in her narrow back and waist, the long muscular legs and firm, rounded buttocks. Arousal touched him and he swung back to the fire. 
    After a few minutes Miriel joined him, her body clothed in a loose woollen robe of grey wool. 'What work did you have in mind?' she asked him, seating herself in the chair opposite. 
    'You know why I slapped you?' 
    'You wanted to dominate me.' 
    'No. I wanted to see you angry. I needed to know how you reacted when your blood was high.' Idly he stabbed at the fire with an iron poker. 'Listen to me, girl, I am not a teacher. I have only trained two people - young men I loved. Both died. I am , . . was ... a fine fighter, but just because I have a skill does not mean I can pass it on. You understand?' She remained silent, her large eyes staring at him, expressionless. 'I was a little in love with Danyal, I think, and I have respect for your father. I came here to warn him, so that he would leave the area, travel to Ventria or Gothir. And yes, I could use the gold. But that's not why I came, nor is it why I agreed to stay. If you choose not to believe me then I will leave in the morning - and I will not claim the fortune.' 
    Still she said nothing. 
    'I don't know what else I can say to you.' He shrugged and sat back. 
    'You told me we were going to work,' she said softly. 'On my mind. What did you mean?' 
    He spread his hands and stared into the fire. 'Did your father ever tell you about the test he set Danyal?' 
    'No. But I heard you say I would fail it.' 
    'Yes, you would.' And Angel told her of the pebble in the moonlight, and talked on of the warrior's heart, the willingness to risk everything, but the confidence to believe the risk was calculated. 
    'How do I achieve this?' she asked. 
    'I don't know,' he admitted. 
    'The two men you trained - did they have it?' 
    'Ranuld believed he did, but he tied up in his first fight, his muscles tense, his movements halting. Sorrin had it, I think, but he met a better man. It comes from an ability to close off that part of the imagination that is fuelled by fear. You know, the part that pictures terrible wounds and gangrene, pumping blood and the darkness of death. But at the same time the mind must continue to function, seeing the opponent's weaknesses, planning ways through his defences. You have seen my scars. I have been cut many times - but always I won. And I beat better men, faster men, stronger men. I beat them because I was too obstinate to give up. And their confidence would begin to fail, and the windows of their minds would creep open. Their