Free Not Magic Enough by Valerie Douglas Page B

the last minute he threw himself off his horse - dodging the Elf’s blades - scrambling out of the way as his horse slammed into the huge Elven-bred.
    Prepared for the impact, trained for it, Charis braced, staggering only a little as he drove the lesser beast off with teeth and hooves.
    Dorovan was off the horse in one smooth motion, striding across the quadrangle as the bandit leader ducked behind the shelter of his men. They came at him.
    Against swordsmen of such little skill as these, it was hardly a contest. Dorovan was Elf, Swordmaster for Talaena. These were bandits with no skill and less training.
    Spinning in, dropping low, Dorovan ducked one sword and parried another effortlessly before his longsword took one even as he went beneath the other man’s guard. His shortsword took that one as he turned another’s blade with a flick of his wrist. One staggered back, mortally wounded. The other two were already dead.
    He advanced on the leader.
    “Dorovan,” Delae shouted, seeing a bandit behind him, preparing to throw his sword like a javelin.
    It was like watching a dancer, Dorovan was so smooth as he spun and turned to avoid the thrown blade.
    To Dorovan’s alarm, he saw the leader smile.
    From the corner of his eye he saw one of the men charge Delae, catching her around the waist from behind, lifting her from the ground. But the man hadn’t caught her arms. Or the sword in them.
    She arched backward, driving her sword back over her head to glance off that of the man who held her.
    With a shriek, the man released her.
    Dropped to her feet, she spun, cleaving the man’s head from his shoulders.
    His swords at ready, Dorovan advanced slowly as Delae ran lightly but swiftly to join him, waiting until she had his back.
    The leader of the bandits and the remainder of his men charged.
    Dorovan wove a curtain of steel around them, moving and turning as blood flew and men screamed - Delae fighting at his back, keeping it safe.
    These, unskilled and untrained, were nothing against an Elven Swordmaster and his friend-of-the-heart.
    Then there was only the leader left and Delae stepped away, however much her heart was in her throat, even knowing Dorovan was Elf, to leave this for him to do.
    Once more she was caught by the beauty and grace of him as the leader of the bandits screamed and charged, hammering blows on Dorovan’s swords.
    Dorovan simply parried and then his blade flicked. The bandit leader staggered. Dorovan stepped cautiously away, sheathing his swords as he reached for Delae.
    Blood gushed but the bandit appeared not to notice it as he toppled.
    Delae went into Dorovan’s embrace with relief, pressing her face into his chest.
    “How did you know?” she asked.
    Looking down at her, Dorovan said “You are the friend-of-my-heart, my only bond and you are loved. You were hurt and so I came.”
    A little frown crossed her face. “But it would’ve taken days…”
    Her breath caught, remembering, knowing what it was he’d sensed and she pulled away, color draining from her face, shame and horror piercing her…
    Dorovan caught her, seeing the stricken look in her eyes. “What is it? Tell me…”
    “Kort was here,” she said, softly, raising her hand almost involuntarily to the bruise on her cheek. Her voice sank. “I couldn’t stop him...”
    It took a second before Dorovan understood. This was a thing of men no Elf understood. How could one gain pleasure from such a thing, to turn something of such beauty into ugliness…?
    Fury nearly hazed his vision. “He forced you…”
    She closed her eyes.
    “He’s my husband…,” she said, miserably, tears streaming.
    Taking her chin in his hand, Dorovan tilted her face up so she could see his eyes.
    “He broke his oath to you a thousand times, Delae, yet you have never broken your faith to him. He married you to this duty, not for love or honor. You have done it and still do it. In honor you owe him nothing. Nothing! Do you hear me?”
    Brushing her