Free Ilse Witch by Terry Brooks Page B

but her heart wasn’t in it anymore and her thoughts were constantly on the coast and home.
    “You listening to me?” he snapped.
    She could smell the line sergeant, his breath, unwashed body and hair, soiled uniform. She wondered if he noticed how foul he had become while living in the field, but guessed he hadn’t.
    “You think you’re something, don’t you?” Perhaps because of her silence, he was growing braver. He shifted his weight closer. “You look at me when I talk to you, Rover girl!”
    She sighed. “Isn’t it enough that I have to listen to you and smell you? Do I have to look at you, too? That seems like a lot to ask of me.”
    For a moment he just stared at her, vaguely confused. Then he knocked the tankard of ale from between her hands and drew his short sword. “You cheated me, Little Red! No one does that! I want my money back!”
    She leaned back in her chair, her gaze lifting. She gave him a cursory glance and looked away again. “I didn’t cheat you, Sergeant.” She smiled pleasantly. “I didn’t have to. You were so bad that it wasn’t necessary. When you get better, which you might one day manage to do, then I might have to cheat you.”
    His bearded face clouded with fresh anger. “Give me back my money!”
    Like magic, a throwing knife appeared in her hand. At once, he backed away.
    “I spent it, all of it, every last cent. There wasn’t that much to begin with.” She looked at him once more. “What’s your problem, Sergeant? You’ve been drinking at the bar for the last hour, so you’re not broke.”
    He worked his mouth as if he was having trouble getting words out. “Just give me my money.”
    Last night she had bested him in a knife-throwing contest, although that would be using the word
contest
rather loosely since he was the worst knife thrower she could remember competing against. The cost to him had been his pride and hispurse, and evidently it was a price he had not been prepared to pay.
    “Get away from me,” she said wearily.
    “You’re nothing, Little Red!” he exploded. “Just a cheating little witch!”
    She thought momentarily about killing him, but she didn’t feel like dealing with the consequences of doing so, so she abandoned the idea. “You want a rematch, Sergeant?” she asked instead. “One throw. You win, I give you back your money. I win, you buy me a fresh tankard of ale and leave me in peace. Done?”
    He studied her suspiciously, as if trying to determine what the catch was. She waited him out patiently, watching his eyes, the throwing knife balanced loosely in her palm.
    “Done,” he agreed finally.
    She rose, loose and easy in her dark Rover clothing, decorative bright scarves and sashes wrapped about her waist and shoulders, the ends trailing down in silken streamers, her long red hair shimmering in the lamplight. Rue Meridian was a beautiful woman by any standard, and more than a few men had been attracted to her when she had first joined the Federation army. But the number had dwindled after the first two who had tried unsuccessfully to force their affections on her had spent weeks in the hospital recovering from their wounds. Men still found her attractive, but they were more careful now about how they approached her. There was nothing “little” about Little Red. She was tall and broad-shouldered, lean and fit. She was called Little Red in deference to Big Red, her half brother, Redden Alt Mer. They had the same red hair and rangy frame, the same green eyes, the same quick smile and explosive temper. They had the same mother, as well, but different fathers. In theirs, as in many Rover clans, the men came and went while the women remained.
    The line sergeant was casting about for a target. Last night, they had used a black circle the size of a thumbnail drawn ona support beam. They had thrown their knives in turn, two throws each. The sergeant had missed the mark both times; she had not. The sergeant complained, but paid up, cowed