Free The Exile and the Sorcerer by Jane Fletcher

some?”
    “Absolutely no chance.” Tevi shook her head. “And it wouldn’t do you any good. You have to take it regularly when you’re a child. It doesn’t work so well for boys even then.”
    Derag’s shoulders slumped. “It would be great, though. Do you remember how you dealt with fat Barbo? Grandma smiles whenever she remembers it.”
    “I tried not to hurt him.”
    “I know. That’s what made it so insulting for Barbo.”
    Joran joined in. “Why should you worry about hurting him? In your place, I’d have flattened the bastard.”
    “It’s the way I was brought up. Women are so much stronger than men, it’s seen as cowardly to hit them. But Barbo gave me no option. He had me cornered and wouldn’t let me apologise. I hadn’t meant to offend him.”
    “So you picked him up like a sack of flour and tossed him into the harbour.” Joran’s words were almost lost in his grin.
    “What else could I do?”
    “And what really amused Grandma was when you realised he couldn’t swim—the way you dived in, dragged him out, and then offered to escort him home to his parents to explain how he’d got so wet.” Both men dissolved in laughter.
    Once he calmed down, Derag said, “You know, you’re getting quite a name. People are—”
    Whatever he might have been about to say was swallowed by a burst of noise from the far corner. All heads turned towards the disturbance. A crew of dock workers were cheering on one of their comrades who had left their table. From his size, Tevi was sure it was a man. His shoulders and arms were knotted with muscle; his head brushed the rafters, towering over the seated patrons. He did not look angry, but to Tevi’s dismay, his eyes were fixed on her. The noise fell to a murmur. Tevi placed her hands on the table and pushed her bench back, readying herself for action. However, when the man reached her, he squeezed onto the opposite bench and smiled in a friendly fashion. Tevi took little reassurance from this.
    “Good evening.” The man’s voice was a bass rumble.
    “Good evening.”
    “I’ve heard that you reckon you’re the strongest person in town.”
    “I make no claims.”
    “Then others do it for you.”
    “I can’t help what people say.”
    “That’s true.” He watched Tevi from under bushy eyebrows. “Well, there’s this game we play. It’s called arm wrestling—”
    His sentence was cut off as Derag whooped and slammed his palms on the table. “You’ll slaughter him, Tevi.”
    One of the man’s friends shouted back, “Three tin halves says she doesn’t.”
    “You’re on.”
    Tevi interrupted the betting. “I’m not going to fight you.”
    “It’s just arm wrestling.”
    “And that isn’t fighting?”
    “Oh, no. It’s just a test of strength.”
    Over the background commotion, it took the stranger and Joran some minutes to explain the rules. At last, Tevi understood what was involved. She studied the man. His arm would have served most people as a leg. She could not have joined the fingers of both hands around his biceps. In an assured manner, he rested his elbow on the table. Around the room, people stood on benches to get a better view.
    “Are you on?” he asked.
    She frowned. “It’s no contest.”
    “You concede defeat?”
    Joran nudged her. “Go on, Tevi.”
    Tevi sighed. “All right.” She positioned her elbow on the table, stretching to grasp his hand. “Now I just push?”
    The stranger nodded and started to apply pressure. Tevi considered her opponent thoughtfully. He really was very strong for a man; his bulk was evidently muscle rather than fat. Veins stood like rope on his arms and forehead. His breath came in raw, hissing gasps. Apart from this, the room was silent.
    It was possibly the absence of sound from Tevi that finally alerted her opponent. His gaze shifted to her face. The man’s expression fell in disbelief as he realised she was not even exerting herself. Tevi shook her head slowly, and a smile twitched