Free Talon: The Windwalker Archive (Book 1) by Michael Ploof

knees in quickly. The maneuver brought him around faster in his fall, and rather than land on the top of his head, he landed on his knees and face.
    Brekken was waiting with a kick to the gut, flipping Talon onto his back. The big Vaka grabbed him by the ankle and with a two quick steps flung him spinning through the air to crash into the frozen mud bricks of a nearby hut.
    Talo n was knocked unconscious, but was soon jolted awake by the crack of a whip to his face, setting his cheek on fire. He instinctively curled into a ball as the lashes rained down on him.
    “ C’mon, Brekken, he’s had enough already,’ screamed Jahsin.
    The whip stopped.
    Talon dared to look past his shaking, pain-riddled body as Brekken backhanded Jahsin. He flew back in a half spin and landed hard, clearly unconscious.
    Brekken turned on Talon again. Talon hid behind his arms. He heard the whip being turned back, scrapping across the hard-packed, frozen snow like the claws of a snow cat.
    “ Stop it!” came a voice Talon recognized.
    No, no, no not Akkeri . Anyone but her. He thought.
    Akkeri jump ed between him and Brekken, her arms raised high and her head desperately shaking back and forth. Time slowed as her thick, red locks bounced back and forth and the shadow of the giant Vaka fell over her. The whip cracked once more, and it was the most painful of them all. Akkeri’s head flew back and she fell on Talon. Their eyes met as she fell into his cradling arms. In her bright eyes Talon saw not fear but fury, a righteous anger that set his heart ablaze and his mind to vengeance. Talon leapt over her and shielded her from the whip that came again and again.
    “ Vaka Brekken, Stodva !” a deep, booming voice let out.
    Talon shuddered out a breath that ended in a cracking cry of pain. His body twitched as his nerves jolted and tides of pain washed over him.
    The speaker turned out to be the chiefson, Fylkin Winterthorn. Brekken stood before him, arms flailing in explanation, pointing toward Talon and Akkeri and then to Jahsin, who still had not moved. Akkeri’s soft breath came on Talon’s neck and he gazed down on her. She did not watch the exchange between the two men; rather, she stared at him calmly.
    The incessant ringing in his ears went away, and the argument came rushi ng to him. He glanced back at Brekken and Fylkin.
    “ To learn his place; they both do,” said Brekken.
    He and Fylkin stood fac e to face; though no malice laced Brekken’s words, he stood prouder than any Skomm dared before a Vald. Talon supposed he got special treatment, since he was tall enough to be a Vald, with only the curse of the catlip.
    “ And what is her place?” Fylkin asked, pointing toward Akkeri.
    “ She is a Skomm,” Brekken replied cautiously, as if suddenly understanding the future chief’s anger.
    “ She’ll fetch me fine coin from the Agoran slavers. If her face has been marked, I will have your head,” Fylkin promised him calmly, even patting Brekken on the shoulder.
    Talon glanced back to Akkeri who locked him in a stare. She smiled deviously and brought a small blade to her cheek. Talon began to protest but her eyes begged him no. A small bead of blood appeared at the end of her blade and she dragged it down to her chin.
    Talon was ripped off her and thrown to the side by Fylkin Winterthorn. The big Vald grabbed Akkeri by the chin and turned her head roughly left and then right. When he saw the long cut on her face, he rose slowly, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck. He turned on Brekken, who was shaking his head and patting the air before him.
    “ I didn’t…my whip didn’t hit her face; I know better!”
    “ Claim Bjodja and arm yourself like the Vald you will never be, Catlip,” Fylkin said calmly as he took three steps toward the man and stopped, planting his feet.
    Br ekken looked around at the growing crowd as if looking for help, but no help or sympathy would be forthcoming from the Skomm villagers. Three of the