Free A Tapestry of Spells by Lynn Kurland Page A

lout. She followed them up with yet another barrage of parries, fully intending to drive her blade into his chest if possible, but he caught it between his knives, made an indulgent noise that was particularly annoying, then set her backward with a gentle push.
    Sarah reassessed her situation with a cold detachment. The truth was, she was outmatched in strength and steel. Her opponent was sporting not only his knives, but a sword and bow. No matter how much bravado she possessed, vanquishing him fairly was out of the question. The best she might be able to do would be to disable him and run. Her mother would have done that and left him with a spell to remember her by, but Sarah decided she could perhaps forgo that additional pleasantry.
    She feinted to her left, then held up her hand suddenly.
    “Something in my eye,” she said, blinking furiously and fishing about in her eye with the pinky of the hand that held her knife. “Nerochian rules of fair play, if you please, sir.”
    He hesitated, then nodded and rested his daggers against his shoulder.
    She bent over as if she were truly suffering, made a few womanly noises until he stepped closer—no doubt to offer aid—then straightened abruptly and caught him full under the chin with the heel of her hand.
    He gasped, staggered backward with a curse, then landed full upon his arse.
    Sarah turned to flee, then she stopped still. It took her a moment to decide what seemed odd, but when she realized what it was, she felt her mouth fall open. She’d heard that voice before—and quite recently. She turned back around slowly to face her foe.
    It was him. The profoundly unpleasant and terribly powerful mage up the mountain. She was so surprised to find him there that she did nothing but gape at him for several moments in silence. He had thrown her bodily out of his house and warned her never to come back, yet there he was?
    She didn’t suppose she should bother to ask him why he found himself on the ground in front of her instead of in his comfortable, if a bit dusty, house in the mountains. She revisited the idea of running, then decided there was little point in it, either. She couldn’t outrun his magic and apparently she couldn’t best him with her steel. All that remained her was a show of spine—or perhaps something he might not expect.
    She held out her hand to him, to help him back to his feet.
    He was still for a moment or two, then he returned his knives to the sheaths on his back as if he had done it thousands of times—which she was certain he had—and took her hand. Pulling him to his feet was more difficult than she’d suspected it might be, for he was rather solid for an old man, but she didn’t waste any time thinking on that. She was too busy hoping he wouldn’t do to her what she’d done to him.
    “My apologies,” she said quickly. “I thought you meant me harm.”
    “How do you know I don’t?” he asked, reaching inside his hood no doubt to check the condition of his jaw. “Nerochian rules of fair play, my arse. Woman, that was profoundly unsporting.”
    “When outmanned, ’tis fair to use whatever advantage one has.”
    “I don’t think that’s part of their code.”
    “I might have heard that last part down at the pub,” she admitted.
    “I wouldn’t be surprised,” he said with a grunt. He shook his head and gave her a wide berth as he stepped past her.
    Sarah frowned thoughtfully. He didn’t seem angry, though he certainly had cause. She turned to watch him, suppressing the slew of other questions she had, beginning with why he found himself taking the same path she did, what his plans were, why he hadn’t finished her off for the abuse to his chin, and finally, her sudden curiosity over whether or not he’d brought along anything tasty to eat.
    The next time she set off on short notice on a perilous quest, she was going to be better kitted out.
    He knelt down next to her wood, then looked up at her. “You couldn’t just spell