Free Medalon by Jennifer Fallon Page A

you can’t let him do this.”
    He put an arm around her thin shoulders and hugged her gently. “I couldn’t stop it R’shiel, even ifI wanted to. Don’t worry about Georj. Hard-earned battlefield experience will win out over parade-ground bravado.”
    “You’re as bad as Georj. You aren’t taking this seriously enough.”
    A muted roar from the stands reached them as the combatants entered the Arena.
    “Go home, R’shiel,” Tarja told her gently.
    Suddenly R’shiel was no longer tired. “No, I’m coming with you. I want to watch this.”
    Tarja shook his head, but didn’t argue the point. Together they walked back through the tunnel to the rectangle of light that was the entrance to the Arena.
    The fight started slowly at first—a tentative clash of blades, each man testing his opponent. R’shiel could tell Georj had the longer reach, but Loclon had speed and agility on his side. She stood in the entrance to the tunnel, watching the duel with Tarja, Georj’s companions and the two lieutenants who had accompanied Loclon. The crowd fell silent as the first blows were struck, the air charged with anticipation.
    Loclon circled the sandy arena slowly, in a half-crouch, perfectly balanced on the balls of his feet. He flicked his sword out now and then, with a speed that seemed to take Georj by surprise. The captain was no longer smiling, his expression set in a mask of concentration. Georj was an accomplished swordsman. One could not rise to the rank of captain in the Defenders and be anything less, but he spent more time in the saddle than the Arena these days. He held his own easily enough. Loclon was unable to getthrough his guard, but he was fighting defensively. It was Loclon who had the initiative.
    “Why doesn’t he just attack?” the captain standing next to Tarja muttered impatiently.
    “Georj never rushes into anything,” Tarja replied, although R’shiel could tell he was wondering the same thing. “Give him time.”
    Loclon suddenly launched himself at Georj. His blade moved so fast it was a silver blur in the twilight. Georj held off the younger man, but he was being pushed backwards, step by step. The roar of the crowd was thunderous as Loclon pushed the captain. The sound of metal on metal was almost lost in the din of the three thousand or more spectators who had gathered to watch someone shed blood. Their cries irritated R’shiel. They didn’t really care who won. They just wanted to see a man bleeding.
    Georj held off the attack well enough, but he appeared to be struggling a little. Loclon suddenly pulled back and turned to acknowledge the adulation of the crowd, a gesture that sent them wild. Georj recovered himself quickly, however, and the moment Loclon turned back to face his opponent Georj was on him, using his superior height and weight to push the younger man back. Loclon might have had speed, but Georj was as unstoppable as a rock in an avalanche. Loclon’s face lost its smug expression as Georj bore down on him. The blows from the bigger man obviously jarred his sword arm every time he blocked a stroke.
    R’shiel could feel the tension draining out of Tarja and his friends as Georj attacked.
    And then, so quickly R’shiel hardy even saw it happen, Georj over-extended himself and left Loclon an opening. With a startled cry, Georj lowered his sword and glanced down at his left arm where a long, shallow cut marked his forearm. Blood dripped slowly onto the sand. He looked stunned that Loclon had gotten through his guard. Loclon bowed to Georj raising his sword in salute.
    The fight was to first blood.
    And Loclon had won.
    The crowd was quiet for a moment, shocked into silence, before it erupted into a thunderous cheer for the young lieutenant. Around R’shiel, Loclon’s friends were laughing and congratulating each other as Loclon turned a slow circle, acknowledging the cheers of the crowd. R’shiel watched him with a frown, then glanced at Georj. Her stomach lurched as she