Free Medalon by Jennifer Fallon Page B

saw the look on his face. She read murderous intent in his eyes.
    “Tarja!” she cried, but it was too late. Georj raised his sword as Loclon turned his back to him, accepting the adulation of the spectators. With a wordless yell, Georj charged.
    Perhaps he heard Georj’s cry over the roar of the crowd, or perhaps he caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, but Loclon turned at the last minute, bringing his sword up to deflect Georj’s blow. The crowd fell silent as the fight resumed, sensing the change in the combatants. This was no longer a fight to first blood, no longer an argument between two officers trying to prove a point of honour. This was deadly.
    Loclon defended himself with the same blinding speed that he had shown the first time he had attacked, but he was no longer playing to theaudience. Georj was intent on murder as much as victory. R’shiel’s stomach cramped as she watched the men trade blows, watched cuts appear on both men go unnoticed in their frenzy.
    “I think we should put a stop to this, Tarja,” a quiet voice said behind her.
    R’shiel glanced over her shoulder and discovered Garet Warner standing behind her. She wondered for a moment where he had been, but found her eyes drawn back to the Arena. Both men looked tired and bloodied, but neither was willing to concede victory as blade struck blade hard enough to throw sparks.
    “Georj will never forgive us if we stop this before it’s resolved,” Tarja replied, although to R’shiel he sounded more angry than concerned.
    “Someone is going to get killed,” Garet warned. “I’m sure Jenga would rather have a couple of peeved officers than lose a good man. It’s gone on long enough. Besides, Georj lost. He should know better.”
    Tarja glanced back at Garet and then nodded. “You’re right.”
    R’shiel held her breath as they stepped into the Arena, wondering if Garet’s rank and Tarja’s authority would be enough to overcome the bloodlust consuming both men. The crowd began to jeer as they realised what the appearance of the two officers meant. They were enjoying the spectacle. They didn’t want it to stop. Not when it had just got interesting.
    The Arena was huge and Tarja was still about twenty paces from the pair when Georj stumbled and fell backwards. Loclon was on him in an instant, swinging his sword in a wide arc, slicing his blade across Georj’s throat in a spray of blood.
    The crowd fell silent in horror as Georj screamed. R’shiel’s stomach cramped again as she watched Loclon standing there, gloating. Tarja and Garet broke into a run, followed by the men who had been waiting in the tunnel entrance. Almost faint with disgust, R’shiel clutched at the cold stone wall of the tunnel as she watched Tarja run towards his fallen friend. But he scooped up Georj’s discarded sword, left his friend to the ministrations of his seconds, and turned towards Loclon. Garet was calling for a physic, in a voice that carried surprisingly well, considering how softly spoken he normally was. As Tarja neared Loclon, the young man raised his sword again, preparing to take Tarja on. R’shiel bit through her bottom lip as another cramp seized her. Her fear was bitter enough to taste, mingled with the salty taste of her own blood.
    Loclon crouched expectantly as Tarja walked towards him. The crowd held their breath. Georj had refused to cede the fight, and Loclon’s act was unforgivable, but it might not be over yet. The only sound that filled the Arena was Georj’s screams.
    Tarja stopped just out of Loclon’s reach. The young man was panting heavily. He was waiting for Tarja to move. Tarja hesitated for a moment then brought up his sword. Loclon blocked the blow easily, but before he could recover his balance, Tarja struck again. Lulled by Georj’s deliberate movements, Loclon was unprepared for Tarja’s speed or strength. This was no ceremonial Citadel captain fighting for his honour. This was an angry, battle-hardened