Free Knightswrath (The Dragonkin Trilogy Book 2) by Michael Meyerhofer Page B

Atheion. The other refugees—women and children—would likely do the same. The only person who indicated any interest in learning to use a spear was a little boy who stood up and was promptly restrained and hushed by his mother.
    Rowen hoped the darkness hid his embarrassment as he felt himself blush. He tried to think of some joke to save face, but his mind was blank. He jabbed his spear into the earth and was about to sit down when a voice called out.
    “If you’re giving lessons on how to kill, Knight, call me your student.”
    Haesha pushed past the others and stood before him. She plucked Rowen’s spear from the earth and threw it hard. He barely caught it before it hit him in the nose. She grabbed one for herself from a nearby pile. She twirled it between her fingers, making a deft circle, then nodded to herself. She threw off her cloak. A few more travelers chuckled. Others, like Matua, made sounds of disapproval.
    Haesha’s new clothes, smaller and badly torn, left her midriff exposed. Her slender waist glistened in the firelight, and Rowen caught a flash of jewelry in her navel. He eyed her with a mixture of arousal and loathing. If her breasts did not jostle free the first time she made a quick move, it would be a miracle.
    “Only a fool fights while drunk,” Rowen told her.
    “Haven’t touched a drop for hours. Kiss me and taste for yourself.” She took a few brazen steps toward him. Then she lunged with her spear.
    Caught off guard, Rowen backpedaled. The fire-hardened point stabbed at his face again—not with a clumsy lunge but a quick, balanced strike. Rowen parried with the tip of his spear, considered stabbing her in the gut, and sidestepped. She pivoted, as agile as a shadow, and swung at him, but he was out of range. She recovered easily.
    Rowen noted her graceful footwork and easy grip. Though a spear was not his weapon of choice, he’d trained with them. He could tell right away that Haesha was at least his equal. A cleric who knows how to use a spear? What is this madwoman’s story?
    Haesha regarded him with cold green eyes. Then she flashed a crooked smile and attacked. Rowen ducked, parried, sidestepped, and parried again. He was glad the onlookers had left him room to maneuver. He was glad he was still wearing his armor, too, when the tip of Haesha’s spear jabbed hard against his kingsteel cuirass, further snagging his tabard.
    Rowen risked a sidelong glance at Jalist and saw the Dwarr’s unconcealed expression of amusement. He hefted his long axe a little, indicating his willingness to intervene. Rowen shook his head. He used the spear like a quarterstaff, striking Haesha just above the elbow. He put only enough force behind the blow to catch her attention.
    “Settle down,” he warned.
    Haesha’s green eyes sparkled with mischief. Unfazed by the strike to her arm, she attacked again. She, too, used her spear like a quarterstaff. Rowen blocked a strike at his knee, sidestepped to avoid a broken jaw, then grunted when Haesha spun and thrust the butt of her spear into his stomach, hard enough that he felt the impact through his armor.
    Anger withered his restraint. He drove the butt of his spear toward her ankle. But she moved away nimbly and struck his shoulder far harder than he’d struck her arm.
    “ You’re looking a bit too settled, good Sir Knight.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.
    Rowen glowered at her. “This is getting out of hand, Priestess.”
    “Let it.” Haesha came at him again.
    He blocked each of her strikes, but her fury drove him back again. He bumped into an onlooker and narrowly parried a spear point from his throat. Rowen’s anger turned to rage, seasoned with profound irritation. He could not imagine that the madwoman really meant to kill him for no reason.
    When she attacked again, he sidestepped and delivered a hard blow to the outside of her thigh. He took another sidestep and struck her even harder across the buttocks.
    Haesha cursed and nearly fell