Chapter 31 #2
“Of course I fear for her. We’re riding toward almost certain death.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps toward destiny.”
“Destiny is just another word for fate. And I don’t believe in fate.”
“No?” Rashad’s smile widened. “Then how do you explain the mate bond? The perfect matching of souls across time and space?”
He had no answer for that, because the mate bond was inexplicable. He’d never believed in it, and yet now it was the most real thing in his life.
“The Old Gods work in mysterious ways,” Rashad said. “But they always work toward balance. Harmony. The greater good.”
“And if Thea gets hurt in service of that greater good?”
“Then you will move heaven and earth to save her. As is your nature.”
He met the leader’s silver eyes and saw understanding there.
He knows. Knows what it’s like to love fiercely and to protect at all costs.
“You have a mate?” he asked.
“I did. Once.” Grief shadowed his expression. “She died defending our people. Gave her life so others could live.”
“I’m sorry.”
“As am I. But I honor her sacrifice by continuing to serve. To fight. To protect.” Rashad’s gaze returned to the fire. “That is all any of us can do. Fight for what we love and hope it’s enough.”
A surprisingly companionable silence settled between them.
Movement caught his attention from across the fire. Several of the Windrunners had moved to an open area beyond the firelight and started sparring. He watched them with professional interest.
They were good, fast and graceful. But they were also… playful. Enjoying themselves. This was training as sport rather than preparation for death. What must that be like? To train without the shadow of Lasseran’s expectations?
One of the warriors—tall, lean, with his white hair tied back—caught Khorrek staring and smiled as he walked over to join them.
“You watch like a warrior.”
“I am a warrior.”
“Yes. Lasseran’s weapon. Forged in blood and obedience.” The warrior’s silver eyes were amused. “But do you have skills of your own?”
His Beast stirred at the challenge.
“I’ve survived longer than most.”
“Survival is not the same as skill.” The warrior’s smile widened. “I am Baralt. And I would test your abilities.”
“Not interested.”
“No? Then you fear defeat.”
His eyes went black, his Beast surging to the surface.
How dare he—
But Baralt was laughing. Delighted.
“There it is. The fire. The pride.” He gestured to the training area. “Come. Show me what Lasseran’s weapon can do.”
He should have refused, should have stayed to watch over Thea, but his Beast was demanding release. Demanding the chance to prove dominance.
And something in Baralt’s challenge felt… honest. A test. Not an insult.
He stood and rolled his shoulders, flexing his muscles.
Egon caught his eye and raised an eyebrow.
Are you sure?
He nodded once.
I need this.
He followed Baralt to the training area. The other Windrunners had stopped their bouts and were watching curiously.
Baralt pulled two practice blades from a weapons rack and tossed one to Khorrek. The weight was wrong, the balance off, but he adjusted automatically. He’d had years of training with whatever weapons were available.
“No rules,” Baralt said. “First blood or yield.”
“Agreed.”
They circled as he studied his opponent, looking for weaknesses, patterns.
Baralt moved like water, fluid and graceful. He was light on his feet. Quick. Faster than him but weaker.
He lunged, testing the other male’s skills. Baralt deflected the blow easily and smiled.
“You telegraphed the blow. Your shoulder dropped before you strike.”
He adjusted and attacked again. This time Baralt had to work for the parry.
“Better. But still too direct.”
They moved, circled, blades clashing. He was stronger and could overpower through sheer force, but Baralt was faster. He dodged and slipped away. It was like fighting smoke. Frustrating. Challenging.
And he found himself… enjoying it.
Because Baralt wasn’t trying to kill him. He wasn’t following orders. He wasn’t motivated by fear or obedience. He was playing.
When was the last time I played?
He pushed harder, testing his limits. He found openings, and exploited weaknesses. Baralt laughed, delighted.
“Yes! Now you’re fighting!”
They moved faster, blades singing. The watching Windrunners began to cheer, calling encouragement. Not taking sides, just enjoying the spectacle.
His Beast settled, content with the challenge. This was what fighting should be. Not brutality, not death, but skill and respect.
Baralt’s guard dropped slightly on the left and he saw an opening. He struck, fast and precise, and his blade stopped a hair’s breadth from Baralt’s throat.
First blood. Victory.
A moment of silence and then the Windrunners erupted, cheering and applauding. Baralt stepped back and bowed.
“Well fought, warrior. You honor us.”
He lowered his blade, breathing hard.
“You’re skilled.”
“As are you. Lasseran taught you well.”
“Lasseran taught me brutality. This was something else.”
“This was battle as art. As dance.” Baralt’s smile was genuine. “You have the foundation. The skill. Perhaps now you can learn the joy.”
Joy.
He turned the word over in his mind. He’d never associated fighting with joy or pleasure, only with survival. But tonight… Tonight he’d felt something different.
He caught movement from the corner of his eye and turned to see Thea standing at the edge of the training area, her eyes wide and her cheeks flushed.
Their gazes met and he saw the hunger in her eyes. The desire.
She watched me fight. And it aroused her.