The Martyr's Blood (The Chronicles of the Martyr Book 3) by Joel Manners

Author:Joel Manners [Manners, Joel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Colquhoun Books
Published: 2023-02-17T00:00:00+00:00

Dreams

Gabrielle stalked through the ruined manor, lost in thought as she searched for a miraculous plan that would do away with the need to negotiate with Campbell, until the distant sound of metal clashing against metal drew her sharply back. Her heart raced as she hurried toward the noise, but her step soon slowed as she approached the manor’s courtyard and recognized the voices calling out, not in anger but in simple contest.

The courtyard echoed as two figures crossed blades, steel flashing in the morning sun. They danced back and forth across the uneven paving stones and past the cracked fountain, until one of the figures was driven against the wall, where she was pinned by an expert lunge.

“Touch!” the victor cried, and the defeated nodded her head wearily and let her sword drop.

“Blast…” Rowenna panted. She slumped against the fountain’s base and tried to find her breath. “I’m afraid I am quite skewered.”

Lady Aithne smiled in response, seemingly unwearied by the task of slaying Rowenna. She tidied a curl of fiery red hair back into place, the sum total of disarray that Rowenna had inflicted on her.

“You did well,” Aithne consoled her. “Your point stayed up, your feet moved well. But still, you hesitate in your attacks. You must press when you have the chance.”

“It’s difficult to attack when you are desperate,” Rowenna complained.

“Do not despair,” Gabrielle interrupted. “Aithne has never yielded a touch to me, no matter that I beg her for mercy.”

“Your Majesty,” Rowenna replied, and she curtsied alongside Lady Aithne as Gabrielle approached.

“She is vicious,” Gabrielle continued as she urged the two women to their feet. “Like a scorpion.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Aithne agreed, apparently pleased by the comparison.

“Although, I think perhaps a scorpion has more mercy. It kills its victim only once.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Aithne asked innocently.

Rowenna mopped her brow with a handkerchief, then exchanged her practice blade for Fury and fastened the Weapon at her hip. Gabrielle’s gaze went to Fury’s elegant hilt and she frowned in puzzlement.

“But I do not understand. I have seen you fight. With that blade in your hand, you are magnificent. Why inflict such misery on yourself, when there is no need?”

“Yes, Your Majesty, it’s true that Fury could best any champion, but it takes its toll. When I first wielded it, I was flung off my feet and was forced to fight while sitting on my bottom, which was not as dignified as it sounds. And afterward, I could not bear to lift my arm for a week. No, much as I might wish otherwise, training myself is essential, though I do loathe it, which likely explains why I am so bloody terrible at swordplay.”

“Not terrible,” Aithne corrected her. “You know your stances.”

“How often do you train?” Rowenna asked the red-haired woman.

“Every day,” Aithne replied, and Rowenna’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“Yes!” Gabrielle crowed, delighted to find an ally. She slipped her arm through Rowenna’s and pulled her close so that they might face Aithne together. “I see

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