The Prince of Dreams by Benjamin Curt

Author:Benjamin Curt
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fantasy - Epic, Epic, Brothers, Science Fiction, Fantasy fiction, Fiction - Fantasy, General, Fantasy, Historical, Prince (Fictitious character), Prince (Fictitious cha, Fiction, Princes, Llesho
ISBN: 9780756400897
Publisher: New York : DAW Books, 2002.
Published: 2002-09-03T04:00:00+00:00

"As I recall, one old man died of the fever. The rest belong to Master Markko. Don't confuse shame for surviving with blame for the acts of your murderers."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Llesho stood up slowly, his hands stiffening to rigid blades at his sides.

The fight that Balar had denied him surged in his bloodstream. He glared at Dognut, wishing the dwarf would go away so that he could yell if he wanted, make a fool of himself against the safe harbor of his teacher. Dognut didn't move, just sat watching him out of eyes that seemed to grow older the deeper Llesho looked.

So he stopped looking, took a wild swing that Master Den brushed aside with a negligent swat. Den shifted to his feet with a dangerous grin on his face, reminding Llesho that he fought the trickster god ChiChu, a master at the forms. Llesho knew he should be afraid, but he grinned back, reassured. He could beat himself to death against the mountainous figure of the god and do no damage in his turn.

"Come on, boy." Master Den circled carefully, his arms relaxed at his sides, palms out, his fingers curling an invitation. "Take me if you can."

Dognut snatched up his little stool and drew apart from the combatants. His eyes darted, measuring the battleground, cautious against sudden movements in his direction.

Llesho hooked a foot under the camp stool he'd scrounged and flipped it over the head of his teacher, providing a split second of distraction until it sailed out of sight behind him and clattered to rest on the pyre. Then Llesho attacked.

At first, he fought with deadly art, raining lethal blows upon his teacher in all the combat forms he knew. A leap, and the kick that followed it should have crushed his foe's throat. Master Den brushed the foot away a whisper before contact. The heel of his hand nearly landed on the breastbone of his teacher, but this, too, was deflected with a slapping blow.

Master Den countered with a sharp jab of pointed fingers that stopped, completely controlled, short of killing him. It hurt, and Llesho rubbed at his breastbone, circling cautiously while he caught his breath. Den waggled his brows with a predator's baring of teeth. "Is that all you've got, boy? A killer of multitudes who can't even bruise the washerman!"

It wasn't the taunt about his skills, but the reminder of the dead that finally drove Llesho into that space he needed to find.

"I'll kill you!" he screamed. "I'll kill you!" and he waded in. Art forgotten, desperation powered each blow. He didn't know if he was trying to forget, or to reach past his brain to the place he'd lost in the aftermath, where surviving counted more than the deaths it cost him.

When he finally grew aware that Master Den was returning none of his strikes, not even with the lesser blows of a teaching bout, he realized that he was held safe in the arms of his teacher, who absorbed the blows to his huge body without a word of reproach.

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