Weavers of War: Book Five of Winds of the Forelands by Coe David B

Author:Coe, David B. [Coe, David B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2008-01-02T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

Diani awoke before dawn, roused from her slumber by the voices of soldiers around her, the ring of steel as swords were drawn, checked for notches, and resheathed, the impatient snorting and stomping of the horses, and the jangling of saddles being fastened. She sat up, winced at the pain. Every muscle in her body was screaming. Her back and legs were so stiff that she wondered how she would ever manage to stand, much less fight. The previous day’s battle had been her first, and though she had come through it unscathed save for a few small cuts and bruises, she knew already that she was no warrior. Her ability to avoid injury was due far more to her skill as a rider than to any prowess with the blade. She had inflicted no more wounds than she had sustained. Mostly she had sought to stay alive and to keep out of the way of Sanbira’s real soldiers.

Much to Diani’s surprise, Naditia was one of them. The duchess of Macharzo, so painfully shy during audiences with the queen and in private conversations alike, was a skilled and powerful fighter. She wielded her blade aggressively and with uncommon agility, and she was as fearless in battle as she was shy at court. It seemed to Diani that the woman had been born for combat. More than once during the course of the previous day, Naditia had saved Diani’s life. Yet after the fighting ended, she instantly became again an awkward, tongue-tied young duchess.

Sweating and out of breath, too relieved by the end of combat to care how her army had fared, Diani thanked the woman for protecting her.

“You fight magnificently,” she said. “I wish I wielded a blade as you do.”

Naditia had given an embarrassed smile and ducked her head, swiping at the hair that clung to her damp brow. “My father taught me.”

“You almost seem to enjoy it.”

The tall woman shrugged. “I do. As long as I’m fighting, I don’t have to say anything.”

Struggling to get to her feet on this cool, dark morning, gasping at the pain of every movement, Diani wondered if Macharzo’s duchess was actually looking forward to another day of battle. Ean knew that Diani was not. She stood for a moment, stretching her back, then walked stiffly to where the queen and her master of arms were eating a small breakfast. Both were already dressed for battle. Abeni, the queen’s archminister, lurked nearby, ghostly pale in the dim light.

“Good morning, Lady Curlinte,” Olesya called as she approached. “Are you hungry?”

“No, thank you, Your Highness.”

“You should have something, Diani. If the fighting begins again, there’s no telling when you’ll have a chance to eat.”

Reluctantly, Diani took some bread and a piece of hard cheese, thanking the queen and, as an afterthought, Ohan as well. “Do you expect the fighting to begin soon?” she asked between bites.

“I don’t know. We’re awaiting word from Eibithar’s king.”

“If the Braedony army chooses not to attack,” the swordmaster added, “I expect that Kearney won’t force the matter.

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