Shadow's Son by Shirley Meier, S.M. Stirling and Karen Wehrstein ...

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Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html "Come on, come on," the half-lordling chided. "We haven't got all night; thisisn't where we're all supposed to be, you know."Nervous , she thought.Somewhere deep inside, Arkan, you can hear me . "We're trying, we're trying,sir! Fikket , this isridiculous . Illikren keeps hittingme ." "You'vehitme three times, shithead!" Chevenga gave a dark cruel chuckle. "Fikket," said the half-lordling. "Another, Imikas, get in there!" "With all due respect, sir," said one of the watchers, with a little fear in his tone, "why don't we just kill him?" Two others had heard the hum, and knew it; they were glancing over their shoulders when they thought their commander wasn't looking, shifting grips on torches, making them dip and quiver.This is only the beginning, Arkan rokatzk. "Are you out of your peasant mind, shit-for-brains?" She saw two square thumb-lengths of skin clear on the closest one, just under his jaw, and the strap of his helm. Kill-target.Risk it . "Have you ever seen a barbarian fight like that in your life? Do you know how much he'd fetch, if we can get anyone to believe this, in theMezem?" Something made her check the throw, and watch Chevenga's eyes. There it was: the stare. "Oh, no." His voice was like that of the Dark One, whispering life loose. "Forty-nine chains is quite enough, thank you." They all froze, understanding. Knowing who he was. In the stretching moment of stillness, it seemed he was the only one capable of motion, and knew it; he grinned, and winked, and carefully, leisurely, almost lazily, threw his dagger, a cast as if he'd playedcniffta all his life, used to impossible throws.And with his weak hand, too , she thought, even the thought seeming slow. The dagger floated out, trailing her hook like a silken line, and buried itself in the half-lordling's eye. He went down like a wooden doll, crumpling to one knee, then falling sideways in a sweep of arms that waved life away like a bad bottle of wine. "Celestialis-shit-fucking-dog-mother… !" Megan threw then, while her target stood flat-footed. She watched her hand point the path the dagger had followed, to stand up bright under the second man's ear until his head tilted sideways and he sank, torch falling to smolder in the damp loam. "Ohhhhhhh, fik!" Two down. She sent power along the lines to all the hooks. Softly, gently, Chevenga's short sword and her own knives began to glow a yellow brighter than the torches. She drew in a few sobbing breaths, leaking them into the hum. It was like lifting her own weight straight up. Don't be stupid, Megan, you've done more things with themanrauq.Before you overstrained yourself fighting Karibal … Wrongthought, wrong thought . She eased herself up again very gently on one knee so her hold on the glowing weapons wouldn't break, and split off another piece of herself, reaching for the second dagger Chevenga's left hand had drawn, so both his blades glowed. His face gleamed with sweat, black headband solid as a tentacle wrapped across his brow. The crazy embarrassing position suddenly looked chosen, supernatural, a man inverted by choice like a bat, hanging for some greater purpose like the twelfth card in a Seer's deck. Laughing, gold teeth flashing in the unnatural yellow light, a cheery, rippling, tearing stream of it, crazing the air with terror, sending ice down even her spine.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html "Who do you think you are fighting?" he said, voice death-low. "When you are fighting me, you are fighting all the world, and all its denizens."The timing couldn't be better , she thought,if we'd rehearsed for a year . They stood as if his laughter, his words, had driven nails through the top of their heads, the one supposedly helpless, holding four in terror. She felt a laugh inside and choked it back;later . Then,no . She giggled, shrill in the night, one short, high chuckle that wouldn't let them pinpoint where she was. Slowly, she cocked her next knife back. Ican't do anything difficult. Just nice, easy throws. Wait for them, juggle all the bits of self, concentrating on everything, and nothing. Watch him, stay in harmony with him. Save concentration for throwing . It was still four to two, and one of the good side hung in a trap. She floated in a sea of bits of herself, treading water, treading power, feeling it all around her. She could only use it in trickles. She reached and the warmth flowed in to fill all the spaces that people could not touch. She watched from a clear distance away in her mind, knew the next move would be perfect as if practiced a thousand thousand times. Her hand trembled no longer. She was at center at last, drawing in, drawing in to a tighter and tighter point, like the smooth scent of brandy, the calm of a shark swimming. "Fuck it to Hayelf." One was brave. His voice sounded small and desperate against the hum, as against sea-waves crashing in an endless roar. "We've got Snefenkas strung up for our taking! Think of the reward we'd get!" Two went on staring out into the woods; the other two spun their spears around to strike with the points, to kill. "Come on, then." He grinned at them. "You'll have an easier time with me than with my… friends." One faltered, hung back, then stepped forward, reluctantly. Megan's hum felt somehow outside of her too, now, shaking the bones of her skull like the drone of a wasp caught and stinging in the eardrum. Now they were stabbing, not clubbing, harder to turn for one without his feet on the ground.Hang on. Hang on, Invincible, Immortal. Time, Koru, time… "Ya-a-a-ahai !" An Arkan triumph-cry, as spear-head scraped across sword-edge,off-line, angle wrong shit shit shit , jabbed to a halt in flesh. Hisleft arm, near the armpit . The dagger slipped out of Chevenga's fingers, to fall orange in the grass and fade out like an ember spat out of a fire. "Hah? Ya-hah!" The Arkan twisted the spear in the wound, hard, worked it back and forth a few times, then yanked it out tearing loose a spray of blood, and a gasp from between Chevenga's bared teeth. His eyes still stared, but had turned pain-frenzied; she saw him seize control of his breathing by will.Do something. NOW . "See! He can bleed!" The Arkan spoke, turning, raising his head to look at his own bloodstained weapon.His throat, clear —her dagger was there, glowing like a chip of sun. He went down, not dead, but strangling around the metal in his throat, heels drumming with a dull, hollow sound. In the knife-glare his blood was like lava, brighter than Arkan red armor. Chevenga spoke Megan's thought, deathly-hoarse even as she thought it; this was like the harmony she had with Shkai'ra, somehow. "Andyou can die." Despite his own blood half-coating his face, he smiled again, beckoning with his sword, gold-teeth flashing through crimson, a sight out of a nightmare. The two with torches stood, shifting, yearning to flee, afraid to flee; the third held his spear half-raised country-boy Arkan face frozen in a flash-instant of terror. Her detachment was slipping, starting to tear like a too-often washed shirt. She struggled to hold onto bits and pieces as they were sucked out of her with the ebbing of themanrauq . Chevenga's voice went on, a black gravelly droning in the soul, explaining as if to slow-witted children; in her weakness it seemed unreal, a voice in a bad dream. "Half of you are dead, without even knowing what you face. If all of you go, I get away. If one of you goes for help, he'll be alone in the dark woods.
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people around for camouflage, and t
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Und now I vind dose two—Celestial
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wounded only in the carts on march,
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Shadow's Son by Shirley Meier, S.M. Stirling and Karen Wehrstein ...

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