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

More documents

Recommendations

Info

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html Eight tens and five, all had horses and the horses were all alive; that was as much as you could say. They didn't seem to be impressed with her.Tough shit . But some of them showed promise.If that one over there gives the Arkans as much trouble as I think he's going to give me, the war's won… well, that much pay, I should have to earn it . She was in full kit, on her destrier, armored head to toe in black steel forged in F'talezon. Fantastically expensive: but that depended on how much you valued your life. All they could see of her was the mouth and her eyes on either side of the nasal bar. She could feel Hotblood sulking because she'd left him out. Sova was behind her on her pony. "All right—dress ranks!" she shouted in Enchian. They jostled around, horses shouldering and nipping. Some of the weirder-looking ones were asking their neighbors what she'd said. Fucking joy. They managed to get into something resembling a line, and she cantered down in front of them. The horses were all bigger than ponies. Everyone seemed to have a sword or axe, at least, lances, too, from manheight to twice that. All of them had metal helmets, leather shields. Nobody was without a boiled-leather breastplate, minimum; most with bone or horn scales on the leather, a few with iron or bronze; a few with chain-mail shirts. About a third had saddle-bows, mostly Aenir horn-backed types. Better than nothing . The tall skinny black one had a bucket of javelins on either side of his saddle. About six-in-ten were men, four women, the usual for this part of the Mitvald lands. "Who doesn't speak Enchian?" she yelled. There was a moment of running translation, and about a dozen hands went up. "You beside them—you, you, you—teach them the command-words." "First—dismount!" One fell on his backside.Shit . Shkai'ra vaulted to the ground, waiting till they sorted themselves out. It's best to get things started by showing who's the toughest, meanest and craziest of all. That dark one in the long chain shirt, a Lakan, looked like a good candidate to her. He had a good enough sneer, some missing teeth, an earring showing under his peaked helmet; standing tall, thumbs in his belt, shoulders back. He was taller than she was, heavy shoulders and slightly bowed muscular legs with a sword-callus around the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. "You, your name and rank," she said, pointing. "Bukangkt," he answered, after an insultingly long pause. She didn't know much about Lakans, except that their country was south and west of Yeola-e, and they were in the war. This one must be an exile to be here and not with his king. He didn't add "kras"or any other word of respect. Probably top-chicken with this bunch so far, and he'd push it. She stepped closer, stuck her face toward his.He smells like stale wine; too early. Younger than I thought, not more than twenty-two . "You call mekras , Bukangkt," she said, slow and just loud enough for the others to hear. "I call you whatever I want. Right now I call you stupid. What were you exiled for, raping pigs?" She turned her back on him, walked away.How stupid is he ? Very stupid; she heard steel rasping free of leather and the jingle of mail-rings as he lunged after her, and Sova's warning cry, "Khya-hird!"
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html Getting a fix by his shadow ahead of her, the Kommanza wheeled on one foot, fast, kicked as he went by. He was quick, had got closer than she liked—maybe shewas starting to lose her speed… Her boot heel hit right behind his elbow. The sword was a long straight double-edged type with a simple bar guard, grey steel; it flew ahead of him and buried itself in the turf—shunk. The Lakan turned, clutching his arm, shouting something in his own language.Brave as a boar, at least . She kept her hands on her hips; showy, but necessary on this sort of occasion. High-kick to the face with her right boot; the Zak-made armor was marvelously flexible and well-jointed. He blocked with crossed forearms, tried to grab her foot. His unarmed work was all learned catch-as-can in brawls, she could see that from the way he moved. Her foot snapped down; it had been a feint. The motion of driving her right leg down scythed her left up between his legs; he was standing in the straddled stance of a sword-and-shield man with a chopping style and her greave hit his loinguard—smack. It was leather that buckled under the blow and he backed, wheezing, fighting not to puke, but keeping his eyes on her.Knows how to override pain, at least . Good. His deep brown face had turned grey under the helmet that almost matched his mail. "That was stupid, Bukangkt," she said, advancing on him. Wheel-kick, heel struck him on the shoulder. Solid, even through the chain and the padding underneath, and the arm dropped limp. "I could Tail you now, Bukangkt." She put her hands down, up on one foot; vulture-stork stance. Snap-kick once, twice to the stomach and chest, pulling at that last instant. Heoofed back, the thick strong legs shaking. "Couldn't I, Bukangkt?Speak ." "Yes," he wheezed. The others craned their necks to see, but didn't break line. "Yeswhat , Bukangkt?" "Yes, kras!" he gasped. She straightened up and smiled. "That was what I was waiting to hear," she said. Someone laughed. She wheeled, stabbing out a finger. "You with the jackass laugh, doyou want to fight him? Now? Tomorrow?" Silence, except for unnerved horses. She turned back to Bukangkt, keeping her eyes on him as she bent to pull his sword from the turf, flipped it and offered it over her forearm. "Think you could lead a section, Bukangkt?" she snapped, grinning at him. He was blinking at her. She could see the thought seeping through whatever he put between his ears. He took the sword, weighed it in his hand and stepped back; she didn't tense, but her arm felt the way to her hilt without moving. He brought the sword up in salute. She could see what it cost him to straighten. "Yes,kras ." She called Hotblood out of the woods, as Sova took hold of her destrier's reins to keep him from bolting. The other horses in the line started shifting and stamping. "Resume your station. Decurion." She went to stand by Hotblood, rested a hand on the pommel and vaulted up one-handed. The troop were just now noticing; like most people, they tended to see what they expected, and you expected to see a horse under a saddle. It was not an easy vault with half her
Page 1 and 2:
Shadow's Son by Shirley Meier, S.M.
Page 3 and 4:
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converte
Page 5 and 6: Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converte
Page 25 and 26: people around for camouflage, and t
Page 47 and 48: Und now I vind dose two—Celestial
Page 55: Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converte
Page 77 and 78: X Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conver
Page 105 and 106: wounded only in the carts on march,
Page 107 and 108:
Page 109 and 110:
Page 111 and 112:
Page 113 and 114:
Page 115 and 116:
Page 117 and 118:
Page 119 and 120:
Page 121 and 122:
Page 123 and 124:
Page 125 and 126:
Page 127 and 128:
Page 129 and 130:
Page 131 and 132:
Page 133 and 134:
Page 135 and 136:
Page 137 and 138:
Page 139 and 140:
Page 141 and 142:
Page 143 and 144:
Page 145 and 146:
Page 147 and 148:
Page 149 and 150:
Page 151 and 152:
Page 153 and 154:
Page 155 and 156:
Page 157 and 158:
Page 159 and 160:
Page 161 and 162:
Page 163 and 164:
Page 165 and 166:
Page 167 and 168:
Page 169 and 170:
Page 171 and 172:
Page 173 and 174:
Page 175 and 176:
Page 177 and 178:
Page 179 and 180:
Page 181 and 182:
Page 183 and 184:
Page 185 and 186:
Page 187 and 188:
Page 189 and 190:
Page 191 and 192:
— Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
Page 193 and 194:
Page 195 and 196:
Page 197 and 198:
Page 199 and 200:
Page 201 and 202:
Page 203 and 204:
Page 205 and 206:
Page 207 and 208:
Page 209 and 210:
Page 211 and 212:
Page 213 and 214:
Page 215 and 216:
Page 217 and 218:
Page 219 and 220:
Page 221 and 222:
Page 223 and 224:
Page 225 and 226:
Page 227 and 228:
Page 229 and 230:
Page 231 and 232:
Page 233 and 234:
Page 235 and 236:
Page 237 and 238:
show all

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

Create successful ePaper yourself

Delete template?

Save as template?