“I accept.” Simus heaved another long sigh of resignation and stepped within the circle. He was careful not to glance at his Token-bearer or Second, for fear they’d dissolve into the laughter they were struggling with.
A Singer was there as well, rather conveniently.
And the hairs on the back of Simus’s neck rose in warning.
The woman warrior stepped into the circle...and pulled a mace from behind her shield.
Chapter Seventeen
Destal sucked in a breath, but Simus knew it was already too late. He was within the circle and a Singer was at hand. And if the eyes of the fearful warrior now glittered with hate, well, Simus had no one to blame but himself.
She’d made her intent clear enough. Simus gave her no quarter. He crossed the circle at a run, ramming into her shield with the shoulder of his sword arm.
She stumbled back, not expecting his rush. It put her off balance, but she managed to keep her shield up, and swing with her mace. Simus grunted but took the hit in order to strike upward with his dagger.
She failed to block him. He thrust the blade deep into her throat, hitting gristle and bone.
The glitter in her eyes vanished. She collapsed to the ground.
Simus stood over her body, breathing hard. For a moment, no one moved.
The Singer cleared his throat. “Done,” he said, “with Simus the Hawk the winner.”
‘The survivor,’Simus thought grimly as he sheathed his sword. He leaned down, feeling the burning of rising bruises along his ribs and grabbed the dead woman’s mace. Blood still dripped from his dagger onto the ground.
Two warriors approached and both went to one knee before him. “Warlord,” one said. “We were of her camp, and would see to her.”
Simus gave them a nod, and they stepped forward to pick up the body. The onlookers moved away, talking quietly among themselves.
Simus added the mace to his weapons rack, making sure it was easily seen. He grabbed up a cloth and started to clean his dagger. Joden appeared from around the tent and stood silent at his aide.
“A change in tone, indeed,” Simus growled under his breath, angry at himself for not taking the challenge seriously, and for letting her past his guard. His ribs would ache for some time to come. He turned away from the rack to watch the departing warriors with the body between them.
“What was behind that, I wonder?” Joden murmured, as he watched as well. “Did she decide on her own to make a death challenge, or was she sent?”
“Can you find out?” Simus asked.
Destal stood close. “Let me send someone else instead. Joden is a bit too...obvious. But this is hardly a surprise. Warlord, you are going to be a target for—”
“I, PIVE OF THE SNAKE, CHALLENGE FOR WARLORD,” a voice boomed from behind them, and something hard smacked into Simus’s calf.
Simus reacted swiftly and instinctively, jumping forward to gain space from his attacker, then spinning to face him as he drew his sword and dagger. Joden and Destal each jumped to the side, their own weapons out and facing the threat.
Simus’s heart leapt in his throat as his blades came to bear on his attacker—
—a small girl-child, who barely came up to his waist, wielding a wooden sword and dagger, holding them in the position for another assault.
Simus stared.
The child was frozen, her wide eyes taking in his blade hovering inches from her head. “I—” her voice cracked high in fear.
“Pive,” came an older, calm voice. “Hold.”
Simus knew that voice. He rolled his eyes in its direction, as did the girl-child.
Haya of the Snake stood there, her arms crossed over her chest.
“Dea-mine,” Simus blurted out in astonishment.