Defending Destiny (The Warrior Chronicles) (38 page)

Unfortunately, that didn’t appear to be up to her.

Japanese steel and craftsmanship of Masamune’s time would probably have been stronger than most Norse swords crafted two hundred or so years earlier, as if she didn’t have enough to worry about.

Not only was she barefoot in half a dress, she was set to fight with a weapon she hadn’t perfected against a famous sword crafted by arguably the best sword smith of all time. Honjo was shaped like a modern katana, a weapon she’d fought with many times.

And what’s behind curtain number three?

“How long have you had this sword?” Lauren asked.

“A King doesn’t give his secrets away for free, Ceannard. If you’re still Ceannard when this is over, we’ll discuss it.”

“Yes, Arm-Righ, we shall.”

The King, all grins and affability, motioned his retainers forward again. “Deliver the weapons to the Seconds.”

The order was given and just like that she was armed and facing off against an opponent she didn’t know with a weapon that, had she been given the choice, she would not have chosen. It chose her and it felt warm and familiar in her hand. The weight was easy. The balance was different from the even weight of the katanas she’d trained with—heavier, more solid, slower, but equally effective if she made contact.

Damnet held Honjo down and to the right in a loose grip by his right thigh. He taunted her. She didn’t bite. Daisy held Gleipnir in a traditional guard position. He waited her out. He could hold his stance without tiring. She could not.

With bladed weapons, it often only took one clean slice.

The seconds turned to minutes.

Her arms began to burn.

Her eyes stayed fixated on his chest; she’d see movement there first.

A scream rent the air as she felt the first cut of his blade.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Daisy felt the burning in her right shoulder and down her arm by the time the sound of her block registered. The scream didn’t scare her or divert her attention, her arms were just burning from holding Gleipnir so long. The
ping
of her block came just in time to save her neck. So much for wondering if Damnet was really trying to kill her. He was.

He lunged and cut again, a flick of the wrist. This time he only hit air. Blood ran from her arm, slicking the stone at her feet. She didn’t have a lot of time. If all she could manage was blocking and moving away, she was doomed. She began to circle, dropping her guard a fraction. This time when he attacked high she sidestepped and came crashing down on his wrists with the flat of her blade. Bone shattered. Damnet dropped his blade and it skidded across the floor. The man was down, howling in pain, but he wasn’t out.

Daisy had another scar in the making, but she managed to save the day without doing irreparable harm to another human being. All in all, it was not a bad outcome as far as she was concerned. Her father and her brother wouldn’t think so, though. She could hear them in her head.
Leaving an enemy to heal and hit you another day, a day of his choosing, is simply empowering your own demise.

If and when that day comes I’ll kick his ass again.

She could almost hear her father’s heavy sigh. Jordon Bennett didn’t argue with his daughter anymore. He’d simply make the man disappear if he found out about the day’s events. Daisy needed to make sure he didn’t.

She lowered Gleipnir slowly to her side.

The next cut sliced down her back.

She didn’t see it coming, but she heard it. Just in time to spin away. One of the Arm-Righ’s retainers, still in uniform, stood opposite, sword raised. He was younger and stronger than the Arm-Righ’s Second, who was being carried off the floor by two silent, expressionless retainers. The man facing her made no pretense of following any Court rules.

Neither did the Arm-Righ, who couldn’t contain his smirk of satisfaction as he gestured toward Merry Peacock MacBain, who sat beside him, a jeweled dagger at her jugular. A narrow stream of blood ran from her neck onto the white fur trim of her robe. Gerry Butler held the blade.

It should have surprised her. It didn’t. The pieces were finally falling into place.

Now she understood the severity of what was happening. The Arm-Righ allowed a weapon to be held against a Druid leader—the high Druidess, in point of fact. No one was allowed to breach the rule granting safe passage to every Druid, not even a King, whose duty it was to secure a place of honor at his right hand for the high Druid.

The Druid’s word was law, literally. Mediators, Law Givers, Healers, they were revered, honored and obeyed, at least openly. It was the foundation upon which their society prospered since the time of the ancients.

There were more screams and sounds of shock and fear before the room became silent again and the only sounds Daisy could hear were her own breath and the blood pulsing hot through her veins.

All the rules and her meticulous mental checklists for remembering them vaporized in the second it took for her to realize she would not be leaving the castle alive, and neither would Merry if she continued to pretend this was some kind of test. Life became very simple when the only rule was
live.

Boiled down to its most basic level, there are five cuts in sword fighting. There are variations on that theme, but basically there are five cuts. Basic was what mattered now. Five cuts. Two thrust points. Three parries. Again, variations flourish when one is wearing armor and using blunted blades. Bleeding, as she was, in a cut off wanna-dress, tended to focus the mind on the basics she knew would work.

If she could get inside.

If she didn’t continue blocking and parrying.

If she could stay focused.

Every cut maims, disarms or kills. Every cut. No wasted movement. Be like water, fluid, graceful power.

That was how she trained. She’d learned that her first day with a wooden sword made for her then-tiny hands. She was six. She understood the concept then as she did now, she just didn’t like the reality. Not then. Not now.

Her opponent eased forward, then to the side, back, then forward again, testing her response. She kept her eyes focused on his chest and didn’t move. He’d gained ground, but not enough to reach her without lunging. He also showed her he could move like she moved. He was not locked into traditional linear patterns.
Dangerous.

He repeated his movement, advancing closer, close enough to slice her with his next volley. Still she held her ground.

Misreading her mental research as lack of skill or lack of commitment, or with any luck, both, he lunged. Powerful and top-heavy, right for her head. He meant to cleave her in two.

It was a risky move on his part and exposed his vital organs as he opened his center. Daisy read his movement the second his torso shifted.

Gleipnir pierced his chi-center, that spot three or so inches below the navel, before his arms were fully raised. Her blade hit home and he continued three quarters down it, thanks more to his charge than to her strength. Daisy had to twist it and push against him with her foot to extract her blade.

He was still breathing, and would be for some time, poor sod, but he was a dead man.

He fell to his knees and collapsed fully on the stone floor, slicking it with his blood. Daisy took the sword from his rapidly cooling hand and backed away.

That was when the trouble really began.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

The Arm-Righ’s guards surrounded the guests and blocked every exit. The castle was supposed to be a weapon-free zone. Everyone ill-advised enough to bring a weapon was disarmed before they entered the front door. Even the guards generally remained unarmed, except at the gate. They didn’t really need to be armed with their skill set, but the King didn’t leave anything to chance. The gate guards also served to make visitors feel safe.

No one felt safe now, except the Arm-Righ.

Daisy scanned the dining hall. Most of the Ceannard seemed stoic and ready for a fight, including the women, who were anything but dressed for it. Some of the older Ceannards were visibly shaken. They hadn’t seen this coming. They’d be cut down like sheep if the guards engaged them. She didn’t want to be responsible for that, so she stayed put, bleeding, trying to think of a way out, one she’d have to find soon. She was losing blood more quickly than she should. It seemed almost as if she’d been given something to stop her blood from clotting.

Suddenly there was movement at her back. Magnus stood just behind her, back to back with Rowan at his side. Both were unarmed. She had Gleipnir and the long sword she’d taken from her second attacker. Damnet’s katana stayed where it had fallen, about five feet away from Magnus, in reach of both men, yet neither bent to retrieve it.

Lauren had warned her about the volatility of Court politics. So had Magnus. Even Rowan had given it a shot during his training session with her. She listened. She even thought she understood them, but clearly she hadn’t. Not until this moment. This was the worst part of being Lauren’s Second; the very real fear. Not to mention the blood.

With Magnus and Rowan at her back, Daisy was reminded of one of the images she’d recently seen. In that image, there were three swords covering her back, not two. Daisy looked up to the dais. Gerry stood behind Merry’s chair holding a jeweled dagger to her throat. She caught movement out of the corner of her eye. It was Lauren pushing his way toward the King. Gerry jerked and Merry was on her feet. He pulled her back against him and whispered into her ear. Merry didn’t struggle. If anything, she appeared even calmer than before.

“If they take the three of us and Lauren, everyone here not aligned with the King will die. Not here, that would be too dangerous, but they’ll die. The King will make sure of that,” Rowan said.

“If someone doesn’t stop Lauren he’ll kill the Arm-Righ. If that happens he’ll never be King,” Magnus said.

“We need to do something and fast.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Guard first. King last.”

“Someone’s got to stop Lauren,” Daisy said. “He’s either going to kill the King or die trying.”

“I’ll go.” Rowan took the fallen man’s long sword from Daisy’s left hand.

As soon as Rowan had the sword he said, “Pick up the katana, Druid. Time to go to work.” Then he was after Lauren, dodging the guards on his way. He reached Lauren’s side and stopped him. Lauren put up a good fight, but something Rowan said to him made him still.

…

Using the commotion as cover, Magnus bent and grabbed the katana. Standing again, his eyes scanned the room until they lit on Gerry and Merry. Butler was holding her way too tight. The blade at his mentor’s throat had broken the skin and a single line of blood dripped from it. He’d pay for that. Magnus would see to it.

Lord, he hated violence. Some men got off on the adrenaline. He wasn’t one of them. For Magnus, violence was a tool of last resort—one he’d use definitively, efficiently, and with clarity of purpose, but he didn’t like it. The only thing he disliked more was the thought of Daisy succumbing to it. If the second man who’d attacked her wasn’t already dead, Magnus would have killed him without compunction or remorse. Daisy hadn’t done herself any favors by sparing Damnet’s life, but she had so that Magnus wouldn’t dishonor her wishes by taking it now. That didn’t mean Magnus wouldn’t watch the cretin for the rest of his worthless life.

Even though this dance had been planned, even the best-laid plans went sideways when blood was spilled. He tried to move in front of Daisy, but as weak as she was, she held her ground. Magnus didn’t want a fight and he didn’t want her expending any unnecessary energy evading him. He held his ground and tried to cover Daisy’s periphery, biding his time until the rest of the plan fell into place.

…

Finally Magnus got the message and stopped trying to push her behind him. This was her battle and she would see it through. Besides, although Lauren was contained by Rowan, he was by no means out of danger. Her effort with Magnus cost her. She grew weaker by the minute. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a second, trying to control her breathing. When she looked back, Lauren was straining against Rowan’s hold, trying to get to Gerry.

Lauren looked up at Gerry and said with a menace in his voice Daisy had never heard before, “By whose authority do you assault the chief Druid?
My wife.
”

James Duncan put his hands, fingertips extended in a pyramid, under his chin and smiled. “Why, by mine, of course, Ceannard MacBain. Mr. Butler owes us a favor. He will slit her throat on my order. It pleases me that you have such an unobstructed view.”

The man’s use of the royal plural, like he was somehow worthy of claiming to have divinity at his side, made Daisy sick. Standing without swaying was taking concentrated effort. Holding down what little dinner she’d consumed was a fight she wasn’t sure she could win.

Then three things happened at once. Daisy watched them unfold in slow motion, wishing she could stop the hands of time long enough to make sense of what was happening.