Elvenborn Read Online Free PDF Page B

dead.
    Gel did not get a chance to enjoy his victory for long; Horen rose out of a bush behind him and caught him across the neck as he turned. Gel swore even more colorfully than Kyrtian had, while his own men jeered and catcalled from the side¬lines.
    "Who is it has never been hit from behind?" called one, in feigned innocence.
    "You owe me beer for the next moon, Sargeant," one of the others heartlessly reminded him. "And you owe Horen three night-watches."
    "Don't remind me." The human pulled off his helm and threw it to the ground, glaring at them—but they knew they were safe. The "dead" could say anything they liked as long as the battle was on. That was another one of the rules, meant to be sure that no one turned mock-combat into a real fight.
    "Temper, temper," scolded a third, as Horen vanished to seek a new opponent. "A true warrior never fights with anger."
    "I'm not fighting," Gel pointed out sourly, his jaw clenched tight.
    Gel picked up his helm after another scorching glare and stamped his way down the hill to the sidelines. Kyrtian hid his own grin, and gave Gel a commiserating slap on the shoulder.
    "Too bad, old man," he said, with what he hoped was a good counterfeit of sympathy. "That's combat-luck for you."
    'That's carelessness, you mean," Gel growled, as he ruffled his sweaty, grizzled brown hair to dry it. "Don't coddle me, Kyrtian; I got you when you stopped to gloat, then I was served the same dish. What's more, you ambushed me when I lost pa¬tience. You're going to win this one. I underestimated you."
    Since at this point, those who glowed yellow-green outnum¬bered those who glowed red-orange by three to one, that was
     
    fairly obvious, so Kyrtian held his tongue and tried assume a modest expression.
    "I think we can count this experiment a success," he said in¬stead. "I wasn't sure we'd be able to make the transition from arena-fighting and set-battles, but it's obvious this mode is go¬ing to work."
    "I'd keep it at the skirmish-level for a while," Gel cautioned.
    "I intend to," Kyrtian assured him, as more of the "dead" on the sidelines cheered the surviving fighters on or showered them with abuse. "At least until everyone's gotten a fair amount of practice at this. I don't want people stumbling around break¬ing ankles in rabbit-holes or running into an alicorn and getting skewered. We're out here to fight, not get hurt." He loosened his throat-guard and yanked it off.
    Gel barked a laugh at that, and Kyrtian had to grin. 'That's as true as it sounds absurd," Gel chuckled. "And it's true you'd have less luck getting people to volunteer to fight for us if too many of the boys started coming back with broken bones, or worse." He stuck his thumb in his sword-belt and watched the fighters with pardonable pride. "I'll tell you what, though—I'd pit these lads against any of the professional fighters I've seen when it comes to combat rather than gladiatorial games. They'd win."
    "That's rather the point, though I hope it doesn't come to that. There'll be far less blood shed if they go up against con¬scripts." Kyrtian watched as the last of his men surrounded the last of Gel's and demanded their surrender. "The Elvenlords can compel men to fight, but they can't compel them to fight well. Speaking of volunteers—the field-folk are going to need another holiday before too long."
    "We'd better think about organizing a melee, then," Gel sighed. He hated setting up melees, as they were a great deal of work, and as in real battles, most of the people who took part in them had no idea how to actually fight. A good per¬centage got muddled and did the opposite of what they'd been ordered, and when they got muddled, they generally confused those who were trying to obey the orders correctly. Still, everyone on the estate enjoyed the mock-wars and were happy
     
    to volunteer for them; there was great excitement in battle when there was no chance of dying and little chance of getting hurt. A war-day