Sir Rowan and the Camerian Conquest Read Online Free PDF Page A

followed his last words with a powerful slice that the man seemed late in responding to. Halfway through the slice, he had not even moved from his standing guard position. At the last moment, however, the man snapped his sword from rest to a defensive position, and Rowan’s blade struck immovable steel.
    In that instant, all of Rowan’s confidence fled from him. Something in him recognized that he was facing the ultimate warrior—impenetrable defense, frightening offense, unmovable and superior purpose.
    He fought against the truth of his realization just the same and began a series of cuts and slices, holding absolutely nothing back. Every blow and cut was met perfectly. Rowan exhausted himself in an unending successions of cuts, slices, and thrusts, refusing to accept the fact that he could not best his silent opponent.
    Finally, in desperation, he threw a descending diagonal cut, followed by a horizontal slice and a thrust to the man’s chest. The knight deflected each one, then put a bind on Rowan’s sword that locked their blades together. Rowan looked at the swords and realized that, with one quick move, the knight could leave the bind and plunge his sword into Rowan’s unprotected abdomen. Hoping to equalize the threat, Rowan drew his long knife. But the knight grabbed Rowan’s wrist and twisted his hand in such a way that Rowan’s forearm and hand exploded in pain.
    The knight forced the knife’s blade down and close to Rowan’s chin until he could feel the cold steel against his own neck. The harder he pushed back, the sharper the pain that shot down his wrist and arm.
How can this man control me so?
he wondered.
    Just when Rowan thought his life was over, he felt the tie around his neck slice in two and his victory cloak fall away from his shoulders. At the same time, he heard horses galloping toward him and knew that Hatfield and the guards were coming.
    Once again Rowan found himself face to helmet with this mysterious knight, his victory cloak at his feet. Perplexed and beaten, he didn’t know whether to be angry, humbled, or fearful.
    “You have lost your way.” The knight spoke calmly, with no sign of effort. “Turn back.”
    The knight released his bind and his painful hold on Rowan’s wrist. He stepped back, sheathed his sword, and turned to walk away. Just a few paces behind them, Rowan heard Hatfield and the guards draw their swords and dismount. He held up a hand to stop them.
    “Who are you?” Rowan yelled. The knight walked away in silence until he was clear of the bridge, then turned toward the woods.
    “Who are you?” Rowan yelled louder, but the man just disappeared into the mist of the forest.

ONE HUNDRED TO ONE
     
    The fight with the mystery knight left Rowan rattled, even more so than before. Was this a tactic by one of the champion knights he would face at the tournaments? If any of them were this good, he didn’t have a chance. Yet something told him the mysterious knight was not a tournament contender.
    Their party journeyed on, and Rowan rode in silence. Balenteen tried in his annoying way to lighten his spirits by talking about the grand tournament ahead, but the agent’s efforts did not help.
    “Shut your mouth, Balenteen,” Hatfield finally said, much to Rowan’s relief.
    By late morning, they reached the Rock Forest, known for trees growing thickly among scattered boulders. The road twisted and turned to navigate through the rugged landscape.
    “Once we get through the forest, we should make good time to Kroywen.” Balenteen smiled, venturing one more attempt at lightening Rowan’s mood. “We ought to be there before sundown this evening. I’ve made arrangements at the finest inn of the city.”
    Rowan just nodded. He didn’t want to encourage the man too much, or he would never stop talking again.
    They rounded a bend in the road to find two men working on awagon that had toppled its heavy load of wood. One wheel was off the wagon, and the cut timber was