The Source (Creasan #1)

Chapter 5

Two tents had been rendered on the green in the garden of the palace. One for Thea, the other for Fendrel. The boundaries would be held by the expanse of wooded forests making up the perimeter of the gardens. Carac helped dress Thea in her armor as she stared across the expanse of snow-covered grass at Fendrel's tent. The king had just arrived and handed over a long sword to Fendrel. They were talking about it; probably a family heirloom of some kind, if Thea had to guess.

"You're going to be fine," Carac assured as he pulled her armor sleeve into place.

"Not your best idea, is it," Thea said. "Either I lose and we die, or I kill the prince and commit treason again. And we die."

"He cannot kill us." Carac looped the leather bind through the latch. "It is law. He must accept the outcome of the match."

"How do you know all this rubbish anyway?" Merek asked from where he slouched on a chair in the corner.

"I make use of the library. You ought to try reading some time. You'll find it's rather—"

"No thanks." Merek held Thea's sword in his own, checking its weight. "It's light, lighter than the one you're used to. You're going to have to adjust—"

"As long as it's sharp, it'll do," Thea interrupted. "But thank you, Merek."

Carac finished with her armor and she turned to face them. "You really shouldn't have stepped in front of us," Carac said gently.

She smiled sadly. "You are my friends. What else could I have done?"

Carac returned her smile as a tear fell from his eye. In the world they lived in, it was easy to forget Carac was only fifteen years of age. Thea had come to think of every soldier in their army as the same, but they weren't at all. Carac was sensitive with a sharp eye for words, better suited to being an advisor than a fighter. Yet there he stood, a prisoner of the king with a piss stain on his trousers. This was what Favian had done to them. Thea pulled Carac into a tight hug.

Merek stood, limping to them, clutching at his ribs. He put a hand on Thea's shoulder. "Remember," he said, "you're the best bloody fighter there is. Broken hand or no, he's no idea what he's gotten himself into. I suppose they've patched it up as best they can, but it's definitely going to hurt, so be prepared for that. As long as you stay level-headed, you should still win. Sword fighting is about strategy, not just brute strength."

"Aye, aye, captain." Thea mocked a salute. "Wow, you're good at this. You should teach. Oh, wait..."

He grinned. "Yeah, yeah, just get us back home so I can get back to my grateful students."

She sobered up. "I'll do my best."

"Right then." He gave her a masculine slap on the back. "Good luck."

"I'm going to hug you," she warned.

"It's not necessary."

"Just let her do it," Carac argued.

"I'm injured. You'll just end up hurting me."

"Hugs could never hurt," she said.

"No, I—"

"Oh, too late!" She wrapped her arms around him, giving an extra squeeze for good measure.

"Ow!" he yelped.

"Whoops, guess I was wrong." But she didn't let go.

Carac laughed.

Merek sighed in defeat and hugged her back. In her ear, he whispered, "Lief would have been proud."