Joely Sue Burkhart

This section comes shortly after the one from last week when Shannari cut the Shadowed Blood up pretty well.  If you’ve read The Rose of Shanhasson, you know that Shannari has a deeply ingrained fear when she’s grabbed or threatened from behind (another reason those little touches last week were so significant).  Gregar is determined to make sure she’s well able to defend herself if he’s not at her back.

First draft, edited for content to reduce spoilers to the first book in the series. 

From the eager look on Dharman’s face as she faced him with a rahke, Gregar had certainly been correct. The boy looked more than happy to receive the same kind of punishment that she’d given the Blood yesterday.

“It was not punishment, Khul’lanna. You honored me greatly.” Gregar laughed, shaking his head ruefully. “You honored me so much that now Khul demands to drill with you as well as these lads. Soon even Varne will demand the chance.”

“She shall refuse.” Dharman bit off each word, his jaws straining.

Gregar gave him a considering gaze and nodded. “Aye. I should not like to see Khul’lanna drill with Varne any time soon.”

How dare they dictate whom she drilled with? As though either of them had any say in what she intended to do. “I believe I’ll march back to Camp, find Varne, and demand he drill with me immediately.”

Dharman blanched, his hand fisted on his rahke, but Gregar bent over laughing. Shaking his head, he straightened and slapped the boy on the back. “You have my sympathies, Dharman. Watching you attempt to order her about will prove quite amusing.”

Irritated, she turned away and started walking back toward Camp. She didn’t much appreciate Gregar’s sense of humor, not when he backwards encouraged the boy to try and give her orders. A boy! She–

A footfall behind her was the only warning. Arms locked about her, one hand about her throat, another pinning her arms to her sides. Fear curdled her stomach, until she recognized the boy’s sweet scent of buttered honey.

Because he’d made her afraid, she quaked with rage. She fought him, slamming her head back, kicking his shins, raking at his face with her left hand.

Her left hand. He’d only pinned her right. She reached across her body and dragged the rahke from the sheath. It felt awkward, even more so than when she’d first taken the small six-inch knife into a hand well-used to a sword.

“Good.” Gregar glided around in front of them. His eyes glittered in the sunlight, faceted obsidian and shadows, his voice cold and hard. “Most men are right handed and so typically eliminate that threat first. Since you’re a woman, a man will likely want your throat in his hand, too. He won’t consider your left hand a threat at all.”

Dharman kept his hand firm on her throat, but he didn’t close off her wind. He actually held her very carefully indeed, which only pissed her off more. Her best effort had done nothing but make the boy sweat more of that sweet innocent cookie scent. “The rahke feels strange in my left hand. I don’t know how to hold it so I can stab him.”

A small tremor flickered through the boy at her back. Not fear. Anticipation. His fingers tightened minutely, his body shifting slightly as though in…welcome. Her stomach clenched with dread.

“It shall be easier once you carry my ivory rahke,” Gregar said. “You should wear it on your left. You’ll know when to use it rather than the black.”

“I’m not going to carry your rahke,” she retorted. “This is pointless! I’m not going to stab anyone.”

Gregar lifted her left hand and turned the rahke in her grip so the blade pointed down and back along her wrist. “This is the position for rear defense. You can hide the blade relatively well by keeping your hand down and holding the rahke flat along your forearm. When you strike, let the blade drop into your grip at right angles, like this.” He demonstrated, wrapping his fingers around her hand firmly.

Stepping closer, he moved her arm back slowly until she felt the blade point dig into the boy behind her. Her palms were so sweaty she likely would have dropped the blade without Gregar’s fingers on hers. Dharman held himself very still. As tall as he was for his age, she could only imagine exactly what body part she threatened with the vicious rahke.

“Don’t think. Don’t hesitate. If someone grabs you, unsheathe a rahke and smoothly stab backward, like this. Then drag the rahke up with all your strength. Slash side to side if you have time.”

The thought of maiming the boy like that made her light headed. Breathing shallowly, she closed her eyes and concentrated on deeper, slower breaths so she didn’t thoroughly embarrass herself and faint.

“Although it hurts like the Three Hells, this is not necessarily a killing blow,” Gregar continued. “The more you scramble his intestines, the better your chance at escape and his death.”

Her eyes flew open, locking on his face. “If I did this to you, you’d die.”

He smiled slowly, flames flickering to life in the dark shadows of his eyes. “Do you think so? As a Death Rider, I’m already half dead. Some argue more than half dead. To win this ivory rahke, I climbed the jagged slopes of Vulkar’s Mountain and sliced my body to ribbons. Thankfully, Vulkar accepted my sacrifice, else I would have died on those black slopes. I saw the fiery lake at the center of His Mountain, but the cost was part of my life. I’m very, very difficult to kill, Khul’lanna. All Death Riders are. If one were to grab you thusly–”

His jaw worked, his teeth grinding together. Dharman gathered her closer to his body, his grip comforting, now.

“Gut him like this, but don’t assume he’s disabled. The best way to kill a Death Rider is to slit his throat and offer his own blood sacrifice to Vulkar as quickly as possible. Aim for the large veins in the neck and groin. If you don’t finish him quickly, he’ll slaughter you with his own intestines tangled about his legs. We do not stop. Not for anything.”

“You did,” she whispered, tears burning her eyes.

“Nay.” He stepped back. “I have not stopped, Khul’lanna. That is why we shall do the drill again and again and again, until you would stab even Khul if he dared seize you from behind unawares.”

“I can’t do this.”

“Aye, you can, and you will.” The look in his eyes made her skin crawl. It was as though he looked into the future, reading the weft and weight of some tapestry she was only vaguely aware of. “Your life depends on it. If Dharman doesn’t bleed from a dozen wounds within the hour, I shall be severely disappointed.”

 

This entry was posted on Thursday, May 1st, 2008 at 4:30 pm and is filed under Friday Snippets. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.