Two Heirs (The Marmoros Trilogy Book 1) Read Online Free

had killed my father. Since then I've been all over. Wherever somebody needed a sword and was willing to pay for the best.”
    “You think a lot of yourself, Held. We'll see who is best when you face my sword in the morning.”
    “Torsten, for some reason you seem to have taken a dislike to me. I have that effect on some people. I don't understand it myself but it does happen. But if you let your dislike of me rule your actions tomorrow, then it is you who will lose my friend. Not I.”
    With a roar of anger the giant surged to his feet. “Why wait for tomorrow? Let's settle this now, tonight.”
    “I won't fight you now because you're drunk and I don't fight people who are incapable of defending themselves.”
    “Incapable!” Torsten was incandescent with rage. He seized his sword from behind the log where he had been sitting and walked slowly around the fire. “I'll show you who's incapable. However much I've had to drink, I'm more than capable of splitting you into tiny pieces and barbecuing the lot.”
    Held remained seated as the other fighters scattered, falling backwards over the logs in their attempt to create a space. Looking across the fire he could see that Manny was also sitting calmly, a half-smile playing across his face. As he caught Held's eye, he shrugged his shoulders but made no move to intervene.
    “Stand up and fight or sit there and die,” Torsten yelled. “It's all the same to me.”
    “If you make me draw my sword, I will kill you,” Held said and then rolled smartly to one side as Torsten's sword crashed down onto the log where he had been sitting.
    It was an impressive sword, he thought and there was clearly no-one else in the group who would have been capable of wielding it. It was also embedded to a hands breadth in the log which quite firmly was refusing to release it. Held moved cautiously to the side, his own sword still in its scabbard and stood hands on hips, watching the giant struggling to free his weapon.
    With a roar of fury, Torsten gave up his attempt to free the massive weapon and turned to the nearest fighter. “Give me your sword.”
    Trembling, the man unhooked his scabbard and handed it to Torsten who drew the blade and whirled round to face Held. It was a fine blade but fully two feet shorter than the one embedded in the log.
    “Don't do this Torsten,” he said. “Fight me tomorrow with your own sword.”
    If the giant heard him speak, he gave no sign but charged straight at the smaller man, relying on his greater strength and momentum. Held stepped back one pace and swayed to his right. In one graceful, fluid movement, he drew his sword and dragged the leading edge across the giant's torso upwards from right hip to left shoulder. Continuing the turn for a full 360 degrees, he had returned his sword to its scabbard and stood facing his giant opponent again before the latter even knew he was dead.
    There were gasps of shock from the audience as an expression of surprise spread across Torsten's face. He dropped the borrowed sword and clasped his hands to his belly as if trying to hold together the edges of the wound through which his lifeblood was pouring. Slowly he dropped to his knees and then pitched forward onto his face.
    Cries of anger came then from some of the fighters as their champion twitched convulsively for the last time. Held turned to face Manny who had risen from his chair, the smile now absent from his face. The leader raised his hand for silence.
    “It was a fair fight and an honourable death. This man,” he said pointing at Held, “is still under the protection of my hospitality. He will not be harmed.
    “You four,” he indicated a group of fighters, “prepare the body for burial. And you Held, get some rest. We will talk again in the morning.”
    He watched as Held walked slowly towards the wagon where he had left his belongings, the crowd parting before him to give him passage. Then he called one of the archers to him.
    “Ash, you lived in