Enna Burning by Shannon Hale Page A

carried a sword, an unpainted square shield, and a short spear. Enna was relieved to see that Finn was taller than the prisoner and a little broader, too. But the Tiran was older by perhaps ten years. He moved with a ruthless grace, and his expression was hard with calm desperation. She had no doubt he meant to kill Finn as quickly as he could.
    At the sight of the Tiran, the crowd erupted into a deafening cheer, beginning to understand what this match meant. Monulf held his fist in the air to command silence. The outer rings of the crowd took longer to quiet. Soldiers were climbing on one another’s shoulders and on top of wagons, barrels, and nearby roofs to see the match. Four of the king’s guard held large shields in a defensive position between the king’s party and the rope, and Enna stood on her toes to get a better view. The opponents faced each other, circling slowly, each clutching his javelin or spear. In the quiet, Enna could hear their boots scrape against the earth. Monulf backed out of the ring, his fist still in the air.
    “To predict the future of our war, combat to the death!”
    He dropped his hand. The crowd reclaimed their cheers.
    The Tiran was the first to move. He looked at Monulf as if expecting more instruction. Then with his eyes still averted he threw the spear. Finn deflected it with his shield. He moved forward quickly, stabbing at the Tiran with his javelin, making wide, swinging cuts. The Tiran held him off with his sword. Finn swiped upward, caught the Tiran’s shield with his javelin tip, and tore it out of his hand. The crowd cheered. But in the next move, the Tiran dodged a javelin thrust, grabbed the haft, and pulled it out of Finn’s hand. It clattered to the ground.
    Now both were left to their swords.
    Again the Tiran attacked first, and Finn met him in the center. In the uproar, Enna could not hear their swords meet. She could feel the crowd’s emotion through the noise—anger, frustration, excitement, dread. Her own heart yelled back while her stomach cringed away.
    Finn returned the attack, battering at his opponent’s sword as though trying to break his arm. The Tiran jabbed from underneath, and Finn jumped back to keep from being skewered in the belly. Now Finn was on the defensive, backing away from the attack, defending with his shield. The Tiran’s sword caught him on the leg, and Finn opened his mouth in a silent cry of pain. Quickly he dropped to one knee, rolled out of the way, and turned around to meet sword against sword.
    Enna felt helpless. When had the world turned so grave? The Tiran struck Finn’s shield with a force that knocked it from his arm, and Enna could not help but cry out. She felt as though she were tied up and being made to watch while her country fell. Enna saw Geric frown, but she knew he would let this go to the finish and accept the results. Isi bowed her head, her eyes closed. Apparently she heard enough from the wind that she did not want to see the action as well.
    Please . Enna thought. Please, Finn.
    The Tiran combated with the fierceness of a dying man, growling and spitting. Finn’s face was nearly without expression. He bled a little from his knee and from his bare arm where his shield once sat. His chest heaved with the effort of dodging blows, yet he still attacked relentlessly.
    He’s persistent , Enna thought. She had a sudden memory of Finn visiting her home just after the death of her mother. A chicken had broken loose from the coop, and Enna had been too grieved to seek it out. Finn had scoured the Forest and returned hours later, carrying just a clump of feathers in both outstretched hands. He had cried for the chicken. No, Enna realized, he had cried for her, for having to bring her a corpse so soon after her mother’s death, for failing her, for the sorrow he imagined she would feel.
    Finn continued to fight, but the crowd’s calls were becoming anxious. They pleaded now instead of cheered. Some put their faces in their