The Treason Blade (Battle for Alsaar Book 1) by Jenny Rebecca Keech Page B

cut than have me trap you?”
    “In battle,
if the choice was capture or chancing a cut, I would risk it,” Ishar stated
bluntly, “As would you. I fail to see why my choice here should be any
different. Besides, the cut is nothing.”
    She did not
know how it was possible, but Traevyn’s eyes darkened and his expression grew
taut. “Nothing?” he ground out, grabbing at her arm.
    Ishar looked
down. Red blood ran down her lower arm, coating her left hand. She glanced back
at Traevyn. “It bleeds, yes but slowly and soon it will stop.” Ishar frowned.
“It is not a hindering wound; it only grazed the surface.”
    Traevyn did
not look placated by these words. His gaze thundered at her but he was silent
as if he struggled with his words.
    Davaris moved
beside them and set a wrapping of thick linen against Ishar’s arm. “If I had
known the fight would prove this interesting, I might have let coin flow,” he
stated softly.
    Ishar and
Traevyn looked up puzzled. Their eyes widened as they glanced around. The space
around the training area was full of soldiers. All watched. A few feinted
imaginary blows with a fellow brother in arms. Ishar glanced back at Traevyn in
surprise. He was frowning. She quickly realized Traevyn had been as lost as she
in the fight.
    Gavin and
Glyndwr worked their way through the crowd. Glyndwr frowned at the sight of
Ishar’s bloody arm.
    Gavin’s look of disapproval was aimed at Traevyn.
“I thought when Davaris said you might kill her he was joking,” he muttered,
displeased.
    “It was an accident,” Davaris said gruffly, pulling
up on the linen to check the flow of blood. He frowned and replaced the
makeshift bandage. Ishar winced at the sharp pain from the pressure.
    Traevyn shook
his head. “No, Gavin is correct. I was careless.”
    Ishar
frowned. “It was my decision to fight Traevyn.” She stared intently at Glyndwr.
“I accept as much fault as he.”
    Glyndwr
ignored her. He fixed his eyes on Traevyn’s bloody blade before looking up
stunned. “What were you doing using true blades? When grappling is involved, we
work with training blades. You know that.”
    Traevyn’s
voice was neutral. “It was my call.”
    Glyndwr
narrowed his eyes and studied Traevyn. “It was a bad call. The blade could have
cut her throat as easy as her arm.”
    “Wait just a
minute,” Ishar muttered as she shoved her way between the three arguing men who
were ignoring her. “The blades were also my choice,” she stated forcefully.
    Gavin’s
friendly normally friendly gaze had turned fierce. “Traevyn knows better. We do
not practice with true blades. It is dangerous enough with the blunted training
blades.”
    Ishar
frowned, confused. “Warriors of my people who have finished training always
fight with their own blades.”
    Glyndwr
wrinkled his brow in a frown. “It is a dangerous practice, Ishar.”
    She shrugged.
“So is war. A cut will let us know if we are being reckless when a dull blade
might let a weakness pass by unnoticed. We have a saying: better a nick in
practice than death on the field.” Ishar held up her arm. “This is a nick.”
    Davaris
brought her arm back down and kept the pressure applied. “It is apparently a
nick that will require thread and needle.”
    There was the
sound of horses and a moment later, Lysandr and Ber walked through the crowd.
Both stopped at Davaris’ side. Traevyn’s face went rigid at the sight of them.
    Lysandr’s
eyes took in the training area and the blood on Ishar’s arm and hand before his
gaze delved down at the weapon in Traevyn’s hand. Lysandr jaw clenched. He
glanced up and spoke tightly, “What happened?”
    It was
Traevyn who spoke. “It was my fault. We did not use training blades.”
    Before
Lysandr could speak, Ishar wretched her arm out of Davaris’ care. She stepped
up to Traevyn’s face, her angry green eyes a scant breadth
from his own. “Say that one more time, Traevyn, and so help me we will finish
this match, and