The Lost Princess

Chapter Twenty-Three: Sparring pt. 2

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Thorindir heard the commotion of the training grounds from many yards away. What was going on?

He jogged to the gate, throwing it open. What met his eyes was something he wanted to refuse to believe. For there was Amara, surrounded by dozens of cheering soldiers, throttling Captain Elavor. He watched in horror as the young princess danced circles around the seasoned warrior. It was obvious she was toying with him. She dodged this way and that, cuffing the back of the elf man's head, then buffeting him with the end of her pole. Elavor swung wildly at the evasive Amara. She was grinning ear to ear. She swept her pole at the captain's feet. He tripped and fell. Amara quickly ended the match, crossing her weapon over his chest.

"An unfair fight, I'm afraid," she said, chuckling. "I am sure you've never fought someone so small. Never underestimate your opponents, despite their sizes."

Elavor's face shone with embarrassment; he nodded as he picked himself off the ground and dusted his clothes free of sand.

"Who's next?" Amara called out, spinning in a circle.

Thorindir had seen enough. Fury and humiliation washed over him. This woman was not just making a fool of his captain; he could see many battered troops standing around the circle. All had red welts and bruises forming from the many blows Amara had served them. How many had she beaten? Another fresh man was stepping into the circle. Thorindir did not intend to watch another minute of this disgraceful spectacle.

"What on earth is going on?" he bellowed.

Everyone fell silent, turning to look at their head general, then quickly standing at attention. Many of the soldiers looked down, already thoroughly shamed and afraid of the consequences. Thorindir came forward, staring furiously at each of the men in turn, until his gaze came to rest on the only person who dared meet it.

"Why is this woman here?" he snarled, not looking away from Amara.

No answer. Thorindir glanced around, finding the defeated Elavor, and pointed at him. "Why have you allowed a civilian to disrupt the men's training?"

Elavor could not meet his general's eyes. He stared at his feet, shifting uncomfortably.

"Well?"

The captain muttered under his breath.

"Speak up, Elavor!" Thorindir roared. "Don't stand there and grumble; tell me why this woman is sparring with the soldiers, not to mention why she's handing you your own hind end."

Elavor seemed to shrink physically. After a few moments, he raised his head and answered. "The Lady Amara said she wished to spar with the men."

"So because the Lady Amara is bored, you let her spar with the soldiers. Of all the inconceivable improprieties." The men winced as Thorindir's voice boomed in their ears. "Not to mention it seems she has beaten nearly each and every one of you!"

"So because I am a woman, you think I am unworthy to fight your men? That it is shameful for me to have skills equal to or greater than theirs?" Amara stepped forward, eyes alight with offense.

Thorindir felt fresh rage burn in him. "Do not speak to me right now," he ground out, trying to maintain control of himself and the situation.

"Step into the ring, fine General. Let me show you my worth as a fighter, though you already know of my skills, having witnessed them firsthand." Amara turned to face the soldiers. "Were we not having a grand time? Let us see your leader join in the mix and see if he cannot prevail where the rest of you could not." She lifted an elegant brow. "Unless you think fighting a woman is beneath you?"

Thorindir could not stand this despicable young woman. She was making this about him being prejudiced instead of about her being disruptive. He wanted to slap the gloating, mocking expression off her face. She had challenged him, and he could see the expectant looks of the soldiers.

He took a moment to take in her appearance. Her hair was a shade lighter than usual from all the sand it had collected. Her cheek was bruised from a glancing blow, her shirt torn at the shoulder, and her left hand bore a sizable scratch with dried blood streaked up her arm. She was not completely untouched, but it did not lessen his humiliation.

"I am not going to be drawn into your demand that I fight you because you believe my dismissal will make me look weak," he said carefully, watching Amara's face. "Now return to the castle where you belong."

He had hoped to throw her off, but her face hardly flickered. "I will return to the castle of my own accord, not because you have demanded it," she replied, chin tipped up. She was challenging his authority. She wanted him to react.

"You will return to the castle and allow me to deal with my men's insubordinate natures." Thorindir walked forward as he spoke until he stood directly in front of the rebellious princess. She stared up at him, expressionless.

Sudden, throbbing pain exploded in his temple. He staggered back a step, spots dancing before his eyes. When his vision cleared, Amara was crouched, the pole in her hand pointed at him, eyes dancing with fury. "Make me," she snarled.

The little witch had hit him. Blind fury erupted, a red haze taking over the flashing black spots. He drew his sword from his side, decapitating the pole, and surging forward, he grabbed what remained of the wooden weapon and twisted it from Amara's hands. He held the tip of his sword at her throat.

Still showing no surprise, she held up her hands, placatingly. "Easy. No need to shed any real amount of blood." She turned away and nodded at the men, who stood silent and stunned. "Gentlemen, it's been a pleasure."

With that she strode away toward the castle. The girl was clever, making him look like a brute while excusing herself of all fault. One day, though, she would get too cocky, and he would be sure everyone witnessed her mistake.

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