Storm Warrior

stuck—but not in the bull’s-eye. Brandan managed to get two lodged in the outer rings. The other competitors achieved one at the most. All other arrows missed entirely.

It was Rhys’s turn, and Morgan found herself holding her breath. It didn’t matter that she was at odds with this man, didn’t matter if he believed himself a Celtic warrior or a dancing bear. All that mattered in that moment was that there was dead silence in the arena and that every eye was on him as he drew the enormous bow, bending it nearly in half with the effort. The arrow loosed and a great roar went up from the crowd as it not only struck the target but grazed the bull’s-eye. The second and third arrows were within the ring surrounding it.

“He’s done it!” shouted Leo, but he was all but drowned out in the roar of the crowd. Morgan stood and clapped until her hands were sore. Brandan and Mike slapped Rhys on the back and punched him in the shoulders. Their other teammates emerged from the onlookers and mobbed him, throwing pitchers of beer over him, bouncing their chests against him, and rubbing his head until his hair stood up. Like watching the winning touch-down in a football game, thought Morgan.

“This puts the whole team in first place now,” Leo explained, as things settled down and they took their seats again.

Rhys and Mike dominated the next few events as well, all with various combinations of swordplay. Brandan, Jay, and the others stood on the sidelines and cheered them on. Morgan was just thankful that the blades were either padded or were substituted with thick rattan staves. Even then, one contestant was knocked out cold and another had an injured arm, probably broken.

“Holy crap, are they trying to kill each other?”

“Brandan told me that they don’t hold back. Everyone who participates signs a waiver,” explained Leo. “Of course, nobody enters unless they’re gonna give it their all.”

It has to be a guy thing. Morgan shrugged.

Starr came and squeezed in beside her. “Vanessa’s got the booth. I promised Jay I’d watch the heavy combat. This is the first year they’re putting on a Capture the Castle event,” she said. “It took them three weeks to build that castle facade. One of the board members is an engineer, and he designed it to withstand an army. Literally.”

“I’ve got twenty dollars that says Rhys’s team will come out on top,” said Leo.

Both Starr and Morgan rolled their eyes. “No way am I taking a bet like that!” said Starr. “You’ll have to find someone who hasn’t watched them practice. The guys have been at the farm almost every night for the past two weeks.”

“I’m surprised they’re still talking to Rhys,” said Morgan. “He’s really pushed them hard.”

Leo nodded. “He’d have made a great drill sergeant, that’s certain. Puts me in mind of the one that made my life hell when I signed up.”

“Well, at least he doesn’t call them names,” said Starr, passing out bottles of cold water from her big straw tote.

“Shit, he doesn’t have to insult them to motivate them,” snorted Leo. “Every one of them wants to be him when they grow up.”

“I know Jay does,” said Starr, rolling her eyes. “It’s all he talks about at home.”

“He talks about Rhys at work too,” said Morgan. What she didn’t say was how much she wished Jay wouldn’t, at least not lately. She turned her attention to the field where the contestants were gathering. It certainly promised to be a colorful spectacle, with many of the dozen or so teams striving to accurately portray a particular era—or in some cases, a particular movie.

“The Lord of the Rings has plenty of fans by the looks of things,” said Morgan.

Starr nodded. “In order to get enough people, the board decided not to restrict the event to specific historical periods. It’s just for fun, really, although there are strict rules for safety.”

“Huh. You can’t keep that many people totally safe even if you arm them all with feathers,” said Leo, as he scanned the teams. So far, they were assembled into fairly tidy groups across the field from a great wooden castle—but there were a lot of them.

“Well, the weapons aren’t feathers, but they’re not steel either. Not for this. They have to be bamboo or rattan. And all vital parts of the body have to be shielded with armor of some kind.”

“I don’t see much armor on our team,” said Morgan. “Most of them seem to just have helmets.”

“It’s a rule that all helmets have to be steel. Body armor doesn’t have to be,” explained Starr. “Our team is wearing chain mail. But under that, Jay’s got carpet duct-taped around his shins and a Kevlar vest. Some of the guys are using hockey gear under their mail.” She pointed. “Brandan and Mike are the only ones who own real armor. It’s really expensive.”

Morgan could see that Mike’s exquisite helmet matched his hand-tooled steel suit. He looked like Lancelot from a King Arthur movie, and she wondered how he moved. Or saw anything. Or even breathed comfortably. A few others in the crowd sported full body armor too, and much of it was very ornate. Many of the participants— including Jay’s group—wore very plain helms with a brim and a cage protecting the face. In fact, Morgan thought their team looked outstanding with their blue-and-white hound tabards over their chain mail—and thankfully, they were easy for her to spot in the midst of the crowded field.

A tall figure in blue was standing apart from the others. The wind stirred his dark hair and stirred Morgan’s memories at the same time. She’d run her hands through that hair, clutched at it in her ecstasy, nuzzled it in affection—

As if aware of her, Rhys raised his head and met her gaze across the distance. She couldn’t see his expression, but she could feel him. Then he jammed his helmet on with both hands and turned to the others as loud trumpets blared.

The battle was on.

EIGHTEEN

The teams had formed alliances in advance, but if there had been strategy in the beginning, it quickly degenerated into a free-for-all. Combatants engaged one another with rattan swords and maces, and Morgan winced at the sounds of impact. The weapons might not kill anyone, but surely the blows had to hurt.

“There’ll be plenty of bruises and bruised egos at the end of this war,” Starr said. “I don’t know why Jay always wants me to watch this violence. He knows I don’t enjoy it.”

“He just wants you to see him being manly.” Leo laughed.

Morgan grinned. Her attention was then caught and held by a powerful man who was systematically clearing a path through the fighters. It was Rhys, of course. All her wishes to avoid watching him, to keep her views of the man to a minimum, vanished abruptly, and she couldn’t pull her gaze away. She’d expected he would be good, but the practices at the farm hadn’t begun to prepare her for what the man was like in action. The words irresistible force had new meaning as he literally hewed down his competitors and tossed them aside with seeming ease.

Leo thumped her knee. “Lookit him go! Holy moly, our man’s like a hot knife through butter!”

He was indeed, and Morgan felt sorry for whoever stood in his way. She didn’t know much about battle, but as she watched Rhys make his way forward, she noticed something odd. He wasn’t engaging the opposition, at least not in the same way as his teammates. She saw Mike and Brandan struggling with their opponents—each pair forming a separate fight within the overall battle. Rhys, on the other hand, was making extraordinary progress by simply wading through the enemy lines, disarming each foe with one hand and knocking him down with the other.

Morgan wasn’t certain that the men were simply falling down on cue either. The rules of heavy combat stated that if you were struck with sufficient force, you counted yourself as wounded or dead and fell accordingly. As far as she could tell, most of Rhys’s challengers weren’t getting the opportunity to decide for themselves…

“He’s pulling his punches,” said Leo in wonder.