Chapter 88 The Shrine of the Two Lords

Lora had never heard of a shrine to the two rebel warlords.

It had been built by the Sogdians. Out here, far from the crown, they didn't care what the court thought.

As more peoples gathered, passersby would stop and bow. And the shrine district had become the largest foreign trading market.

Turkic infighting was nothing new. They were big men, fierce, and never talked when they could hit. The crowd backed away and settled in to watch.

The only ones who didn't move were the Redmane merchants, still loading their cart.

The Redmane were themselves a Turkic branch. They didn't move because no one would dare move them.

"What... are they fighting about?"

Lora hated to interrupt Faye, who was watching with relish.

Faye smiled, eyes sparkling: "Oh, that new Turkic fellow is handsome."

Handsome and Turkic, those didn't go together. But now that Faye mentioned it, Lora gave the young man a second look.

High-bridged nose, monolid eyes, neat small braids gathered into one thick one at the back. Broad shoulders but wiry. And the look in his eyes, like a young wolf contesting territory for the first time.

"The handsome one, his group came first, took the spot the ugly group uses.

The ugly group wants them out. The handsome one says the ground doesn't have a name on it. And they put a lot of work into setting up."

Faye was a real-time interpreter. Before the speaker finished, she'd translated. Linnie couldn't help herself:

"The first group only has three. They can't win a fight. Why not find another spot?"

Another spot was out of the question, especially after a wicker basket of fresh cheese, made with such care, had been kicked over and trampled.

"If it were me, I wouldn't have put the cheese out on display. Keep it in the basket, at least it wouldn't all spill. That's sheep's curd, isn't it? A shame " Linnie was cut off by Faye's glare:

"Do you have any moral compass? Is this about where the cheese goes?"

But Linnie was right about one thing: three young Turkic men against eight. A mismatch.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Especially the handsome one.

He'd been thrown down again and again. Each time, he got up and charged back. As if he'd never fallen. Red-eyed, roaring.

Until the others were too tired to rise. Then bystanders grabbed clubs:

"Bastard! Kill him!"

Lora couldn't watch. But Faye charged in first, shouting: "Stop!"

No hesitation now, Lora followed. They'd come together. The crowd would see them as one party. She stepped in front of the young man:

"Murder in broad daylight, have you no law?"

"Law? Is it edible?"

A Turkic man spat chewed birch resin onto the face of the man he stood on. He raised his foot to grind it in.

Behind Lora, the young Turkic man was up again. He saw his companion groaning under that foot. Rage gave him new fuel.

He shoved Lora aside and drove a fist into the Turkic man's face. The man, already unsteady, went down hard.

Lora silently cheered.

"Nice hit!" Faye shouted.

Several brawny men pushed through the crowd to Faye's side. She brightened, then pointed at the Turkic bullies:

"Butu, Hala, get in there! Pluck those vultures bald!"

Butu bent to her ear: "The boss sent us to guide you, not to get into trouble. Those are Bayar tribe men. He says we take you back."

"I'm not leaving! My friend is here, I'm not leaving!"

Hala bowed to Lora. The two men lifted Faye, airborne, legs kicking, and carried her off.

The instigator, gone? Linnie watched Faye's retreating back, aching to shout: Can I come too?

The square went quiet.

People had recognized Faye, daughter of Old Horn of Yarnford, the Black Eagle boss. They'd settled in for a show: the low-key Black Eagle versus the arrogant Turkic. A rare matchup.

But the Black Eagle girl had been carried off. What was left to see?

A lone southern girl, facing down Turkic men?

The young Turkic fighter saw the shift. This woman had stepped in front of him. He wouldn't let anyone touch her, not while he lived.

More Turkic men closed in. He picked up a staff, two-handed, and planted himself before Lora.

Fighting wasn't Lora's strength. She regretted every day on the boat when she'd wanted to slack off and be a salted fish. She'd only learned arms because her brothers and cousin had pushed her.

The disguised guards had always cheered from the side:

"young lady, victory! young lady, victory!"

Right! Even a cornered rabbit bites. Lora touched her hand-bow, gripped her dagger:

If it came to a real fight, she wasn't that easy to mess with.

A Turkic brawl that had pulled in a young woman, the crowd perked up. They wanted to see the veil come off.

As it happened, someone on the field had the same idea.

Two Turkic men exchanged a look. They grinned and walked toward the young fighter:

"Askar Corin, you've really got something. A royal bastard, and still women throw themselves at you."

Askar Corin crouched, gripping his staff, eyes locked on them. He growled: "Get lost."

They didn't. They split. One moved beyond the staff's reach, aiming for Lora.

"Get lost!" Askar Corin roared, swinging at the far one.

That was what they'd waited for. The near one didn't attack Corin, he lunged at Lora.

Lora was ready. Five paces, she triggered the hand-bow. A black bolt, silent, struck the man in the face.

"Argh "

He screamed, momentum carried him forward. As he fell, his hand caught her veil and tore it free.

Beautiful woman... who killed from a distance?!

The crowd's melon seeds hit the ground in unison.

The Redmane merchants, finished loading, about to leave, glanced at the pair. One middle-aged man's face went slack with disbelief.

He murmured to his companions. One Redmane drove the cart off. The rest stood and studied the young woman in the square:

That ferocity. That beauty. Perfect for our young lord.