Lady of Conquest Read Online Free Page A

back became a trap, a tomb.
    The giant leaned forward and for the first time Conn saw the glint of green eyes beneath the hood. Wielding the sword like a massive hammer, the creature struck a blow to Conn’s ear that sent his head reeling. He fought to hold on to his sword as bells rang around him. The creature moved in for the death blow.
    Conn summoned his last ounce of strength and plunged his blade directly in front of him. Expecting to penetrate the giant’s kneecap or thigh, he started as he felt the solid connection of the sword sinking deep into flesh. The creature swayed and Conn took the opportunity to thrust the sword upward, high above his head where he again felt contact with flesh and bone. The smell of blood like the smell of fear assailed his nostrils.
    In a macabre dance the giant reeled, cape tangling around its legs. Conn sank to his knees and watched in amazement as the creature fell in two pieces. A high-pitched scream was drowned out by the clatter of the sword as it crashed to the ground, sending up an echo that reverberated through the cavern and Conn’s aching head.
    Too dumbfounded and exhausted to move, Conn watched as the bottom half of the giant crawled out from under the voluminous cloak and fled into the night, leaving only a profuse trail of blood to mark its path.
    Eyes wide, Conn crawled toward what was left. The cloak shrouded the inert lump it had become.
    He reached the cloak and touched a corner of it. Warm blood drenched it, sticky to his fingertips. He slowly drew it toward him and leaned over to find himself staring into the face of a young boy.
     
Chapter Two
     
    A ghastly pallor descended on the boy’s face. Conn could see the faint rise and fall of his chest beneath the cloak. His stunned fingers brushed the translucent skin stretched taut over high cheekbones, desperate to determine the youth’s age but failing. Conn’s thumb traced the shadowed circles beneath his eyes. A low moan escaped his parted lips.
    Conn stripped back the thin material and rolled the boy over his knee to examine his wound. His sword had pierced the back of one bony shoulder between spine and arm, missing the heart by a hand’s length. Blood flowed freely from the wound. Conn’s mind, still bearing the brunt of shock, acted separately from his hands as they tore off strips of material from the cloak to staunch the steady stream of blood.
    This was no giant of a warrior who lay limp in his arms. The boy was one of two people acting together with a flow of motion so well defined that none of the Fianna had been able to discern their separate parts. If they had, they hadn’t lived to tell the tale. Conn wiped the sweat from his brow; his aching fingers tightened the makeshift bandage. He wanted the lad alive. Sitting back on his heels, he felt the slow trickle of blood oozing from the deep slash in his own arm. He reached out and picked up the sword lying less than a foot away, marveling at its workmanship. A nagging bell of familiarity tolled in his mind. Engraved in the hilt was a word whose large, uneven letters did not match the fine craftsmanship of the rubies encrusted beside it.
    “Vengeance,” he whispered.
    The boy drew a shuddering breath. It was inconceivable that he had wielded this sword so well. The weight of the hammered silver sent shooting pains down Conn’s exhausted arms. He ran his hand over the boy’s arm. It was a lean arm—smooth, taut, and strangely muscular when compared to the sculpted cheeks and the shoulder blades that jutted out at sharp angles above his wound.
    Spurred into action, Conn took the remainder of the cloak and wrapped up the sword before tying it around his belt. There was no predicting if the bottom half of the creature would live long enough to procure help from some unknown source. His first successful sword thrust should have descended deeply into the gut of the person supporting the boy.
    He picked the boy up, carrying him like a baby. His head