Chapter 1

It was a lush, green summer when Broken Sword met her for the first time, in a wild, tastefully overgrown clearing. The steady whisper of a waterfall could be heard in the distance. At first he just assumed she had come to move him on, judging by the fierce look on her perfect face, and the unsheathed sword she carried. A little excessive, he thought, but not unheard of. Some people prized their land more than others, and if this cultivated stretch of wilderness belonged to this girl, then he didn't blame her for being defensive.

"Do you have business here?" she asked in a clear, low voice which told him exactly what she thought of him.

"I'm not a thief, if that's what you mean," he replied, making little effort to be courteous. The disdainful tone of her voice stung him. Ah, but she was beautiful! Not merely pretty, like so many common village girls he had known, but truly possessed of the beauty poets attempt to describe, and artists work for lifetimes to capture.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"A place to stay," he answered.

She tossed her long raven hair, fully aware of the effect she seemed to be used to having on men. She was having it on him, too, but he had more self-control than to let it show. "Why should I believe you?"

She meant it. What reason could he give her? There was none. "I'm just a wanderer," he began, holding out his arms helplessly.

"A bandit?" It was only barely a question. She threw him a glance from under her lashes, in the same way that he could imagine her carelessly throwing copper coins to a beggar in the street.

He bridled, despite himself. "No!" He had encountered hostile people before, so why was he taking her so personally?

"Prove it," she challenged.

"How?" he asked.

"Leave."

But that doesn't help me find somewhere to stay! he wanted to argue, but restrained himself, and instead did as she asked. Why would he want to stay anywhere near a haughty slip of a thing like that anyway?

"Wait!" she called.

He stopped, and glared at her resentfully over his shoulder. He didn't like doing as he was told. Against his will, it brought back dim memories of being yelled at and beaten by his parents for things he didn't understand. And it felt like she was toying with him. Broken Sword was his own master, and that was a point he was quite adamant on.

"I'm half-convinced," she informed him gravely. "You've proved your intentions. But if you want to stay here, you must prove yourself." She spoke formally, but when he looked at her, he guessed she couldn't be more than sixteen years old.

"How do I do that?" he asked wearily. However pretty the place was, he was beginning to think it wasn't worth this girl and her games. It was only her beauty that made him stay, he told himself. Only the chance to feast his shameless eyes upon that icy, unearthly beauty. He wasn't going to play her stupid games, and he didn't care if she thought he was a bandit or not. He didn't.

In answer to his question, she raised her naked sword in front of her, and settled into a fighting stance. Broken Sword groaned inwardly.

---