Feast of the King’s Shadow (Outremer, #2)

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The Kingdom of Outremer was raised on sands steeped in the blood of war, and to war it is returning. The Sharai tribes, bitter and divided in defeat, have regrouped in their stronghold at Rhabat. Observing an uneasy truce under the banner of the charismatic Hasan, they await the coming of the Ghost Walker, long-promised deliverer of their people. The Ghost Walker has indeed returned, but not to the Sharai. Marron is a former Ransomer from Outremer who does not yet fully understand what he has become. His companions know more about the power he now wields, and insist that his destiny lies with theirs in Rhabat. But their motives are far from united. One thing is certain: whoever controls the Ghost Walker controls the future of Outremer. But Marron has a will of his own…

The Following Text Is From Page 244 Of Feast of the King’s Shadow (Outremer, #2)
lashing her feet around to catch the man behind his knees and bring him down. She landed in a tumble on top of him. Her one knife had taken him in the shoulder; her other she slammed into his side, yanked it out and thrust again. He was still struggling, still strong, writhing beneath her; but then there was another body falling onto him beside her, and more blades flashing, sinking deep. Elisande felt his final shudder, felt him relax into death. She breathed deeply, once, and lifted her head to find herself eye to eye with Julianne. There was a spray of blood across her friend’s race and a frenzied look to her, her eyes wide and white behind her tangled hair; absurdly, Elisande wanted to wipe her clean and tidy her, to bring back the calm and courtly maiden. Julianne had been made for another kind of warfare altogether, not this desperate brawling in the dark…” But sounds of grating steel and gasping breath pulled her back to where they were, in deadly danger still. She jerked upright and saw Jemel blundering backwards, swinging his scimitar two-handed now and with no art or skill, battering his opponents blade aside and barely recovering in time to do the same again. It couldn’t last; Morakh stalked him .across the sand, merciless and deadly. Feint and thrust, feint and cut: soon one of those strokes would tell, it must do. And then he would have the girls to kill, and that he could do, though he was alone to do it now; in such a fight victory lay in the head as much as the hands, and he was their master in both. He knew it, so did they. So did Jemel. But Jemel had held him already for longer, far longer than Elisande would have believed possible; and thanks to that heroic effort there were still three of them, and so they might yet have a chance … She scrabbled for her knives, and found one; pushed herself to her feet and found Julianne at her side, again with only the one blade in her hand. ‘Jump, or throw?’ she gasped. ‘I throw,’ Elisande said, and then I take your knife and jump, my sweet, you weren’t bred for this…