Page 9 of Caveman Alien's Bride

“There’s no honor in being pushed aside without a fight,” he counters. Then he lunges at me and slashes his blade.

I easily sidestep the blow and give him a hit on the head with the flat of my blade, just to remind him that he can’t win this.

A stench of oldfritwafts over me.

“You have been drinking,” I hiss between clenched teeth. “Stop this nonsense!”

He lunges again, and this time I parry with my sword. Sparks fly as our blades clang together.

I may have to kill him. I was hoping to avoid it, but I also knew it might become necessary.

I wish Bryar were here to watch me win! I’m sure her eyes would be big and worried right now. And then she would turn joyous when Prit'oz gives up and I become chief of the Tretter tribe. She would take off her clothes, revealing her skin—

Prit'oz swings at me, then turns the slash into a stab at the last moment. His blade nicks my forearm with a searing pain.

“I have first blood!” he roars in triumph.

Blood runs down my hand. I must stop thinking of her! His move was perfectly obvious, but I was thinking of Bryar and not the fight I’m in.

I charge, swishing my sword in a complicated pattern that confuses my opponent until the blade is at his neck, blunt end in.

“You can still survive this,” I seethe into Prit'oz’s ear. “You drew first blood. Your honor is secure.”

I withdraw and wait for him to come to his senses and graciously admit defeat.

To my surprise, he charges again, eyes wild. “Go back to the jungle you came from, many-striper!”

I parry with ease. Does he not understand I can cut him down on the spot? Is he really so bad a sword fighter that he doesn’t even know he's completely outmatched?

His next attack is full force, and he tries a clumsy feint that I’m ready for. Again sparks fly as I turn his move from deadly to harmless.

Bryar would have loved to see this. My total superiority must be obvious to everyone except Prit'oz. And after the victory, my reward. Bryar’s naked body in my cave, lit up by the fire, her eyes inviting, her soft mouth opening in a moan—

Prit'oz comes running, sword raised.

For a moment I’m stunned, half inside a fantasy. I have to respond quickly to save my life.

My blade shoots up almost by itself, skewering Prit'oz in the middle. His own speed and weight push him further onto my sword.

He drops his own weapon, blood shoots out of his mouth, and his eyes stare at me in surprise.

Then he sags down and backwards. He hits the ground, pulling himself off my blade.

I’m left standing, stunned at having killed Prit'oz without wanting to.

The village square is dead silent, the only sound a quick drip-drip of blood from Prit'oz’s cheek onto the dirt.

“Long live Chief Korr'ax!” a lone voice finally crows. It’s Breti’ax, wisely deciding which direction this will go.

The cheer is gradually taken up by the Tretter tribe.

I replace my sword in its sheath and go up to the dead man, careful about not stepping in the pool of blood.

I take his sword and hold it up. “This is Chief Prit'oz’s blade! We shall add it to the totem pole to honor a former chief who was willing to die for his tribe!”

The cheer gets louder. While Prit'oz was not a good chief, the tribe can now pretend that he was, and safely honor him after death to placate their guilty consciences. It was, after all,theywho wantedme.

Breti’ax grabs my arm. “What iswrongwith you? You didn’t have to kill him! He was about to tire himself out! He would have given up!”

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