Page 41 of Dead Wrong

“Begin.”

Another flurry of motion from Cirian, but I was ready on the defensive. I stepped back on my left foot, parrying the quick thrust and directing it away. Cirian staggered a bit, his momentum diverted, and I seized my opportunity. Lunging, I drove the tip of my saber toward Cirian’s chest, but the other boy was faster, knocking away my riposte with ease after regaining his footing. We squared up, the ends of our blades crossing as we tested each other’s defenses. It became quickly apparent how disadvantaged I was. Cirian moved with a practiced grace that made it nearly impossible to glean his next maneuver. Not only that, but he also had the advantage of height on his side, his limbs longer than mine. But most troublesome was the ferocity of his strikes. Each parry sent a shockwave down the hilt of my saber, numbing my hands. I had to focus on not losing my grip.

It took only a few more exchanges for Cirian to overwhelm me again, knocking aside a misplaced parry to find a second touch, this time against my shoulder.

“Second point to Master Cirian,” the man announced as we took a step back from one another.

“Come now, Toto. You can’t seriously expect me to believe this is the best effort you can muster?”

I gritted my teeth behind the scrim of my mask. Anger flickered in my gut, and I took a deep breath, reining in the emotion before it bubbled to the surface. Mother had drilled into me from a young age the importance of controlling one’s emotions. They were a vulnerability to be used against you with the greatest of ease.

We stepped back to our starting positions.

“Ready?”

Two nods.

“Begin.”

Wanting to bank on the element of surprise, I lunged first, stamping my foot against the ground as I thrust my blade, aiming low on his torso. For a fraction of a second, I knew that I’d made contact, but then Cirian’s body blurred, and my assault was halted by the tip of a blade pressing into my stomach.

“Point three to Master Cirian.”

With a grunt of frustration, I turned from him, stalking back to the starting position once more. Heat simmered in my gut. I knew Cirian was toying with me. I shouldn’t have let it bother me like this, but the more I pictured that stupid smirk under his mask, to more I wanted to abandon the blades and tackle him outright.

“What’s the matter, Toto? There’s no need to get upset over a little bit of sport.”

“Why do you insist on calling me that?” I spat, the edge in my words evidence of my slipping control.

Cirian took his stance once more. “Does it bother you?”

“Would you care either way?”

“Ready? Begin.”

Another onslaught of quick thrusts erupted from Cirian, but I was able to deflect them, only giving a few steps back as collateral. As Cirian regained his footing, having covered a long distance in his advance, I saw the opening and struck, managing to clip him on the side, the tip of my blade sinking into the fabric of Cirian’s vest.

“Point to Master Greene.”

Cirian flipped open the visor, a wide smile spread across his lips. “My, my, what a surprise. Have you finally decided to give winning a try?”

“Anything to wipe that smug grin from your face.”

He barked a laugh, lowering the screen back into place.

“Ready? Begin.”

Our sabers collided with a deafening clang! And I broke the stalemate by stepping backward, renewing my attack with a thrust that Cirian deflected with ease.

“Where did your rage go, Toto? You’ll never hit me again without it.”

I struck at him, and Cirian knocked it away with a disappointed huff.

“Come on! Show me more!”

I sucked in a steadying breath, willing myself to ignore his goading. Mother had been clear—true power came from giving nothing control over you. Even your own emotions. One more deep breath and I deadened the anger in my gut, smothering it like a wayward spark.

Cirian advanced on me once more, his weapon nearly invisible with speed as it clashed against my saber again and again, shockwaves of numbing pain shooting up my arm.

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