Page 51 of The Last Slayer
“I want to know how well you can use a sword. I already know you can use draco perditio.”
A shudder ran like an invisible wave through the dragons who were watching us. I guess they really hated draco perditio.
Well, if he wanted to see…why not? I’d always wondered how I’d fare against a demigod. Now I had a chance to find out.
“En garde,” I said. I was probably smiling.
For years, I’d trained in multiple disciplines of martial arts. It’s something all hunters have to do, and I had an added incentive—avenging Miguel. I wanted to be ready when I faced his killer again. So I was good—really good—but Ramiel had centuries of experience on me.
Our swords clashed, the force of it making my forearms ache. My blade held, thankfully. His was a magical sword whose power was found in the heartstones he’d collected to realize his full potential. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d broken my weapon with the first blow.
Everyone was quiet. Only the lazy snappings of the wyverns’ wings and the clashing of our swords broke the moonlit silence.
We danced a complicated series of steps, leaving dark impressions on the grass. Most people don’t understand—they think you only need skill and a strong arm to use a sword. But it’s more a dance of life and death. Win, you live; lose, you die.
Blood flowed through me and warmed my muscles. Sweat beaded and dried in the night wind, lowering my temperature. I could hear myself breathing softly and evenly. Steel sang its violent song, yet it calmed me, intensified my focus.
I lost count of the number of times our swords crossed, the number of times I dodged his well-aimed blows. I parried with everything I had, and I wanted Ramiel to do the same.
I didn’t want a mercy draw—or worse, a gift victory.
As if sensing my thoughts, he lunged in. I side-stepped but it was too late. The tip of his sword hovered a mere hairbreadth away from my throat, and I froze. Disappointment and fear left a bitter taste in my mouth.
“You win,” I said, my voice breathless, my eyes on his blade.
He lowered his sword, but my frustration remained high. If I were to face one of the Triumvirs of Madainsair, how long would I last? I hated the feeling of helplessness, the realization that I might lose after just a handful of blows. Unlike Ramiel, they wouldn’t hesitate to plunge their swords into my throat.
“You did very well.” He inclined his head, and a ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Far better than I expected.”
I shrugged. “Losing is losing.”
He handed me a ruby-encrusted scabbard for the sword, and I sheathed it. The dragons who had been watching us were holding their breath. Even the wyverns had landed on the tips of the hold’s turrets. It was actually somewhat amusing. It wouldn’t have bothered me if they’d wanted to cheer for their victorious lord. Okay, it would have bothered me. But just a little, and only because I’d really wanted to win.
“I’m not going to last very long against one of them,” I said.
“Your senses are still dull. Unusually sharp for a mortal, but not enough to face one of us. However, that will change once you begin to acquire your heartstones.”
It wouldn’t have done any good to point out that I did rather well against incubi. They weren’t in the same class as dragonlords. I took a deep breath. “When are we leaving for the Mystic Forest?”
“Tomorrow afternoon.” He looked up at the sky. The moon sat low and was exceptionally pale, as if mourning its departure from the heavens. “It’s early yet. The only way to the Mystic Forest is via the Lunar Garden.” Ramiel didn’t look happy at the prospect. “The Mystic Forest will not open until it receives more lunar energy than it can use. At that point, the portal will open, should Nahemah decide to use it.”
So at last I was learning something. Nahemah was the Dragonlady of the Lunar Garden, so it looked like we were going to have to go beg a favor. Not a pleasing prospect when dealing with a supernatural, but at least it was action. I nodded. “I’ll go look in on Valerie then.” I began to walk away, the sword still in my hand.
I hadn’t taken more than a couple of steps when his soft voice stopped me.
“Ashera.”
I looked at him over a shoulder. “Yeah?”
“You shouldn’t see her until she is well again. Her poison is highly contagious.”
Damn. I’d forgotten about that. If I got poisoned too, who would save her?
“Everything’s going to be all right,” Ramiel said. Standing with his feet planted wide, all broad shoulders and cool green eyes, his sword held easily in one hand, he seemed to be the very embodiment of strength and confidence.
But somehow I couldn’t help but think he was trying to reassure himself more than me.
Ten
