But weirdly, Victor seemed to like it, rippling his gaze off Nemi to say, “Well, all secrets are revealed in time. I require distraction, and you are it.” He glanced at Slade. “Hopefully he lasts longer than the last one.”
Slade barked a laugh. “He will.”
His endorsement surprised me, but I took Victor’s words as they were intended—as a warning. The underlord walked to the wall and hit a lever. A section moved aside to reveal an assortment of mounted swords. “Pick your weapon,” he said.
“I brought my own,” I replied.
He quirked a brow. “I will be fighting with a sword.”
“I will be fighting with knives.”
He pulled a short sword from the wall and tested its balance, before leading the way back out onto the ledge.
I stripped my cloak off, leaving me in the tighter-fitting clothes I’d bought myself to replace my jeans and tee shirt—they made me stand out in this crowd.
Victor watched with interest as I coaxed Nemi onto my finger and then directed her to perch on a projecting stone.
For once, she listened to me.
Then I surveyed the area we’d be fighting. The ledge was about twenty feet wide by thirty long, paved with stones that offered a roughened, grippy surface. A good landing spot for Dragons, I surmised. Or it would have been, if the stronghold hadn’t been built in the midst of a swamp.
The ledge had a roof overhead to keep out the rain, but the near-continual dampness had coated the floor and the walls with slimy moss and algae. In places, plants had managed to cling to the stones, and they were pigeonholed in a few spots along the floor itself, too.
So, tricky surface underfoot. But I was less worried about that than the fucking sword. Its solid two and a half feet gave Victor a lethal reach, so I’d have to be at my fleet-footed best to stay whole.
Slade leaned against the inner wall, clearly intending to stay and watch. As long as he kept out of it, and I was able to walk out of here, I had no problem with providing entertainment.
I strode out onto the ledge, testing the footing, bouncing on the balls of my feet. Victor swung the sword in lazy arcs as he paced a small circle at the other end. I watched him move, the way he led with his right foot, the slight lean he had in that direction.
Wouldn’t mean much if that sword got to me. He handled it well, moving it as an extension of his arm.
He turned to me and crouched, sword held at the ready.
I flexed my left wrist, and the spring-loaded knife strapped to my forearm jumped to my hand. With the other, I drew the one from my waist. At eight inches long, it was the closest I had to a sword.
Everything I’d learned since becoming a realm traveler told me that location didn’t matter, and neither, really, did the weapon. The species did, but unless Victor sprouted a tail and talons, his human body should move in predictable ways. What really counted was whether the wielder knew how to use whatever he brought to the table.
And from the opening move, it was clear that Victor did. His first feint almost worked. My boots slipped on the moss, and the sword’s first strike missed my arm by a hair.
As I dodged and danced back, I caught the hint of disappointment in Victor’s gaze. He hadn’t been impressed, and neither was I.
I held up a hand and pulled off my boots, leaving me in bare feet. And then I set out to prove myself.
That blade didn’t get near me again. I leaped, cartwheeled, and rolled. Used the eight incher to bind the sword hilt and keep it off me as I spun past him.
And then, there came a moment when I popped up inside the sword, and held the point of my six incher beneath his throat.
His eyes glowed orange fire at me, and heat came off his skin. Then they flashed metallic bronze, and his sword dropped.
I interpreted it as a yield and pulled my knife away.
Nemi’s sharp trill of warning came a microsecond before Victor slammed the flat of his blade up the side of my head, placed his foot in between mine, and tried to sweep my feet out from under me.
He’d nearly knocked me cold, but I managed to spin away from him. I ended up with seven feet between us, glaring at him as my vision swam.
“Told you he was good,” Slade said from his spot on the wall.
I was better than Victor, but I’d made a rookie error in assuming sparring meant a different set of rules. I wouldn’t make that mistake again.
