AllFreeNovel
Share Us
27
LIVE TO FIGHT ANOTHER DAY
The clash of swords rang across the plateau. Each strike raged against the quiet, bouncing off stone, only to boomerang and lash the trees edging the woods a hundred yards away. Muscles aching, so tired she couldn’t stand, Truly glanced at the forest, then back at Westvane. Weapons blazing, he attacked. Movements precise, Priestly defended. The raging cacophony hurt her ears while fascinating her at the same time.
She’d never seen anything like it.
Warriors locked in mortal combat. It wasn’t play-acting. It wasn’t a movie set. The fight was real. Westvane’s intent was clear. He planned to kill Priestly. Probably by slicing him in two.
Curling her hands in the short grass, she watched Westvane drive his opponent back, and wished she had her camera. Wrong thought, maybe, but the battle was beautiful. Gritty and undeniable. Each forceful swing. The answering parries. Fire blades held by skilled hands — one flaming black with tendrils of gray, the other blazing white and gold.
Unable to look away, she stared, almost positive recording the battle for posterity was the right thing to do. History would demand it. The better angels inside her head said “not a good idea.”
No matter how mesmerizing, the fight needed to stop. Now. Before the worst happened, Westvane won, and Priestly ended up one head shy of a body.
Truly could see the shift happening. The fight looked balanced, but it wasn’t. The longer it went on, the more evident it became Westvane was toying with him. A master playing with an apprentice, he moved Priestly around like chess pieces on a board. Without compunction or mercy. Sheer will imbued with lethal intent.
The black flame of his blades flashed.
Priestly’s defenses weakened. A hole opened in his guard. Instead of taking advantage, Westvane paused, shifted, allowing him to recover before going on the offensive again. It was only a matter of time. The instant Priestly faltered, the guards at his back would move in. Surrounded them. Attack from all directions, overwhelm Westvane and take her.
Truly refused to let it happen.
Westvane needed to prove his superiority? Fine. He’d done that, but now, it was time to back off and regroup. Abandon stubborn pride and live to fight another day.
Gathering her last scrap of strength, Truly searched for Montrose. She found him less than three feet away. Arms crossed, gaze riveted on the duel, he stood guard, ready to move, wanting to enter the fight. Not that he dared. Westvane would skin him alive if the gargoyle intervened. The Assenta wanted to make a point, and he didn’t need anyone’s help to hammer it home.
“Rosy,” she said, her voice so weak she worried he wouldn’t hear her.
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye.
“Get ready.”
“Don’t intervene.”
“We can’t stay here,” she rasped. “I’m going to move. Be ready.”
“Triple,” he growled in warning.
“It’s not going to end well.” Gritting her teeth, she pushed onto her knees. Her muscles shook. Her vision blurred. Battling through the pain, she squared her shoulders. “Westvane’s fixated. Too stubborn to stop. He isn’t thinking straight.”
The clang of magical swords raged.
Montrose cursed under his breath. “Your plan?”
Palms pressed to her thighs, she narrowed her focus.Concentrate. She needed to concentrate. One lesson the sphere had taught her — if she could imagine it, she could manifest it. She hoped the theory was right. Prayed the magic answered when she called. With weakness invading and her body aching, she couldn’t be sure, but…
She’d know in the next few seconds.
“Just be ready to retreat,” she said, building an image inside her mind.
“To where?”
“The forest.”
“Triple —”
“Be quiet. Get ready.”
