Tortured: An Epic Dragons and Immortals Romantic Fantasy (Fallen Emrys Chronicles Book 3)

Chapter 14

I follow the man out into the street. It’s clear that he’s someone of importance. His tight-cropped hair gives his appearance a hard edge, as if I should fear him.

I have feared enough.

Maybe it’s stupid that I don’t fear as I should.

The lord turns when he’s in the center of the street. He holds his swords at the ready.

“I am Meuric. Let’s see what you are made of.” He whips the twin swords around his body in dizzying circles. “I may prefer a single blade, but that does not mean I am any less proficient with twins.”

“Meuric.” I scoff. “The pleasure is all mine.” I withhold any fancy maneuvers and dive right in with a single cut, testing him.

Meuric blocks it with ease. “Don’t hold back.”

I plow into him with a combination of double and single strikes, moving around his body with fluidity. Kelyn had the style, but I’ve at least picked up the moves. They might not be as graceful, but they are effective.

Effective because of the unnatural strength of my arm.

And my light.

We continue to strike, block, jump, whirl. Always meeting each other. Never getting in a hit.

After several minutes, I have a sense that we’re moving faster. I’m not sure if I’ve slipped into my superhuman abilities. If I did, Meuric is able to keep up.

He is a half-emrys.

I am a mutant emrys/human.

I have to come up with a name for myself.

He comes at me, with both his blades overhead.

I catch his with mine.

For a second, we are locked, but I kick him in the chest, and he staggers back.

Meuric wipes perspiration from his brow with a wrist.

He gives me no time for a breath as he comes at me again. His snide grin and the glint in his eyes tell me he is immensely enjoying himself.

I block an overhead strike and whirl to attack Meuric’s midsection. He intercepts my cut and knocks the blade from my right hand.

The energy from the attack vibrates up my arm. My hand throbs. I shake it out even as he comes at me again.

He’s relentless.

Persistent.

The heat of the day adds to the heat of exertion. I drip with sweat, but so does my opponent.

We’ve drawn a crowd. All except the tavern men, who stay inside, taking care of business.

Rage and disgust course through me, and I strengthen my attacks.

Meuric laughs.

My attacks grow sloppy. He kicks me, and I fall. I manage to roll away before he can spear me in the chest.

This is no simple duel.

I spring to my feet and catch Meuric in the thigh. The slash in his pants bubbles with blood.

The red smears across my blade.

Finally.

Meuric grunts but doesn’t slow.

My single blade works hard to keep up with two. My head is spinning, but my senses are sharpened.

I have to calm my center.

Focus.

As I take a steadying breath, my premonition kicks in. I see Meuric’s next strike before it happens.

I block and knock the blade from his hand.

Single against single.

“Very good,” he says.

Carts have stopped. A line is forming. No one can pass us, yet we continue to spar. I’m not sure how long I can go on. I have never tested myself for so long.

This man is a machine.

And then he comes up from underneath and strikes my thigh. I feel the sting before I see the blood. My leg gives out, and I drop to a knee.

I continue to block as Meuric bears down on me, sliding on the ground under his strikes.

Then I lose my blade. I don’t see the last strike coming soon enough.

My hands empty, I roll to the side while favoring my leg. The blood is warm where it streams down and soaks my pants, but I can already feel the light doing its healing.

I do not worry.

Meuric halts his attacks and sticks out a hand. “You’re a worthy adversary.”

I narrow my eyes at him but accept his help. He yanks me to my feet.

“I never intended to kill you. This was a test.” He claps me on the back. “And guess what? You passed.”