Chapter Six #3
She delivered a brutal double slice. ‘That’s only one type of monster. There are more than shadow wraiths and reapers.’
‘There are,’ he allowed. ‘What creatures have you heard of?’
Thea continued to hack and slash her way across the arena, her fellow Guardians leaping out of her way.
‘Cyrens, teerah panthers, arachnes, sea and mountain drakes, sea serpents, reef dwellers… I read about a cyren queen who has a host of drakes at her call… But what makes a monster a monster? How do you discern between a monster and a beast that just serves its own instincts?’
It was the most she’d said to him in a long while.
Wilder didn’t take his eyes off her as she cleaved through her imagined opponents. ‘Talemir always said that beasts kill out of instinct. Monsters, and humans, kill out of cruelty, greed, selfishness, agenda…’
‘He taught you a lot.’
‘He did.’
At last, Thea paused, panting slightly, loose strands of hair stuck to the damp skin at the nape of her neck. ‘And what of Warswords?’
‘What of them?’
‘Have any of them… gone bad?’
Wilder froze.
‘Have any of them become… monsters?’ Thea pressed.
The word echoed through Wilder like a warning bell, but he composed himself. ‘Over the course of history, there have been a handful of instances where the Furies gifted powers to a warrior who couldn’t cope.’
‘Is that what happened to Talemir?’
A dozen images flashed in Wilder’s mind then. Shadows and nightmares, pain and suffering. ‘No,’ he replied. ‘Talemir wasn’t like that. He’s no fallen Warsword.’
He noticed Thea’s attention had slid elsewhere. To Vernich and his apprentice, who were finishing up their training several yards away.
Ah. Her questions made sense now. Both the Bloodletter and his lapdog had wronged her, terribly so. Wilder himself had pulled Thea bodily off the Barlowe prick more than once now.
‘A fallen Warsword is a warrior who is corrupted by the power within them. Not someone who’s just an arsehole.’
But Thea was shaking her head. ‘I overheard them the other night…’ she said quietly. ‘Vernich is looking for something. For the Daughter of Darkness. It sounded like —’
‘Doesn’t matter what it sounded like,’ Wilder told her sharply. ‘He might be a bastard, but Vernich would sooner die than betray Thezmarr.’
Thea’s gaze snapped back to him. ‘Have you ever —’
‘Enough talk.’
Her eyes lit up. ‘Are we actually going to —’
Realising that the rest of the arena had emptied a long while ago, Wilder unsheathed his own swords and advanced. It was one thing to be led through a range of exercises, another thing entirely to feel ringing steel vibrating up one’s arms. His apprentice would know the difference.
‘Let’s spar, Princess,’ he commanded, voice low.
Thea’s answering grin was manic. ‘Thought you’d never ask.’
And she didn’t hesitate. Wilder’s apprentice threw herself into a series of attacks, her twin blades gleaming in the sinking sun.
He blocked each blow before they could be fully extended. But it didn’t faze her, didn’t break her focus or determination.
‘You have to be faster than this,’ he warned, taking a long step to the outside of their circle with his leading foot, twisting his hips and adding momentum to both blades as he brought them down on her strikes.
The energy that surged between them – he felt it in his bones.
‘You have to be stronger.’ He lunged, sweeping her legs out from under her with his own.
Thea flipped back up onto her feet, delivering an upward cut with one sword and swinging the other over her head —
Wilder hit her ribs with the flat of his left blade. ‘Left yourself vulnerable there.’
Thea cursed.
‘We live because we make others bleed,’ he told her, batting away another of her blows. ‘You will see the light leave a man’s eyes, a monster’s eyes, more times than you can count before your time in these realms is done.’
His own words and the stark truth of them hit him in the chest with enough force to make him falter. Because Thea’s time left in the world was limited, fleeting, and that fact lingered between them like a ghost.
But it didn’t deter her. She used his hesitation against him and broke away to engage in a flurry of vicious slices and parries.
Wilder retreated a step, and another, allowing her to advance, to think she had the advantage. She had him up against the far wall of the arena.
But he wouldn’t let her win.
She had to learn, and learn the hard way.
He attacked, all his unchecked Warsword strength raining down on her – for no enemy, man or monster, would show her mercy.
There was a blur of silver.
Followed by bright flashes of light.
And Wilder found himself thrown back, a bunch of throwing stars spearing through his clothes, pinning him to the wall.
Thea echoed the same words he had once said to her in Harenth. ‘You’ll have to try harder than that to hit me.’
He blinked at the pieces of metal holding him in place. Two through his sleeves, another either side of his ribs, and one in between his legs, dangerously close to his balls. But it was not the accuracy of the throws alone that stunned him… It was that the stars were humming with storm magic.
Lightning flickered at the blades’ edges.
Thea stalked towards him, her eyes bright with challenge. More fierce and beautiful than he’d ever seen her, cheeks flushed with exertion, she halted before him, surveying with satisfaction his heaving chest and the shock clearly written on his face.
How had he never felt power like this before? Magic rippled from each of the stars as one by one, his apprentice, a lost princess of Delmira, the woman he loved, plucked them from the wall, freeing him.
She looked at him as though she were expecting anger, as though what she’d done was somehow wrong.
He would have been lying if he said he wasn’t afraid for her. There was a hunt for her and her magic across the realms. But he refused to be the one to teach her to fear it, to fear her own power.
‘Who’s going to stop you?’ he said quietly.
And to his surprise, Thea smiled.