Page 99 of Heart of Winter
A few chuckles from the audience.
A hulking young man with intricate designs shaved into the dark hair along his temples stepped forward, glowering. “You wish, princess.”
More chuckles.
The blond boy grinned, brandishing his sword. “Well, Iammore adept at handling a blade than you. I’ll take it as a compliment.”
“Very well, Lord Náli,” Erik said, with a wave. “But you know the rules: put that away.”
With a theatrical sigh, the boy sheathed his sword, and accepted the blunted practice blade that Bjorn offered him. He gave it a few experimental swings, twirled the handle across his palm, frowning. No doubt it wasn’t nearly as fine as his own blade.
“Náli inherited Naus Keep from his father only six months ago. The new Corpse Lord of the Fault Lands,” Erik informed him. He sighed. “He’s going to be trouble, sooner rather than later.”
The other boy accepted a sword, but gripped it tight in one hand, rather than testing its heft and balance. Hulking though he was, Oliver could see his clumsiness straight off.
Lord Náli, on the other hand, slid into a ready stance, sword held at a showy angle, already grinning smugly to himself.
“Ready?” Bjorn asked, waiting for their nods. “Begin!”
Náli lit into the other boy with an explosive burst of swings. Ulf managed to get his own sword up and block him, but gave ground on every connection, backpedaling until the spectators were forced to fall back as well. The chime of steel-on-steel was over-loud in the hall, high though the ceilings were. Oliver fought not to flinch against its sharp ringing.
“Come on, Ulf,” Náli taunted. “Have you learned nothing since we were children?”
Ulf – already grimacing – bared his teeth in a strained snarl, absorbed the next blow with his blade, and then lunged forward. His swing was artless, and too-wide, but forceful enough that Náli shuffled back in a hurry to avoid it. Ulf’s momentum carried him forward, and he charged, swinging again.
Náli cursed and threw up a block.
Sword struck sword with a sound like a gong; it echoed off the stone, rippling back and back again.
Absorbing the shock of it hadhurt, Oliver could see: Náli had his teeth bared, his arms shaking, feet braced wide apart. Oliver remembered all too well his day in the training yard, Erik bearing down on him; the way the impact had shot through bone and muscle and pulsed hot and painful in his joints. His teeth clenched in sympathy, no matter how cocky and deserving of a lesson the young lord was.
Beside him, Erik eased forward a fraction in his chair, elbow braced on the armrest, fingers curling slightly, gaze fixed on the match.You violent thing, Oliver thought, far too fondly.
In the center of the hall, Ulf pressed his advantage. Be bore down on his opponent, the swords screeching as they slid along one another. Náli, sweat gleaming on his temples and throat, arms beginning to shake beneath the onslaught, had little choice but to yield, or risk injury.
Or so Oliver thought.
A triumphant grin began to break across Ulf’s face –
Just as Náli ducked and spun, whirling away from their shoving match.
With nothing to push against, Ulf staggered forward, off-balance. Grinning now, Náli whacked him across the backside with the flat of his blade and sent the larger boy sprawling across the flagstones, much to the crowd’s startled amusement.
Ulf lay still a moment, winded, stunned.
Náli turned and bowed deeply to both sides of the room, his smile wicked and the toss of his hair triumphant.
“How in the world did he manage that?” Oliver asked, caught between impressed by the young lord’s feat, and repulsed by the way he’d made a fool of his opponent.
Erik’s mouth, when he checked, was set in a thin, grim line, plainly disapproving. “Náli is quick – he’s slippery. He’s young, but he’s never lost a match. He always manages to wriggle away before he comes to any harm. He isn’t the strongest fighter, as far as brute strength goes, but he’s the quickest, and the most precise.”
“Has he ever sparred with one of the boys.”
“No. He’s too clever for that.”
While Ulf heaved up to his feet, red-faced and glowering, clearly embarrassed, Náli strode up to the dais and offered Erik an exaggerated bow. “Your majesty.”
In a flat voice, Erik said, “Congratulations, Corpse Lord.”
