“A challenge, then,” Roiven says, eyes narrowed. “No magic, no familiars. If I win, you free my magic. Ifyouwin, you remove the pain rings. And I’ll take you on a tour of the village.”
22
“There’s a village here?” I ask in surprise before the rest of it soaks in. I still have no idea where Roiven’s brought me, beyond this courtyard and the next. Without a dragon or a Hellion, I know I can’t reach Barivum in time to stop anything. But I’d feel a lot more comfortable if I at least knewhowto get to a boat.
“Do we have a deal?” he asks. I hesitate.
“That depends on the challenge. You can’t fight with that enchantment on you.”
“I can’t hurt you, but I can still spar.”
“I’m not doing something where you have the advantage.”
“And if I have the advantage ineverything?”
“Fencing,” I growl. I may be two years out of practice, but he wasn’t even wearing a sword when we fought. And I spent my life training against knights of all sizes. His height and heavy muscles won’t make a difference to me.
“Nice try. I’m not giving you your sword back.”
“Practice swords.”
“Oh, of course, let me just grab some. Where do you think weare?” He drawls sarcastically.
“How should I know? You’re the one keeping me locked in the courtyard.”
The Witch King snorts.
“Point taken. There are no practice swords.”
“Live blades, then,” I say, lifting my chin.
“As I said, I don’t trust you with one.”
“So you agree I’d beat you. Feel free to surrender.” I smile.
Roiven scowls.
“Someone could get hurt.”
“I’m good enough to stop that from happening. Areyou?”
The Witch King stares flatly at me for a long moment.
“Wait here,” he says. Roiven heads through the arch in the courtyard. A few minutes later, he returns with a sword in each hand. I recognize mine instantly. The other is already unsheathed. It’s plain steel, long, the blade wider than mine.
“If you step on the plants, you lose immediately,” Roiven says, tossing me my blade. I catch it easily by the sheath and glance around. There are pathways in the courtyard and some things growing out of pots, but plenty in the ground. The flowers surrounding the table are especially a problem.
“Can’t we duel somewhere else?”
“You aren’t leaving the courtyard. First to three…”
In a swift movement I rip my sword from its sheath and level it at his throat. Roiven straightens, his nostrils flaring as he glares down at me.
“Point to me.”
“We hadn’t begun, knight.”
I press the tip of the sword to his neck, not hard enough to puncture. Just enough for him to feel it. Roiven doesn’t move. His burning eyes don’t leave my face.
