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Fordham held his arms out, and she dropped into them. He eased her down, sliding her body down his as he did so. “Be careful.”
“Careful is my middle name,” she said with a wink.
“Well, what do we do with it?” Roake asked.
Noda held her hand out. “I was raised sailing. I can tie knots that you’ve never even heard of.”
“There’s a hook,” Audria pointed out. “If we can throw it, we can secure it across the distance.”
Roake grinned. “I can throw. I played Dragon Eggs back in Elsiande.”
“Were you any good?” Noda asked.
“Could have gone professionally in the South,” he boasted.
“What’s Dragon Eggs?” Fordham asked.
Roake stared at him with a slack jaw. “You’ve never heard of it?”
Fordham shook his head. “My pop culture is lacking from all those years behind a magical barrier.”
Roake winced. “Right, man. Sorry. It’s a sport where you have an egg-shaped ball and try to get it into a net. There’s a national league and everything.”
Kerrigan had no idea that he’d been an athlete. That he’d given up playing a sport to come to the tournament. “You throw.”
Noda finished her knot. Roake worked up his arms and then tossed the rope across the divide. It landed on the hook first toss, and he and Fordham yanked it tight, holding it level with the ground.
Audria grinned. “Is this the time to say that I grew up doing acrobatic work? My mother believed in perfect balance.”
She tested the end of the rope, putting a foot out, and then without a single ounce of fear, she walked out on the rope. Kerrigan slapped a hand over her mouth. Audria tightrope-walked like a festival performer. She was lithe and graceful. All those lessons had really worked out in her favor.
She hopped off on the other side and properly secured the rope. Fordham tied off the end and sent the rest of them across. It was slow going since none of them had Audria’s talents. They went hand over fist across the lot of it. Then, Fordham followed, and they were all across.
They’d completed the impossible.
But as soon as they dropped down at the end of the last wall, they saw what awaited them. Five swords were thrust into the ground at their feet, and an ambush of sword masters raced across the arena toward them.
Kerrigan snatched up the shortest blade and prepared herself for her final test. Lorian hadn’t told them what they were up against, but he didn’t want her to win. And she had to prove him wrong.
There were five masters in total. One for each of them. Kerrigan only recognized one of the Society members, and of course, he was coming right for her. Master Cannon was a brutal warrior. She’d never had a class with him, but she’d watched him enough to know that he was single-handedly the deadliest swordsman in the Society. How was she supposed to fight him? She was a first year in the middle of her training. And he was the best of the best.
She gritted her teeth and prepared for it anyway. Lorian’s work, obviously.
“I’ll switch with you,” Fordham offered, seeing the beast of a man closing in.
Fordham was the better sword fighter. He might even have a chance against Cannon, but she doubted that would work. She’d put money on it that Lorian had rigged it so that Cannon went solely for her.
“I got it.”
“You sure?”
And then there was no time for a response. The trainees crashed together with the masters. She barely had time to raise her sword to meet Cannon’s first blow. Her arms shook with the sheer force of the strike. She was already weak from the obstacle course. Her body was slick with mud. Her left hand still bled freely. This was not a fair fight.
But the test was that war was never a fair fight. They wouldn’t always have the advantage. They wouldn’t always be able to regroup and recover. Fordham had instilled that in her while they were training for her fight with Basem. Pain was part of the game. Sometimes, you were exhausted, and you still had to lift your sword, even against a better opponent. You still had to win.
“Little girl,” Cannon growled.
“Giant beast,” she snapped back, pushing his blade back enough to break his hold on her.
She paced backward, making him come after her. There wasn’t much room, but this would have to do. Then, they danced. Strike, parry, feint, strike, dodge. They moved flawlessly through Ravendin’s twelve paces and into Chutrick’s art-of-war formations. They were evenly matched in footwork at least. Cannon had strength and years more experience than her. But she held her own.
Until he got under her guard. The blades were blunted, but his sword crashing into her shoulder still hurt. It would leave a nasty bruise too. Kerrigan gasped. He used the moment to push his luck, slapping the handle down on her wrist and forcing her to drop her blade.
