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I shifted my guard in time to deflect his blow. Metal clashed against metal. The edge of the estoc was too thin to be ground for optimal cutting, a weakness. His blade slid along mine, forcing him closer, within range. I started to shift my grip, to bring the sword down. I was clear of the barb. He was wide open.
I saw his fist too late.
Hardened granite smashed into my chin, the blow strong enough that reality winked out of existence for a split second. The barb on Thorn’s pommel jammed into my back, right between my shoulders, throwing me off balance. Nisang planted a boot against my ass, knocking me over with ease. I went to my knees, wincing at the feeling of rough sand digging into my palms, at the sting between my shoulder blades, and the new bruise sprouting on my chin.
But Nisang wasn’t done. A lance of primal fear went through me as he stomped over, gripped me by the hair, and pulled my head back, exposing my throat. The blade of a wicked curved knife rested against my neck. He let it sit there a moment, the cold steel chilling my skin in the heat, before he twisted one arm behind my back and hauled me roughly to my feet.
“Now you’re worse than dead,” Nisang snarled next to my head in an unfamiliar tone. “You’re a prisoner. And not just any prisoner, Nevahn. You have vital, personal information about my enemy. Information that I can use to manipulate and destroy him.”
My heart skipped a beat as images of Midsummer flickered through my mind.
Nisang released me with a push that had me stumbling to regain my footing.
I turned on him, expecting an attack, but he just stood there, eying me, letting his words sink in.
“You’re just as likely to be captured and tortured,” I spat.
He started circling, the edge of Thorn hovering just above the ground out to his side. “You want to be part of his inner circle? His lover? Fine. But that comes with risks. It makes you a target, which gives you three options. Either you hide and let someone else protect you, or you fight. Become his equal.”
My grip on my sword almost faltered, remembering the flawless grace of Cian as he had fought the fire hydra, how easily he wielded Phantasm. It would take more than a lifetime for me to become that good, especially since I was such a slow learner.
“And the third option?” I was almost afraid to ask.
Nisang’s hand went to his sword belt. He unhooked another blade, the length of it somewhere between that of a short sword and a long knife. The wooden sheathe fell away and he threw it into the dirt where the blade stuck, catching the sun along the edge. “Death over dishonor. If the tide of battle turns and retreat is not an option, if my capture is imminent, then that is my choice. I would rather die than risk capture and torture. Not just because of what I might say under torture, but because I know Cian would risk everything to mount a rescue. I made an oath to serve and protect my lord the day I came into his service. If I can no longer fulfil that vow with my life, then I do so with my death.”
I stared at the knife in the dirt between us. The yard was silent. Not even a cackle from the Skaags. They knew, as I did, that Nisang was right. I shouldn’t be there. I wondered how many of the others had made similar vows. Would Hellion die rather than surrender?
Would I?
Nisang sheathed Thorn. He picked the knife and its sheathe up from the ground, pausing to put a heavy hand on my shoulder. The sharpened edge was not gone from his voice when he said, “You did well against me for a first lesson, but on the battlefield, you’ll rarely face just one opponent.”
I stiffened as all three Skaags ducked into the training yard.
“The last lesson of the day,” said Nisang as the Skaags came closer, cracking knuckles. “Fighting multiple opponents.” He removed his hand from my shoulder and went to the edge of the ring.
The Skaags circled me, smirking, despite their empty hands. No weapons. I still had my sword, but against three Nightmares who had been trained to fight since childhood…
“Begin!” Nisang shouted.
I gritted my teeth and brought my sword up, facing the biggest one. He grinned and held out his hands, ready to grab me. “Morlash sends his greetings.”
The first blow came from behind, hard, fast, and straight to my liver. A shock wave of pain forced the breath out of me. I staggered forward, falling on one of the Skaags. He pushed me away. My legs folded, and I went to the ground, breathless from the sudden explosion of agony on my right side. A kick followed, landing against my shins. Another to the stomach. I curled up on instinct, knees tucked, hands over my head as blow after blow rained on my prone body. Ribs, arms, legs, they hit everything that wasn’t covered.
None of it hurt as bad as the burning sense of betrayal swirling in my chest.
This beating had been prearranged, I realized. An alliance between the two commanders who didn’t think I belonged at Cian’s side during the war. Morlash and Nisang had worked together to make it happen. This wasn’t a lesson. It was never supposed to be alesson. The only thing Nisang had meant for me to learn was that I was unworthy.
And now he was standing at the edge of the practice yard, watching three Skaags beat me.
“That’s enough.” Nisang’s voice was far away.
The kicking didn’t stop.
Steel sang, the sound of Thorn coming free.
A snarl from one of the Skaags. “Morlash said—”
“Morlash isn’t here.Iam and I saidenough!”
