My opponent and I danced around each other as our blades clashed. Every movement was meticulous, perfectly timed and then countered. Our first exchange lasted around twelve seconds, and when neither of us had dropped dead, I realised that I had met my match. I was aware of the clamour of battle behind us; the shrieks of the Drake and battle cries of the Nomads were difficult to drown out, but I was honed in on my prey. We paced around each other in a half circle, not breaking eye contact. I wouldn’t need to watch their arms or legs because I would see their movement in my peripheral vision. However, I couldn’t afford to either get distracted or telegraph where I wanted to strike by looking at my target area. So our eyes stayed locked, like lovers, except with nothing but hostility in our hearts. Old lovers, then? I smirked, and my opponent's eyes widened in surprise. So I darted forward, sword aimed high toward the face, as my enemy moved to parry, I dropped it low for the barest slice of a second before flicking it up toward the face again. It was a move I’d practised countless times in my morning, afternoon and evening drills as a child. It was called Viper’s Strike because it was lightning fast in its feint and redirection. It was nearly impossible to parry.

  The bastard parried it, attempting to defang me with their pommel disarm, one of my own favoured moves, but I dropped my sword, catching it with my offhand and slashing upward in an arc desperately. I retreated out of range, and we began to circle each other once more. This Nargazian was good, too good, and I began to understand how Peevan must have felt when I came for him. My hands were throbbing with pain, and my fingers felt weak. If only I’d been uninjured, I might have stood a chance at ending this quickly, but maimed like this, I felt like a beginner again. Vulnerability was never a feeling I was used to against other humans, but if I wasn’t careful, this bastard would pick me apart.

  When you fight with swords, however, you don’t just use the sword. You use your mind; if you lose your focus, your clarity, then that opens you up to all kinds of mistakes and exploits your opponents can use against you. I put out the sounds of men and women dying just behind me, no doubt meeting their ends at the tips of the bastard Drake's teeth and claws.

  “Awfully big world for two of our kind to run into each other. We’re a dying breed.” I said, flashing a grin at my opponent.

  “You will be the one doing the dying.” They hissed, flourishing their blade. Their eyes were hard, serious and glimmered with what I imagined to be hatred.

  “Take off the mask, if I’ve pissed you off that badly, it’d be good to know who I wronged.” I didn’t flourish my blade in response; grandstanding like that just used up vital energy. My flourish was the act of winning.

  “You are a threat, Tullen Fal Barraz. The sigil on your face damns you.” They took a cautious step toward me, sword in a high guard next to their head, but the tip faced behind them while the pommel aimed at me. Strange, they were clearly Nargazian, but a high guard like that was used for the wide sweeping attacks typical of the Orlish. I’d only known of one practitioner of the Orlish forms. He died gurgling on my old blade.

  “How do you know my name?” I growled.

  “You cannot hide Black Wyvern, not when you are known to us.”

  “Us? Steelweavers are a dying breed; the only remnants are us. Wandering echoes of a bloody past.” I raised my blade once more as they took another step.

  “Poor, stupid Tullen Fal Barraz, it would have helped you if Master Peevan had taught you more. Maybe he smelt your weakness before you betrayed him.” Their voice dripped with venom as they exploded into two sweeping attacks from my left and right. I barely had time to parry and was forced to break my line and spin to their side, buying precious seconds to inhale a lungful of breath. Sweat poured from my face, pooling under my armour at my neck.

  “He betrayed me, and what it meant to be a man,” I said, my voice thick with the conflicted emotion I felt toward the bastard I both hated and loved in equal measure.

  “He severed the cord of humanity so you would learn to do what is necessary. You failed. We have waited long to correct your failure. Now you are beyond Avandun’s clutches, and I, Mavev Tlatz, will present your head to the Grandmaster of the Blade.” His voice seemed reverent, almost like he was reciting a prayer.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “You are not my end, Mavev Tlatz. You are merely practice.” I sneered.

  We clashed yet again, this time our exchange lasting around twenty seconds. I gritted my teeth against the pain I was in. Each parry, each strike sent a vibration through my hands which sapped the strength from my arms. My parries became slower, and I was forced to step onto my back foot far more than I was used to. Mavev’s form was unrelenting; it was perfect. Each line of attack was perfectly executed, and I saw my defeat coalescing in around twenty-five to thirty moves. I knew it, and clearly Mavev knew it too. I could see the creases around their eyes; the bastard was smiling. In his position, I might be too. I was sure he was expecting me to put up a furious fight, that victory would come as a result of his hard-fought efforts.

  Well, I hated being predictable. Besides, my hands hurt, and my grip was getting slippery.

  Mavev’s next strike came for my face. I parried it, and as they disengaged and tried to catch me with the backswing, I held my blade out, and the two weapons collided. Rather than gripping it tight, I loosened my hands, and my blade went skittering away. Mavev had been expecting resistance and lurched forward as they suddenly came off balance. I lunged, grabbing Mavev around the neck as his blade skittered harmlessly off my strange armour.

  “PARRY THIS!” I roared as I headbutted Mavev with my helm. I felt his nose crunch against the metal of my armour, and my eye slit was filled with his blood, but I didn’t care. He roared and swore, but I barely registered it. He knew far too much about me. I punched him in the face twice, cursing myself with each blow as pain took root in my palms. The bastard somehow managed to get his legs against my stomach and push me off. I had just enough time to wipe the blood from my eyes when a huge impact hit me from the side, and I flew several meters through the air. I held my arms out of reflex, and was rewarded with searing pain through my hands when I crumpled onto the ground. The impact was harder this time, the strange markings on my armour less powerful. It seemed that this armour was like a quiver of arrows. The more I used it, the less I had.

  I rolled to my side and saw my new assailant, the Drake, nudging Mavev with its head. I hoped the bloody thing would eat him but instead the Nargazian climbed onto the beast's back with terrifying ease and took the leather reins in hand all in the blink of an eye. The remaining Nomads, including Bulriar, Gertha, Sila and Sayo, I was relieved to see, all charged the Drake, which sprang away from them. Toward me. Its massive maw was wide open, and I saw the tongue coiled, waiting to drag me into the pit that passed for its stomach.

  “Mummer’s-” Was all I had time to say when suddenly that familiar hiss and click sounded behind me, and I hit the ground. The Drake continued charging as the gout of flame shot out from Eggs’ mouth and enveloped both the beast and Mavev. The Drake shrieked while Mavev shouted something in Nargazian. Frost spread out from his body and covered the creature and him, quickly dousing the flame that had bitten into their flesh. Eggs landed in front of me, their frill open and wings wide as they shrieked at the beast nearly six times their size. The burning Drake roared, but my beautiful Wyvern did not back down. I smiled when the Drake didn’t take a step forward. Eggs might be smaller, but no animal this beast would have faced would have commanded fire like Eggs could.

  Air suddenly blasted into the Drake as Gertha unleashed a literal storm from her hands, while the reinforcements from the rest of the camp charged in. Mavev was nearly knocked from the back but kept their seating well enough as the Drake reared, before launching over Eggs and me, landing gracefully as Mavev turned back to me.

  “THIS ISN’T OVER TULLEN FAL BARRAZ!” he roared, and his vile mount sprinted into the treeline as arrows, throwing axes, and spears thunked into the ground they’d just been standing on. I jumped up to follow them, which would have done no good at all if I’d caught them. I had more holes in my hands than in my arse, which was the wrong amount, and I’d also let my sword go flying in a feat of tactical absurdism.

  A strong hand gripped me by the shoulder, and I turned, expecting Bulriar’s face, but instead Gertha’s met me.

  “Tullen! Are you okay? Are you injured?” She asked, her voice wavering. The others charged past us both, shouting cries of victory and challenge. I sank to my knees, overcome with fatigue after my bout with another Blademaster.

  “My hands.” That was all I had energy to say as I sank backwards onto my arse, breathing heavily.

  “Looks like you’re not the only one with a pet then.” She said as she gently peeled my bloody gloves from my injured hands. I didn’t dare look; it’s why I’d kept my gloves on after all.

  “Eggs isn’t a pet,” I said, smiling weakly as Eggs waddled over, resting their head on my shoulder.

  Gertha smiled, “I know, Tull, Eggs is family.”

  “A bit like you,” I said, laughing.

  She looked up at me with a smile that looked sad and happy at the same time.

  “Let’s get you fixed, you sentimental bastard.” She said, shaking her head with a smile.

  It didn’t stop me from noticing the tear rolling down her cheek.