He looked at my blade and dropped his left sword to the ground. Smart. Dual swords had their uses. They were effective for cutting yourself out of a crowd or for blocking a much heavier blade. But in one-on-one, the single sword ruled. I was liking this less and less.
I stopped about two feet from him. He watched me. I watched him.
Show me what you’ve got.
He struck, fast, bringing the blade down from my right. I parried it just enough to let his blade slide off mine and moved back.
Strong. Getting into a hit-for-hit game with him would wear me out.
He reversed the swing. I angled Sarrat to let the blow slide off the flat of my blade and moved back again.
The warrior charged, bringing his sword down in a devastating blow. I lunged to the left, ducking, and thrust Sarrat into his armpit. Like trying to thrust through rock. I jerked the blade back and jumped out of the way. He took a step back, his blue eyes unblinking and cold.
Blood coated the very tip of Sarrat’s blade. If it weren’t for the armor, he would be bleeding to death. Slashing him was out. The blade wouldn’t penetrate. I could power-word him, but that would be against the rules. Beau was right. I needed to beat this guy with my sword, one-on-one. Nothing short of that would give the asshole in the fire pause.
The warrior charged again, raining blows, left, right, left.
Parry, dodge, parry, back away, parry. He was damn strong and he fought like he had gone into battle for his life many times. Nothing showy. No movement wasted. Every blow vicious and calculated.
Strike, strike, nice trick but I saw that, strike.
Parry, parry, parry . . . The tip of his blade carved a path across my right forearm. Shit.
We broke apart.
I had to win this. If he beat me, it would paint us as easy prey.
He lunged. I spun out of the way. He struck from the right again, expecting me to dodge. Instead I stepped into the blow, planting my feet, and caught his wrist. The shock reverberated all the way into my toes, and while it was still moving through me, I drove Sarrat toward his gut. He caught the blade with his hand. I grinned at him and jerked Sarrat back. The blade cut through his hand like it was butter.
He snarled in pain. His eyes flashed amber. The vision from the Witch Oracle flashed before me. Amber eyes and then . . .
I spun away and ran.
Flames burst from his mouth in a cone, roaring after me. Heat bathed me. I dropped to the ground. The scorching heat tore above me.
I rolled to my feet. A curtain of smoke hung between us, flames shining inside it. He broke the rules and went to his magic. Oh goody.
I slid the flat of Sarrat’s blade across the cut on my forearm, letting the crimson wet it.
He came through the smoke and fire, his eyes blazing, his sword raised.
I sent a pulse of magic through my blood. A hair-thin red edge crystallized on Sarrat’s blade.
He barreled at me, huge, his eyes on fire.
I stabbed him in the stomach. The blade sliced through the armor, flesh, and organs, and scraped his spine, severing the nerves. His legs went out. He dropped to his knees.
The smoke cleared. I slashed at his neck. There was almost no resistance. His head rolled off his shoulders. I picked it up, walked to the pyre, and tossed it at the blond asshole in the flames. It fell through the fire.
There. That’s for you. Keep it.
The man in the fire and I stared at each other. His armor matched that of his champion’s, but where the warrior’s armor was tinted with blue, the scales on his body were a deep reddish gold. A gold chain held his cape in place, its clasp studded with what were probably real rubies. He had so much gold on him, his knees should have been shaking from the weight. If his image was life-sized, he was huge, at least six and a half feet tall. Of course, he could be four feet tall and just made himself look larger.
Heat bathed me from the side. The warrior’s body burned from the inside out, his armor melting. There goes my evidence.
The man in the fire nodded to me.
Be patient. No ranting. Wait for him to tell you what he wants and who he is, and then tell him you’re going to cut his head off. Zen. Diplomacy. I could do it.
“You murdered my people.” The language of power rolled off my tongue. Probably shouldn’t have started with that.
“I took from outside your borders.”
He had a deep resonant voice. The power in it rolled through the village, unimaginably ancient. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck rose on end. Behind me one of the deputies made a choking sound.
“They are all my people.”
“Do you claim dominion over the entire world, then, Daughter of Nimrod?”
“I don’t claim dominion; I claim kinship. Every time you enter this world and kill, you kill one of my own.”
He chuckled. “You’re arrogant. Like the rest of your clan.”
I wished I could reach into the flames. My hands itched. I could almost hear the sound of his windpipe breaking under my fingers.
“Have you given any consideration to your answer?”
I raised Sarrat and looked at its edge. White curls of vapor rose from the blade. Sarrat didn’t like him.
Diplomacy, Curran’s voice said in my head. Find out what he wants and how big of a threat he is.
“Let’s summarize. You sent me a box of ashes with a knife and a rose in it.”
“Yes.” He shifted into English too, but it didn’t help. His voice filled the space, deep and overpowering.
“What am I supposed to do with it? What does it mean? Is it a gift?”
He paused. “I see. You don’t understand.”
“I don’t. Enlighten me.”
“The world is mine. It had a brief reprieve, but now I’ve returned. Much has changed.”
“Go on.”
“I will need a queen.”
I raised my eyebrow at him.
“I’m offering you a crown. Sit by my side and share in my power. Be my guide in the new age.”
“And if I don’t?”
Amber flashed in his eyes. “I’ll burn your world.”
“You need to work on your proposal delivery. First come flowers and gifts, then dating, and only then, offers of marriage.”
He fixed me with his stare, a hard, unblinking gaze. “You’re mocking me.”
“You’re a pretty bright boy, aren’t you?” I quoted the line from the old story. He wouldn’t get it, but I thought it was funny.
“You don’t understand what I am offering.”
“How exactly did you think this proposal would go? ‘Hi, here I am, I murdered a bunch of people in a horrible way, marry me or I’ll burn everything down.’ Who would agree to it? You’re not someone to marry. You’re a threat to eliminate.”
“Your aunt said the same thing to my brother once,” he said.
Oh crap. “How did that go for your brother?”
He smiled. There was something wrong with his teeth. They weren’t quite fangs, but they were sharper and more conical than human teeth had a right to be.
“Your aunt and your father killed him. But I am not my brother.”
“So your brother got his ass kicked by my family. You can see how that isn’t in your favor.”
He laughed. “Do you know why my brother sailed to your family’s lands? Because he fought me for mine and lost. They faced but a weak imitation of what true power is with their combined strength, and he nearly ended them.”
“Let me guess, you’re the true power.”
“I am. I hold gods prisoner, tormenting them for my pleasure. I bring war and terror. I am Neig, the Undying. I am legend. All who know me bow to me.”