Vrell gritted her teeth and swung. Achan dodged and Vrell lunged past. He slid an arm around her neck and brought his blade to her throat. "Hmm. Maybe Slowfox."
She jammed her elbow into Achan's ribs.
He released her, chuckling. "Ticklefox?"
She lifted her weapon again. "Arrogance does not suit you, Your Highness."
He raised his eyebrows. "Nor does the title Your Highness." He swung at her waist.
Stubborn man. Vrell lifted to parry, but his blade whacked her hip. She stumbled sideways, kicking up sand, thankful for the cushion of her disguise. It would not stop Achan's blade for long. "Maybe we should not drill without armor."
"We don't have any armor, and you want to learn to protect yourself. Besides, I'm not even swinging hard."
He went easy on her for a while. It bolstered her courage to hear Firefox hit his blade, but the exercise tired her quickly. Thankfully, he stopped often to explain things.
"If you parry with the edge, you dull your blade further. Parry with the flat… Don't try to defend from back guard. It leaves you vulnerable… Back up, Sparrow. No one in his right mind would begin with swords crossed… You swing too slow. Try for a combination of strong, quick thrusts. Your goal is to weaken my guard, to break it so you can strike."
Finally Vrell could take no more. She fell onto her rear in the sand, gasping for air, limbs aching. "I am pathetic." She took a short breath. "None of this will make a bit of difference." Another breath. "I am simply not strong enough."
Achan sat beside her and leaned back on his elbows, panting. "Remind me your age."
"I will be fifteen years this fall." Eighteen, actually, but who would believe her to be a seventeen-year-old man?
Achan took a deep breath. "So you're small for your age. Sir Caleb said he'd teach you some tricks. I'm no expert. You recall how Sir Kenton nearly killed me?"
She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. "Achan, you are incredibly brave. You struck down at least ten Poroo."
"So? Poroo are terrible warriors. That's why they attack from the trees."
"Still, I would have run from the battles you faced. Sir Kenton has been a knight many years-and he betrayed your father. You have been sword-fighting how long? Three months? I could not have done all you have. I would never have tried."
Achan stared into the red flame, lips pursed, eyebrows furrowed. Always so hard on himself. Blaming himself.
Despite Vrell's best efforts, the cut on Achan's cheek had healed in a long, red slash. And his other cheek looked even worse after the fight with the black knights.
Achan dug a hole in the sand with the heel of his boot. "We each have our skills, I suppose. Just know, Sparrow, you're as much a hero with your bag of weeds as any of us are with a sword."
Vrell lifted her sword. "Fireweed?"
Achan chuckled. "I think Weed says it best."
Vrell and Achan put away their weapons and crawled into their bedrolls. Sir Gavin put out the torchlight, and Vrell replayed Achan's words again and again in her mind.
He thought she was a hero.
13
Achan held his shield over his head to protect it from the rocks the Poroo pitched from the treetops. The melon-sized stones clunked against the wood with such force that his forearm continually bashed against the top of his head.
A Poroo warrior charged from the side, spear held high. Achan lowered his shield in time to deflect the spear, but a rock struck his unprotected head and he crumpled. The Poroo poured out of the trees upon him, massing, swarming.
A screech woke Achan. He pressed his hands against moist sand and pushed himself to a sitting position, relieved the Poroo had only been in a nightmare. He patted the sand. Where was his bedroll? He blinked into the surrounding void, straining to see any sign of movement.
"Sir Gavin?"
The darkness returned only silence.
"Who's on watch? Inko? Sparrow?"
Achan's voice seemed so loud. Could he still be dreaming? He raised his voice. "Hello? Sir Caleb?" The sound sent a throb through his skull. Wincing, he lifted a hand and found a tender lump on the back of his head.
His stomach lurched. Had someone attacked while he'd been sleeping? Poroo?
He got to his knees and reached out to his right, then left, patting the moist ground, hoping to get his bearings, hoping he'd simply rolled off the bedroll in his sleep. Wet sand wedged under his fingernails. No bedroll.
Nothing but sand.
His heart pounded faster. "Sir Gavin?"
A piercing squawk answered from Achan's left. He cringed, eyes darting around the dark, searching for any change in the inky-black hue. One of the demon birds was close. He quickly fortified his mind, then reached out.
Sir Gavin?
His temple twitched, but no name accompanied the knock. He took care not to attack in case this was a test.
Sir Caleb?
Achan sought out Inko's mind next. Why did no one answer? Had they been taken? Killed?
Sparrow?
Whoever was trying to penetrate his mind increased their efforts. Achan's temples throbbed more than the welt on the back of his head. The pressure increased tenfold, brutal, forceful. Achan clutched his face and bent forward until his forehead met the grainy sand. He screamed.
An oily voice magnified in his mind. Get up.
Unable to disagree with the voice, Achan gritted his teeth and stood. In his head, he multiplied himself ten times and surrounded the fortress of his mind, forcing the oily voice, and its control, out. The pain subsided. He called for Sir Gavin again, then Sir Caleb, then Sparrow.
No one answered.
A green light shot into the air and hovered above his head, illuminating the sandy terrain in an eerie glow.
Achan released a long breath laced with a moan.
Black knights.
He squatted, groped for his sword. Pig snout! Where was it?
Four men slid into the green glow, dressed in black armor with hard black masks. The one on the end held his hand aloft, pointing at the green orb above Achan's head. Achan studied them, pausing on the third knight in the line. Lofty bean pole posture and graceful stride brought a familiar fury.
Silvo Hamartano?
The third knight lifted his hand and a green ball of light shot out from his palm, up above his head, lighting more of the sandbar and the greasy black hair at the top of his mask.
It was Silvo.
Achan punched one fist into his other hand. The bezel and crest on Prince Oren's ring pressed inside his palm. He rubbed his thumb over his engraving, sought his uncle's face, and called out. Prince Oren?
His uncle's voice shot into him with a staggering force. Achan? What is it?
I'm surrounded by black knights. They're going to attack me. I'm alone. I don't know where Sir Gavin and the others are.
Relax and let me see.
Achan breathed deeply. He couldn't feel when his uncle looked out from his eyes.
We shall fight them together. Sir Gavin told me you can storm.
Two more balls of green light shot skyward.
Um…I've only done it once. Accidentally.
Keep your sword ready. They will attack physically while the leader attacks your mind. Do you know where the leader is?
My sword is gone. I have no weapon.
Stay calm, Nephew. Look for the leader.
Achan scanned the dark sandbar. The four black knights had encircled him ten paces away. I only see the four, but I think the leader spoke to me. Does that mean he's close?