blade aside with one end, while the other whipped around and cracked Simon across the temple.
He felt only a little pain through the reinforcement of Benson’s steel, but his vision still flashed white with the impact. He reacted the way he was trained, by long practice in the House: a controlled retreat, stepping backwards evenly, his long blade warding his opponent away.
It bought him another split second for his vision to clear, but the first thing he saw was the Incarnation drawing back another arrow.
The last time Simon had faced this weapon, he had dodged and run, thinking of nothing beyond his desire to get away. Indirial had saved him then, so stalling had turned out to be a valid tactic.
Indirial wasn’t here now. He would have to try something else.
Instead of backing off, Simon stepped forward, ducking as low as he could. The arrow streaked by, leaving a fiery line on Simon’s shoulder that must have burned through the cloak, but he didn’t have time to take stock of his own wounds. He was still five feet away from Valin, but Azura made that distance trivial.
He brought his blade diagonally up, cutting across the Incarnation’s body.
As he had done before, Valin spun the bow around, knocking the sword aside. This time, Simon let it go.
He completely released the hilt of the sword, letting it fly out of his hands. And with his newly freed hands, he pulled his hood down over his forehead.
Nye essence flowed through him like a cold breath. It was waning already; he estimated he had, at best, half a minute left of increased speed and grace. But right now he wasn’t looking to enhance his reaction time.
Valin’s eyes flicked from side to side and his brow furrowed in confusion. His fingers began to draw back the string, but he didn’t know where to aim his arrow.
Simon stopped in front of him and thrust upward, putting all the force he could call behind a two-handed strike to Valin’s stomach. As he had suspected, the Wanderer had returned to being another Incarnation: relying on his eyes was the same as relying on the supernatural vision of his Territory. He must see Simon as little more than a shadow…which meant that he couldn’t react in time.
Valin’s body shuddered under the blow, and the force of it actually lifted his feet from the grass. He flew up and back, and Simon ran to follow, his Nye essence leaving him a little more with every breath.
The Valinhall Incarnation twisted in midair, his bowstring pulling back, a shining arrow sprouting to point in Simon’s general direction. Simon ducked, not only to dodge the arrow, but to scoop up one of the short swords that Valin had dropped. An arrow scorched the grass behind him, singeing the edge of his cloak, but he kept moving with a sword in hand. The last thing he wanted was Valin landing with a distance advantage.
As soon as Valin did hit the ground—perfectly balanced and on both feet, of course—Simon was already there, slipping to his side, driving the Incarnation’s own short sword up into his ribs.
He scored a hit. The blade bit flesh and, though it scraped along the ribs and Valin twisted, he had done some damage. If he could keep this up, he would not only escape with his life, he would have killed the Valinhall Incarnation a second time.
And then he could address the other questions that plagued him, such as: how could Valin have come back to life in the first place? Could it happen again? Had the Eldest not noticed that Valin could still call on his power as an Incarnation, or had he chosen not to say anything?
As the Wanderer’s blood sprinkled the grass, Simon shoved all the questions out of his mind. They could wait until later.
Simon drew back the blade and drove it in at another angle, trying to impale the Incarnation through his bare, chain-shrouded stomach. He exhaled as he struck, sending another puff of white mist from his lungs. The world moved noticeably faster, and he wasn’t quite agile enough to land his
He felt only a little pain through the reinforcement of Benson’s steel, but his vision still flashed white with the impact. He reacted the way he was trained, by long practice in the House: a controlled retreat, stepping backwards evenly, his long blade warding his opponent away.
It bought him another split second for his vision to clear, but the first thing he saw was the Incarnation drawing back another arrow.
The last time Simon had faced this weapon, he had dodged and run, thinking of nothing beyond his desire to get away. Indirial had saved him then, so stalling had turned out to be a valid tactic.
Indirial wasn’t here now. He would have to try something else.
Instead of backing off, Simon stepped forward, ducking as low as he could. The arrow streaked by, leaving a fiery line on Simon’s shoulder that must have burned through the cloak, but he didn’t have time to take stock of his own wounds. He was still five feet away from Valin, but Azura made that distance trivial.
He brought his blade diagonally up, cutting across the Incarnation’s body.
As he had done before, Valin spun the bow around, knocking the sword aside. This time, Simon let it go.
He completely released the hilt of the sword, letting it fly out of his hands. And with his newly freed hands, he pulled his hood down over his forehead.
Nye essence flowed through him like a cold breath. It was waning already; he estimated he had, at best, half a minute left of increased speed and grace. But right now he wasn’t looking to enhance his reaction time.
Valin’s eyes flicked from side to side and his brow furrowed in confusion. His fingers began to draw back the string, but he didn’t know where to aim his arrow.
Simon stopped in front of him and thrust upward, putting all the force he could call behind a two-handed strike to Valin’s stomach. As he had suspected, the Wanderer had returned to being another Incarnation: relying on his eyes was the same as relying on the supernatural vision of his Territory. He must see Simon as little more than a shadow…which meant that he couldn’t react in time.
Valin’s body shuddered under the blow, and the force of it actually lifted his feet from the grass. He flew up and back, and Simon ran to follow, his Nye essence leaving him a little more with every breath.
The Valinhall Incarnation twisted in midair, his bowstring pulling back, a shining arrow sprouting to point in Simon’s general direction. Simon ducked, not only to dodge the arrow, but to scoop up one of the short swords that Valin had dropped. An arrow scorched the grass behind him, singeing the edge of his cloak, but he kept moving with a sword in hand. The last thing he wanted was Valin landing with a distance advantage.
As soon as Valin did hit the ground—perfectly balanced and on both feet, of course—Simon was already there, slipping to his side, driving the Incarnation’s own short sword up into his ribs.
He scored a hit. The blade bit flesh and, though it scraped along the ribs and Valin twisted, he had done some damage. If he could keep this up, he would not only escape with his life, he would have killed the Valinhall Incarnation a second time.
And then he could address the other questions that plagued him, such as: how could Valin have come back to life in the first place? Could it happen again? Had the Eldest not noticed that Valin could still call on his power as an Incarnation, or had he chosen not to say anything?
As the Wanderer’s blood sprinkled the grass, Simon shoved all the questions out of his mind. They could wait until later.
Simon drew back the blade and drove it in at another angle, trying to impale the Incarnation through his bare, chain-shrouded stomach. He exhaled as he struck, sending another puff of white mist from his lungs. The world moved noticeably faster, and he wasn’t quite agile enough to land his
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