tournament in Guldarech couldn't compare to what Ciara watched now. With never a pause or even the slightest hesitation, Bolin parried and thrust with deadly accuracy. His sword twisted and crossed in a ceaseless spin of sharpened steel, tireless and unwavering, each move leading smoothly into the next.
He didn’t let them rush him.
Didn’t let them dictate his moves.
Bolin set the pace and rhythm of the fight, as though he knew without looking exactly when and where to swing his sword. As though he had spent hours upon hours practicing the exact placement of his feet, the precise arc his blade would follow. Around him, under his sword, the brigands were little more than stumbling, awkward creatures.
Stumbling, awkward creatures that still outnumbered him five to one, and there were others waiting among the trees to take the place of any that fell.
"Amazing, is he not?" Donovan breathed the words into her ear.
Ciara leaned away from him. "If you want him dead why don't you just kill him and be done with it."
Donovan feigned innocence. "You misunderstand my intentions. The General is of little use to me dead. Besides which, he is not an easy man to kill. I have tried before. No, I have other plans for the General. I merely need him," he paused, for effect or to find the right word, "incapacitated."
From the current head count of those on the ground, versus the one man central to it all, Bolin didn't give the impression of someone about to be incapacitated easily or soon. But each time a brigand fell, Donovan motioned another in to take his place. And each time Sandeen raged against the shimmer that kept him from joining the fight.
No shimmer held Ciara, only Donovan's hand on her shoulder. But that seemed to be enough to keep her rooted in place. She sucked in a sharp breath as Bolin faltered just a step, and one of the blades sliced toward his stomach. He stepped back and twisted, transferring his sword to his left hand as he brought his arm around. The head of the nearest man left his body in a spray of blood, thudding to the ground as the rest of him crumpled. Ciara gagged and turned her face, unable to watch.
She could stop this, just as she'd stopped the men on the road. She could help Bolin and put an end to it.
Her hair moved against her neck with Donovan's words. "That would be most unwise."
She suppressed a shiver and tried to pull away from him, but his grip remained firm. "I thought you wanted to help me."
"And so I do."
She glared at him. "How is this helping me?"
"I cannot help you with the General thwarting my every move. He is unconvinced I am a friend."
"And this is how you try convincing him?"
Ciara risked a glance back at the battle. Two more of Donovan’s men had joined the circle around Bolin. They pushed their advantage as he missed a step, and though he recovered in time, his thrust went wide.
"Stop it. Please," Ciara said. "We don’t have anything of yours, I swear."
"It will be over soon."
Bolin slipped on the blood-soaked ground. Sandeen struck out at the shimmer with his front hooves, again and again, his coat lathered. An ill-aimed swing sent Bolin spinning out of the center of the fray. Without turning, he flipped his sword so the blade pointed back, and caught the man charging up behind him in the gut. Another came at him from the side and Bolin wrenched his weapon free, bringing it back around in a gore-streaming arc. His attacker ducked under the swing, his short knife flicked out like an adder’s tongue and Ciara heard Bolin’s sharp hiss of breath as it found a mark.
As if that were some sort of signal, Donovan's horde backed away, widening the circle. Their weapons remained at the ready but they no longer pressed the attack.
Ciara looked a question at Donovan, and wished she hadn't. A light glimmered in his midnight eyes.
Bolin's lip curled as his gaze swept past the men that surrounded him, and fixed on Donovan. The tip of his sword dipped toward the ground. He
He didn’t let them rush him.
Didn’t let them dictate his moves.
Bolin set the pace and rhythm of the fight, as though he knew without looking exactly when and where to swing his sword. As though he had spent hours upon hours practicing the exact placement of his feet, the precise arc his blade would follow. Around him, under his sword, the brigands were little more than stumbling, awkward creatures.
Stumbling, awkward creatures that still outnumbered him five to one, and there were others waiting among the trees to take the place of any that fell.
"Amazing, is he not?" Donovan breathed the words into her ear.
Ciara leaned away from him. "If you want him dead why don't you just kill him and be done with it."
Donovan feigned innocence. "You misunderstand my intentions. The General is of little use to me dead. Besides which, he is not an easy man to kill. I have tried before. No, I have other plans for the General. I merely need him," he paused, for effect or to find the right word, "incapacitated."
From the current head count of those on the ground, versus the one man central to it all, Bolin didn't give the impression of someone about to be incapacitated easily or soon. But each time a brigand fell, Donovan motioned another in to take his place. And each time Sandeen raged against the shimmer that kept him from joining the fight.
No shimmer held Ciara, only Donovan's hand on her shoulder. But that seemed to be enough to keep her rooted in place. She sucked in a sharp breath as Bolin faltered just a step, and one of the blades sliced toward his stomach. He stepped back and twisted, transferring his sword to his left hand as he brought his arm around. The head of the nearest man left his body in a spray of blood, thudding to the ground as the rest of him crumpled. Ciara gagged and turned her face, unable to watch.
She could stop this, just as she'd stopped the men on the road. She could help Bolin and put an end to it.
Her hair moved against her neck with Donovan's words. "That would be most unwise."
She suppressed a shiver and tried to pull away from him, but his grip remained firm. "I thought you wanted to help me."
"And so I do."
She glared at him. "How is this helping me?"
"I cannot help you with the General thwarting my every move. He is unconvinced I am a friend."
"And this is how you try convincing him?"
Ciara risked a glance back at the battle. Two more of Donovan’s men had joined the circle around Bolin. They pushed their advantage as he missed a step, and though he recovered in time, his thrust went wide.
"Stop it. Please," Ciara said. "We don’t have anything of yours, I swear."
"It will be over soon."
Bolin slipped on the blood-soaked ground. Sandeen struck out at the shimmer with his front hooves, again and again, his coat lathered. An ill-aimed swing sent Bolin spinning out of the center of the fray. Without turning, he flipped his sword so the blade pointed back, and caught the man charging up behind him in the gut. Another came at him from the side and Bolin wrenched his weapon free, bringing it back around in a gore-streaming arc. His attacker ducked under the swing, his short knife flicked out like an adder’s tongue and Ciara heard Bolin’s sharp hiss of breath as it found a mark.
As if that were some sort of signal, Donovan's horde backed away, widening the circle. Their weapons remained at the ready but they no longer pressed the attack.
Ciara looked a question at Donovan, and wished she hadn't. A light glimmered in his midnight eyes.
Bolin's lip curled as his gaze swept past the men that surrounded him, and fixed on Donovan. The tip of his sword dipped toward the ground. He
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