The Angel and the Prince - Excerpt

The Angel and the Prince - Chapter Two

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Chapter Two

East of Ypres, France, 1415

The clang of metal against metal rang out in the large clearing as the two swords met, the echoing melody of their clash spreading throughout the surrounding forest.

“Watch out for her parry!” a voice called, joining the reverberating tune as it reflected off the nearby trees.  Andre De Bouriez lounged on his side in the thick grass, his objective gaze scrutinizing the combatants as they swung their heavy broadswords.  He nodded with satisfaction as his sister, tiny compared with Lucien’s height and broad shoulders, easily deflected a thrust of her brother’s.  Andre chuckled low in his throat, his brown eyes twinkling merrily.  She was good.  She knew the limitations of her sword and her strength well; she was patient and observant.  This made her a very dangerous opponent despite her size.

Ryen finished an arc, the impact of the weapons jarring her arm.  She stepped back, panting.  A trickle of perspiration ran from her hairline down her cheek, sparkling in the sun like a diamond.  She brushed a strand of brown hair from her forehead with her free arm.

A perfect smile lit Lucien’s boyish face.  “Come, come.  You cannot tell me that you tire after so few exchanges!”

A cold grin stretched across her shapely lips.  “I tell you no such thing, Brother.  Only to guard your blind side.”  Ryen lunged and then feinted right.

Lucien caught the blow with some effort and countered with an arc overhead.

Ryen sidestepped the swing and Lucien’s blade crashed into the ground.  As he pulled it up, a clump of dirt came with it, impaled on the tip of his blade.

“You know she’s too quick for you, Lucien,” Andre called.

Ryen laughed at the dirt on Lucien’s sword.  “Don’t take your anger out on the ground, Lucien.  Your opponent stands before you, not below you.”

Lucien came after Ryen with two quick lunges.  She easily parried the blows and drove forward with an arc of her own, then retreated and stood staring at Lucien.

“Little sister, you’re growing up,” Lucien commented.

“Don’t goad her, Lucien,” Andre advised, too late.

Ryen suddenly charged her brother, hitting him in the stomach with her shoulder.  The impact knocked him onto his back.  Breathless, Lucien lay stunned for a moment.  Before he could recover, Ryen stepped on the wrist of his sword arm and placed the tip of her weapon to Lucien’s neck.  “Yield or die,” she stated.

“I yield to the Angel of Death!” Lucien hollered good-naturedly.

Ryen lifted her foot from his wrist and withdrew her sword.  She gently kicked his arm with her booted foot.  “I hate it when you call me ‘little sister’.”

Lucien sat up, rubbing his wrist.  “I won’t make that mistake again.”

Ryen stepped back, offering her brother a hand.  Lucien clasped it and she helped him to his feet.

“That was a good move,” Lucien commented.  “But a little reckless.”

“It beat you,” Ryen replied, bending to pick up a cloth from the lush grass.

“If I had raised my sword, you would have run right into it.”

“But you didn’t,” Ryen said, wiping the cloth smoothly over her blade.  “Don’t criticize my move just because it landed you on your buttocks.  You yielded.  I won.  There are no ‘ifs’.”