Shadows of Demise (The Warrior Angels Trilogy - Book 3)

Chapter Forty

Four Years Ago

His rapier flew out of his grip again from the blow delivered by Alaric's longsword.

Ashton lowered his shoulders and frowned. Another defeat—this time faster than the previous attempts. He wanted to force himself to laugh and say he was becoming tired. He was, but that didn't excuse his faults.

"I am never getting better at this," he said, grabbing his sword off the ground.

"C'mon, boy," Alaric scolded. "You can't be goin' 'round without any hope."

"I was never a good swordsman—even less now against the great blacksmith of the south." Ashton mustered a light smile. "I am being serious, Alaric. The village of Ilsen is lucky to have you. And I thank you for trying—"

"Nah, don't go there. We ain't done yet."

"But—"

"You came to me and asked for this. I ain't done 'til we accomplished what ya wanted."

Ashton swallowed hard. His mouth and throat felt dry, and he licked his lips, yearning for water from the lake.

"You wanna protect Rowan, don't ya?" Alaric asked.

"Of course I do. She's lost her mother and everything she's ever known. Those people could come back at anytime to take her. She's woken up with nightmares she cannot explain, but I know those are nightmares about her life. She fears those people. I cannot—" Ashton paused, taking a breath. "I will not let anything happen to her."

Alaric's eyes brightened, and he grinned crookedly. "You got passion there, Ashton."

Ashton felt his cheeks warm. "I.... don't want anything to happen."

"Use it." Alaric got back into position, bending his knees, and narrowing his eyes. "Use it."

---

Now

Ashton and Lord Winslow met in the middle, their blades screeching against one another. Ashton glared at him, and Lord Winslow grinned.

"You are not as they described," he said, is voice raspier than it'd been earlier.

"Let me guess," Ashton started. "They said I was cowardice and weak? Not necessarily the right description for a guardian."

Lord Winslow laughed and pulled away. Ashton clutched the sword in front of him and straightened up.

"You may be better than I expected," Lord Winslow mused. "Yet you will be better than me."

Ashton blinked and suddenly, Lord Winslow was behind him. Ashton tensed when he felt his blade grazing his throat.

"I see you've been practicing magic," he said. "You couldn't stand being seen as useless to Inferum cantivat, could you?"

Lord Winslow grabbed him, digging his fingernails into Ashton's arm.

"I think you're weak, too," Ashton whispered. "You would be nothing without Inferum cantivat on your side."

Lord Winslow groaned, moving his arm, and then Caldwell shouted at him to stop. Ashton shifted his eyes to the man now across from them.

"I was going to do it correctly," Lord Winslow assured him.

Caldwell exhaled slowly. "I could not be certain with your reaction." He chuckled to himself and gestured to them. "Proceed, then."

"No." Ashton elbowed Lord Winslow in the stomach and kicked him back until he released him. Lord Winslow grunted, dropping his weapon, and staggering backwards.