Verath the Red (Dragonwall Series #3)

Chapter 1 - Portrait of an Unscarred King

Kastali Dun

Claire wasn't prepared for what she had to face, not even by half. But she had no choice after stupidly making an Unbreakable Promise to defeat Kane, Dragonwall's infamous Asarlaí. It didn't matter that she had found allies like Desaree and Saffra. They couldn't fight this battle for her. Neither could Dragonwall's king. This responsibility was hers—hers alone. And she wouldn't last a minute facing off against Kane. Especially when she could barely handle magic. Or a weapon, for that matter.

But perhaps there was another answer, somewhere in her blood. Something in her that was Sprite. Something that would make her stronger—

"Would you stop that!" Jovari's voice cut through her thoughts, reminding her that they were supposed to be sparring. His command sharpened her senses. "You are too distracted today. Focus. Feet first, remember? Feet first and then you take your swing."

She glanced around, recovering her bearings. They were on the practice grounds—second level of the keep. It was early morning, the air crisp as it filled her lungs. The grounds were already full of others doing much the same.

Jovari came down on her, swinging his practice sword overhead. She defended, just barely, meeting his weapon with her own. The grip slipped beneath her sweaty hands. She clenched her teeth, tensing her muscles to hold against him.

"Breathe! You are not breathing!" Koldis shouted from the sidelines. She glanced at him. He stood, arms crossed, tunic stretched tightly across his shoulders and chest—

Smack!

She groaned and spun away. That one was deserved. She knew better than to take her eyes off Jovari for even a second.

"You left your back exposed." Jovari smirked. "What happens when you leave your back exposed?"

"Ugh!" Frustration bunched her shoulders. "I was too busy focusing on my feet and Koldis's words." Several strands of hair had come undone from her braid. She brushed them away from her face, glaring at both her trainers. "How am I supposed to focus on everything all at once?"

"Practice—that's how." Jovari had the audacity to wink. She wanted to smack him for it. If only she could get beyond his defenses. "Your feet need work," he drawled. "You glance down too often. And your mind isn't in the right place. If you must, then scoot your feet. Keep your eyes on me—remember? Here. My sword. Right here." He took a swing at the air for emphasis and came at her again.

She did as he said, scooting away, dodging a series of swipes. Both hands remained firmly gripped on her wooden blade. Blow after blow rained down on her. She studied each of Jovari's motions. There had to be a way to get him back.

His movements were quick. A blow from above. Then sweeping in from one side. Then the other. Then a swipe upwards. He repeated this several times and a pattern emerged. She was careful to hide her smile as she watched and reacted to each one, growing more confident. Memorizing his movements, it was almost as if time slowed.

He sent a blow towards her left side and she anticipated it, guarding. As soon as he came at her right side, time seemed to freeze. She took her chance, bringing her blade to his left where he was exposed. She whacked him as hard as her strength allowed.

"Argh!" He jumped backwards and his face split into a grin. "Well done, Claire! Remember, efficiency is the way of it. Did you see the pattern in my movements? Yes. Good. Many swordsmen are lazy and develop patterns. Always look for them." He offered her a grin and a quick breather before beginning again.

They continued like this until she was gasping. Jovari was a difficult opponent. He moved with quick, efficient jabs, or sweeping blows that tested her strength.