The Marenon Chronicles Collection - By Jason D. Morrow Page 0,58

but Silas just jumped down, landing inches from Lorcan causing him to step back and bring up his sword.

“You want to duel with me? Let’s do it,” Silas said, holding his sword in a defensive position. He winced at the pain in his shoulder. He had forgotten about the deep cut he had received in the gauntlet and he hoped it wouldn’t slow him in this duel.

Lorcan smiled. “Gladly.”

Both of them circled each other; swords held up, ready to strike at any moment. Coffman stood at the top of the pit, occasionally looking toward the house to see if Alric or Inga were coming.

Lorcan struck first. It was a simple blow from the side that Silas was able to parry with ease. His technique might be lacking in finesse since it had been so long since he had dueled, but the muscle memory was still there. Silas knew what he was doing. He had been trained by the best.

Lorcan swung his blade downward, this time with a harsh force. He was strong, no doubt. Poised and ready, Silas parried the next attack and took a swipe that missed Lorcan’s shoulder by a few inches. Lorcan staggered backward, realizing his foe was not as untrained as he had previously thought. In Lorcan’s brief moment of vulnerability, Silas unleashed his fury – going at him with everything he had. The Erellen was able to parry the blows, but not without some difficulty. Silas had taken him by surprise and he exploited Lorcan’s exposure. Lorcan kept staggering backward, not fully knowing what move to make next until he twisted his sword around, catching the hilt of Silas’ blade, shoving both weapons deep into the dirt. The two struggled with who would pull out their blade first. As Silas pulled harder, Lorcan brought his elbow down on Silas’ right jaw, knocking him to the ground. His shoulder’s stitches split open with the impact against the ground and blood began to spill out. Weaponless, Silas rolled to his right and jumped to his feet. His sword stuck out from the ground almost five feet away while Lorcan guarded it warily.

“You cannot win without a sword,” he said, pointing his blade at Silas’ head.

Silas jumped to the balls of his feet, preparing to pivot. He faked to the right, causing Lorcan to swing and miss as Silas darted to the left, spinning and grabbing his sword from the ground. He spun around once more, his blade smashing against Lorcan’s.

“Where did you learn to fight like that?” Coffman said from above.

Lorcan’s eyes narrowed in anger.

“I’ve learned from the best there ever was,” Silas said. A slight smile crossed his face. While their swords pressed firmly against each other, Lorcan seethed, as if his desire to kill Silas continued to increase while the seconds passed.

“You really think you can survive the job?” he said.

Silas held his position. “I have to survive the job,” he replied. “There’s too much at stake for me not to!”

“I asked if you think you can!”

“Of course I can!”

Coffman watched as the two stood in a deadlock. He hadn’t even noticed that Inga was standing next to him. The fight had not gone well for Lorcan, and he felt sick at what he knew was about to happen.

“Then I suppose you’re ready for this!” Lorcan shouted triumphantly. Just as he finished speaking, a burst of red flame exploded in front of Silas’ eyes sending him flying to the other side of the pit. It was like a car had just hit him. He tried to get up, but was hit with the same blunt force again, and again. Lorcan was using some sort of magical power to crush Silas. Through the haziness of the attack Silas could hear the echoing blur of a woman’s voice yelling for Lorcan to stop. Before he lost his consciousness he knew it was the voice of Inga crying out for him. He loved the sound of her voice. He hated the feeling of his head being crushed like an egg against a rock. All went black.

When Silas awoke he was back in his bed, the sun was just rising and his head felt like it was broken. A fresh set of stitches throbbed in his left shoulder. He tried to sit up, but was shushed by a calming voice. A young woman, a few years older than he, was telling him to lie down, and that he had had a rough day. It was Inga.

She rubbed a warm