The Eighth Court (The Courts of the Feyr - By Mike Shevdon Page 0,146

out. He grinned at me, actually waiting until I recovered.

“I’ll give you this,” he said. “You have been practicing and you’re better than you were, but you’ll never be a great swordsman. You lack the willpower, the grace, the poise.” He gestured expansively.

I regained my feet, wishing that I hadn’t had two of Sam Veldon’s bullets dug out of my side. Immediately, his power pressed against mine and he resumed hammering at my defences, testing the strength in my arms until the muscles burned with effort, and using light swift blows to force me into positions that made me unbalanced and vulnerable. That wasn’t what worried me, though.

Raffmir’s favourite technique was like a flourish at the end of a signature, a whirling motion where his sword arced around him in a spiral, protecting him from incoming blows, but somehow the blade emerged in a low thrust designed to punch straight through the opponent’s defences. He’d used the same move twice, now, but only with the pommel of his sword, and each time I’d seen it coming and not been able to do a damned thing about it. He knew he could have me any time he wanted.

He forced me back into the moment by raining cuts on my head, making me lift my sword to deflect them away. I skipped backwards and came back at him with a horizontal slice that would have parted his head from his shoulders if it had been there. Instead he laughed at me.

“You’re such a bore,” he said. “That’s your problem. Everything’s life and death with you. You never have any fun.”

“It’s only life and death when you’re around,” I told him. “Have you considered that you may be part of the problem?”

He swept in again, testing my guard, making me sweat. The air was getting bad, filled with acrid smoke, but it didn’t seem to bother Raffmir.

“I’m doing you a favour,” he said. “You should thank me for lifting the burden from your shoulders.”

Somewhere in the house, something collapsed, and there was a whoosh as the flames caught and spread. I could hear the fire now. We didn’t have long before Raffmir wouldn’t need to skewer me on his sword, I would be roasted instead. I edged back towards the doorway.

“Oh, no,” said Raffmir. He danced in, stepping in with rapid thrusts and short sharp cuts, so that I was driven back from the doorway. “You’re not leaving me, the party’s only just started.”

Over the whistle and pop of the fire, another sound came. There was a rhythmic thumping and then a whine as a helicopter banked over the house.

Raffmir listened attentively. “Do you hear that?” he said.

“A chopper,” I said. “Military by the sound of it.” I was getting tired, and I knew it. I didn’t have the stamina he had. He was rested and prepared. I wasn’t.

“It’s the sound of the cavalry arriving too late,” said Raffmir. “It would be great if they would help you, but they won’t. That’s what you fail to understand. I told you before, they will never accept you. No one will. You’re a misfit.”

“No,” I told him. “You’re the ones who don’t fit. You tried to pull this off before and you messed up. You got your arses kicked and you had to run. That’s what really gets to you isn’t it? Then you and your mad sister failed to kill me. Then I stopped you infecting the world with your mad diseases. Every time you’ve failed.”

“You know, I tire of the whiny tone of your voice.” He slowly circled me.

“Niall?” said Blackbird from the doorway. I could see her outline through the smoke.

“Hasn’t Altair shut you up yet?” asked Raffmir.

“Altair’s dead,” said Blackbird. “I killed him.”

“Ah, then it’s all to play for,” said Raffmir. “There will be a new Lord of the Seventh Court, and I fancy I may be up for the part.”

“Get out while you can,” I told her. “Get people out.”

“I’m not leaving you,” she said.

“You hear that?” said Raffmir. “She’s not leaving you. That means that when I’ve killed you I can kill her too. That should be enough to secure my position on its own.”

“You?” I said. “You’re not capable. It’s just one failure after another. You know what? You couldn’t even best my daughter. A fifteen year-old girl and she had the better of you.”

“That’s an argument we can settle, right now,” he said. He danced in, rattling blows off my guard. He moved in, and I saw