correctly and failing. This was all happening too quickly. Why had she thought it would take longer? It needed to take longer. All day, even. She didn’t want to watch Marilia fight any more than she wanted to watch Stormbreaker’s battle.
Ignoring Dari’s wishes completely, the clang of metal on metal tore open the arena’s stillness, and a roar rolled through the crowd.
Moving exactly with the noise, Marilia leaped backward and swung her sword in a tight arc, barely missing Morgan’s chest as he dropped to his knees to avoid her blade.
Cat-fast, the man sprang to his feet and drove straight at Marilia, smashing his sword against hers with such force Dari thought her own teeth might rattle. How Marilia kept her footing against such an assault, Dari couldn’t begin to guess. Her fingers ached, she was clenching them together so hard.
The Stone Sister seemed to flow backward, spinning and pivoting, keeping her blade high and her arm flexible. Morgan couldn’t get any closer to her than the edge of her sword—or swords, once she drew her second blade.
“Get him,” Raaf murmured beside Dari, moving his fists in rhythm with Marilia’s footsteps.
Fighting two-handed, Marilia parried and moved again and again, deflecting Morgan’s powerful lunges and even his brutal overhead swings. She regained balance, and her blades seemed to twirl like spinning lightning as she drove Morgan back toward the fence separating the apprentice bench from the arena.
None of the gray-clad apprentices moved, except to lean forward and gain a better view of the fight.
“Power and determination against skill and speed,” Raaf allowed as Marilia caused Morgan to stumble. When the crowd’s roar died, the redhead said, “An even match.”
Dari glanced down at Raaf because the boy had sounded worried. He looked worried, too, as if he could see something in this fight that she might be missing.
She quickly turned her attention back to the battle, sizing up both combatants as they disengaged and paced around each other like a pair of prowling rock cats. Both were breathing heavily already, from the exertion of their first engagement, but they both seemed oddly relaxed. Feet apart. Shoulders wide. Bodies balanced.
That’s it, Dari thought. Raaf sees that Morgan knows to keep his muscles loose and ready.
So the man must be experienced at battle, from the Dynast Guard or some other training. And calm, even though he knew this fight would end with Marilia’s death or his own. Morgan matched Marilia motion for motion, sliding his feet along the dirt to be certain his balance never suffered. Sweat beaded across his forehead, and his grip on the hilt of his single sword seemed to tighten.
Morgan’s next charge was slower. Much more deliberate—and even stronger than his first assaults. He had the measure of his adversary now. After a few parries, Marilia spun in an outward circle and disengaged.
The crowd muttered in nervous waves, and most spectators were watching even more closely.
Before the noise died away, Marilia took the lead and sprang at Morgan, once more driving him hard toward the wall protecting the apprentices. The man gave ground easily and quickly, keeping his balance, blocking each strike. Between blows, his elbows remained bent, and his sword pointed directly at Marilia’s throat. To compensate for height, Marilia moved even closer, her two swords flashing so fast in the sunlight Dari had to blink from the glare.
As Marilia danced closer, Morgan raised his blade out of battle position, as if he might be frightened or overwhelmed, or even overmatched.
Marilia took her opportunity and lunged forward, blades extended.
“No!” Raaf jumped to his feet at the same moment Aron did, and two other apprentices Dari knew to be proficient with bladework.
Before Marilia’s tips plunged into Morgan’s chest, he made use of his advantage in arm length and drove his blade crosswise across Marilia’s throat and chest.
Her eyes flew wide, her arms jerked backward. She let go of one sword, then the other. Both blades clattered into the dirt.
“I’m sorry,” Morgan said, loud enough to be heard in the row where Dari stood with the now-trembling Raaf. Morgan stepped aside and lowered his sword as a ribbon of blood flowed from Marilia’s throat, slow for a moment, then horribly fast and thick. “I told you I was innocent.”
The crowd went silent and still again, this time in shock. Many had mouths open, or hands to their faces. Disbelief permeated the atmosphere of the arena, but Dari gripped Raaf’s shoulder to hold him still. Below them, the apprentices all stood motionless,