A Time of Blood (Of Blood and Bone #2) - John Gwynne Page 0,127
Kol said with a snort of derision. “We are allies, you need me in the coming war. Give up the boy.”
“Kol of the Ben-Elim,” Byrne called out loudly, “I challenge you to the Court of Swords.”
“You would ruin everything for him? Risk the coming war?”
Byrne reached over her back, gripped the hilt of her sword and with a hiss drew it. “Accept the challenge or forfeit your claim,” she told him.
Kol stared at Byrne, his wings twitching, then snorted.
“Have it your way.” He drew his sword. “I accept.”
Riv could not believe what she was hearing. People crowded forwards, moving for a better view, but Riv flexed her wings and took to the air, and suddenly she had the best view of all. Other Ben-Elim circled above her, their expressions tense, hands on their weapons, but there was nothing they could do. Kol had flown here with only a score of warriors.
Kol strode forwards, his blade held contemptuously low.
Kol must surely win, Riv thought. I have seen him fight, have fought him myself. He is too fast, too cunning. Would be nice to see him put on his arse, though.
Byrne stood as still as stone, feet set, her sword held high in a two-handed grip.
Kol paced one way and then the other, his sword-tip grating on stone, eyes fixed on Byrne. Then he moved. A sudden lunge, a pulse of his wings adding to his speed.
A clang, echoing off the stone courtyard and statues.
Kol staggered away, off balance.
Byrne looked at him, resumed her stance.
Kol said something low, for only Byrne to hear as he strode to one side of her, then the other, his sword higher now, and he lunged again. Byrne sidestepped easily, chopping down as Kol stepped out of his lunge, cutting at her ribs. There was a crack of steel as their blades met and then both of them were fluid movement. Kol a swirling whirlwind, using his wings for speed, to check and turn, to leap and fly over Byrne, striking down at her, seemingly faster than human eyes could process; even Riv with her enhanced sight was finding it difficult to follow.
It must be impossible for these others to see what is happening.
Byrne parried and countered, all of her moves small, economical, always judging Kol’s attacks perfectly, most of them hissing past her by little more than the width of a finger. And then Riv noticed something.
Byrne was smiling.
Not contemptuously, as Riv had seen Kol smile at her during sparring, not to elicit a response, as some kind of tactic. Byrne was smiling because she was in her element and loving it.
The battle joy.
Riv had felt it course through her before, and perhaps that was why she recognized it now in Byrne.
Another storm of blows, Byrne stepping and moving, never wasting her energy, parrying Kol’s blurred attacks with impossible precision, almost as if she knew where the Ben-Elim’s blade was going to be before he moved. A blistering combination from Kol as he swept in again, Byrne obscured from Riv’s view for a dozen heartbeats.
Kol stepped away, his blade red.
Blood dripped from Byrne’s cheek.
Gasps and mutters around the courtyard.
Kol smiled coldly.
Byrne’s eyes flickered to the statues in the courtyard, of Corban and Storm. Riv saw her lips move.
And then Kol was moving again, leaping over her, twisting in the air, his sword a glittering arc, Byrne ducking, bunching her legs and leaping, stabbing at him.
There was a yell, blood and feathers sprinkling the ground and Kol was suddenly crashing to the stones. He slammed to the ground, a red wound across his shoulder, rolled on the cobbles as Byrne dropped, too, found her balance and came at him. His wings beat hard, powering him upright, but Byrne was already there, a flurry of chops, Kol parrying wildly, still off balance. His wings beat frantically, lifting his feet from the ground.
Byrne ducked a wild swing, crashed into him, grabbed onto Kol’s leather jerkin and they were both rising into the air. Byrne headbutted Kol, once, twice and he was reeling in the air, falling back to the ground.
Byrne still held onto Kol as they hit the stones, then her pommel was crunching into Kol’s head. His legs buckled and he was on his back, Byrne standing over him, one boot on his chest, her sword at his throat.
Riv stared, open-mouthed, part of her tempted to whoop in triumph.
A silence stretched, only Kol’s ragged breaths heard.