Shades of Avalon (35 page)

I ripped the plastic paper open and bit off a chunk of the bar.

Arthur reached across me and grabbed a handle wound in thin strips of brown leather. He stepped back, his knees slightly bent, waving the thick blade one-handed in a figure eight in front of his body and wide arcs on each side of him. The tip came within millimeters of grazing the rubber mat. The training blades had dull edges, but I didn’t doubt they could do damage if struck hard enough.

The sword swiped through the air with a whooshing sound, the silver metal reflecting a cold blue light from the overhead source. Arthur’s motions were elegant and fluid, almost as though the blade lived and breathed, slicing the air of its own accord rather than the whim of the man wielding it. He stopped with one arm arched at the elbow and horizontal. The tip of the blade rested across his forearm, the point directed at me. Even without the powers of Excalibur or the interference of Merlin, Arthur was clearly an accomplished swordsman.

“Shall we begin?”

Chapter 28

The Training

“B
ALANCE
I
S
I
MPORTANT
,” Arthur said, shifting his weight from foot to foot almost imperceptibly, his sword held lightly by his side. He slashed the blade through the air and corrected his stance. “Your center will alter depending on each blow, and you should become familiar with how your body reacts.”

The hilt felt strange in my hand, and I experienced a sensation of being lopsided, heavier on one side of my body than the other side. I adjusted my fingers, swinging the sword to tweak the weight.

Arthur came closer and tugged at my fingers. “You are applying too much pressure. Look at your bloodless skin. Ease your hold. Prolonged strain will prove painful.”

I relaxed my hand and immediately the strain in my arm muscles decreased. Arthur came to stand by my side, raising his weapon defensively.

“Lewis,” he said without looking back at my uncle observing us from the corner of the room with intense focus. “Take up arms.”

The corners of my lips quirked up as Lewis’s hands dropped like bricks by his sides. I wondered if Arthur had any comprehension of the privilege he offered Lewis. Not that Lewis would ever be able to tell anyone outside our small circle. Regardless, a chance to clash swords with “the once and future king” of British legend—how could he refuse?

Lewis made quick work of his buttons and shoes, leaving him in his socked feet with pants and an undershirt. He collected a sword from the rack and came to stand on the opposite side of Arthur, a sword’s length away. He flashed me a smile and raised his eyebrows. “Ready.”

“Good.” Arthur shook his shoulders and rebalanced his hold on his sword. “We begin by familiarizing ourselves with our weapon. Learn how it moves.” He closed his second hand around the hilt and began to move his sword in a figure eight as before. Both Lewis and I followed. “Your sword is not a weapon in your hand. It is an extension of your arm. It is a part of you.”

“Bring the blade closer, Ben. If you over reach, you will leave yourself vulnerable and unstable.”

I followed his lead and drew my arms closer, pointing the tip downward.

“No, the only time your blade should point to the ground is when you do not intend to use it. When preparing to fight, always keep it raised.”

I did as Arthur said and brought the sword up, level to the base of my ribs as he did. Arthur nodded and switched his attention to Lewis. We continued like this, sweeping in wider arcs, until my arms began to ache, and I understood what Arthur meant about straining my grip. I seemed to be using muscles I’d never used before, and beads of perspiration gathered on my top lip and my hairline despite the slow and steady movement. Lewis’s cheeks were crimson and oval damp stains covered his chest, back, and under his arms. He was breathing hard by the time Arthur spoke again.

“Good. We will have to work on dexterity, but that can come later.” He stopped and moved back, spreading his arms wide to indicate we should back up and give him space.

“Lewis.” Arthur straightened his back, raised his sword out straight from his shoulder and pointed the tip at my slightly flustered uncle. He dipped the blade and cocked his head to the side in silent invitation for Lewis to approach. Muscles corded along Arthur’s arm, and thick veins stood out under taut flesh, but the blade remained utterly motionless. The legendary king stood, every inch the warrior, even in sweats and a T-shirt.

I picked up a bottle of water from a collection by the wall and gulped a mouthful. Lewis shot me a questioning look, seeking assurance he should comply.

“Hesitation will get you dead,” Arthur grunted through heaving breaths, issuing a challenge.

Lewis conceded with a snort of laughter. He ran his free hand over his brow and dragged the moisture through his already limp hair. They were roughly the same height, but where Arthur had physical age advantage, Lewis had him on weight. Also, Lewis had spent years lugging heavy cuttings of wood around—he was stronger than he appeared. Arthur withdrew his sword when Lewis advanced. The once king paced back and forth with measured footsteps, his eyes intent on Lewis’s glinting blade.

“It is not enough to defend. But for now, Lewis, I want you to block my blows.”

He nodded and prepared himself for attack. I swallowed bile when the first strike came down, and Lewis caught it with the edge of his sword. Metal glanced against metal with a screech, and Arthur lashed out again from the side. To my amazement Lewis blocked him again, this time with more confidence and not only blocking but swiping the blade away from him. The next attack came from Lewis. He lunged, and Arthur moved back, dodging him. I held my breath as Lewis over extended and shifted sideways. This left his chest open, and Arthur’s next blow made purchase. The flat side of blunt weapon struck Lewis at the waistband of his pants and winded him. His sword bounced an inch from the ground before landing.

Lewis doubled over, and I reacted to go to his aid. He lifted his head and narrowed his eyes, warning me to stay put. Beads of sweat slid down his face and dripped from the tip of his nose. Spittle sprayed from his lips with each pant.

“Over extending will get you dead.”

An expression of fierce determination morphed Lewis’s features into someone I hardly recognized. A deep craving for restitution sparked in his eyes.

“Again,” he exclaimed gruffly, retrieving his weapon and pushing himself up.

Arthur’s guarded expression concealed his reaction to this contest. “You will not have the speed of your opponent. As I said, it is not enough to defend. Remember, you do not hold the weapon. You are the weapon. Do not think—feel. Anticipate.”

They faced off again. I watched in fascination as Lewis bent his knees a little, giving him more balance. Arthur stalked him like prey, circling Lewis as the sword danced elegantly between his hands, windmillling, twisting in smooth motions. To me it seemed obvious this was intended to psych Lewis out. However, the blur of motion and gleam of metal didn’t achieve its purpose. Lewis remained focused as a laser on his target.

“The secret is to allow your opponent the whisper of victory. Allow them so close that they smell it rising around them as vapor.” Arthur’s lips wrapped around each word and articulated perfectly. There was something very formal about the way he spoke. His nostrils flared, and his jaw made a disturbing audible crack.

Stillness descended except for the metronome pulse echoing inside my head. The light through the row of windows moved through the room like a shadow draping over us. I raised my hand, the chilled bottle of water in my fist, and watched the fine hairs along the back of my arm stand.

In the same instant Arthur struck out. His sword glided upward to chest level and descended with blinding speed and force. Lewis held still, giving no reaction. His eyes closed and brown eyelashes curled gently over his flushed cheeks. In the split-second it happened, I clenched my fists, rooting myself to the spot. Lewis’s eyes opened and zoned in on Arthur’s face. An almost imperceptible smile touched his mouth. He crouched and raised his free arm at an angle, hindering Arthur’s sword arm from following through. Lewis lunged his sword, glancing off Arthur’s torso with cringing savagery.

Lewis must have planned the blow to miss. I winced. It had to hurt. The swords weren’t meant to cause the damage of real sharpened blades, but they were still metal.

Arthur barked a loud laugh and slapped Lewis on the shoulder. “You are a natural. A true warrior.” He walked away, rubbed his side and grimaced. It had to be a bit of a come down after nearing invincibility as the Philosopher’s Stone and having it taken away. I moved to Lewis’s side while Arthur took a breath and grabbed a drink from one of the water bottles.

“That was amazing,” I gushed to Lewis. “How did you do it?”

He shook his head and wiped sweat from his face with the sleeve of his undershirt. “What, you think your old man never got into a scrap in his life? Not with swords, but I’m not defenseless either. It’s like Arthur said, let your opponent underestimate you, and then sweep their legs from under their ass.”

“Are you ready, Ben?” Arthur asked, ambling over to the center of the room once more.

A nervous sensation curled in my stomach after seeing him with Lewis, although I suspected Arthur went easy on my uncle. I shouldn’t have been intimidated since my speed and strength eclipsed his. Regardless, my mind wandered back to the day Zeal held the Sword of Nuada over my head, and a cold shiver trickled down my spine.

I picked up my training sword from where I’d left it leaning against the wall and stamped down the memory. Lewis patted me on the back for good luck.

“This will be different for you,” Arthur began. “You have additional talents, and you must take advantage of all of them. May I see?”

I wasn’t sure what he expected me to do initially, until I noticed his scrutiny of my free hand. I held it out to him, and I focused my mind. Right away my nails extended to long ovals and took on a glassy sheen.

“Easily as sharp as any blade,” I explained.

Arthur’s gaze flickered to mine, and his eyebrows twitched. “I cannot conceive of a time
that
won’t unnerve me.”

His comment was unexpected given he didn’t seem disturbed by anything he’d encountered in this time so far, or the dragon or wizard staying upstairs.

Arthur shook off the thought and straightened confidently. “You should use your sword as a means of protection—”

“I plan to,” I broke in with a dry chuckle. “I’m really not all that brave.”

Arthur grinned, seeing the humor in my joke at my own expense. “You are brave, Ben. You would not be here otherwise. You recognize the danger of your situation, and that is a reason for admiration. There is a vast difference between cowardice and fear. I experience fear every time I lift a sword in battle.”

My shock must have shown on my face because Arthur’s expression darkened, and his tone dropped an octave. “I take no pleasure from killing or inflicting pain, and I have no desire to die.”

I pressed my lips together because words failed me. I didn’t think. Of course, none of us wanted to kill anyone.

Arthur began again as he raised his sword. “Your sword is protection. Use it to keep your opponent at a distance. Confuse them. If you are close enough to strike out with your talons, so are they. Use your sword to bide your time. Make them fight at your pace.”

I matched his stance, and Arthur moved one foot back.

“Are you sure you’ll be able to keep up?” I challenged him.

Arthur flexed his neck to one shoulder and then the other. “I believe so.”

“I won’t go easy on you.” I chuckled.

“I would be offended if you did,” he replied with a knowing smirk.

Arthur gritted his teeth and came at me with unyielding force. Metal flashed before my eyes, and I threw up my sword, meeting Arthur’s with a mighty clash.

Chapter 29

Magic, Illusion, Science

W
E
R
EMAINED
I
N
T
HE
T
RAINING
R
OOM
until dinner. After a quick shower, I dragged myself downstairs to the dining room where we sat around the long table and ate in relative silence. The only discussion was regarding our food situation. Our numbers had increased, and if we planned to stay a while, we needed to restock. In the end, the task went to Samuel and Eila. I didn’t pay much attention to the conversation. The day’s activities left me ravenous and ready for sleep. My limbs felt oddly springy and my body off center without a sword in my hand.

Emma refused to meet my eyes, although I tried a number of times to catch her attention. The red streaks in her hair were gone, replaced by a sky blue, and thick false eyelashes shielded her eyes from me as she picked at a green salad.

Caleb seemed much more himself, albeit quieter. Every so often he placed his fork beside his plate and flexed his fingers. Triona watched him as if he might sprout horns at any time. I hoped she’d rest up tonight since both she and Caleb would be training with Arthur in the morning. I had a planned session with Guinevere, Lewis and Annice.