Read Reckoning (The Empyrean Chronicle) for Free Online

him into attacking by
keeping his guard down and resting his sword point on the dais, a grave and
purposeful insult to any fencer, but Elias refused to rise to the bait. Rather,
he took a step back as if cowed.
    As Elias moved Cormik exploded toward him like a
thoroughbred off the starting line. Cormik kept his blade close to his body,
coiled to strike as he charged. The rancher launched a high, overextended
thrust, but Elias, anticipating him, stepped to the side and forward at the
last possible moment and dropped his right shoulder to skirt the attack.
    Elias followed with a backhanded blow, driving the pommel of
his foil into the dimple between Cormik’s shoulder blades. Cormik, already off
balance, stumbled onward and out of the circle.
    Danica, Asa, and Lar erupted in applause, and the crowd
cheered with them. House Macallister’s reputation ensured respect the same way
that a grizzled old guard dog did—out of a sense of fear rather than affection,
and many folk took satisfaction in seeing one brought to heel. That it happened
in public made it all the sweeter, and would be the talk of the town for weeks
if not months to come.
    Roderick Macallister watched the exchange silently from
beneath his rancher hat.
    Cormik’s blood went up, but, educated in courtly etiquette,
his manner did not betray him, save for a faint flush high on his cheeks. He affected
a lazy smile at the crowd and said, “Drat! Who knew the bruiser could move so fast!”
His jibe earned some few chuckles, but his father, who peered at him with eyes
as cold as blue granite, was not amused.
    The second round went quite differently than the first. Although
bubbling with fury, Cormik reined in his ardor and fought by the book. He
opened the round with a deft lunge followed by a deceptive backhand slash at
Elias’s midriff. Elias barely brushed the cut aside, and with a flick of his
wrist countered with a low thrust. The rancher twisted to avoid the stab, and
both men scrambled back a step to recover their equilibrium.
    So went the lengthy second round, with each man alternately
launching adroit thrusts, slashes, and feints, while the other riposted,
parried, and dodged. Cormik fought like a demon, never relinquishing the
offensive. Elias fielded the relentless Cormik and found openings where he
could, but his foil was not designed to block blows from the rancher’s heavy
rapier and his arm tired beneath the constant barrage.
    Ultimately, the second round went to Cormik. Elias’s arms
and legs grew leaden, and he felt as if he had been fighting for hours. Cormik
tired as well, but when both men delivered desperate, simultaneous thrusts, his
longer blade proved the victor, taking Elias in the hollow between his belly
and chest.
    Elias felt like he had just been kicked under the ribs. Whereas
his foil ended in a flat nub, Cormik’s rapier, although blunted, still had the
weight—and the sting—of folded steel. He wondered how the Mayor could, in good
conscience, have possibly agreed to let Cormik use his rapier, even with the
practice sleeve. It provided Cormik a distinct advantage, but the Macallisters
were nothing if not adept at getting their way, and Elias knew he shouldn’t be
surprised. As his father was wont to say, not all fights are fair. Elias
figured he had better stop dwelling on it and start figuring out a way to best
Cormik, and fast.
    Cormik paced in his corner, eager to begin the next round. With
a tied score, Cormik knew as well as Elias that the next to land a hit would be
in a much better position to win the race to three points, and the match. The
rancher wanted to strike again while the momentum still tipped in his favor. He
met Elias’s eye, winked, and sketched a mock half bow.
    The gesture incensed Elias, and the distiller felt his
fatigue burn away, leaving behind a consuming desire to defeat his childhood
rival.
    Cormik had an air of superiority that had ever rankled
Elias. While Cormik had been tutored by the finest