A Stone's Throw (The Gryphonpike Chronicles Book 3) by Annie Bellet Read Free Book Online Page A

turned to silver streaks in my vision. Drake danced back and I caught his sharp intake of breath as one of the cuts must have connected. Red bloomed on his upper sleeve, but his arm didn’t drop and I hoped that meant the wound was superficial.
    They circled again and this time it was the shade who darted in. Steel rang on steel as each thrust was met with a counter. Drake’s feet were a blur as he strafed and dodged. I had never seen him move so quickly. His style when fighting with us was to hit the vitals and otherwise use his flashing sword to keep whatever was attacking at bay. He had some dirty tricks as well, often tossing dust or daggers or throwing punches and kicks. I was also usually busy shooting things or trying not to get eaten or killed, so this was the first time I was able to stand aside and watch him move.
    Sword on sword. No tricks. They moved around the platform striking and parrying and breaking apart only to rejoin the fight a moment later as they circled, each hunting for openings. Blue smoke trailed from cuts on the shade’s body, but he did not seem to tire or slow. Drake had red splotches on both sleeves now, and on his left thigh. Sweat beaded on his brow and matted his curls and his breathing was the loudest sound in the chamber. His half smile had turned to a half snarl of concentration.
    Rucao turned Drake’s blade away and slashed in with a lightning flick, but Drake twisted aside and dropped to one knee, thrusting up toward the shade’s belly and forcing him back again. I found myself leaning forward, my face almost touching where the barrier would be and I made myself stand up straighter, not wanting the blue light to flare and block my view of the fight for even a moment.
    Drake wasn’t just good with his sword, he was amazing. Fresh respect dawned in me. I had witnessed many duels at home; fancy swordplay, like archery and horseback riding, was a favorite pastime of my kind. Before my exile and curse, I hadn’t enjoyed sweating, so I’d never seen the point of duels myself. Drake would give most of the elves I’d known a workout.
    “You’re very good,” Drake gasped.
    “I am,” the shade agreed. He retreated from a flurry of thrusting jabs. “I hear a but in your voice.”
    “But. . .” Drake parried a counter thrust. “You’re not used to this.”
    “I have fought more duels alive and dead than ever you will,” said the shade, anger lending color and warmth to his cold voice.
    “But…” Drake said again. “I’m left-handed.”
    He slapped a thrust out of his way and darted forward, forcing the shade back and back again as every swipe of the shade’s sword was met with Drake’s own blade and forced to the right. The rogue strafed to his left with dizzying speed and whipped his blade around, first low, then high. Rucao tried to block and turn, but the cuts came too quickly and his sword blade was out of position.
    The shade screamed and fell to his knees, blue smoke pouring out of his leg and side. “Mercy,” Rucao whispered, and he tilted his head back, baring his throat. “My sword is yours.”
    Understanding and sadness sobered Drake’s features and his smile faded. He brought his rapier up and cut quickly across the shade’s throat. The dwarfwork blade tumbled to the stone with a clear bell’s ring and the shade faded into blue smoke which drifted upward until nothing at all remained.
    I tried the steps again and found no barrier. His scabbard lay nearby and I picked it up, bringing it to him. He took it and sheathed his sword before bending with a hiss of pain and picking up the dwarfwork rapier. Red light shimmered on its surface and a word appeared. Ajah . Reason .
    “Reason,” Drake muttered. He looked at me with wide eyes. “I see its maker. This is dwarfwork, Killer.” Drake ran a hand through his hair and flicked the tip of the blade in a small circle in the air. “They’ll never believe this. I can see them. Not short and bearded like the