Anskar ducked beneath the wooden blade and slammed into Rhett, tripping him and sending him crashing to the floor. Rhett’s sword jarred from his grip and skittered away across the tiles.
Anskar abandoned his own blade and dropped his weight on Rhett, pinning him from the side. Rhett tried to twist into him, but Anskar rammed a shoulder into his face and forced him to look away, then put a knee on his stomach and transferred all his weight there. Rhett winced and gasped for air.
Anskar slid his knee across so he was fully mounted, clamped a hand over Rhett’s nose and mouth to hinder his breathing, then started to pound away at his ribs.
When Rhett brought his hands down to defend, Anskar elbowed him in the face. An angry cut opened up on Rhett’s forehead, gushing blood. Anskar hit him again and again, each time smacking Rhett’s head against the floor until Vihtor pulled him off.
Rhett was no longer moving.
Anskar glared at Vihtor as he resumed the bench. The Seneschal should have stopped the fight sooner.
Clenna looked as though she was barely restraining herself from leaping at Anskar. He could see her hands clenching and unclenching as she leaned toward him.
“I’m going to gouge your eyes out, half-blood. I’ll do it quick, before they can stop me.”
“Try it and you’ll get the same as your brother,” he replied with more bravado than he felt.
Clenna sneered and turned away.
It wasn’t long before she had the chance to vent her anger in the square. Her opponent was Lalea, a girl Clenna’s own age who came from a wealthy family in the City States and tended to keep herself aloof from the other novices. By the end of Clenna’s furious onslaught, Lalea’s nose was shattered, her front teeth broken, and her once unblemished face was a mess of crimson. The healers had to carry her out of the Dodecagon.
Clenna stalked toward the bench, crimson speckling her face. “Just you and me now, half-blood,” she told Anskar.
For the first time since the trials had begun, Anskar felt a stab of doubt. More than doubt. Fear. Clenna had a quality that couldn’t be taught: a predator’s instinct for pinpointing a weakness and knowing when to pounce. And she had the kind of rage that could overwhelm a more skilled opponent.
Orix and Naul both won their next fights and emerged triumphant in their groups. As did Sareya, which was a surprise to Anskar. The Niyandrian had always looked average during sparring, but the contest had brought the fight out of her.
Perhaps an even bigger shock was that Myra DeYenté came out on top of her group. Myra was infamous for never eating—at least in public—and had a lean frame to show for it; but she’d shown great composure in each of her bouts, and a sharp, strategic mind.
Anskar’s fight with Clenna to decide the winner of their group was the last bout of the day. His muscles ached from his previous two fights, and he’d grown stiff and weary from sitting around watching the others. Clenna, though, was itching to fight, and she prowled the square, glaring hatred at Anskar as he took his place.
At the commencement of the bout, Vihtor, who was again the adjudicator, gave Anskar an almost imperceptible nod.
Anskar came out fast, trying to command the center as he’d done against Rhett, but Clenna would give no quarter. She blocked his thrusts with efficiency and ease, always moving laterally to take herself off the center line. Anskar had the sense she was feeling him out, gauging his timing and his reactions to her feints.
Clenna launched into a series of thrusts and slashes, which Anskar blocked as he backed away, but she managed to rush in close and caught him on the jaw with a left hook he’d not seen coming. She followed up with a low kick to his thigh that almost buckled his knee.
He was learning the hard way that Clenna had a lot more to her than blind rage.
She went to kick again, and Anskar raised his shin to block, but it had been another feint. The tip of Clenna’s sword slipped past his guard and punched into his sternum so hard he couldn’t breathe. Staggering back, he flailed around with his blade, trying to create space, but Clenna walked through his blows, punched him in the mouth, then swung her wooden blade at his neck.
Anskar ducked … straight into a well-timed knee that jolted his head back and rattled his teeth. She grabbed a fistful of his hair and held him in place for another knee, and another. Anskar’s vision blurred, and with each concussive impact, the will to fight sluiced out of him.
He was about to concede, but then he heard Jonita’s voice in his head: Do it for us. He pictured her black eye, the welts on her wrist. Her swollen jaw. Anger sparked inside him; ignited in his veins.
As Clenna threw another knee, Anskar swept her back leg out from under her. She flipped as she fell, landing in a crouch, still facing him. He kicked her in the chest to drive her back, and she shrieked with fury as she launched herself at him, swinging her sword at his head.
Anskar parried then sent a riposte into her temple. She staggered, momentarily stunned, and he pressed the advantage, movements flowing swifter than he could think. A kick to her knee, a hack to her forearm that sent her practice sword clattering to the floor. Then he cracked an elbow into her face. Blood sprayed and Clenna stumbled back—but only a step.
Her face was a bloody mess as she started to stalk him again, eyes reading his every move, hunting for openings. Even without a sword, she still thought she could win.
Clenna lunged forward, dipping under his thrust, and swung a wild hook that Anskar blocked with his forearm. But the punch was a feint for a spinning kick that just skimmed the top of his head as he ducked.
Anskar switched stance and countered with a roundhouse kick to her ribs, which crumpled Clenna to her knees. He smashed his blade into her head, pitching her to the floor, where she sprawled on her back.
Anskar stood over her, the tip of his wooden sword pressed against her throat.
Clenna cursed and spat, but that only made Anskar press harder. Her face grew purple with the effort to breathe, but still she struggled.
Anskar narrowed his eyes. It might only be a wooden blade, but with enough force behind it, it would crush her windpipe.
“It’s only a trial,” he said through clenched teeth. “You have two more attempts.”
Clenna hissed and thrashed and swore.
“Your choice,” Anskar said, steeling himself for the final thrust.
But a strong hand on his shoulder pulled him back, and Vihtor raised Anskar’s arm in victory.
The applause from the watching knights and novices was muted. They were shocked at what they’d witnessed.
Anskar braced himself as Clenna climbed to her feet, gingerly feeling her throat. The blood flowed down her face in rivulets that stained her white shirt crimson.
Vihtor stood between them, holding up a hand for Clenna to desist. But instead of a renewed attack, she dipped her head to Anskar.
“Good fight,” she said.
Anskar let out a sigh of relief.
Anskar screamed himself awake. Stabbing pain radiated from his chest to his back and both arms. In his dream, a spear had ripped through his defenses and pierced his heart. His attacker was a woman—a Niyandrian. A jagged scar ran from beneath one eye to her chin. She spat hatred at him and yelled betrayal before she thrust.
Brother Tion hurried to his bedside, and Anskar realized he was in the infirmary, where they had brought him last night to tend his injuries from the trial.