“Come, Ivana,” Elliot said, taking her by her arms and guiding her away. “We must let him prepare.”
Calvino’s methods were influenced by many philosophies from the ancient world. A warrior must embrace battle not fear it. The mind must be calm, focused, the body relaxed. In combat, one must follow a code of honour. Leo had an unusually long reach, which had served him well on many occasions. He suspected Nikolai would use any tactic necessary to win. And so, he would need to be prepared to do the same.
“There are many swords littered about the walls of the castle,” Nikolai said. “You may take any one of them.”
“That will not be necessary. I have my own sword.” Leo noted the faint flicker of surprise in the blackguard’s eyes. Indeed, Leo’s sword was an extension of himself. It felt comfortable, almost weightless in his hand.
Nikolai inclined his head. “Then I shall meet you in the courtyard.”
Just like the night he challenged Ivana outside Herr Bruhn’s house, the rain lashed against the castle’s facade, bounced off the cobblestones, hammered on the rooftops. Leo glanced at the puddles, noting their number, estimating their depth. He stood in the centre, closed his eyes briefly in order to feel at one with his surroundings.
Nikolai stood opposite him. Without his fancy coat, he appeared less menacing and so twirled his sword in a figure of eight as means to intimidate. Leo ignored the slicing sound, the way the blade whipped at the air. The vigorous movements would only serve to tire him, and the thought gave Leo a little more confidence in his ability to succeed.
Elliot, Alexander, and Ivana stood near the large oak door. Despite Elliot’s initial anger over his relationship with Ivana, his friend held her close to his chest, rubbed her arm to offer comfort. Sylvester and Julia joined them too, and Leo wondered if they were aware their own lives hinged on the outcome of this fight.
Leo’s heart swelled with love for his friends, and for the only woman he had ever truly wanted. But he knew he must detach from all feelings of sentimentality if he had any hope of beating Nikolai. The mind was a fragile thing. Calvino once told him that armour was worn not just as a means of protection, but as a way to sever emotional ties. Dress a beggar in the clothes of a prince and he will behave with more decorum. A suit of steel worked to harden the heart and Leo imagined donning a vest of chain mail for the same reason.
Nikolai stopped his twirling and flexed his fingers before firming his grip on the hilt. “Are you ready?”
Are you ready to die?
Nikolai’s voice permeated his thoughts, and he batted it away as though it were nought but an annoying little fly.
Wearing an arrogant grin, Nikolai stepped forward, his linen shirt sodden as it clung to his lithe frame.
Leo inhaled deeply, blinked away the rivulets of rain clinging to his lashes. He held his sword in front of him, the tip pointing at Nikolai's throat, and waited for him to attack.
Nikolai swung first, the movement controlled as their blades clashed. The sound of meeting metal vibrated through the air like the crack of a thunderbolt hurled down by the gods. Leo defended the first flurry of attacks. It gave him an opportunity to gauge Nikolai’s experience. As suspected, the man had skill, but his movements were predictable.
The majority of sword fights lasted no more than thirty seconds. Leo followed the set routine, a sequence of moves intended to lure one’s opponent into making his first error. With Leo’s speed, he managed to avert an attack, his long reach catching his opponent by surprise as the tip of his blade scratched Nikolai’s jaw.
The sight of the thin sliver of blood bolstered Leo’s confidence. But he knew he had to remain calm and composed. There was a natural flow in all things. One must find and settle into the pace, for to fight against the current only serves to drain one’s strength.
“So you think you know how to handle a blade.” Nikolai’s condescending tone did not distract him.
“It’s been said I am the finest swordsman in England.” It was not his intention to boast but to chip away at Nikolai’s confidence.
Of course, he came back at him with a comment as disabling as the most vicious blow. “When I’ve killed you, Leo, know that I shall take pleasure in torturing Ivana. You will hear her screams from the pits of Hell.”
Ivana gasped.
Nikolai had found the chink in his armour. A host of terrifying images flashed through his mind. Ivana would always be his weakness, and he found his gaze drawn to her if only for a fraction of a second.
It was enough to give Nikolai an advantage. Underestimating the force of his opponents offensive, Leo stumbled, losing his balance on the wet stones as he defended against another barrage of attacks.
Ivana’s ear-piercing cry only served to divert his attention further.
As he tumbled back, his sword flew from his hand, was sent skittering across the courtyard and out of reach. Nikolai charged at him, flashed a devilish grin as he raised his sword to deliver the final fatal blow. But Nikolai was reckless in his eagerness to win. Overconfidence was a weakness too. In an attempt to dodge the attack, Leo rolled onto his side. He continued rolling until he came within an inch of his sword. As his hand curled around the hilt, he turned and thrust sharply, the point of his blade almost touching the hard lump in Nikolai’s throat as the man towered over him holding his sword aloft.
“Surrender your weapon,” Leo commanded. “You will surrender your weapon now.”
“Never! Your mind manipulation will not work on me.” Nikolai narrowed his gaze, his black eyes showing no fear. “You will lower your sword.” Nikolai’s firm command caused Leo’s arm to tremble. “You will do as I say. You will lower your sword.”
Be strong, Leo.
Elliot’s words invaded his thoughts, but Nikolai’s words were like thick vines creeping through his body to strangle his limbs.
Please, Leo, you must fight it.