Deception's Blade - Chapter Two (edited)

Chapter Two is up! In case you missed it, here is the first chapter. As always I appreciate your comments and feedback, and don't forget to check out the Legends of Arenthul website!

____________________________________-xxxXxxx-____________________________________

Eona parried the blow that had been destined for her leg with ease, smirking playfully as she circled the man before her.

He watched her, hard green eyes locked evenly with her own, but could not keep his own grin from spreading. "If I'm not mistaken, milady," he said, his breath visible in the cold morning air. Rolling his shoulders back and straightening his stance, he relaxed his grip on the heavy broadsword as he pointed the blade in her direction. "You're having fun."

This elicited a laugh from the younger redhead, eyes crinkling in delight as she flexed her grasp on the leather-bound hilt in her gloved hand. "Well I ought to have some fun, Sir Daveth. You're hardly playing fair!"

The man, Daveth, scoffed at her rebuttal, his unadorned chain mail catching the sparse sunlight with a dull twinkle. "Sword fights are never fair, milady," he said, flicking thick tresses of blond hair out of his eyes. "And they are never fun. Lesson number one."

Eona rushed at him again and they exchanged a few more blows, each one parrying expertly as the other swung. The clash of steel upon steel resonated loudly throughout the stone courtyard. "What good are your lessons if you hold back on me?"

Clang!

Daveth laughed as he expertly deflected her attack, a swift upward arc aimed for his head. "Vigilance, lesson number two!" He lashed out with a free hand to grab the wrist of her sword arm, holding Eona in close proximity. "If you had remembered these lessons, milady, then you would have expected this block."

As they both lowered their arms to chest level, swords still crossed in combat, Eona studied the man whose face was mere inches from her own.

Sir Daveth von Casvian, the stone-hearted captain of her father's royal guard and her sworn protector, was a tall man. With broad shoulders and an imposing stance, it was not hard to see why the guardsmen feared his wrath. Of late, however, she noted that in her presence he was a different man. His eyes were gentle when they gazed at her and his usually rigidness would loosen, as if he were finally able to relax. Sometimes she wondered if he ever did.

As Eona surveyed the creases in Daveth's face, she felt a familiar warmth touch her cheeks. She would be lying if she denied that he was handsome. A thin layer of blond stubble was sprouting around his firm jaw and his forehead glistened with beads of sweat. A faint scar cut jaggedly across his left brow, slithering around his eye before trailing off midway down his cheek, and the bridge of his nose was crooked slightly in the middle—the only indicator that it had once been broken. Her eyes flicked down to his lips, thin and chapped, before meeting his gaze again.

"Your skill has improved remarkably," Daveth admitted, giving her a playful wink. "Enough to rival that of even our most inexperienced trainees."

Eona gave a soft snort. "And it's only taken me half the time it took your guardsmen to learn your tricks!"

Though much of Delzengar detested women practicing in the art of combat, her father's province held the strictest rules on such matters. Even in Trisdayn, her home and the capital city of Sternhelm, female foreigners were forbidden to participate in the arena's combat events regardless of their prowess.

Sir Daveth, however, held a different view—if he was to protect her, he reasoned, then she must learn the vital skills for defending her own life should the need arise. And since hardly anyone bothered to venture into the courtyard during the cold Solaris season, it served as the perfect spot for their secretive training.

"Careful, milady," Daveth warned her with a grin. "No need to make them jealous of your talent."

"If I didn't know any better," Eona laughed, the thick red locks that framed her face dancing in the gentle breeze, "I'd swear that you were poking fun."

"Then give thanks to the Firstborn that you know me well enough."

"Aye, Sir Daveth, I do know you!"

Before he could react, Eona reached up with a booted foot and kicked him away, breaking his grip on her wrist and causing him to stumble back.

Daveth shook his head as Eona struggled to balance both her sword and her stature, laughter pealing animatedly from her lips; it was a pleasant sound, like the chorus of ringing church bells at dawn, and Daveth could not help but smile at her mirth.

"You are a shrewd fighter, milady!" he teased, adjusting his grip on the sword. "I'll have to be quick with you."

"So you do admit to keeping soft with me!"

Daveth shrugged as he adopted a fighting stance. "Do you have the proof to back up your accusations?" he asked with a wink.

"Confess, Sir Daveth!" Eona prodded as she raised her weapon, her free hand lifting up the bulk of her dress. The worn tips of sleek, heeled leather boots peeked out from beneath the blue hem. "Admit that you've been holding back."

"I confess to nothing, milady," Daveth replied, spreading his arms wide as if to surrender. "Only that you are cunning, and as your teacher I take no credit for that."

Eona narrowed her eyes. "Come now! Hold nothing against me this time."

Before he could respond to her challenge, the echo of hurried feet broke through the afternoon air and interrupted their bout.

"Lady Trinity!"

Eona turned hurriedly at the mention of her surname, eyes searching the snow-strewn path behind her for the source of the outburst. Doubled over just outside the heavy wooden doors of the keep, with a face as red as a ripe apple and hands grasping his shaking kneecaps as he struggled for breath, was a young courier.

"Yes?" Eona asked, tucking the stray tresses of hair behind her ears. Her training sword dangled limply in her grasp, silver steel glistening brightly against the blue of her dress as she did her best to conceal it behind her. "Have you a message, boy?"

Eona did not have to turn and look to know that Daveth had moved to stand beside her. She felt his armored shoulder bump hers as he sheathed his weapon before reaching down for the sword in her hand, and she allowed the smallest grin to grace her lips as she relinquished the blade. As long as the boy had not noticed the sword in her hand moments ago then her secret was safe.

"Aye, milady!" The young lad straightened his posture and lowered his head in a courteous bow. "The message is for Captain von Casvian, as well."

Daveth raised an inquisitive brow and shared a quick glance with Eona before turning his attention back to the boy. "It's not yet noon," he said, tilting his chin up to observe the gray sky. "What matter concerns the captain of the guard at this hour?"

The courier lifted his head, but kept his eyes trained on the cobblestones at Daveth's feet. "Lord Trinity wishes for the attendance of his trusted commander at the arena today, sir." His nervous hands plucked at the sides of his pallid green tunic, the traditional color of a House Trinity pageboy, as he shifted his gaze to Eona, making certain that his eyes never met her own. "He wishes the same of his daughter as well, milady."

Eona rolled her eyes. So this is what her father deemed so urgent?

She felt more than heard Daveth shake his own head, chain mail clanking softly as he shifted his posture. She knew well that the knight shared in her feelings toward her father's favorite pastime.

Turning her focus back to the anxious courier, Eona considered declining her father's request for a fleeting moment. "Tell his lordship," she began, and had to repress a smirk at the boy's alarmed expression. Undoubtedly he feared that she would refuse, as well. Lord Azir Trinity was not known for his patience—or for his mercy.

Allowing the mystery behind her words to hang in the air for a moment longer, she glanced up at Daveth, hoping to find the courage to carry out her intentions in his eyes, but the captain only shrugged. "We both know this is no request, milady," he whispered, and she all but agreed. Her father never requested anything in life, only demanded.

With a disgruntled nod of her head, Eona looked back at the pageboy and sighed. "Tell his lordship that I will grace his side at the match today, as requested." She did not bother to hide the disappointment in her voice, but the boy seemed oblivious to her woes.

Turning to Daveth, the pageboy asked, "And of Master von Casvian? Shall I relay that he will be joining in the splendors of today's match as well?"

"No."

Eona quirked an eyebrow and lifted her gaze. "No?"

Daveth smirked at her surprise and shook his head. "Your ladyship heard correctly. No."

"No, sir?" the boy parroted, but his question seemed to fall on deaf ears.

Placing her hands on her hips, Eona narrowed her eyes as she searched Daveth's face. "Is there some fleeting appointment you must attend, Sir Daveth, which denies me your valued company at the arena?"

Daveth met Eona's gaze with a genial wink. Then, centering his attention back to the pageboy, who had since taken on a rather unhealthy pallor in his cheeks, he nodded. "I must first stop by the armory to relieve myself of this blade," he explained, holding up the training sword that he had taken from Eona moments ago. "You will tell his lordship that I will honor his request then."

With a heavy sigh of relief, the pageboy nodded fervently. Then, bowing once more, he turned on his toggled heels and darted quickly through the open doors behind him.

Once the young courier was out of sight, Eona slipped off the weighted gloves that adorned her hands and turned to look at the man standing beside her. "Well then, Sir Daveth," she sighed, handing him the gloves. "I suppose that this is the last of our lessons for today?"

Daveth nodded, noting the hint of disapproval that seethed from her tongue but not bothering to mention it. "Aye, milady. It seems that your private instruction has been delayed on account of the lord's favorite gambling event."

"It seems to be everyone's favorite gambling event, Sir Daveth," Eona interjected, turning to cross the courtyard as she made her way toward the keep. Daveth followed wordlessly behind her, the clank of his armor and heavy crunch of his booted feet upon the snow echoing in the silence.

"Such a barbaric thing, these bouts," Eona said as they passed through the doors, their steps muted by the lush red carpet beneath their feet. "I honestly can't see why anyone would enjoy watching prisoners and drunken soldiers slay each other for sport."

"It's as barbaric as the Badala heathens themselves, milady." Daveth tucked the blade of Eona's training sword beneath his mailed arm, taking care to avoid any soft spots in the armor he bore. "However, your father wills it and the people enjoy it."

Eona lifted her gaze and spared a glance at the man strolling next to her. It was no secret, Eona reflected with a smile, that the captain strongly detested the sadistic death matches that transpired in the arena—there is nothing honorable, he would say, about a man killing another for sport.

Why can't there be more men like you in my father's service, Sir Daveth? Eona thought as they came to a split in the corridor. One way would lead her past the servants' quarters, the kitchen, and eventually up a flight of stairs to the entrance of the northernmost box that overlooked the grounds of the arena. The other path snaked by the historical archives, the infirmary, and ended at the doors of the keep's armory near the dungeon.

Daveth and Eona exchanged glances, eyes locked together in a silent unwillingness to part ways.

You should not keep his lordship waiting, her inner voice probed, reminding her of the last time she had been tardy for one of her father's requests. Sighing in defeat, Eona shook her head as Daveth offered her a comforting grin.

"Come now, fair lady," he began, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I will join you in equal despair at these games before you can so much as bat an eye." With those last words echoing in the empty corridor, Daveth bowed his head before turning down the left passageway.

Eona watched his retreating figure, the torchlight that illuminated the stone hall reflecting off his armor until he rounded a corner and disappeared from view. Then, giving an exasperated groan in anticipation of what was to come, she idly brushed off the front of her dress before following the red carpet to the madness that awaited her.