Page 53 of Bonded To The Arena Master

The network is quiet, human, and already reaching beyond the walls of House Obsidius.

16

DRAXON

The first guard loses his practice blade when my axe catches beneath its crosspiece.

I twist. Wood cracks against wood, and his weapon spins across the training ground. Before it lands, the second guard attacks from my left.

His ironwood staff strikes the plated ridge below my shoulder. The blow carries enough force to bruise living tissue beneath the carapace. I accept it, turn with the impact, and drive the flat head of my practice axe into his chest.

He leaves the ground.

The sand receives him three paces away.

A third guard lunges for my exposed side. I step inside the thrust and close one hand around the shaft of his blunted spear. He tries to wrench it free. I pull instead, dragging him within reach, then sweep his legs with the axe handle.

He strikes the red sand beside his companion.

The first guard has recovered his blade.

I point the axe at him. "Again."

He charges.

House Obsidius maintains its training grounds on a broad terrace between the lower barracks and the eastern defensive wall. Black spires rise beyond the open arches. The perpetual storm stains the morning silver, and charged wind drives red dust across weapon racks and boot-scored sand.

Six guards wait along the boundary for their turns. None speaks. Their attention follows each mistake made by the three facing me, measuring what it costs and how quickly I punish it.

The blade comes high.

I catch the guard's wrist, stop his swing, and use his momentum to send him over my hip. He lands hard enough to force air from his lungs.

The other two regain their feet.

"You are protecting one another's errors," I tell them. "You should be exploiting mine."

The spear guard retrieves his weapon. "You have not offered one, my lord."

"Then create it."

They attack together.

This attempt lasts longer.

The staff guard drives me toward the terrace wall while the blade holds my right side. The spear keeps distance, forcing me to divide my reach. They have trained together for years, but rank teaches them to wait for one another rather than seize command.

I break their formation by driving straight through it.

The spear glances off my ribs. The blade scores my axe handle. I take the staff guard by the throat, lift him clear of the sand, and throw him into the other two.

All three fall in a tangle of limbs and weapons.

"Better," I say.

The blade guard rolls onto his back. "We lost."

"Later than before."