Page 16 of Stalk the Sky

And yet as he clasped his hand around the leather-wrapped hilt, a pang of something almost like homesickness rose in his chest.

He’d never thought he’d miss the feel of a sword in his hand.

Not as much as he missed flying, but perhaps he had something of the elven warrior in him after all.

Fieran had barely straightened when Rhohen struck, stepping into the blow even as he blasted with his magic.

Scrambling to get the sword up, Fieran strengthened the magic crackling around him. His magic clashed with Rhohen’s in a popping sizzle.

Fieran blocked Rhohen’s blow, the force of it driving all the way up Fieran’s arm. Rhohen might be slim for a troll, but he hit hard—harder than Adry or Fieran’s dacha.

Fieran danced back to gain space, then unleashed a blast of his magic, burning through the first few layers of Rhohen’s magic.

Rhohen growled and rushed forward, hammering with his sword. As Fieran expected, his cousin wasn’t too happy to find out Fieran was still magically stronger than him.

Rather than take the blow, Fieran jumped back again. He strengthened the magic both around himself and crackling down the sword before he darted in close, whirling his sword and slicing through Rhohen’s magic.

Rhohen parried, his jaw hard, the dark brown eyes he’d inherited from his macha flashing.

Fieran had him riled now, and Rhohen always got more sloppy when angry.

Rhohen pushed forward with a series of strikes and slashes, hammering again and again like he wanted to pound Fieran into the dirt.

It was all Fieran could do to parry the strikes, dancing backward until his back struck the stone cliffs behind him.

Rhohen growled again and gripped his sword with both hands to swing it at Fieran. “You never could stand up to a troll in a sword fight.”

Fieran drew deep into his chest and unleashed a crashing wave of his magic. In Rhohen’s focus on the sword fight, he’d neglected his magical shield. Fieran’s magic exploded through Rhohen’s magic, consuming it in a mere moment, and tossed Rhohen backwards.

He landed on his back with an oomph, the sword flying from his grip.

Fieran couldn’t help his smirk as he stepped forward. “I might be a lackluster sword fighting student, but I still have more magic.”

Rhohen snarled, rolled, and snatched his sword from the ground. He launched himself from the ground, lifting the sword high as he ran at Fieran.

“Rhohen!” Uncle Rharreth’s stern command boomed off the walls of the gully.

His sword still raised, Rhohen halted, his face twisted in a snarl. “Da…he…”

“It does not matter what Fieran did. You are responsible for controlling yourself and acting in an honorable manner. That means losing with honor.” Uncle Rharreth strode closer, glimmers of ice magic glinting around his fingers. “I don’t care who started this fight, I’m ending it. Rhohen, go back to your room and finish packing.”

Fieran schooled his features and held out Rhohen’s sword. He was not going to smirk at Rhohen getting lectured.

Something of his humor—okay, gloating—must have shown on his face for Rhohen glared as if he wanted to strangle Fieran. After a moment, Rhohen’s jaw flexed, and he snatched his sword. He stalked away, murmuring not-so-under-his-breath, “I could have protected Dar Goranth by myself. He didn’t need to come.”

Uncle Rharreth sighed, though he did not speak until Rhohen had disappeared from view. “It is probably just as well Rhohen and I are leaving tomorrow. I’m not sure the island is big enough for the two of you.”

“I shouldn’t have antagonized him.” While both of them knew better, Fieran had the first lieutenant’s bar on his shoulder that said he was supposed to be levelheaded enough to lead Flight B. He should have been mature enough to keep a few of those comments behind his teeth.

Though considering the mere sight of Fieran’s face tended to antagonize Rhohen, it wasn’t like Fieran could have avoided all of that confrontation.

“No.” Uncle Rharreth wasn’t one to tiptoe. He was right. Fieran was due some of the blame. “But the fact that you could antagonize him proves he is not as ready to shoulder the protection of Dar Goranth as he believes.”

In a show of his superior maturity, Fieran wasn’t going to comment about that, not even to agree.

Rhohen was about the same age that Fieran’s dacha had been when he’d married Fieran’s mama, was captured, and tortured. Young and not fully in control of his magic, but still considered an adult. Adult enough to marry.

Scary thought, that. Fieran’s dacha must have been far more mature back then than Rhohen was now.