Lavana was fast—that was her strength.
A barrage rained down on Magda, daggers cutting so quickly through the air as to be nearly invisible. Already her breath labored, her vision tunneled so there was nothing but the flash of knives and Lavana’s glittering eyes. Behind her, the press of the wall, Lavana driving her towards it to pin her.
Blocking one strike and then another, her hand came up directly before Lavana’s face, and she retracted her blades.
Lavana’s brow plunged—a moment of confusion.
Magda threw an elbow across her face, knocking her aside. She dodged back to the middle of the field.
The dueling grounds seemed to shrink and expand from second to second. So that Kaelan appeared a lifetime away, but the precipice only steps, when she knew that in fact he was closer.
Lavana gave her no respite, no chance to think or plan.
She attacked and Magda defended, until Magda was at the edge, heels pushing dust down into the mist.
This was one of the reasons she’d lost to Alanna all those years ago... avoiding the ledge at all costs had forced her again and again to sacrifice advantage.
But she wasn’t afraid now, not of heights anyway.
She spun from Lavana’s swiping attack and backed into the center of the field again.
All she needed was one good strike. The ironwood wasn’t very long and wouldn’t penetrate Lavana’s armor. Magda needed to get in close and fast.
Lavana was the only one attacking. And so it was inevitable one of her blows caught Magda eventually, slicing across her hip, below her breastplate and above the scale shielding her thigh.
A searing pain shot into her chest and down to her toes, pumping even more adrenaline into her bloodstream. The wet burn of blood ran down her leg, soaking into her clothes.
Her teeth gnashed, but she refused to cry out.
The crowd’s voices grew distant. Was Kaelan calling her name? Through the blur of battle, the drum of her heartbeat, she couldn’t be certain.
She staggered.
Lavana slowed to smile at her impending victory—just long enough.
That single moment, pain-filled as it was, was the second she needed.
She dodged Lavana’s next strike, raking her knives as she feinted, tearing through the buckles fastening Lavana’s breastplate and through her clothes, to the tender flesh beneath.
Time slowed, Magda could make out each drop of blood that flew from Lavana’s body into the air.
Lavana stumbled, clutching at her wounded side.
Then Magda spun and attacked.
But Lavana had recovered from the shock of injury and held her at bay, not allowing her to get in close enough to use the ironwood.
Still, Magda drove her back—downward slice, upward cut, sweep the ankle.
Lavana blocked and blocked and spun away, right into the wall.
Magda unleashed another spate of strikes, keeping her pinned, seeking an opening.
But Lavana wasn’t to be overwhelmed. In spite of the sweat rolling in crystalline beads down her forehead, off her thick eyelashes, around those eyes hard as gemstones, her focus remained unwavering.
And then the chance came and Magda rushed into it, slim as it was.
The longer the fight went on the worse her chances. She simply didn’t have the stamina.
