Guild Wars_ Edge of Destiny - J. Robert King [57]
The guard blurted, “The queen has summoned him.”
“Him?”
Logan lifted the scroll.
Dylan scowled as he read it. “What would she want with you?”
Logan refused to be daunted. “I don’t know. She no doubt has heard of my acclaim.”
“Acclaim?” Dylan huffed.
“Yeah. You may not know this, but I’m one of the greatest warriors alive. The arena doesn’t lie.”
Dylan sniffed. “Follow me.” He led Logan into a side garden ringed with tall windows and balconies.
“Wait here, Brother, until we are summoned into her presence.”
Logan glimpsed a pair of wooden swords leaning on a nearby bench. “What are those for?”
“Practice matches,” Dylan said offhandedly, then a smile cracked his face. “You say you’re the greatest warrior alive?”
“I don’t,” Logan corrected. “Everyone else does.”
“Then, how about you show me.” Dylan gestured toward the practice swords in the side garden.
“All right.” Logan entered the garden—benches circled around an elaborate white fountain, with sculpted shrubs standing sentry over beds of flowers. “Nice spot for sparring.”
Dylan lifted one of the wooden swords and used the blade to hoist the other, flinging it to Logan.
Logan caught the sword and took some practice swings. “I’m used to a war hammer.”
“You would be.” Dylan bowed regally. “Pounding things. All power, no finesse.”
Logan bowed likewise.
Dylan lunged, his sword striking Logan’s breastplate.
Logan staggered. “I wasn’t ready.”
“You bowed.” Dylan followed the first stroke with an overhand blow.
Logan dodged, letting the sword swing past, then elbowed his brother out of the way. Spinning, Logan retreated. “In the arena, we don’t bow.”
Dylan pivoted. “Yes. I’ve seen what you do in the arena. You fight like a charr.”
“Thank you.”
“That wasn’t a compliment. And that last shot of yours didn’t count. We’re fighting with swords, not with elbows.” Dylan charged again, sword jabbing.
Parrying the blow, Logan stepped behind one of the benches.
“Out of bounds,” Dylan called. “That’s a second point for me.”
Glowering, Logan whacked Dylan’s blade out of the way and stepped back into the garden. “Is that how it’s played here? Battling for points?”
“That’s the civilized way.”
Logan was about to respond when he spotted a figure on a balcony high above the garden. It was she, the queen—Jennah.
His heart pounded.
Dylan lunged, his sword ramming Logan’s breastplate. “That’s another touch. Three points.”
“That wasn’t fair! I was looking at the queen.”
“She is mesmerizing you,” Dylan said, grinning. “I’m beating you three points to zero.”
Logan huffed. “Of course you can beat me if this is a parlor game. But I thought it was a duel.”
“It is a duel.”
“Then let’s forget about touches and out of bounds. The one who wins is the one who stands over the other.”
“Fine with me.”
Smiling, Logan flipped the practice sword over in his hand, catching the narrow end and swinging the crosspiece as if it were a hammerhead. Dylan ducked back and glared. Logan laughed. “That’s more like it.”
With a snarl, Dylan rushed forward, sword stabbing.
Logan’s hammer cracked the blade to one side, and he bulled through to ram Dylan backward, causing him to sit down on a garden bench.
Distant laughter drifted down from the balcony.
Logan stepped back, giving his brother room.
“That counts for nothing,” Dylan said. “I didn’t go out of bounds, and you used your shoulder.”
“It counts for me knocking you on your ass.”
Dylan roared murderously, swinging his sword to brain his brother.
Logan sidestepped.
Dylan’s blade struck a stone bench and rattled stingingly. “Why, you—”
Laughing, Logan scurried away.
Dylan followed with sword swinging.
Logan bounded onto a bench and leaped to the next and the next while Dylan’s sword swiped impotently at his heels.
“Stand and face me!”
“This is how we do it in the arena.”
“What, run away? Stand and face me!”
Logan planted his feet on the grass and raised his hammer. “Here’s my face.”
“Almost as ugly as