A Warlock in a Cursed Kingdom: Book Two by Taylor Nathan

Author:Taylor, Nathan
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780645759549
Publisher: Magpie Drive Press
Published: 2023-10-12T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 23

Declan

Dawn painted the clouds gold, illuminating the small valley clearing in soft light. Declan’s breath crystallized in the morning air as Arman drew a large circle with the handle of his axe.

Declan held another axe. His finger traced a simple carving on the wood. “What does this bull mean?”

“The bull was the mark of Hispania. It is strong and relentless, like the people.” Arman finished his circle and beckoned Declan to its center. “Show me how you hold your weapon.”

Declan held the handle tight. “Like this?”

Arman chuckled. “Tight is tense. Tension is wed to error.” He swung it around in his palm. “See this? It is as you would grasp a fish. Secure. Safe. Not strained.” Declan imitated his grandfather’s grip. Arman adjusted his hands, then stepped back. “Perfect. Now…” Arman took a broad stance. “Strike me.”

“Excuse me?”

“try to hit me with that weapon.”

Declan glanced at the razor sharp axe head. “But what if I cut you?”

“It is more likely that you will cut yourself.”

“That doesn’t sound great either.”

Arman chuckled. “It is easy enough to heal you. As for me…” Arman wedged his axe into his ankle. Declan’s stomach turned. Arman winked, then pulled it free. The wound rippled like a disturbed puddle and healed. “Your blade will not undo this curse, grandson, I promise.”

Declan looked from Arman’s untouched leg to his devilish grin. “Okay then.” He leaped forward and swung for his chest. The chest vanished before contact. Arman’s axe appeared an inch from Declan’s neck.

Arman lowered the weapon. “What did you do wrong?”

“I attacked too fast?”

Arman shook his head. “No. There is no sin in moving quickly. Your error was more elementary. Your grip tightened from the outset of your attack. A tight hold will fail.”

“Got it.” Declan softened his grip.

“Your second error was that you failed to counter.”

“Counter?” Declan swung the handle in a small circle. “How do I counter with an axe?

Arman rotated the axe head. “This is the weapon of Hispania. As with the bull, it is a weapon of power and passion. A warrior must be relentless, must always be the aggressor. If you halt, you are exposed, and the fight is over.”

“So, I just keep swinging?”

“Not swinging, countering.” Arman spun his axe in perfect rhythm. “Watch.” The old man attacked empty air in slow motion. The axe floated from his left shoulder to his right hip, only to change hands at the last moment. Its head looped to his right shoulder, then drifted to his left hip. “Observe. Always on the attack.” Arman moved smoothly, never exposed to harm but always pressing forward. The blade moved like a dancing pendulum. The glinting silver head transformed into a screaming blur that found its mark, a mighty pine, with a satisfying crack.

Declan’s jaw hovered by his feet. “How do you do that?”

Arman levered his weapon from the tree. “Soft grip, smooth counter. Watch once more. I shall do it slowly. Then we shall practice together.”

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