Circle of Reign Read Online Free PDF

his fame?
    The swordplay became fiercer, more intense. No one could match speed with a wood-dweller in single-steel combat, not in the entire Realm. Reign told herself this over and over, trying to comfort herself as the intensity of the contest waxed. Her father appeared to be driven backward, which must be part of his plan. Surely her father’s wit was as much a weapon as was his steel and speed. Then, in a surreal instant, her world was dashed to pieces. Reign felt absolutely nothing.

    Their steel sparked despite the rain as the force of their blows collided. Raindrops split as Kerr pulled his sword with masterful agility through the night air, the glint of lunar rays dimly reflecting outward, giving the illusion of luminescence to their swords. Lord Kerr concentrated fiercely, forcing out all other thought as they danced out of the meadow and crossed back into the tree line.
Think of nothing but this moment
.
    The chase-giver lunged with more speed, but Kerr deflected the attack, forcing the chase-giver’s sword into the ground and connected a lightning fast fist to the Helsyan’s face. He heard the grunt of pain that escaped his foe. In one fluid motion, Kerr found a low hanging limb and hurled himself upward and over, bringing his sword down against the right side of the chase-giver’s neck in a forceful downward slash; or, where the neck should have been. His opponent had shifted from the scope of his swing so deftly that his sword only caught the man’s left leg in a glancing blow and continued downward, burying itself deep in a thick tree root. Kerr hastily tried to bring himself upright and free his sword, but overcompensated and stumbled backward. His next deflection was awkward and too slow, still off balance. Facing any ordinary man, even a very skilled one, Kerr could have overcome his mistake easy enough, but a Helsyan was not an ordinary man.

    The chase-giver struck in a wide arc with great speed, taking advantage of his foe’s backward stumble. The steel met soft, hot flesh, ripping across Kerr’s chest. The rain seemed to lighten just a bit, which the chase-giver thought to be symbolic.
    “Even the Cursed Heavens hold their breath for my finale,” he taunted. He stood over Lord Kerr who, inconceivably, was trying to get up. Kerr found his sword’s hilt and weakly raised it in defiance. The chase-giver would have laughed had he not been completely frustrated and insulted by this man’s lack of fear even in his last moments.
He has even drawn my life’s blood!
his mind screamed inwardly.
Impossible!
    The pulsing pain from his wounded leg stubbornly reminded the chase-giver that it was not impossible; and, for the first time, he glimpsed a sense of his own mortality. This enraged him. He sneered, advancing in a blur of rage. In one stroke he easily broke through Kerr’s defensive posture, knocking his blade aside, and with a second stroke, ran him through. The Lord of the WesternProvince felt the ground rush up to meet his knees as he turned his gaze upward toward the canopy of trees that concealed most of the night sky. The veins within the Triarch leaves far above shone their luminescence in the night as if stars caught in the living canopy.
    “Reign,” Kerr whispered in his dying breath, his
last breath
, and seemed to smile slightly as the light in his eyes faded. His hand slackened and his sword fell free from his grip, revealing the small Triarch leafling firmly pressed against his palm.
    Perplexed by his notice and attention of the rain as Kerr’s life slipped away, the chase-giver continued to wait impatiently for the intoxicating final scent of fear and acceptance from his fallen foe. He was not rewarded. Instead, he was further infuriated by the scent that did permeate the Lord’s final moments. It was of a disdainful taste to any Helsyan. Thannuel Kerr died feeling proud.
    The Helsyan stared down at the body, disgusted. He was not at all fulfilled, not at all gratified. After a