Chapter Thirty-One: Torin Silverblood

His veins turned glacial as Ash stood and turned. An elven man with a made of black hair touched with a single silver lock stood in front of Ash, a mocking grin on his handsome face. His dark eyes held a depth of intelligence and a blade’s edge of malevolence.

He wore a duelist's coat with fine black and silver silk clothes underneath. His bearing was straight and confident.

Noble.

Maybe Ash should have cared about that. Perhaps, if he had, it would have saved him some trouble.

Instead, he gripped his sword,

“What did you just say to her?”

“Can the trash not defend herself? Typical of a shashti whore.”

Ash’s sword was drawn from his sheath in a flash, pointing at the man.

“State your name. I’d like to know who I’m about to beat, black and blue.”

He laughed,

“Is that a wooden sword? Typical. Couldn’t afford a real blade, eh peasant? Why should I duel one such as you? You’re not worth the time.”

Ash’s mouth twitched into a slight grin,

“Scared to lose to a peasant?”

That did it. His dark eyes became hard.

“Fine then, peasant. If you want to defend a shasti’s honor, I’ll oblige and put you down. Meet me outside.”

With that, he turned and stalked out with a predator's easy grace.

Rosalia was beside him, pulling at his arm, eyes worried.

“Ash! You can’t! He has elar, and you…”

“Do,” Ash cut her off.

Her eyes widened, mouth falling open,

“What? How?”

“Who was that guy?”

“Torin Silverblood,” Amalia mused aloud.

Ash and Rosalia turned to her,

“You know him?” Rosalia asked.

“Of him. The Silverblood’s are very influential in Elendari, and it would not surprise me if they had some pull here.”

“I’m going to smash his face in.”

“With what weapon? You have a wooden sword.” Rosalia looked dubious.

“It’s a matter of perspective,” Ash said, crossing his arms.

“My perspective is that you’re going to get killed. Besides, I can fight my own battles,” Rosalia said.

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“I know you can; this isn’t about defending your honor. I just don’t like him. Some people, I’m beginning to learn, need a good kick in the teeth.”

Rosalia rolled her eyes,

“Boys. But, with Torin, I think you might be right this once.”

She lowered her head, firming her lips into a line.

“Torin is the one who killed Sally. I’m sure of it.”

Ash didn’t think his blood could get any colder. He was wrong. Lilith sent him a questioning thought. He sent her back images of the monster they had fought and the conversation they had with the Bells.

Lilith’s adorable face scrunched like she had bitten into something gross.

“I don’t suppose you have a real blade I could use?” Ash asked Amalia.

“Oh no, Master Lorcan. You picked this fight. You should have picked it when more prepared.”

Ash shrugged,

“I’ll beat him without it, then.”

He strode out of the adventurers guild. Torn awaited him outside, not quite on the road but a little ways away from the building.

“The peasant arrives. I thought for a moment you had decided to flee. It would make you a coward but a sensible one.”

Ash curled his fingers into a fist, blew out a calming breath, and drew his wooden blade.

Torin sneered,

“You still intend to fight with that stick? Fine then, but don’t expect me to hold back. I don’t mind killing you. You there, woman. Will you serve as a witness?”

Something ugly rose in Amalia’s eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. She nodded,

“I shall.”

“A witness?” Ash asked.

“I am the one who will report that you both agreed to this foolishness, Master Lorcan. This way, no one believes you were simply murdered in the street.”

“Ah.”

Truthfully, he was a bit worried about the fight. He knew his own abilities but not Torin’s. He banished the anxiety from his mind, calling upon the focus, the clarity that came to him when he held a blade.

Torin drew his own blade, the metal glinting in the light. A breeze picked up some dirt, pushing it an inch or two as a hush fell over the area. Ash studied his stance.

Judging by the set of his shoulders and the placement of his feet, he was going for full offense, all power. More than that, Ash just had a feeling that was what Torin would do. He liked to feel powerful; he wanted to be above others.

“Begin,” Amalia said.

She didn’t raise her voice, but her words carried, and Torin kicked off towards Ash, sword flashing, bearing down on him. Ash knew his wooden blade wouldn’t last long in the exchange, so instead, he wove around the attacks, avoiding them. He found it easy to do because Torin was easy to see.

He was all aggression, and while he did it well, he was easy to read.

“Stand and fight!” Torn growled as Ash ducked smoothly under another blow.

I’ll pass, Ash thought. His sword would be reduced to splinters if he did that. No, it was best to be like his uncle here, like water. He just flowed around the attacks.

“Fine, be a coward like that.”

Torin drew elar from his elan. Ash could tell because his attacks increased in speed and ferocity.

But Ash had elar too, so he sought out his elan as he had so many times before and drew his elar. Numbing cold flushed into him. He didn’t use too much, just enough to watch Torin.

This was how he would win.

Ash understood something the other day when facing those homunculi: If you ran out of resources, you lost. Plain and simple, you couldn’t continue past a certain point, both when your body tired and your elar ran out.

He could have revealed his technique, but he didn’t want to kill Torin by accident, and more importantly, he wanted to keep it to himself. His technique could be a surprise, and he intended to keep it in reserve.

Plus, he was making Torin mad, and that sent a little zing of satisfaction through him at making such a person, a person who had caused so much harm, angry. His pointed ears were red, his face a mask of utter fury.

“I’m going to kill you; cowardly peasant light-cursed trash.”

Torin was quick to anger, but then again, so was Ash. The difference was that when it came to swordplay, Ash gained clarity, a measure of control Torin didn’t have. He could see while Torin couldn’t.

From what Ash saw, the noble elf boy lacked talent with the sword.

That was probably why Torin unleashed a technique upon him.

Blades of black shadow lanced towards him and would have skewered him had he not dove forward. Torin was heaving,

“You think you’re better than me?!”

The shadows followed him, and Ash grimaced. He needed to end this.

He had been conserving his elar and hadn’t drawn much throughout the fight. He drew deeply now and blurred forward past the shadows, striking out in a thrust that slammed into Torin’s stomach.

Shadows vanished as Torin’s mouth opened, his eyes bulging as he bent over double.

He dropped his sword and threw up. Lilith let out a triumphant cry as Torin collapsed to the dirt, groaning.

“Be nicer to my friends,” Ash said to Torin’s writhing form.

He sheathed the practice blade.

Then he walked away.