[05] Elite: Reclamation by Drew Wagar Page B

stepped inside.
    No tapestries adorned the walls that rose, bright white, from the polished wooden floor. Instead, weaponry surrounded them; primitive knives, whips and chains; gleaming sword blades; pistols and automatic rifles. Dalk closed the door behind him and turned to face Kahina. A faint grin crossed his face.
    ‘Alone now and away from prying eyes and ears.’
    Kahina stepped back a pace, swallowing hard.
    Dalk loosened the clasps on his trench coat, revealing a leather tunic and breeches beneath. A thick belt girded his waist, from which hung an ornate scabbard. From it he drew a thin sword, embellished with filigree of high craftsmanship. Light from the overhead illumination flickered from it as he brandished it with a small flourish. Kahina’s eyes followed the sword warily.
    ‘Your father insists you need treatment for your illness,’ Dalk said, stepping aside and sweeping the sword in a downwards arc.
    ‘And yet I stand here full of vigour,’ Kahina countered and moved to keep the same distance between them.
    Dalk smiled. ‘A sickness of the mind perhaps?’
    ‘A disobedient daughter is the curse of many a father.’
    ‘A euphemism for torture then, to convince you to change your ways,’ Dalk said, regarding her carefully, she matched his footwork step for step.
    ‘My ways will never change.’
    ‘Fighting talk from a mere girl with no rank.’
    ‘Cowardice from an old man armed with a sword against an undefended lady.’
    Dalk scoffed. ‘A lady? Without the Loren locks of gold and clear blue eyes?’
    ‘Is there some rule that states a woman must be blonde to be considered worthy?’ Kahina returned.
    Dalk grinned and gestured to the walls.
    ‘Let’s find out.’
    Kahina walked across to the nearest side and retrieved a sword, her eyes never leaving Dalk’s. She returned to the centre of the room and then without warning, lunged at Dalk, sword point aimed directly at his heart. Dalk turned aside in a flash, parrying the strike with his own sword. Sparks flew from the blades as they clashed. A flick of his wrist and Kahina was pushed back. Both dropped into a ready stance, slowly circling each other.
    ‘I’m gratified to see you’ve not forgotten your last lesson,’ Dalk observed.
    ‘I learn fast and practice daily,’ Kahina said, lunging forward again. A rapid series of strikes and parries followed. Dalk turned her sword once again, sending her reeling off balance. She spun to face him again.
    ‘Much still to learn,’ he said.
    ‘I’ll have you one day, old man,’ she fired back.
    Kahina struck a third time. This time Dalk deftly twisted his wrist and Kahina’s sword clattered across the floor. His blade swung rapidly, stopping just short of her neck.
    ‘But not this day,’ Dalk commented. ‘You’re dead once more.’
    Kahina grabbed his wrist in her hands, twisted violently and his sword fell from his grasp. She bent his arm backwards at the shoulder, pulling him off balance.
    ‘You taught me never to stop fighting until I could fight no more,’ she said, bending his arm cruelly, hoping to see a flicker of pain on his face. She was disappointed.
    Instead Dalk dropped to his knees, spun and abruptly rotated his hips. Kahina was flung over him to land with a heavy thud on the floor behind him. She gasped in surprise and pain, the breath knocked from her. A fist had stopped just short of her nose.
    ‘A lesson you’ve yet to completely appreciate,’ he said with a nod, before opening his hand and helping her to her feet.
    Kahina winced as her strained muscles protested. Dalk studied her for a moment. The girl showed occasional flashes of skill with both the blade and her unarmed technique, but she never quite seemed to manage a strong level of consistency.
    But she’s learnt enough; enough to survive.
    ‘Why do you do this, Dalk?’ she whispered. ‘You disobey my father’s wishes. The risk …’
    ‘I do not agree with torturing innocent women,’ he responded.