Arkanos parried with his holy sword, the blades sparking as they met. The force jolted his arm, but he held firm, his horse rearing.
Alaric's skill was evident; one could see it in the swiftness and precision of his swings. "You'll not take Viremont!" Alaric snarled, striking again, his blade grazing Arkanos's gauntlet.
"You fight well, boy," Arkanos said, his voice low, almost impressed.
He countered, his holy sword slashing in a crescent that forced Alaric back, the blade's runes flaring with each strike. The Akerian heir stumbled, his shield raised, but Arkanos pressed the advantage, his horse circling like a predator.
Arkanos dismounted in a single, fluid motion, his boots striking the bloodied cobblestones with a quiet thud. Midnight Veil snorted, hooves pawing the ground, but Arkanos waved the warhorse back, its onyx hide retreating into the throng of Bloodbane knights.
