Ned thrust again, left and down. Aric ducked back and right. He lunged forward at the last minute but Ned pulled back, avoiding the blade.
He was a reasonable dancer, a decent opponent. Aric smiled. His tutor, Sir Wayne, had always referred to it as a dance, an exercise in balance and grace.
Aric aimed for Ned’s arm, feigning a parry when he brought his sword up. Aric quickly switched his sword from his right to left hand, dragging the sharp blade across Ned’s undefended side to leave an angry cut.
“First blood,” Aric said smugly, shifting his blade back into his right hand. As he’d told Denys, he could fight equally as well with both, but he preferred his right.
“But not the last.” Ned lunged. Aric darted back, but not fast enough to avoid a shallow cut across his left leg. He ignored the stinging sensation. Twisting his body, he dived forward and thrust his sword up with as much force as possible.