Powder, Smoke and a touch of Magic

Chapter 39: Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger

The dawn broke over the forest of Ellesméra, bathing the ancient trees in a golden light. For the next seven days, Oromis, the ancient Rider, would impart his wisdom to James and Eragon. Both young men, along with their dragons Astrider and Saphira, eagerly awaited the knowledge they would gain, not knowing that the coming week would test them in ways they had never imagined

Oromis led James and Eragon to a clearing where the grass was short and the ground firm—perfect for sparring. The morning air was crisp, and the scent of pine filled their lungs as they prepared for their first lesson. Oromis stood before them, his presence commanding and serene.

"Today, we begin with the basics of swordsmanship," Oromis announced, his voice steady and authoritative. "Control, precision, and intent. A sword is an extension of your will. Master the blade, and you master yourself."

Oromis started by demonstrating various stances and grips, his movements fluid and almost dance-like. Eragon, already familiar with swordsmanship, watched closely, picking up on the subtleties of Oromis's technique. James, who had some training from his previous life, found the Elven style both challenging and enlightening. Every strike, every parry was deliberate and infused with purpose.

"Now, practice these forms," Oromis instructed, stepping back to observe. "Focus on your foundation. Without a strong base, your skills will crumble under pressure."

For hours, James and Eragon practiced, their swords cutting through the air with increasing confidence. Oromis moved among them, offering corrections and insights. His eyes, though old, missed nothing. The dragons watched from the edge of the clearing, their presence a silent reminder of the power and responsibility that came with their bonds.

As the sun reached its zenith, Oromis called for a sparring session between James and Eragon. Both young men faced each other, swords raised in anticipation. The clearing fell silent, the only sound the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze.

"Begin," Oromis commanded.

James and Eragon circled each other, their eyes locked in concentration. James struck first, a quick thrust aimed at Eragon's midsection. Eragon parried effortlessly, countering with a sweeping strike that James barely managed to deflect. The clash of metal echoed through the forest as they engaged in a fierce exchange of blows.

At first, the battle seemed evenly matched. James's modern techniques and quick reflexes allowed him to hold his ground against Eragon's traditional yet refined style. Sweat glistened on their brows as they pushed each other to their limits, their movements a blur of speed and precision.

Oromis watched with a critical eye, noting their strengths and weaknesses. "Good," he muttered to himself. "But they have much to learn."

As the duel wore on, Eragon's experience began to show. He adapted to James's unconventional tactics, exploiting the gaps in his defense. A well-timed feint followed by a powerful strike knocked James off balance. He stumbled, struggling to regain his footing as Eragon pressed the advantage.

"Focus, James!" Oromis called out, his voice sharp. "Do not let him dictate the pace!"

James gritted his teeth, determination flaring in his eyes. He parried a series of rapid strikes, but Eragon's relentless assault was overwhelming. With a final, powerful blow, Eragon disarmed James, sending his sword flying from his hand. Eragon pointed his blade at James's throat, a silent command to surrender.

James looked up, breathing heavily, his mind racing. Surrender was not an option. He glanced down, a subtle smirk playing on his lips. Eragon's eyes widened as he followed James's gaze, finding the barrel of a revolver aimed at his abdomen.