When he held his weapon up, he barely registered the weight. The light inside seemed to glimmer and he lowered it hastily, hoping he hadn’t given his position away. The rats continued their advance toward the stranger, unaware of him for now. He stepped behind a tree for cover, knelt, and noticed a small rock on the ground. Cautiously, he picked it up, located another trunk beside the rats, and lobbed the stone at it.
It struck its target with a sharp clunk and left a noticeable crack. The rats responded with confused growls and their heads looked around as one. Devol leapt as high as he could. His jump took him up more than ten yards. Still, he could not have been more than a third of the height of the trees when he turned his blade to point it down as he began to drop back to earth. The creatures looked around and tried to find the source of the noise as he landed and drove his weapon into the center rat’s head.
The animal uttered a pained shriek and he yanked his sword from its head as the two others bounded to the side. Startled, they watched their mischief mate convulse and fall still and silent. The boy turned his attention to the one on the right and lunged toward it with his blade aimed at its chest. It jumped back as he tried to strike, then responded with an angry hiss as it retaliated with a vicious pounced attack. The one behind him pounded its feet on the forest floor before it jumped into the fray and the two tried to pin him between them.
He flung himself aside and they both missed him and narrowly avoided colliding with each other. Devol darted away and glanced over his shoulder to see if the racket had alerted the man. He could no longer see him, assumed he must have run off in fright, and sighed with relief. At least he only had one person to worry about now—himself.
His furred adversaries crept cautiously toward him and he held his blade up. He inched back slowly, looked over his shoulder again, and noticed a small clearing in the woods a short distance behind him. Instinct told him he should get to it in case other giant creatures nearby were summoned by the pained cries of their brethren.
One of the rats launched into an attack, its claws and teeth ready to sink into his flesh. Devol flipped his blade on its side, pushed forward to catch the rat's claws, and parried to the right of the oversized vermin. As it landed, he flipped his blade and stabbed it down and behind him, deep into his adversary’s back and through its stomach.
It responded with a pained hiss and its tail waved wildly and almost tripped him. Thankfully, the young swordsman managed to sidestep the erratic appendage and ran toward the clearing with the other creature in pursuit.
The glade was almost circular with an odd extended area at the north end. Dead branches and pieces of bone lined the edges of it. The boy bounded over what appeared to be a large broken femur and slid on the wet, brown, and sickly-green grass. He spun as his would-be attacker hurdled its large body over the bone. Once it landed, its head jerked from side to side and it made a nervous clicking sound with its teeth.
He didn’t know what caused the sudden change in behavior but decided not to waste the opportunity. His Mana flowed to soothe his legs and seep into the muscles, and when he felt he was ready, he bent at the knees and launched himself at the rat. It snapped its head toward him and opened its maw as it stood on its hind legs, surprising him. As it began to fall forward, he wondered if it had anticipated the charge and been ready for it. He stopped a few feet in front of the rodent and thrust his blade forward as its claws lashed at his face. This was a moment when the winner would be decided by who made the killing blow first.
The light in the blade flared and the sword enlarged and lengthened. Devol was shocked and told himself it was merely a trick of the light. Or perhaps the shadows in the woods? It sank into his adversary’s head and stopped it in its tracks. The large claws dangled mere inches from his throat, lifeless and pointing uselessly at the ground.
The rat did made no sound as it fell heavily on his sword. He had to wedge his boot against its stomach and push hard to free his weapon. Once he’d shaken his weapon to get some of the viscera off, he took a handkerchief out and ran it along the blade to clean it more thoroughly. He checked the sword while he did this. It seemed to be the same measurements it had always been—the blade about thirty-two inches in length and slightly longer than a standard sword.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary except for the shining blade itself, but he was already aware of that. He grimaced at the handkerchief, a little queasy at the thought of keeping it in his jacket pocket, and wondered if it was even salvageable. The sound of someone clapping behind him distracted him from his debate.
He spun with his sword raised and frowned at the man in the dark cloak who applauded him, as far as he could tell. Devol was somewhat surprised to see him as he’d thought he had run off. This close, he was able to see more detail. The stranger was dressed all in black—a long-sleeved black shirt and trousers with black boots and gloves to match his cloak and cowl. On his back was a large pack, and around his waist, a leather belt held a white gourd filled with liquid that sloshed
