As soon as they were on the tourney grounds, Fernand lunged at Edwin. Which should have been the end of this bout. The healer had no undead minions at hand and should have ended up dead. His useless mana, to Fernand at least, doing no damage.
Instead, Fernand found a dagger in his throat. He cursed and backed away. Getting that thing off was painful. The bastard Boliarin had frozen the flesh around the dagger. But with some effort, Fernand managed to get the dagger out of his throat.
His eyes narrowed then, and he used some of the blood he had consumed from the guards to mend his wound. He whistled as he looked down at the curved thing.
Harry used such things.
"Does my brother train you? Your reflexes are fast," thick fog began rolling around them. The Boliarin didn't respond to Fernand. That made his blood boil.
Who did this wannabe think he was?