In the cacophony of the battle, obscured by roaring thunderclaps and the whisper of falling rain, two swords were creating a lethal melody of steel.
Mordret knew that he was weaker than his younger sister. He was slower, too, and not nearly as resilient. He was even less skilled, perhaps.
His powers were formidable, but they were useless against her. The King of Swords had made sure of that. His soul cores had been spent on creating the Reflections, and those Reflections were being spent on holding back her army.
That army was also more powerful than the one on his side. Morgan had chosen the battlefield and lured the enemy into a trap. As a general, she had already succeeded.
But she was not only a cunning strategist. She was a brilliant warrior, too.
