by A. C. Cobble
The time for talk was up. These men were not going to settle their differences without bloodshed. They wanted it. It was the only way to answer the one question they cared about. Who was best? They were done talking. It was time to fight.
Ben swallowed nervously and adjusted his grip on his longsword. Saala and Jason were moving in time with him, the three of them easily pacing across the trimmed grass. The other two men moved with preternatural grace, their feet seeming to float over the bright green blades. Their faces were calm, their movements unhurried.
Despite the cool air, beads of sweat popped out on Ben’s forehead, and he could feel them sliding down his back. His heart hammered within his chest and his throat was dry. He forced his concentration to his footwork, looking down at his worn boots and then cursing himself and instead studying the two swordsmen in the courtyard with him.
His plan had worked. He’d gotten the two of them alone in a quiet place where they could settle things without involving the armies camped outside. All he had to do now was beat two of the best swordsmen alive, two swordsmen who had easily defeated him the last time he’d seen them. He was fairly certain he’d made riskier gambles, but he couldn’t recall when.
Suddenly, Jason sprang forward and Ben yelped. The blond, pony-tailed killer landed a dozen paces away, brandishing his longsword.
Ben stepped back, his own blade coming up, but his foot caught on a thick clump of turf. He flailed wildly, losing his sword and flopping over to land on his back. The soil was soft and damp, and he felt it soaking into his clothes while he lay on his back staring at the glowing clouds above them. It was a beautiful sunrise, and he was lying on his back in the middle of a fight to the death.
He rolled to the side and scrambled on his hands and knees to where his sword had fallen on the grass. He grabbed it and tucked into a roll, replicating his move from when he fell off the balcony. His body followed over his shoulder, and he continued the momentum until he was on one knee. He sprang to his feet, blade raised in defense.
Both Saala and Jason were staring at him, shaking their heads. Neither one had attacked or bothered to come closer to him while he was thrashing around on the ground.
The swordsmen looked from Ben to each other. Jason shrugged. Saala drew a deep breath and then flew at Jason, his new mage-wrought longsword boiling silver smoke as he swung a blindingly fast slash at the blond man’s head.
Jason parried, meeting Saala’s longsword with his own blade and easily turning the attack away from him. He swept back a counterattack, but the bald blademaster had already stepped out of reach.
Jason pressed, his weapon darting at Saala, leaving glowing yellow imprints burned in Ben’s vision as it thrust and jabbed. Saala, swinging the rogue’s old blade like he’d been using it for years, parried and retreated, his face calm and his body flowing fluidly around Jason’s strikes.
Ben’s mouth fell open as the two men battled, both of them completely ignoring him.
Against each other, the two swordsmen unleashed everything they had, all of the speed, strength, and skill that they hadn’t needed against Ben. He found he could barely follow the violent maneuvers, and only the lights from their blades gave away each subtle shift and strike.
Suddenly, Saala dropped to a squat, and his longsword flashed in a sweeping crescent at Jason’s legs. The wolf-like Jason leapt over the blade and slashed down with his own, the tip of his longsword missing Saala’s shoulder by a finger.
Jason landed lightly, but Saala continued to spin, pivoting on one leg and kicking out with the other. As he came full-circle, his extended leg crashed into the side of Jason’s, knocking the man’s legs out from under him and dumping him on the turf.
Saala’s leg tucked back under him, and he stood, his longsword, still moving, came over his shoulder and flashed above his head to where he brought it down in a sweeping arc onto Jason’s prone form.
Jason, lying on his back, crossed his own blade across his body, one hand on the hilt, the other palm-up underneath the flat of the blade.
Saala’s longsword crashed down on Jason’s, and an explosive ring of steel against steel filled the air.
Jason grunted, and Ben’s eyes grew wide. Saala’s blade was half a hand from the leader of the Coalition’s face, the razor-sharp steel a breath from splitting the man’s skull. Silver smoke drifted down, gently settling around Jason’s head.
Then, it was Saala’s turn to gasp, and he was launched backward from Jason’s booted foot kicking him in the gut. Saala fell back and rolled over his head, coming to a standing position.
Jason rocked back on his shoulders then pushed off the turf with his hands, flipping forward and landing on his feet, sword rising in front of him. Saala feinted, and Jason spun into a defensive posture. Ben stood, jaw agape, barely able to process what he’d just seen.
The men were completely ignoring him, solely focused on each other.
Jason jumped at Saala, strikes coming high in quick succession and then a brute force swing with his weight behind it. Saala met the attack, and their blades sang with fury.
Ben shook himself and stared as Jason relentlessly pursued Saala with vicious, deadly swings. Saala barely met them, but none got through. The South Continent blademaster fell back, uninjured.
They looked like they could fight all day, both of them too talented to make a mistake, but sooner or later, one would, or they would tire if Ben let them.
After seeing their full prowess, it was clear to him that he wouldn’t survive facing either man one to one. His path was obvious. He had to ensure that somehow, they both got wounded. Against one of them wounded, he might have a chance. He had to disrupt their duel and put them both off-guard.
Lightning fast clashes of blade against blade snapped him back into the moment and he saw the swirling silver sparks flying in the air from the furious slashes Saala was directing at Jason. The blademaster had turned the battle, but the Black Knife had gained a maniacal grin. He was enjoying it, and in a heartbeat, Ben saw why.
Saala pressed, swinging hard at the pony-tailed man. Jason ducked it, apparently anticipating the next blow in the sequence, and he rewarded Saala’s predictability with a thrust of his own.
Saala twisted, his body like smoke on the wind, but Ben could see he wasn’t fast enough, and the tip of Jason’s sword scored Saala’s side. Grunting, the blademaster threw himself clear, a thin streamer of blood following him as he danced away.
“First blood,” remarked Lord Jason calmly.
Saala’s only response was to raise his blade.
From his position, Ben could see it wasn’t an inconsequential wound. It wouldn’t stop Saala immediately, but it would pain him, and over time, the blood leaking from his side could be the difference in the fight. The blademaster shifted, and the two men began to circle again. Ben could see cold realization growing on Saala’s face. Jason was the better swordsman.
Ben knew what he had to do.
Tentatively, the men tested each other, Jason probing to see just how much Saala’s injury hampered him, and Saala striking to keep the Black Knife back.
Ben whispered a quiet hope and waited until the two were engaged again. Then, he charged. His mouth open in a silent battle cry, Ben raced at Lord Jason’s back. Half a dozen paces away, he pulled back to swing. He reached the combatants and launched a strike at the back of Jason’s neck.
The man ducked, and Ben’s blade whistled cleanly over his head. Jason’s glowing sword stabbed back at Ben, and with a yelp, Ben dodged out of the way.
Saala lashed an attack at Jason that was barely parried, and then Ben struck again.
Faster than his eye could follow, Jason’s blade flicked back and forth, parrying both Ben and Saala’s attacks. The man was a blur, and burning yellow patterns were emblazoned on the air in between them.
Ben, his blood pumping, the battle fury full on him, pounded blow after blow, attempting brute force to break through the maze of defense that Jason was somehow maint
aining against both him and Saala.
He could see the blademaster out of the edge of his eye on the other side of Jason, furiously attacking just as hard as Ben was. Miraculously, neither of them were able to get through. Sparkling silver smoke rose in a haze around the blademaster as he let the blade loose and unleashed its terrible power, but it didn’t seem to help.
Jason was lost in a cloud of movement, his body moving so fast, it had become indistinct. In front of him, bright, yellow lines hung suspended in the air and burned into Ben’s vision. Then, the tip of Jason’s longsword punched out, and Ben felt the steel stab into his thigh with a sharp spike of pain.
He lurched away and gasped as the yellow tendrils twisted and writhed. They weren’t just afterimages burning into his vision. The incandescent lights were hanging, suspended in the air. To Ben’s amazement, the lines formed into interlocking squares, diamonds, and other geometric shapes crackling and shimmering in front of him. They burned with light and heat. Ben’s jaw fell open as the patterns replicated those on Jason’s sword. Then, the glowing shapes began to follow him.
A three-pace by three-pace square of sizzling lines floated in the air, pursuing him as he limped backward. The light floated slowly but inexorably. Behind it, Ben could see a similar pattern moving toward Saala.
“What is this?” snapped the blademaster.
Ben heard him gasping for breath. Even his legendary stamina was flagging, or maybe he was in shock. Ben retreated from the burning yellow matrix of light. Behind the configurations, Jason didn’t respond. He merely watched as the patterns drew closer to them.
“You’re cheating!” accused Saala as he kept backing away, an arm pressed to his side. Even through the yellow glow, Ben could see the spreading stain of blood leaking down the blademaster’s ribcage to his leg.
Ben’s wound wasn’t much better. The blade hadn’t pierced deep, but he’d torn the cut wide open when he scrambled away. Warm blood was soaking his pant leg down to his boot, and it wouldn’t be long before the leather shoe filled with crimson liquid. Waiting wasn’t going to do him any good.
Ben struck, his Venmoor steel longsword sweeping out to smash the pattern in front of him. Sparks flew from the blow, and he heard an angry, electric hiss as his weapon bounced off the finger-thick lines of burning light.
He staggered back and could see a small chip in the edge of the blade. The steel was blackened around where he’d struck. It felt like he’d hit an iron fence instead of a beam of light, and his sword had done just about as much damage as it would to the fence.
Saala let the silver runes blaze bright on his sword. Then, he swung at the pattern in front of him. A horrible crackle filled the courtyard, and one of lines of light shattered in an acrid blast of smoke and sparks. The mage-wrought weapon had some ability to damage whatever it was Jason had done, Ben saw, but he knew trying to smash through the pattern with his own sword was at best a waste of time, and at worst, it would leave him with a broken stub of a blade.
Instead of attacking, he darted to the side, moving in a quick, limping shuffle. The pattern turned and followed him, but it moved with the speed of a cloud of dandelion seeds on the breeze. Even injured, Ben could outrun it.
He faked to one side and watched the pattern adjust to his movement. Then, he skirted around it, hopping fast, trying to ignore the pain in his leg each time his foot landed on the grass. Across from him, Saala was battering his pattern, smashing it to pieces, Rhys’ old longsword crushing the lines and exploding them with the sound and stench of fireworks.
Jason glanced at Ben as he rounded the defensive matrix then turned to look at Saala. The pattern was holding firm against the attack, until one powerful blow knocked it off whatever invisible tether was anchoring it. The glowing lines whipped to the side from the force of the blow, one of them spinning wildly and sweeping against Saala’s extended forearm.
Saala let out a cry of pain, and Jason chuckled at his foe’s injury.
Ben could see black smoke curling off the blademaster’s forearm where the bar of crackling energy had scalded him, and a dark line of scorched flesh trailed from elbow to wrist.
The glowing pattern had been knocked a dozen paces to the side, though, where it tilted drunkenly and floated down to the grass. Dew boiled up, and the green blades shriveled black from the contact.
Gulping, Ben edged further from the pattern near him.
A smile tugged at the corner of Jason’s lips, and he turned to face Ben.
Saala let out a soft whimper, and Ben spared him a look. The blademaster was pressing his forearms together, his blade still clutched in one hand, the other spasming in agony.
Like a streaking shadow and just as silent, Jason charged at Ben.
Ben ducked and spun, his longsword flashing up to meet Jason’s attack. He felt the blow like a giant’s hammer on his arm, and he nearly lost his sword, but he held it, and Jason passed by him as quickly as he’d struck.
Saala, grimacing in pain, attempted to take advantage of the distraction and lurched at Jason. He stabbed at the Black Knife’s side, his longsword extended in one hand, his injured arm held close.
Jason easily batted the attack away, whipped his longsword around, and sliced at Saala’s head, catching the blademaster as he leaned away from the blow.
The tip of the longsword gouged a thin cut into Saala’s bald head above his ear. A curtain of blood immediately leaked down the side of the blademaster’s face as he stumbled away. Jason moved to pursue him, but Ben attacked recklessly, knowing that if Saala were to fall, he’d be dead in a heartbeat. There was no way he could stand alone against an uninjured Lord Jason.
Jason casually knocked Ben’s blow aside, but Ben kept coming, using his weight and the side of his arm to shove Jason’s sword away. He felt the steel bite him, but it was a shallow wound as Jason didn’t have leverage to do more.
Ben closed quickly, not giving Jason a chance to react. His longsword was out of position, gripped in his right hand. Ben balled his left hand into a fist and pounded it into the side of Jason’s head. The Black Knife was stunned at the unexpected attack, and Ben bashed him again and again, three solid punches square to the side of the man’s head, the last one crashing just outside of his eye socket.
Jason spun, dragging his blade across Ben’s arm and body, the sharp edge cutting through flesh on Ben’s arm and chest. When the blade cleared, the Black Knife danced away, and Ben swung an ineffective strike to follow him, catching nothing but air.
Jason kicked back as he ducked away from Ben’s blow, and the heel of his boot caught the side of Ben’s knee, nearly knocking him sprawling on the grass. Ben stumbled, one leg injured from the earlier stab, the other almost broken from Jason’s kick.
A fresh torrent of blood poured down Ben’s arm, and he felt his grip on his longsword weakening. Helpless to stop it, he felt the heavy blade begin to slip from his numb fingers. Ben grabbed it with both hands. He tried to raise it, but his severed muscles screamed in protest.
Jason was blinking and touching his swelling left eye with his fingers. His other hand still held the mage-wrought blade, and his focus was on Ben.
Until Saala lumbered closer.
Jason heard him and tried to spin, but Saala had already thrust, and his longsword caught Jason on the hip, the blade tearing through the meat on the Black Knife’s side, bouncing off the bone. Saala smacked into the back of Jason. His wounded arm wrapped around Lord Jason’s neck, but he didn’t have the strength to tighten it.
Jason twisted, throwing an elbow behind him and catching Saala directly on the nose, shattering it with a crunch.
Saala grunting in pain, shifted, and ducked another elbow. He dropped his longsword and pulled himself tighter against the Black Knife, reaching up, gripping his bad wrist with his good hand, and yanking it hard, his arm pressed against Jason’s throat.
Jason, ignoring the wound on his hip, gripped Saala’s arm with one hand and reversed his grip on his longsword with th
e other. With that grip, he could stab it back to kill Saala, if he wasn’t throttled first.
Blood pouring from his flattened nose, Saala tugged on his wounded arm, locking it under Jason’s chin and crushing the man’s throat. In moments, the loss of air and blood to his head would render the Black Knife unconscious, but he still held his longsword.
Ben, wobbling like a newborn colt on his two injured legs, shambled toward the two men, struggling to raise his blade.
Both men knew it was the last moments alive for one of them, and they were locked into their death struggle. Ben teetered closer, and then Jason looked up, sensing his approach. The Black Knife shoved back against Saala, then dropped and twisted. The blademaster hung on, but his body pivoted toward Ben.
Ben smiled. He recognized the move, and it was obvious what he should do. He flung his sword in front of him at an angle, barely maintaining his grip on it, and then he shifted his hands to the pommel, pushing the blade as he threw it. With all of his weight behind it, he collapsed against the two combatants, blade first, and the longsword punched into flesh, sliding through Jason’s torso and then into Saala, skewering the two men and nailing them together with steel.
“Bloody hell,” muttered Saala, sticky crimson pouring from his mouth. His eyes blinked and filled with tears. He clutched Jason’s neck with the last of his fading strength.
Jason, groaning in pain, fighting back the darkness, swept back with his longsword, stabbing directly behind him and putting another pace of steel into Saala’s body.
Ben watched over Jason’s shoulder as the life faded from the blademaster’s eyes. His grip loosened, and his last words were lost in a wet gurgle of blood.