Marcus turned and stared at the spell blade standing before him. “Let me get this straight. You want to duel?” When the young man nodded, the ranger arched his left eyebrow. “Why?’
“Because I’ve beaten everybody else that I’ve challenged, and I hear you’re the best.” Rembran solemnly stated as he rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. He stared into the ranger’s brown eyes.
Why am I trying to argue against this? Marcus wondered, internally debating the reasons why this was a bad idea. “You’ve beaten Rhyslin?” If he did, I would have paid to see that bout.
The spell blade had the good sense to be humble. “It took me two hours, but I did get past his guard and score the touch.” Rembran ran his fingers through his hair. “He’s good for an old draoidh with a staff.” He chuckled. “I think I have bruises on bruises.”
Fascinated by the explanation, the ranger found himself considering a duel. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Marcus tested the waters. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a challenge.
Rembran nodded. “If I weren’t sure, I wouldn’t have asked you.” He half-raised his right hand. “Please, Marcus, I need the challenge.”
Faced with the sincerity of the request, Marcus relented. “Okay. Let’s do this thing.” Shrugging his shoulders, he marched to the center of the practice field and waited for Rembran to join him. Where most men would have drawn their swords and intimidated their opponents, Marcus just stood there, waiting.
Grinning from ear to ear, Rembran padded across the field, stopping four feet from the ranger. “Ready when you are,” he quipped, setting his kite shield across his body while drawing the long sword and raising it to high guard.
“To first touch, first blood, or knock-out?” The ranger inquired, examining the spell blade’s stance.
“First blood,” came the reply. “I told you, I need a challenge.”
“Your funeral,” Marcus said, taking one-half step back. In the flash of an eye, his longsword leaped from the sheath in what was called Raven’s wing. In a blink, Raven’s wing became Crane, dipping to the ground, the sword going from chest height to ground level and coming up under the shield.
The object was to thrust the shield up for a disemboweling blow or would have if the spell blade hadn’t dropped the shield a hand width and brushed Marcus’s sword to the left.
Undeterred, Marcus gave a half-turn, bringing his color-shifting cloak up in foggy cloud using it to hide his next move as he seemed to vanish into the shadows.
Finally, I get to see that move, Rembran thought to himself as he slowly turned, catching the light on his blade and releasing it. “Prisma erupit.” Light of all wavelengths erupted from the blade, circling him to dispel the shadows.
It worked, but not like Rembran expected, and Marcus stepped out of the shadows behind him, raising his sword to catches lightening, raised straight overhead, then slashing down in razor’s whisper. His feet moved silently in sneaking tiger, barely leaving an impression on the ground.
Rembran, sensing the descending blade, threw himself into a forward roll, and came back up, turning to face the ranger. “You are good.” It was the closest he would come to a compliment until the end of the bout.
Marcus flashed him a half-grin, enjoying the duel. “You’re not half-bad yourself.” With a slight flourish, the blade moved to Thresh the field pointed straight out to his side. “Let’s see what you do about this,” he smirked as his right hand drew a rune in the air. Behind the spell blade, one of the vines started snaking toward his right foot.
What the ifrinn? The spell blade wondered as felt something incircle his ankle and tug him off-balance. Acting on pure instinct, he brought the sword down, slicing through the vine and taking his eyes off Marcus for a split second.
Gotcha, Marcus gloated as thresh the field became Kingfisher’s claw, the blade swinging inwards and lunging toward the opening provided by the distraction.
“You’re going to have to work harder than that,” Rembran muttered as he dropped to one knee and brought the shield up to block the lunge. “This has been fun.” He commented as he brushed the lunge to one side and pointed his blade at the now-open ranger. “Tonitruum percutiens.”
Too late, Marcus realized what was about to happen and could only brace himself as a lightning bolt arched out from the blade and crossed the intervening space, hitting the ranger in the chest. “By Nikal, that hurts!” He grunted as he fell to one knee. When he was able to draw a breath, he looked up at the spell blade. “You win. I yield the field.”
Rembran slowly rose to his feet and extended a hand to the ranger. “Thank you for the bout. It was instructive.”
“It was my pleasure,” Marcus replied as he accepted the hand and pulled himself to his feet.
This action reads very nicely. The conversation between Marcus and Rembran has that flow of familiarity to it, creating a nice, slow buildup to the snappy paced action of the duel itself. Highly enjoyable read!
Good writing!