David Farland - The Wyrmling Horde

She stopped her rambling, focused on the question. "In both worlds, I am old enough to make my own decisions in life."

"Then I hope you know what you re doing," the emir whispered. "This is dangerous. I won t hold back. For my people s sake, I can t hold back." It was not an idle threat. The Emir Tuul Ra knew that he was the finest warrior of his generation.

Talon gave him a wolfish smile of her own. "I can take the best that you ve got-and more."

The emir sighed. He didn t want to fight her, but neither could he refuse the challenge.

In part he did not want to fight her because Talon was the daughter of a friend. And she was young, too young to know what she was doing.

But more important, he had just been in a council meeting attended by Glories. There had been a sweetness in the room, a feeling of inner cleanliness, so profound that it had made him want to weep.

It made him want to be like them. He wanted to feel holy, to carry his own inner peace with him.

How could I bear it, he wondered, if I were to take the life of this girl?

Yet he knew that he was the best warrior for the job. The life of a friend and comrade hung in the balance. He could not spare the girl, for to do so would put his friend, and the future of his people, in jeopardy.

"I have no choice but to accept your challenge," Tuul Ra said.

It was raining when they exited the cave. The thunder that had shaken the sky earlier was gone, but the emir could hear it growling on the horizon. The skies were so leaden gray that it seemed that it was night, and rain was falling in sheets out on the grasslands.

But the magnificent pine of the netherworld held the storm at bay. A few great dirty drops splashed from the limbs of the tree, but it shed most of the water well beyond where they stood. The storm s only effect was to make a rushing sound as the wind tore through the pine boughs, and the treetops swayed under its onslaught.

Talon followed the emir onto their battleground, out at the far edges of the tree, where the light would be better. Pine needles and twigs lay thick all around, creating a soft carpet that crackled underfoot. The emir reached down with a toe and dug a large circle in the ground, roughly forty feet in diameter.

"To cross this line is to admit defeat," he said.

Talon nodded in understanding. As the challenger in this duel, she was forced to ask, "Choose your weapon!"

Choose the sword, he thought. It would be the gentlemanly thing to do. A bastard sword would be perfect for her, both in weight and size. He wanted to give her that much advantage. But a skilled warrior would recognize what he d done.

"Wyrmling battle-ax," he said. It was a heavy weapon-almost too heavy for a human to use. But it was a favorite of wyrmling warriors, and no doubt, if the girl hoped to enter the wyrmling keep, she d have to show that she could deflect a blow.

The weapons were brought forward, and Talon regarded them in silence.

The wyrmling ax was not a weapon to be trifled with, nor was it easily controlled. If the emir took a swing, he realized, he could not pull back.

Talon would either have to block it or dodge it-or get sliced in two.

They took their axes, heavy things with double blades. Each weighed roughly thirty pounds. They were made for lopping off heads and arms.

The emir felt the edge of his blade. It was filled with nicks and had grown dull. There was blood on it. This was not a weapon human-made. Someone had taken it as a trophy of war, won it at the battle at Cantular.

If Talon got hit, her death would not be pretty.

If he got hit, his death would not be easy.

I cannot win this battle by slaughter, he suddenly realized. If the girl defeated him, no one would grant him endowments. And if he killed her, the horror of the spectacle would turn the people against him.

The only way to win, he realized, is to throw her from the arena.

One of the warlords stepped forward and drew a line at the center of the circle. The warriors faced each other, one on each side of the line.

The warlord held a coin in the air. When he let it drop, the battle would begin.

The emir studied Talon for a moment, eyeing the way that she held her ax. There were numerous fighting styles with the ax. Some men might hold it near the end of the handle, and take large, sweeping strokes, relying upon the weight of the weapon to do its damage. Such men were dangerous on the attack, but left themselves vulnerable.

Other men sought to balance the ax. They might block a blow with their axhead, hoping to ruin an attacker s weapon in the act. Or they could reverse the ax and use its handle to stab quickly.

A man who was quick with his hands could adjust his grip from one second to the next, using a number of tactics.

Talon held her ax with both hands, keeping it firmly balanced, unwilling to give away her battle tactics.

The emir spun his ax in one hand, limbering his muscles.

"Talon," the emir said. "I don t want your blood on my hands. There is still time to withdraw-with honor. I beg you to do so."

"If I m willing to risk my life against wyrmlings," Talon said, "I ll risk it against you. It makes little difference where I die."

The emir nodded his agreement, and Talon added for good measure, "If it is any consolation, I don t want your blood on my hands, either. I urge you to withdraw. If you don t… well, one of us won t be going home for dinner."

The warlord looked each of them in the eye in preparation for the battle.

The Emir Tuul Ra thought, There is no room for error with these weapons. I can t just look good, I must be good.

The warlord dropped his coin, and both combatants instantly sprang back a step, giving the warlord time to break clear of the battlefield.

Talon stood perfectly still, conserving her energy, sizing up the emir. She did not want to reveal her tactics, or her repertoire of skills, too early in the battle.

The emir took his battle-ax and began stalking around the circle, twirling it in one hand, ready to lunge in and swing.

After an instant, he paused, stood with his ax lowered at his side, and offered, "Ladies first."

Talon couldn t resist.

She twirled her own ax, not as a demonstration of her prowess, but in the "Circle of Steel" style-which lent itself to defense but could swiftly turn into an attack.

Then she exploded for the kill. She raced in, her eyes pinned to the emir s, watching in order to anticipate his next move. She raised her own ax slightly, as if she would go for the throat, then dropped beneath his guard, rolling as she swept past his feet.

The crowd erupted into shouts of astonishment at her speed, and she nearly took his leg off with her first swing, but her ax met only empty air.

The emir leapt so high that he nearly seemed to take flight.

Many in the crowd gasped in astonishment, for though they had heard rumors of his prowess in battle, they had not all seen him in action.

He came down, his own ax slamming toward her.

His heart was filled with regret, for he knew that it was a killing blow.

Talon waited until he was committed to the attack, and the last instant planted the handle of her own ax firmly into the ground with the head of the ax up high.

She caught the head of his ax on her own.

His blade shattered; sparks and shards of steel flew out. One hit Talon in the throat, and instantly blood coursed down her neck.

But he didn t give her time to recover; the emir reversed his axhead so that he came at her with a fresh blade, and struck again.

Talon leaned away, and the emir s blade narrowly missed her foot.

With one ax blade broken, the emir s weapon would no longer be balanced. It meant that his swings would require more energy to control, but were also more likely to go awry. It was a dubious advantage.