Алексей Пехов - Shadow Chaser

Neither of the warriors wore any armor—no armor was allowed at the court of the goddess. Lamplighter was a master of the long sword, and so was Meilo, so the duel would be fought until one of them made his first serious mistake. One good blow from a blade like that is enough to dispatch any opponent straight to the light.

Lamplighter had a black ribbon round his forehead to hold back his long hair and prevent any sweat running down into his eyes. He casually set down his sword with the point on the ground, holding the crosspiece lightly with his fingers.

Meilo glared fiercely at his opponent. Mumr replied with an indifferent glance. He looked as if he had come out for a morning stroll, not for combat. Beside Trug, Lamplighter looked skinny and puny. In his hands the bidenhander seemed absurdly huge and heavy.

“Are you ready?” Algert Dalli’s voice rang out above the arena.

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

“Challenger, do you still wish to dispute this right of ownership for your lord?”

“Yes,” Meilo Trug replied, nodding firmly.

“The trial will conclude…”

“In death,” Meilo continued.

“So be it,” Algert Dalli announced, and nodded, thoughtfully twirling his beloved knife between his fingers. “By steel, fire, blood, and the will of the gods, I declare that Sagra is looking down on you, and she will decide who is right and worthy!”

I have already told you that the sword is not my weapon. Apart from the crossbow, the only weapon I have more or less managed to master is the knife. For was a great specialist in matters of swordsmanship and he tried to teach me, but after a few lessons even he gave up.

The only benefit I did get from those painful exercises with a wooden stick was a superficial knowledge of stances and the names of the various strokes. That was as far as my knowledge of swordsmanship, and my skill in it, goes. But I am grateful to my old teacher; when I see guards fencing in a castle courtyard or warriors at a tournament, I can at least understand why one man covers himself with his sword this way and another thrusts that way.

Meanwhile, a priest of Sagra, dressed in chain mail and wool, like all the soldiers of the Border Kingdom, walked out into the arena where judgment would be given. He drew his sword from its scabbard, thrust it into the ground between the two opponents who were standing facing each other, and started reciting a prayer, calling on the goddess of war and death to bear witness to this duel, punish the guilty party, and protect the righteous. Meilo did not move, and Lamplighter, cradling his sword in the crook of his left arm, slowly chewed on the straw that had brought him to this place.

“Oh, mother!” squeaked Kli-Kli, who was standing beside me, and at that very second the priest pulled up his sword, took a long step back, and said:

“Begin!”

Neither of the warriors began until the priest had left the arena. And all the time Meilo kept eyes his fixed fiercely on Lamplighter, who gazed idly at a spot that only he could see, somewhere up above his enemy’s head.

After six long heartbeats, Meilo gave a menacing growl and attacked first.

He took a sweeping stride forward, at the same time setting his left hand on the long handle of his sword, and the bidenhander flew off his shoulder as lightly as a feather. Meilo added speed to the sword’s flight by twisting his body, and struck a terrible blow, lunging at the chest.

As soon as Meilo started to move, the Wild Heart defied my expectations by stepping toward his opponent. I think I gasped, expecting the flying blade to slice him in half, but the Wild Heart’s huge bidenhander, which only a second earlier had been cradled in his arm like a sleeping baby, suddenly awoke and blocked his enemy’s thrust.

Cla-ang! The sound echoed round the courtyard, and the count’s servants took a step back.

Lamplighter grunted and attacked his opponent’s unprotected flank. And this time Meilo surprised me—he moved almost right up to Mumr and turned his back on the flashing sword.

The crowd gasped out loud.

Meilo flung his weapon behind him and caught the thrust of Mumr’s sword on the flat of the blade. Cla-ang!

Without pausing for a moment, Meilo completed his turn; his sword flew out from behind his back and started to descend, threatening to chop off his opponent’s hands. Lamplighter deftly covered himself by thrusting the point of his blade at the other man’s face, countered the blow, and immediately pushed his sword farther forward. My eyes were not fast enough to follow what was happening in the arena. The huge swords flashed to and fro like demented moths, whistling through the air and colliding with a loud crash, parting and then clashing again. At times all the opponents’ movements fused into a single blur, and I could only tell that they were both still alive a few seconds later, when an attack from one of the swordsmen ran into a block.

“Phew-ew-ew!” Clang! Clang! “Phew-ew!”

“Aaah! Ooh! Oh!” the crowd sang in response to every stroke and every thrust.

Meilo began spinning like a top again and swung hard, putting his very soul into the blow. Mumr jumped back and dropped the hilt of his sword down low, so that the blade rose up vertically, and Meilo’s blow ran into a wall of steel.

Cla-ang!

The swords wove cobwebs in the air, spinning round in a glittering blizzard of steel, striking against each other, soaring upward and threatening to wound the very sky and then descending, dreaming of slicing through the earth. The two warriors were not fighting, they were dancing, dicing with death, and their own lives were the stakes. Meilo’s sword leapt high in the air, as if it were alive; Lamplighter dashed into the breach that opened up and tried to strike home.

But he could not …

Balistan Pargaid had certainly not wasted his money on this servant. Meilo stepped back quickly, while continuing the movement of his sword, and now Mumr’s bidenhander went flying upward, allowing his opponent to strike.

Lamplighter squatted down and caught the blow almost on the crosspiece of his sword. Then he straightened up sharply and thrust his hilt hard forward. Meilo’s sword very nearly struck its master in the face, the attack was so unexpected. To avoid the deflected stroke, the villain recoiled and started backing away as Mumr came at him.

Only a few minutes had passed since the beginning of the duel, but the faces of the two warriors were already gleaming with sweat.

Balistan’s dog had been seriously startled by the sudden assault and now that Lamplighter had almost sent him to join his fathers, he was watching him with more caution and respect, noting every movement, no matter how small.

“It’s time to kill him,” Hallas growled. “You can’t wave those wagon shafts around for very long.”

The gnome was right. The immensely heavy swords might be flying around like feathers now, but fatigue would come sooner or later, and then the one who was more tired would lose.

Cla-a-ang!

With a pitiful groan, the swords came together in a fleeting kiss and immediately leapt apart again.

And then there were more lacy cobwebs woven in the air, creating a beautiful, glittering pattern that had to end in death.

Meilo jumped at Mumr, grunting as he struck blow after blow, pressing him back.

“Ha-a-a!”

Cla-ang!

“Ha-a-a!”

Cla-ang!

“Ha-a-a!”

Cla-ang!

Meilo’s final blow was especially powerful. Lamplighter’s sword flew upward, opening up a breach, and his enemy instantly struck at his unprotected head. Mumr pushed his sword forward, and the two blades froze in the air, with each opponent pressing against the other’s sword, trying to force it back into his face.