John Betancourt - Chaos and Amber

“Oh?” He set his hands on his hips and looked me over with contempt. “I find that difficult to believe.”

“Oh, it's true. Why, just this morning a friend told me how much she once admired you.”

“Just so.” He smirked and looked over his shoulders at his friends. “A woman I've cast off has made her way to you.”

His friends chuckled.

I folded my arms. “Her name was Rhalla.”

“I don't remember her,” Ulyanash sneered as he walked in a circle around Aber and me. I pivoted on my right foot, keeping us face to face. “Shows how good she is in bed.”

Once more his friends laughed.

“Actually,” I said, “her complaints were all about your skills in bed. And… certain other areas, where you don't measure up.”

He threw back his head and laughed.

“So, Oberon thinks himself a quick wit. The one great hope for that pitiful House Barimen—”

“Lord Dworkin,” I said. “I believe his titles are older and more respected than your own, few though they are.”

Ulyanash's face hardened suddenly. Apparently he wasn't used to being insulted.

“You are playing a dangerous game,” he said. “Want to raise the wager?”

Aber dropped his voice to a whisper:

“Ignore him. He's looking for a duel.”

“Then,” I said, as I looked Ulyanash up and down with a dismissive glance, “he's welcome to have one!”

Ulyanash's followers formed a circle around us. A hush fell over the party guests. They began hurrying toward our side. I spotted Aunt Lan, looking down and wringing her hands, atop a floating stone three stories above us. She motioned frantically for us to stop. I ignored her.

“Time and place?” I asked. If I let him pick them, I would have choice of weapons… and the advantage, as I saw it.

“Here,” Ulyanash said smugly. “Now.” With one hand he reached out to the side and plucked from the air some sort of three-clawed weapon, the like of which I had never seen before. “Your trisp and fandon?”

Aber looked at me. “You've never used a trisp,” he said. I remembered our earlier conversation—people fought with them while standing on moving stones? “It's that blade he's holding. It extends magically outward, like rays of light—but sharp, and you control the length at the grip.”

I didn't like the sound of it. “And a fandan?”

“Like a shield, kind of. You use it to parry the trisp, but you can attack with its edges as well.”

Since I had never trained using them—or even seen them used before—I knew I couldn't accept them as our weapons. If I did, I wouldn't last ten seconds.

“No,” I said loudly to Ulyanash.

“What do you mean—no?” Ulyanash demanded.

“It's my choice of weapons. I'm unfamiliar with these, so I choose knives.”

“Knives!” He sneered. “What are we, children?”

“If you're afraid…” I shrugged and half turned away, playing to our audience. “A simple apology will do.” A titter came from the crowd around us.

He hesitated, glancing uncertainly at the faces around us.

“Very well,” he said, trying to sound more certain. “It does not matter. I am equally adept at all weapons. Your fate is assured, son of Dworkin, whether you fight me with toys or a man's weapon.”

I took off the swordbelt Aber had given me and passed it to my brother.

“Why not use swords?” Aber asked me softly. “This one is enchanted. It would help you…”

“I remember,” I replied in a low voice. “And if I won with it, everyone will say it was the blade and not me. Forget magic. When I kill him, everyone will know it was the strength of my arm and the keenness of my eye.”

Everyone moved back a few feet, forming a ring around us. Ulyanash untied his cloak, threw it to one of his friends, then unlaced his collar and pulled his shirt off. His chest was narrow and bony, covered with a fine silken white hair.

I too stripped to the waist and stretched the kinks from my muscles. There would be no chance of our blades catching in clothing.

On the surface, judging by our appearances, it looked like an uneven match—with me the likely winner.

Aber, using the Logrus, produced a mahogany box with a glass lid. It contained a set of matched dueling knives. He opened the lid and gave first choice to my opponent. Ulyanash picked up both blades, hefting them, examining them, before finally selecting one. He put the other one back. Aber turned to me, and I accepted it.

About seven inches long, its blade had been etched with intricate designs of dragons. Its handle, wrapped in strips of black leather, fit my hand perfectly. I noticed that Ulyanash had to adjust his own grip several times trying to get comfortable with it.

Aber grinned, watching Ulyanash fumble with his weapon, and I realized he had chosen these knives specifically for our duel. They fit my larger hands, not my opponent's.

“Begin!” Aber said, snapping the box shut and stepping back into the circle of watchers.

We squared off against each other, and then Ulyanash's face and body rippled and began to change, muscles and bristled spikes popping out all over his skin. He seemed to grow several feet taller and several hundred pounds heavier, until the knife looked like a toy in his hand. He could have crushed me just by falling on me.

I gulped. I hadn't planned on magical tricks. Somehow, this fight no longer seemed like such a good idea.

I glanced at my brother desperately, hoping shape-shifting might be illegal, but he made no objections. Like everyone else in the crowd, his eyes were fixed on Ulyanash. Everyone seemed to be watching him, waiting for him to make his move against me. They thought he would win handily.

Not without a struggle, though. Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward and made a tentative slash at his right shoulder, feeling him out.

He ducked and thrust, and our blades locking together for an instant. Then, with a surge of powerful muscles, he threw me back. I skidded ten feet and almost fell. Breathing lightly, I regained my balance and moved forward once more.

He had me on strength, that much was clear. What about speed, though?

I circled, parrying a couple of his jabs, then tried darting forward. A dive and a quick roll took me under his guard. He looked startled as I came up under his left side. As he whirled—too late!—I rolled again, left, keeping low and fast.

He tried to stomp on my arm, missed, and teetered for a second, off-balance. I saw my chance.

With a lightning thrust, I stabbed upwards and nicked his forearm—unfortunately, not the one that held the knife. A narrow ribbon of blood spun out and upward, toward the ceiling. It spattered watchers on the floating stones above.

I rolled again and came up on the balls of my feet, poised to strike.

“First blood!” Aber called, stepping forward. “Are you satisfied, Oberon?”

I gave a quick nod. “Yes.” The sooner this duel ended, the better as far as I was concerned.

“What about you, Ulyanash?”

“No,” he snarled.

A startled murmur went up from the crowd. Clearly they had expected him to yield. Unfortunately, this was personal for him—not only had he made himself my enemy, I had humiliated him by drawing first blood. Pride wouldn't let him end the battle here.

“Then—continue!” Aber backed away.

Once more Ulyanash and I circled. He moved more slowly and cautiously this time. My taking first blood had done a little good—it had unnerved him. I would have to use that to my advantage.

I tried to close, and this time he danced back, slashing hard. He just missed my face; I felt the wind of his blade scarcely a finger's width from my cheek.

Careful, careful. Pressing forward, I worked to the left, making him turn. That seemed to be his weaker side; I noticed a slight hesitation every time I thrust toward his left cheek. Maybe he had a little trouble seeing with his left eye?