Empire of Ashes

Chapter LXXXVII - Sword Song

Double update, lads!

Yes, it is time. Find a comfortable corner. Fetch the popcorn. You've been super patient with all the build-up (if it's any consolation I was probably more frustrated having to write it all). The phrase 'it's killing me' had been bandied about in the comment section. We will now get to see who else it will be killing :)

They had to get dangerously close to retrieve their swords. They were of a height, I noticed, although Tem was built heavily for the battlefield and the king was lithe for back alley duels. It was hard to tell which would give the advantage here.

As they pulled their swords free, there was a heartbeat when I thought they might swing at each other there and then, but common sense won out. Each man retreated a few paces and took up a guarded stance. Careless as he had been with me, the king was treading carefully now. He kept his sword up and his eyes fixed on his opponent.

Tem stood facing into the rising sun, which seemed like a really stupid idea until I realised that he had put Cambria at his back. The king was only too happy to claim the shady side of the lawn, and so he had a distinct advantage before their blades had even crossed.

Injured and half-blind. It was almost like Tem was asking for a sword in the gut.

He held his sword with both hands. His right was higher for the finer control, and his left was around the pommel to provide the force. It was a dangerous thing to do — one misjudged parry and he would do some serious damage to the broken hand. It would likely never heal properly. If he survived this, he would be fighting with his left for the rest of his life.

The two men didn't bother with the slow, careful circling that began most fights. They simply closed the distance and let their blades meet in a spray of sparks. The first few blows were almost too fast to follow, and the noise was nearly deafening, because neither of them were holding anything back.

Tem was the first to step back, and the king followed him, pressing his advantage. He slashed and stabbed and swung, and Tem turned every single attack, but I could already see him starting to flag. The sheer number of blows ... and the unrelenting force behind them... His broken wrist must have been on fire.

His parries began to slow. He didn't bother counter-attacking even when there was a clear invitation to do so. I did wonder if he was baiting, but the sheen of sweat on his forehead looked real enough, and when one of the king's blows nicked his thigh before it could be turned, I wasn't so sure.

It was in the aftermath of that colossal swing that the king stepped back and flicked his sword from his right hand to his left. The next slash came from the wrong direction, angled sharply upwards, and Tem didn't even try to catch it. He just threw his entire body backwards, and the sword tip whistled past his throat.

The king let him regain his balance. He seemed ... uncertain. Doubtless he was accustomed to the switch drawing blood at the very least, and he wasn't sure why it hadn't worked. Maybe a little part of his brain was beginning to realise that he had been betrayed. Maybe he thought Tem was bluffing, too. Or, maybe, just maybe, the Saccharine was starting to dull his reflexes.

They reengaged with more caution. The king was attacking one heartbeat and withdrawing the next, testing the waters, but Tem would only defend himself. There was a rhythm to the fight now, a sense of predictability, if only because neither of them were willing to take any risks today.

Every so often, I would risk a glance at Melia to see if she was doing anything, but she just stood there, hugging herself to ward off the cold. Beside her, Anlai was scowling and Fendur's dark eyes were wide. It was not going well, then — that was not my imagination.