Blood in the Water

“Now, which one of ye would be itchin’ to match us?” The rogue Bloodwielder smiled, eying each of the members of the party in turn. “Come on, don’t be shy.”

Vixin was as wary as a cornered cat, his hand itching to draw his Bloodblade and cut this man to ribbons. As much as he desired it, however, he did nothing. He did not want to risk his king or his friend. He wasn’t a killer anymore.

“Come now, sir.” Gestarin said slowly, obviously hoping to pacify the man. “You are a Bloodwielder, so obviously you are noble. What is your house?”

“Now, that isn’t any of your business, now is it?” The Rogue growled, his face darkening. He swung the Falconeyes menacingly around in a circle, his irritation growing by the second. “What is your business is that I’m here to duel ye, and I don’t have time for idle words.” He pointed his swords at the men. “Which one of ye would like to go first?”

“I think we’d rather not, friend.” Vixin snarled, bringing his horse forward to the man. To his dismay, the Falconeye did not budge a single inch, but held his ground with an angry expression.

“I don’t really give a rat’s arse about what you want, friend.” The man barked in anger. “I just want your Bloodblades, and I don’t really care whether you give them to me or I take them from your cold rotting corpses.”

“I rather like that approach, myself.” The man wielding the axe said with a grin. “More fun for me.”

“Shut up, Birin.” The man with the mace growled. “There’s no reason to say anything, and you’re only going to make a fool out of yourself.”

“Both of you!” The Bloodwielder bellowed. “Shut your mouths!” The men did so, though a significant amount of grumbling could be heard. The Bloodwielder sighed and turned back to the party, fatigue showing in his face. “Here’s what I’ve decided. There’s no need for everybody to die here. I myself abhor unnecessary bloodshed, and I’m pretty sure you all want to keep your necks.”

“Very much so.” Gestarin agreed.

“Alright, this is what we’re going to do.” The man said, pointing at each man in turn. “One of you is going to duel me. I don’t care who, but one of you is. He wins,” The man held up his Bloodblades and shrugged. “We go our separate ways. I win,” He grinned maliciously. “And you boys will have to find yourselves some new weapons. Is it a deal?”

Vixin and Gestarin looked at each other for a moment before wheeling their horses next to each other. They leaned in close so their conversation would not be overheard.

“Your majesty,” Vixin said resolutely. “I respectfully request that you do not participate in this. It is too dangerous for your life.”

“Only a Falconeye can fight another Falconeye, Vixin.” Gestarin sighed. “I am the only one who can match him.”

“But what if something were to happen to you?” Vixin said. “Your wife would murder me for letting you do something as reckless as this.” He nodded at the Falconeye. “At least this way, I have a chance of surviving.”

“Absolutely out of the question.” Gestarin insisted. “You are the only man I can trust, Vixin. I will not allow you to throw your life away so that I can survive amidst the Council of Blood.”

“You seem to assume that I will lose, your majesty.” Vixin noted. “Do you have so little faith in my mastery of the Blade?”

“You appear to have the same small amount of faith in mine, Viceroy.” Gestarin shot back. “Falconeyes are extremely difficult to master. I highly doubt this ruffian would have learnt his to the same level that I have.”

The two men continued bickering, and so they failed to notice Efstany walk quietly up to the Falconeye, never wavering an inch. He stood close to the man, eyes fixed upon his opponents.

“Would you accept me, my lord?” Efstany said in his quiet, intense manner. “I am no blademaster, but I have a fair hand with a sword.” Vixin and Gestarin whirled around in astonishment, gaping at Efstany.

“Are you joking?” The Falconeye scoffed, eying Efstany up and down. “You’re probably the type that couldn’t kill a fly. What makes you think that you could take me on?”

“My oath to the king requires it of me.” Efstany insisted, and the man burst into helpless laughter.

“Well, as long as your king gives his consent, I suppose I could fulfill your death wish.” The Falconeye said between chuckles.

Efstany turned his head back to Gestarin, who readied a command to abstain. The moment it was to leave his lips, however, something stalled it in the back of his throat. Efstany’s eyes, which had been empty and dull before, were now filled with a fire and intensity that Gestarin had never seen in any other man. Something about this choice was right, he concluded, and so, reluctantly, he nodded.

“That’s interesting.” The Falconeye mused. “I thought the king would have had a little more respect for his servant’s life. Ah, well.” He looked intently at Efstany. “Are you in need of a weapon?”

Efstany shook his head. “I have my own.”

“Well, let’s see it then.” The Falconeye said slowly, obviously intrigued.

Efstany took a deep breath, the air rasping into his lungs, and he lifted the sleeve of his billowing white shirt slightly. The spike on his left wrist raised out of the skin at his command, and Efstany drew the Blade slowly and methodically. The blood that flowed out his veins was darker than normal, nearly black in the waning light of the day. It spiraled out of his wrist and coalesced into a long, thin Blade that resembled a large needle. Wolfsbane.

The Falconeye suddenly grew wary, eyes narrowing as he realized that this fight might not be as easy as he thought. Efstany made no reaction to the man’s caution, but he simply stood with his knees bent, waiting. His right hand held the blade aloft, nearly parallel to the ground, as his left hand was raised behind him. He stood in the Way of the Fox, and he waited for his opponent to attack.

It was not long before he did.

With a bellow, the Falconeye rushed forward to attack Efstany, swinging his left Blade in a long arc aimed for Efstany’s head. Efstany parried almost nonchalantly, even bored. His hand barely moved, but the placement of his Blade caused the opposing Blade to slide off into the open air, connecting with nothing. The familiar sound of a heartbeat resounded as the Blades met. The Falconeye attempted to follow up with an attack from the right, but Efstany parried it with the same move and even the same emotion.

“Kill him, Wilir!” Birin, the man with the axe, said. “What are you waiting for?”

Wilir, the Falconeye, grimaced, but he renewed his attacks with a barbaric intensity. Efstany didn’t care; he barely even moved. He allowed Wilir to attack him as the waves attack a cliff, and he moved almost the same amount the cliff would. He was an immovable wall that Wilir could not penetrate, no matter how many blows he threw against it. Eventually, Wilir drew back, panting and gasping as he tried desperately to heave air into his exhausted lungs.

“Come on!” He screamed between breaths, his face red from exertion and frustration. “Coward!”

“Cowardice is not failing to attack.” Efstany replied simply. “If anything, I should be called wise. For indeed, you are going to die, and you have not even scratched me.”

Wilir roared an incredible battle cry, the sound surely tearing his vocal chords to pieces. Indeed, it should have nearly incapacitated Efstany because of the enhanced hearing Wolfsbane granted him; yet, like always, he was unshaken. Wilir seemed frightened himself at the small amount of damage his myriad of attacks were causing. He leapt toward Efstany with a renewed vigor that would have put terror in the heart of the bravest man.

Faster than anything Vixin had ever seen, Efstany ducked underneath Wilir’s blades and  began to press the attack on the Falconeye. Wilir parried and blocked with speed unnatural in any human, but still he began to lose his edge. The battle quickly began to turn to Efstany’s favor as his thin Blade whipped through the air. It was only the advantage of wielding two Blades that kept Wilir from being torn to pieces.

Vixin and Gestarin watched in rapt attention, jaws threatening to hit the dusty road. Gestarin didn’t know which fact was more astonishing: the fact that Efstany was a Bloodwielder, or the fact that he was winning. As their Blades flashed and spun, blood pounded in Gestarin’s ears, and he couldn’t tell if it was from his own heart or from the Bloodblades colliding like the buzzing of bees.

Suddenly, incredibly, imperceptibly, Efstany’s Blade sped towards Wilir’s stomach in a thrust that blurred through the air. Wilir attempted to block with his right Blade and attack with his right; however, at the last second, Efstany altered the course of his Blade and pierced Wilir directly through the heart. The blood of Efstany’s Blade combined with the blood of his enemy as the life went out of him and he slumped to the ground. His blade liquified, and the blood of his Blade and his own began to pool in the dirt.

Birin and the other man gaped with open mouths at the sight of their dead leader, their hands shaking and eyes wide. They looked at Efstany, who stood without a scratch a few feet away. They slowly put their weapons on the ground and fled, their legs pumping as fast as they could. Efstany simply nodded and sheathed his Blade, turning back to Vixin and Gestarin, whose jaws had finally crashed to the floor.

The chorus of a thousand silver trumpets shattered the air, and Gestarin greatly had to resist clapping his hands over his ears. Vixin and even Efstany to some extent were bothered by the noise, and they spun their heads around wildly to see the source of the sound.

As they watched, a platoon of armored Var trotted over a rise, their blood-red armor glinting in the twilight of the rising sun. They rode thunderously and parted down the center on either side of Gestarin’s party, surrounding them in a large ring.. A single man, dressed in gold armor instead of crimson, rode up to the king and dismounted. He walked over to the fallen body of Wilir and knelt down to examine it. So fast that Vixin almost missed it, he pocketed the hilt of Wilir’s Bloodblade before turning around.

“What an interesting turn of events.” The armored Var mused. His voice was foreign, exotic, a voice that would have sounded better on a snake than a man. He raised his faceplate so that his voice could be better heard. “A king stands aside as his servant fights his battles. Perhaps my emperor should begin to use this tactic, if its returns are so great.”

Gestarin dismounted himself and walked up to the golden knight. “Who are you, sir?” He looked around at the Var. “I thought that noblemen were courteous enough in Junar to give their names before robbing men blind.”

The golden man laughed ruefully. “You openly mock our country, King Gestarin, and yet you expect courtesy.”

“It isn’t mockery, sir, if I speak the truth.” Gestarin said darkly. “Now, what is your name?”

The golden man bowed. “My name is General Zijiiku, your majesty.” He turned and gestured to the Var all around them. “I am the commander of Emperor Kiijal’s honor guard, and I am here to escort you to the imperial palace.”

“We thank you, General, but that won’t be necessary.” Gestarin said shortly. “We can find our own way to the palace.”

“Oh, but, your majesty.” Zijiiku hissed. “This is not a request, or a gift that you cannot accept. We are here to take you to the emperor’s palace, and you will join us.” Gestarin looked around angrily at the Var surrounding them, and he decided it would be better not to argue.

“Fine.” He barked. “Lead on.