Bael was oblivious of the silent circle of watching warriors. He locked gazes with the young Rigante, seeing no fear in the other’s dark eyes. The left side of Kaelin’s face was drenched with blood from the cut to his cheek, his oiled doeskin shirt heavily stained with crimson.
Despite his initial outburst about killing the southerner Bael had always intended merely to wound his opponent, then spare him. He had been impressed by Kaelin’s acceptance of the invitation, and doubly impressed by the gracious apology he had offered at the feast. He had believed it would be easy to defeat an untrained youngster. A swift lesson in swordplay, a few cuts for good measure, and the matter would be resolved.
Not so now. This man, he knew, would fight on with any but the most mortal of wounds. Their swords clashed again as Kaelin moved in. He left no opening for a counter-attack, and Bael battled furiously, always on his back foot, to prevent Kaelin’s sword from breaching his defences. His arm was beginning to burn with fatigue, the sword seeming to have magically gained twice its weight. It was no different for the southerner, he noted, as they pulled away and circled once more.
‘Finish him, Bael!’ came a cry from the crowd. He recognized the voice of Wullis Swainham. It created a discordant moment, and Bael could feel the unease in the warriors forming the circle.
Ignoring the cry Bael tried to gather his strength for another assault. With luck he might be able to roll his blade and make a cut to Kaelin’s bicep, forcing him to drop his weapon. But Bael hesitated. Such a cut would surely cripple him for life! You can no longer afford to think of such niceties, he warned himself. One mistake and he will kill you.
Sweat dripped into his eyes. He wiped it away with his sleeve, smearing blood to his face.
In that moment Kaelin attacked. Bael’s sword came up, but he was off balance, and barely deflected the sudden lunge. Kaelin’s sword thrust past his defences, hammering into his bronze belt buckle. It did not penetrate, but the force of the blow sent Bael staggering back. Kaelin stumbled. Bael struck him in the head with the fist guard of his sword. The southerner fell heavily. Bael tried to follow in, but Kaelin rolled to his knees, then surged up to meet him.
Once more their swords crashed together, and Kaelin’s blade broke, shearing off just above the hilt.
A gasp went up from the crowd. Defenceless now, Kaelin stood his ground. Bael glanced down at the shattered blade on the churned ground. Then he looked into Kaelin’s eyes. Even now there was no fear. Bael smiled. Kaelin was waiting for Bael to attack, and would try to bury the jagged remains of his broken blade into Bael’s belly.
‘Your apology is accepted,’ he told the southerner. ‘Or would you prefer another blade?’
Before Kaelin Ring could answer the gathered warriors began to applaud and cheer. Call Jace moved into the circle. ‘You both fought well,’ he said, relief evident in his voice. ‘Like true Rigante warriors. Let this be an end to it.’
Bael continued to watch the southerner. He had not relaxed, and Bael realized with sick horror that he was considering requesting another sword.
Then Chara pushed her way through the gathering, moving alongside Kaelin. ‘Let me see to your wounds,’ she said, gently prising the ruined sword from his hands. He glanced at her, his expression softening, but then he looked back at Bael. The Black Rigante warrior could see him struggling with his emotions. Chara took his arm. ‘Come,’ she said, ‘we need to clean away that blood and seal the cuts.’
Call Jace stood close, his tension rising. Then the young man let out a sigh and relaxed. Without a word to Call or Bael he allowed himself to be led back to the great house.
Bael plunged his sword into the ground, relieved to be free of its weight. Warriors gathered around him. ‘Man, that was some fight,’ said one. Others clapped him on the back. A great weariness descended on the young man.