The fifth man slew four before he fell himself, so bringing us to another zig, or zag, as the case may be.
Onward and upward, our third man fighting with a blade in either hand. It was good that he fought in a holy war, for there was real zeal behind each blow. He took three before he died.
The next wasn’t as zealous, or as good with his blades. He fell immediately, and then there were two.
Bleys drew his long, filigreed blade, and its edge sparkled in the sun.
“Soon, brother,” he said, “we will see what they can do against a prince.”
“Only one, I hope.” I replied. and he chuckled.
I’d say we were three-quarters of the way there when Bleys’ turn finally came.
He leaped forward, immediately dislodging the first man to face him. The point of his blade found the throat of the second, and the flat of it fell alongside the head of the third, dislodging him also. He dueled a moment with the fourth and dispatched him.
My own blade was in my hand, ready, as I watched and advanced.
He was good, even better than I remembered him to be. He advanced like a whirlwind, and his blade was alive with light. They fell before it—how they fell, my friend! Whatever else you might say of Bleys, on that day he acquitted himself as became his rank. I wondered how long he could keep going.
He’d a dagger in his left hand, which he used with brutal efficiency whenever he could manage a corps à corps. He left it in the throat of his eleventh victim.
I could see no end to the column which opposed us. I decided that it must stretch all the way to the landing at the top. I hoped my turn wouldn’t come. I almost believed it.
Three more men plummeted past me and we came to a small landing and a turn. He cleared the landing and began the ascent. For half an hour I watched him, and they died and they died. I could hear the murmurs of awe from the men behind me. I almost thought he could make it to the top.
He used every trick available. He baffled blades and eyes with his cloak. He tripped the warriors. He seized wrists and twisted, with his full strength.
We made it to another landing. There was some blood on his sleeve by then, but he smiled constantly, and the warriors behind the warriors he killed were ashen. This helped him, too. And perhaps the fact that I stood ready to fill the gap also contributed to their fears and so slowed them, worked on their nerves. They’d heard of the naval engagement, I later learned.
Bleys worked his way to the next landing, cleared it, turned again, began to ascend. I hadn’t thought he could make it that far, then. I didn’t think I could make it as far as he had. It was the most phenomenal display of swordsmanship and endurance I’d seen since Benedict had held the pass above Arden against the Moonriders out of Ghenesh.
He was tiring, though, I could see that, too. If only there were some way for me to relieve him, to spell him for a time.
But there wasn’t. So I followed, fearing every stroke might be his last.
I knew that he was weakening. We were within a hundred feet of the top at that point.
I suddenly felt for him. He was my brother and he’d done well by me. I don’t think he thought he’d make it then, yet he was fighting on . . . in effect, giving me my chance for the throne.
He killed three more men, and his blade moved more slowly each time. He fought with the fourth for perhaps five minutes before he took him. I was certain the next would he his last.
He wasn’t, though.
As he slew that man, I transferred my blade from my right hand to my left, drew my dagger with my right and threw it.
It went in up to the hilt, in the throat of the next man. Bleys sprang over two steps and hamstrung the man before him, casting him downward.