The gawking crowd shoved and pushed away from the path of the fight. The two men danced back and forth parallel to the bar, their blades flashing and ringing as they met. The men cheered, enjoying the entertainment, not caring who won.
The cries of encouragement gave Laronnar strength, and he attacked with even more fury.
In the face of such power and speed, Dralan fell back. He parried each swing, but just barely, as he retreated. He dodged below a vicious slice, leapt into a chair and up onto a table. The table tottered dangerously beneath him. His sword slashed downward with alarming speed.
Now it was Laronnar who dodged, parrying a blow meant to split his skull. Now it was he who retreated out of range of Dralan’s expert swings.
Dralan leaped down off the table, almost on top of him, and for a moment, the two men grappled hand to hand, swords waving dangerously in the air about their heads.
“I warned you,” Dralan snarled. “Now you’ll learn to heed your betters.”
Laronnar saved his breath for the fight. He released his grip on Dralan’s forearm and grabbed his neck. The bigger man gasped as Laronnar’s thumb dug into the softness at the base of his throat.
Dralan crouched, then reared, shoving with the weight of his body. His grip torn away, Laronnar’s fingers dug bloody furrows in Dralan’s neck.
The two men circled, both gasping for breath.
Dralan shifted his sword to his left hand, wiped at his neck with his right. His fingers came away smeared with blood. He cursed, then attacked. His bladework was beautiful, a dance of agile feet, deft arm movements; the silver blade flashing in the candlelight.
Laronnar stumbled, fell backward across a table. Dralan struck, bringing his sword up high and straight down for the killing blow. Laronnar barely had time to twist aside. The blade whistled past his ear, thunked into the table where his head had been. Wood chips sprayed his cheek and neck.
Laronnar rolled off the table and crawled away on hands and knees. Dralan pursued, roaring with laughter, tossing tables aside as if they were mere branches instead of heavy oak trestles.
Laronnar came up fast, sword raised over his head as a shield. The tip of Dralan’s sword sang along the edge, grazed Laronnar’s hand and drew blood. But Laronnar was on his feet, backing away.
Dralan grinned, eyeing the blood dripping from his opponent’s wrist. “Surrender, Laronnar. Perhaps if you grovel enough, I’ll spare your life.”
Laronnar feinted right, then rolled left across a table, then another, and came up facing Haylis, who, like Dralan’s aide, was shifting to stay near his captain. In his hand, Haylis held the belt and sword Laronnar had dropped near the bar.
As Dralan charged, Laronnar snatched at the parrying dagger Haylis carried on his belt. Misunderstanding what his captain was trying to do, Haylis surged forward, offering the sword, and tangled the leather belt and his feet with Laronnar’s.
Stumbling, Laronnar grabbed his lieutenant by the shoulder and twisted away. Dralan’s sword slid into Haylis’s back.
The young man jerked in Laronnar’s arms, gurgled once, and went limp, his expression mystified, astonished. His blood poured out over Laronnar’s arm.
“Bastard!” Laronnar snarled at Dralan.
The commander, his sword still buried in Haylis’s body, was as surprised as his victim. “But I didn’t-” Dralan gabbled.
Laronnar thrust his fingers into Haylis’s weapons belt and shoved the body into Dralan’s arms. The dead weight yanked the belt free, and Laronnar scrambled to safety with it clutched in his fingers.
By the time Dralan freed his sword, Laronnar had what he wanted-Haylis’s dagger. For good measure, he had also snagged the lieutenant’s deadly little handheld crossbow and shoved it into his belt.
Dralan saw the dagger and sneered. A dagger was a backup weapon, a thief’s weapon.
Laronnar grinned, parried Dralan’s first blow with his blade. Laronnar had a little surprise in store for his brainless commander.
So contemptuous he was almost nonchalant, Dralan swung again. Laronnar deflected the swing with dagger and sword. As Dralan toyed with him, Laronnar shifted slightly, leading his enemy back toward the open floor. Laronnar stepped into the aisle. Free of obstacles, he attacked with his bladed fist, swinging viciously outward, deliberately leaving his left side open.