[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]Delrael charged in with his sword up to guard himself. His fighting fury seethed through his veins, worse now than just outrage at what the Black Falcons had done to the ylvan village.
He swung and ducked, trying to get close to Annik where she could not use her two-handed sword. But she swept with the point of the blade, low this time. It would have disembowelled him if he had not skipped back.
Delrael's ears roared with the cheers and cries of ylvans, his own army, the Black Falcons. He thought he heard Tareah wishing him luck. He knew old Siya would be watching in horror, remembering another battle that had slain her husband.
Delrael felt his muscles sing with the energy. This was fighting, this was doing something, _this_ was the way the Game should be played. But it should be fought against a worthy enemy, not a misguided fool.
Delrael forced himself to pause for one heartbeat as he recentered his thoughts. He looked at Annik, trying to drive back the emotion, focusing on how to defeat her rather than on how to get revenge. Revenge would only distort his thoughts.
Delrael gripped the hilt of his sword with both hands and reached up to block Annik's swing. When the blades struck, the clang of metal rang out in the forest air. Delrael felt his arms shake in their sockets -- it reminded him of trying to battle against Gairoth's spiked club. But Gairoth had been stupid; Annik and the Black Falcon troops were not stupid.
He kept his eyes on her blade locked against his, but a movement of her arm distracted him. Annik took one hand from her sword and moved it to her waist, where she slid out a long dagger. The massive sword in her right hand dipped toward the ground as she concentrated on the dagger, thrusting it forward and up.
Delrael squirmed away, but the edge sliced along his leather armor, gashing it open in a stinging line along his ribcage.
He struck up with his sword, trying to knock Annik's knife hand away. Then he noticed, too late for him to act, that even with only one hand Annik brought her great sword around, low to the ground because she couldn't lift it high enough for a lethal blow. Her face grimaced with the effort.
The wide blade smashed into Delrael's unprotected left leg below the knee. He heard a loud _thwock_.
White lights and thunderous pain exploded up his leg and popped into his brain. Delrael screamed and fell over backward, unable to think, unable to move.
He heard vague echoes of his army crying out in dismay. He thought he heard ylvan voices among them. He tried to blink the swimming black blotches away from his vision. As his sight finally cleared, he attempted to somehow defend himself. But a sickening feeling greater than the pain told him he had lost, that he would never fight against Siryyk's army and save Gamearth. He would fall here, the victim of another human fighter.
Annik stood over him, broadsword upraised in two hands. Her dagger lay behind her on the ground where she had dropped it. Annik obviously intended to lop off his head on the forest floor among the ashes of old ylvan campfires.
But her expression transformed into one of horror. Her ponytails, weighted with the iron balls, hung in front of her face like reaching tentacles. She gawked down at the wound at his leg, at the lack of blood.
He squirmed up, seeing only a white gash, the chewed notch in the _kennok_ wood that had been carved into the shape of a human leg by the khelebar.
Delrael felt the pain, but the injury would not be crippling. Thilane Healer had shown him how to repair the magic leg.
The Black Falcon troops stood around with astounded expressions. Annik looked appalled. "You're not even human!" she said, working the words out of her mouth one at a time.
Delrael, still holding onto his sword, gathered up his own energy, ignoring the artificial pain in his leg. He croaked, "Are you?"
He moved his body, coiling at his waist, bunching his shoulders. He lunged upward at Annik standing over him. The tip of his sword pierced into her stomach, struck something hard and deep -- her spine -- slid sideways, and then poked out between ribs and her back. The black leather vest folded like puckering lips around the protruding blade.
Blood gushed up and ran down her dark leather armor. Annik's eyes bulged, filled with red as they hemorrhaged from inside. She choked, coughing blood, and hung balanced on Delrael's sword until her weight drove his own arms down. She slumped farther onto the blade, collapsing on top of him.
Annik lay over him like a smothering weight. Delrael couldn't hear anything but her dying gasps and gurgles. Her body spasmed as she tried to move. But it was just reflex. Annik had already died.
Delrael pulled himself out. Jathen helped him up. "You won," he said.
Delrael took a deep breath. "Wonderful, isn't it? Help me stand."
The Tairan pulled Delrael's arm over his shoulder and hauled him to his feet. Delrael left his sword in Annik's body and used his free hand to wipe at the blood on his chest. He succeeded only in smearing it into dark streaks that soaked into his leather armor. He looked down at his injured leg and saw that a large chunk of the wood had been hacked out, as if a woodsman had struck him with an ax.
Delrael ignored that. The pain still surged through him, but he could stand it. Trying to keep his breathing in check, he looked at the upset and confused Black Falcon riders.
"I've won in single combat," he gasped. "According to the Rules. You must now leave the ylvans alone and join us in our fight against the manticore."
Anger flared in the Black Falcon riders, but Corim held up his hand. He urged his mount to take two steps forward, then turned his dispassionate expression toward the dead form of Annik lying face-down in the dirt. Blood pooled under her. The end of Delrael's sword protruded from her back, gleaming bright as the stain ran off of it.
"Annik fought you," Corim said, "but I never heard her agree to your terms." The other riders grunted their assent. One laughed.
"Therefore, you had no agreement. We don't feel bound by that bargain."
Delrael's army made sounds of their own anger, and the ylvans shouted. But Corim continued, "However, if you offer protection to the ylvans, I don't think it's very wise for the Black Falcons to keep preying on them. But we will never join your army -- there's too much difference between us."
Corim swung his bow and mounted it back on his shoulder. "Though you might not agree, Gamearth's enemies are our enemies too. We may fight with you someday if we see you battling a worthy enemy and need our assistance."
Corim motioned at two of the Black Falcon riders. "We'll take our dead, Delrael, and let you do as you wish."
Other riders dismounted and went to the dead fighter against the tree. Lifting him, they spread his body across the back of his horse, sideways on the saddle. The Black Falcons plucked the ylvan arrows from the corpse and threw them to the ground in disgust.
Corim himself rolled Annik's body over and removed Delrael's sword. With no expression on his face, he handed the blade back to Delrael. Jathen took it, glared at the Black Falcon man, but Delrael kept staring at Corim.
The Black Falcon troops completed their preparations without speaking a word to Delrael or his army or the ylvans. Delrael motioned for his fighters not to interfere.
Corim bent under the horse and tied Annik's hands beneath the saddle so her body would not slide off. The horses appeared upset by the blood and dead bodies. The Black Falcon riders mounted up again.
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