WOT Adv 210

--- The Wheel Turns ---
Bors nodded to Fiznak. "And if you do the deed, so be it. Let the duel begin!" He raised a gauntleted fist into the air that caught the sun, and took in the adulation of the crowd.

"Bors! Bors! Bors!" The loud cheer rumbled through the woods and grated on Fiznak's nerves.

This Bors was a pompous fool. A dangerous, pompous fool, he acquiesced. One who moved with grace and training, but pompous, proud, and twisted all the same.

Bors jumped nimbly down from the low pedestal and took up his position on the opposite side of the arena. With a whisper of steel against steel, Fiznak slowly drew his father's sword and held it in both hands at the ready. Hopefully it would see him through the next few moments.

Bors drew both his curved blades and holding both blades out in front of him, saluted Fiznak with a grim nod. The crowd, seeing the glinting metal cheered all the more.

Fiznak cautiously advanced, nimbly jumping atop the low pedestal, hopefully, it would give him some sort of height advantage.

Bors began to circle around him and Fiznak turned, and went into a defensive posture, waiting for the other man to make the first move, ready to leap to the offensive.

In a sudden rush, Bors came at him, but instead of attacking, he pushed towards Fiznak. Fiznak realized then that there was a pit some ten paces to his rear. Choosing to rather lose the relative advantage of the pedestal to the pit, Fiznak came up in a roll, his sword at the ready.

Seeing Bors teetering on the pedestal for a moment, Fiznak launched his attack, feinting to the left. The blades came together with a clang and a clash of metal on metal. Bors turned to meet the attack, realized it was feint, and took the blow on his chest. With a scatter of sparks Fiznak's large sword slammed into the man's breastplate.

The crowd went silent and then cheered when Bors managed to retain his feet atop the pedestal.

Bors grin faded as he eyed Fiznak with new wariness. Then he attacked in a complex series of moves, slashing his left in an overhand attack which Fiznak met, but the man's second blade lightly into Finzak's shoulder.

Even so, the pain made him wince.

Back and forth they flowed from attack to defense and then back again. Fiznak used all his skill to keep the two blades at bay.

They moved as if in some fluid dance. A dance that could only end with the demise of the partner. Another slash and a matching cut hit Fiznak's other shoulder.
Fiznak's eyes narrowed.

In a sudden move, he forced the man's right blade aside, then the left and slammed the pommel of his sword into the man's face, sending him spinning into a circle, blood dripping from Bors's nose.

Bors somehow managed to keep his presence of mind however, and turned the spin into a complex move, using the motion aid in his attack, he came at Fiznak in a low spinning crouch, both blades slashing towards the boarderlander. Fiznak leapt backwards into his back, rolled, and came to his feet sandy soil. Bors still held the pedestal. Blood dripped from a broken nose marring his handsome face.

"You fight well, boarderlander. I've not had such a match in years. You have been well trained."

"Fadekiller taught me well." Fiznak smiled grimly.

"Fadekiller?" the man watched Fiznak very carefully, one eyebrow raised above his now puffy and swollen nose. But he seemed a little concerned.

Fiznak nodded. "Have you seen a Fade, Bors? They move quicker than a darting serpent, melting in and out of shadows at a thought. I have been trained by one who knew them and defeated them!"

Fiznak doubted his little speech would do much good, but you never knew. Suddenly he rushed towards Bors, attacking low and then high, to send his blade into the man's skull. Bors was ready for him and caught Fiznak's blade, holding it with both of his.
Fiznak sent his leg out to kick the man's knee in.

Bors leapt over it, but the motion was enough to dislodge Fiznak's blade. Fiznak spun and came downwards again. He caught Bors's left blade on his own, and with a massive two-handed push, forced his own skittered and leaping up Bors's blade to bite deeply into the man's arm.

Gasping in pain, Bors dropped his left handed weapon and stumbled backwards. He eyed Fiznak with greater caution than before, and feinting an attack, suddenly leapt backwards from off pedestal. As he did so, Fiznak lunged at him over the pedestal But Bors flattened himself and turned aside the attack with his remaining blade. In a push and spin, he disengaged from Fiznak and ran towards one of the pillars some thirty paces away, upon which hung a metal shield.

He was making for the shield.

Fiznak had forced him to retreat. That at least was a good sign. That means he was at least holding his own. But if he brought a shield into play. That could certainly shift a relatively balanced fight to the man's favor.

"Burn him!" Fiznak rumbled, leaping atop and then over the pedestal. He charged towards the man, his blade coming at wide arc. Bors leapt aside and the blow hit the wooden pillar and once again Fiznak's blade dug into the wood coming to rest in the pillar.

"Light! Not again!" Fiznak groaned to himself.

A backhand caught Fiznak full in the face, causing him to blink his eyes, but he managed to retain his grip on his blade.

When Fiznak's eyes cleared, the man had managed to get the shield off and was settling it into place on his arm. Working at his stuck sword with his left hand, Fiznak grabbed Bors's hair at the same time with his right hand, and slammed his face into the pillar.

Bors staggered back for a moment, shaking his head and groaning in pain, but still holding shield and scimitar.

Fiznak worked and yanked his father's blade out and turned, just in time to meet a renewed attack from Bors. But he wasn't quick enough. The slashing attack of the remaining scimitar came at Fiznak with such speed that all he could do was turn and catch it on his breastplate. It slammed into him with such force that he felt something, likely a rib, crack under the blow.

Fiznak gasped and went down on one knee. The crowd cheered on their feet. He lunged, Bors blocked the blow on his shield, pushed the blade out of the way, and cut down deep into Fiznak's left shoulder. Fiznak went down onto two knees, struggling to see past the pain. Climbing to his feet he slashed towards Bors catching the man's armor creating sparks, but doing little other damage.

Again and again, he engaged Bors, but Bors was fighting very carefully now, defensively, conserving his strength and movement, only striking when he saw an opening. Bors used both shield and scimitar to optimal advantage, catching blows that would have normally hit him without the added protection the shield afforded him.

Bors's scimitar turned Fiznak's blade aside and in a sudden motion Bors whipped the shield's edge towards Fiznak's head. The blow sent him backwards, his hands flailing. Before he could react, Fiznak felt a sharp pain in his right thigh and he went down onto one his right knee. Then a kick caught him full in the face, sending him backward onto his back, his shattered nose dripping blood.

When his vision cleared, he could see the trees above him, the pale sky of early evening, and, incidentally, a sword flashing towards him.

Fiznak rolled instinctively and saw dirt spray up where his head had been. On his back, he twisted, and sent out his right leg. Catching Bors behind his knees, the large man fell, hard onto his back with a satisfying groan.

Wasting no time, Fiznak brought his sword down with his right hand onto the man's head.

Or nearly.

Bors twisted at the last minute and the sword bit into his left shoulder.
At the same time Fiznak felt a pain in his left side as Bors's curved blade cut through armor and slice across his ribs.

Fiznak scrambled on all fours and finally managed to pick himself up and noticed Bors climbing slightly even more slowly to his feet.

The battle was not yet over. None of Fiznak's wounds, he knew, were life threatening by themselves. His weariness, on the other hand, could be very life threatening. How long would he be able to go on? And would he live to see Maeslyn again?

He leaned on his sword, breathing heavily.

The crowd was no longer cheering. A palpable silence covered the entire audience. The next few heart beats, the next few breaths would see one of them dead and defeated.