Two can play at the game of spectacular kills, my friend Orric.

Duke Cyron stepped into the fighting square. His highpitched voice rose as he proclaimed the lawfulness of the duel, the names of the opponents, the rules and conditions, and much else that Blade already knew. He kept his face straight and stared at Orric, who was doing a little shuffling dance and waving his sword as the Duke spoke. He was also staring at Blade with naked hatred.

At last Alsin stepped into the square, holding a spear high, and the Duke stepped out. Alsin held the spear out between the two men, and Orric stopped dancing and stepped back. Blade wiped sweat off his face with the back of his hand, then raised his shield and laid his sword across the top of it.

«In the name of the Father of the River, Duke Cyron, and the lordly tradition of honorable combat-Lord Blade and Lord Orric, laaaay on!» Alsin sprinted for the edge of the square as the two fighters charged each other.

Orric began striking the moment Blade was in range, and he wasn't trying to test his opponent; he was trying to kill. Each blow crashed against Blade's shield with bone-jarring strength. Orric didn't seem interested in learning his opponent's weaknesses and strengths. He was too confident of his own superiority.

Blade knew that sort of confidence was usually a weakness, and he was an expert at taking advantage of it. Still, Orric was hitting so hard that if many blows did get through Blade's defenses, Blade might be in serious trouble. So he settled down to fight a defensive battle, receiving each blow on his shield, taking the time to learn Orric's other weaknesses.

He quickly learned that the man didn't seem to have any, apart from being a trifle slow. That wasn't likely to give Blade much advantage, since Orric was not only a foot taller but was long-armed even for his height. He had too much of an edge in reach to let Blade get inside his guard without being badly hit on his way back out.

So the duel settled down to an endurance contest, to see which would fail first-Orric's sword arm or Blade's shield. It was hard to tell, although everyone around the square kept shouting guesses. At least Blade didn't hear anyone criticizing him for his ability to stand on the defensive.

Around and around the fighters went, kicking up the dust and rotten straw, tramping the exposed ground hard as stone. Blade saw his opponent's leggings turning dark and felt his own arming doublet getting as soggy as if he'd fished it out of a river.

Once he thought Orric was slowing down and tried a cut at his left knee. The lead-sheathed tip of his sword gouged the sweat-darkened leather. A bare point might have done damage. Orric's reply was so fast and so hard that for a moment Blade lost feeling in his shield arm. He hastily backed clear and kept Orric's sword in play with his own until his shield arm was fit again. Sparks flew each time the two swords crossed, but Orric seemed to take this new technique in his stride. Blade hoped his sword wouldn't lose its edge, strength, or concealing foil tip.

The fight went on until Blade saw shadows creeping across the courtyard. The sun was beginning to set, and light conditions would soon become uncertain. That would give an advantage to Orric, who knew the ground better than Blade. Orric was definitely losing more speed now, but still not enough to offset his longer reach. He'd gambled on a quick victory, but he hadn't risked more than he could afford to lose. The crowd was almost silent now, except for an occasional shout or hiss of breath. Once Blade heard clearly: «No one's stood this long against Orric since he was twenty.»

Blade wasn't sure how much longer he could stand. His shield arm seemed to be weighted with lead, and his shield was almost useless. The leather covering hung in strips where it wasn't ripped completely off, exposing bare wood. When Orric's sword smashed into the wood now, splinters flew off hard enough to sting Blade's skin. He laughed grimly at the thought of losing the fight and his life because a splinter hit him in the eye!

The shield wasn't going to last much longer, and when it broke, Orric would almost certainly switch to his ax. If Blade could get rid of the shield at a time of his own choosing, he'd have more control over what followed. He moved forward and to the left, almost jumping in spite of his weary legs. Orric's sword slashed down, sinking into the top of his shield, cutting halfway down to Blade's Arm. At the same moment Blade reached out as far as he could and slashed Orric's left leg.

Orric shouted, more in surprise than pain, although the wound was deep enough to bleed freely. All around the square the cry rose: «First blood, first blood to Blade! First blood!»

Alsin stepped forward and shouted for silence. «Blade has first blood,» he said briskly to Orric. «Do you wish to yield, as is your right?»

Orric shook his head and growled something Blade didn't catch. Seeing the expression on the man's face, there was no need to hear his words. Blade shrugged his useless shield off his left arm, flexed some life back into the muscles, and drew his knife. Except for his sword arm, there was no longer any part of his body which didn't feel drained and sore. Even his head seemed to be stuffed with cotton wool, and his mouth was full of hot sand.

Then Orric dropped his shield, unslung his ax, and charged.

The ax leaped high and flashed down three times, each time so fast that Blade barely got clear. He knew if that ax ever struck, he'd be dead. But Orric's leg wound was now visibly slowing his footwork, as the ground at his feet turned into red mud. Blade stepped out of range, and raised both sword and knife in what looked like a salute. With a deft movement of his left hand, he thrust the knife point in under the lead foil covering and stripped it free of the sword. The fading sunlight caught the polished metal of the sharpened sword point, but no one seemed to notice.

Certainly Orric didn't. He swung his ax again as his opponent closed. This time Blade went down on one knee as he came within reach. His left hand thrust the knife upward, striking at Orric's armpit, drawing his attention, and diverting the ax swing. The ax handle glanced off Blade's helmet and bruised his shoulder, while the deadly steel head sank deep into the ground. For a second Orric and his weapon seemed to form a single frozen statue. That was enough for Blade to thrust his sword up into Orric's unprotected chin. The sharp point vanished into the flesh, and with all his strength behind it, shot straight up into the brain.

A gurgle came out of Orric's open mouth, then a spray of blood. His eyes stared wildly, then the life went out of them. Another moment and his limbs received their last message from his destroyed brain. He fell backward so violently he jerked the sword out of Blade's hand, landed with a thud and a clang of armor, and lay still, a pool of blood widening around his head. Blade retrieved his sword, raised it in salute, and stepped back from the body.

Chenosh was the first of the crowd to move. He dashed up with a bucket of water, and Blade snatched it as if it were the only thing standing between him and sudden death. Half of it went down his throat so fast he nearly choked. Then he poured the other half all over his face and down his neck.

«Blade!» said Chenosh. «Your armor! It will rust!»

Blade looked blankly at him, fighting back the urge to laugh. He suspected that if he started laughing, he might not be able to stop.

No one heard Alsin's voice announcing the end of the duel, Orric's death, Blade's victory, and the proof of Lord Gennar's accusation. Lord Alsin swore afterward, however, that he had said everything he was supposed to, and everyone believed him. Everyone also saw seven Lords push out of the crowd, gather around Orric's body, then lift it in their arms and bear it away. Chenosh's face hardened at the sight and he said loudly enough for Blade to hear: