The Sword Unbroken - SAMPLE CHAPTERS

Chapter Seven: Hanover

As soon as the word left the marshal's lips, the gates snapped upward, and the fighters emerged. Hanover practically crashed through his, roaring. Rerdas' stomach plummeted at the sight of him.

He was huge, a solid mass of bronze muscle clad in fitted fighting robes. Leather bands crisscrossed his chest and back. Strips of chain mail that were more decoration than protection gleamed on his arms. He carried a thick curved blade with two cruel hooks near its base.

While Hanover charged into the open, Imalroc flowed into the box like water. He kept low to the ground and hugged the edge of the wall, his feet in the firmer sand at the edges of the battlebox. His hair was tied back in a tight braid that ran from the crown of his head down his back. The sword glittered in his hand.

Hanover planted himself in the middle of the battlebox and turned to follow Imalroc's movements. He swung his curved weapon in a lazy looping motion. The crowd muttered, waiting for the blades to cross.

Rerdas shifted in the handler's pew. Sweat collected at his temples and eased down his spine. Imalroc seemed to be taking his time with any direct attack. He worked his way slowly around the battlebox, eyeing Hanover the whole time but not taking one step closer to the younger fighter.

"Come on! Go for him!" The shout, from the benches near the roof, triggered a ripple of laughter. Rerdas kept his gaze pinned to Imalroc. The fighter leaned into every movement, no hesitation or fear. But there was also no aggression. He kept a wide distance from Hanover, orbiting him at the edges of the box. Rerdas found it hard to breath, like the air had changed. He gulped at it.

Hanover lowered himself into a crouch and ground his heels into the sand. Then he pounced. He flew the length of the battlebox in the time it took Rerdas to blink. His blade scythed before him. Imalroc ducked so low beneath it, Rerdas thought he was going to smash into the sand.

Somehow, Imalroc kept his feet. He dodged and swooped past Hanover, and out from being pocketed against the wall. His sword stayed level, making not so much as a twitch toward Hanover's flank as he passed. Rerdas hissed.

The Duke's champion spun like he was caught in a whirlwind. Hanover hefted his weapon. The bright, brittle sound of steel on steel pierced the air as Imalroc blocked and parried. Blocked and parried, but returned nothing.

Impatient, the audience stomped and clapped as Hanover pressed forward, clenching his blade in one hand while with the other he unsheathed a dirk from the leather bands on his back. He and Imalroc were fighting almost directly below Rerdas, who was half-hanging over the wall, close enough to hear Imalroc bite out a curse when he spotted the new weapon.

It was a nightmarish dance. Rerdas could hardly believe what he was seeing. Imalroc did everything short of turn tail and flee the battlebox to escape his opponent. And Hanover only grew more daring. Rerdas desperately hoped this was part of some deranged plan to tire the younger battleboxer out, or make him overconfident.

The huntmaster wiped perspiration from his brow and ripped his eyes away from the two fighters to glance up at the other handler. The man was braced against the wall, his eyes narrowed as he tracked Imalroc.

"Push him!" the man yelled, white spittle bursting over his lips like froth. "You're there, just push him!"

Rerdas could not be sure if Hanover heard his handler's shout, but something changed in the Duke's champion. His hands worked both blades in frenzied motions. The muscles in his arms bulged as he chopped left and right.

Imalroc wove between the two weapons like smoke carried on a swift wind. He made it look effortless. Until Hanover crushed his curved sword down in a blow that Imalroc barely managed to block.