Dwarfslayer

16

Damon entered the arena, idly swinging his sword. He approached his father, who stood near the edge of the battlefield.

“You’re late,” his father said.

“What can I say, father?” Damon replied. “The women love a finalist.”

His father gave him a hard look. “Do you realize what what would’ve happened if you’d gotten here even a few minutes from now? You would’ve forfeited the match.”

Damon smiled. “Come on, father. This crowd would wait hours to watch me fight.”

“But the administrators wouldn’t.”

“The crowd would make them. Lighten up, father. At least I didn’t come a few minutes later.”

“Lighten up? How am I more worried about this than you are? Damon, you’re in the finals!”

“I know.”

“Wait a second.” His father sniffed. “Are you drunk?”

Damon, continuing to smile, raised his hand in a pinching gesture. “Just a little bit.”

“Damon!”

“Calm down. I only had a cup.”

The crowd went silent. The king had stood. “Are we ready to start, Sir Dwarfslayer?”

Damon nodded. “Yes, your Majesty!”

He walked onto the battlefield, his father murmuring about his son addressing the king while drunk.

Damon’s opponent stood at his position, unmoving. He was huge, even larger than Zachariah.

Damon knew about him. He was Named, too.

Isaac Goblinhunter.

Damon took his place on the opposite side of the battlefield.

The king signaled for the duel to start.

Damon thought about playing defensively, but then came the memory of him being backed up into a corner and he decided against it.

He attacked.

Isaac’s parry knocked Damon off balance.

He righted himself, swung, and was again met with a powerful block, this one more so than the first. He stumbled, but was caught from falling forward by Isaac’s large hand.

He was thrown backwards, onto the floor.

Isaac swung downwards. Damon sat up and blocked in time to keep his head from being sliced in half.

The two became locked in a pushing match. Isaac’s strength forced Damon’s sword down. It was hopeless resisting. He rolled away, pulling his sword with him.

Isaac stumbled forward, just as Damon stood. He backed away, trying to get as far from his opponent as he could. He needed a strategy.

Isaac regained his balance, and turned towards Damon.

He needed to think fast.

But Isaac was talking his time coming.

That was thing, though. He was slow.

But that didn’t make sense.

To be a master swordsman, a man needed to be agile, smart and strong.

Isaac seemed to be only strength.

But that was why he had made it into the finals.

He had to be one of the strongest men in the Westlands. He probably had reflex enough to parry any initial attacks, and could force quick swordsmen to slow down by knocking them off balance.

But, as Damon had just seen, Isaac’s strength could be used against him.

Damon raised his sword, and flashed the smile everyone back in Royston hated.

He lunged at Isaac, and swung.

Isaac raised his sword for one of his infamous parries.

Before the swords could collide, Damon used as much strength he could muster to pull his sword off course.

He ducked under Isaac's swinging blade, and righted himself.

Isaac fell forward, off-balance from the strength of his swing.

Damon took his chance, and smacked the back of Isaac’s head with his hilt.

Isaac dropped his sword, and crashed, facedown, into the floor.

By the time he turned himself around, the tip of Damon’s sword was pointed at his neck.

Damon had won the Guardian’s Tournament.