A Drawn Blade

Vincent Royale leapt onto the stone platform with ease, facing his opponent. He reached down to his belt; he could feel the cold metal hilt of his sword, and with calm fingers he drew it from its scabbard. The sword shone dully in the twilight, showing its golden hand-guard and silver blade with a dim light that cast an eerie golden glow about it. Laying it flat against his arm, he held it at a distance. Still keeping eyes on his adversary’s, they began to circle each other.

Taking short, steady steps across the paved platform, he revolved around Burke. After a few moments they both came to stop just meters from each other. Neither moved as they waited for the other to strike first, Vincent inspected his surroundings for anything that could be used to his advantage. A lone bent branch sat inconspicuously on the paved ground, most likely fallen from one of the countless trees that overhung the platform. He jumped forward, landing just a few feet away from the stick. Burke looked wary, ready for any surprise attack that Vincent might launch at him. Vincent slid his foot under the curved branch and kicked it upwards at his trainer suddenly. As the stick flew through the air, time seemed to stand still; as the brown–leafed blur shot towards him, Burke drew his sword with such agility that Vincent had no time to react. The blade rushed down through the air, slicing through the piece of wood, which fell helplessly in two with a light crack on the ground.

Again, with extreme agility, Burke rushed forwards swinging his sword at Vincent. Vincent parried the blow with the flat of his blade. He guided his blade through the air in a complex pattern. The loud clanging of their swords sounded through the air as they struck each other again and again. The battle continued intensely as each sought out the others defenses. Again and again, they swung at each other – but each blow kept on being blocked and parried by the other. Vincent’s clothes were damp with sweat as he struggled to fend off each blow: every time Vincent seemed to get closer to landing a blow on Burke, his adversary redoubled the onslaught against him so he couldn’t get close enough to touch him.

Burke sure didn't seem to be sweating and tiring as much as Vincent was, and as this thought ran through his head, Burke swung upwards at Vincent. Vincent managed to block it but a sharp pain shot up Vincent’s arm and his sword was flung from his hand as he did. He launched himself through the air, caught it just before it hit the ground and rolled onto the platform lightly. He saw how lucky that was; for he had just got out of the way as Burke pulled his sword down hard at the ground where Vincent had been just moments before. Burkes’ blade wedged itself tightly the pavement, and as he tried to get it out, Vincent leaped. He swiped his sword through the air like a dervish at Burke. Burke finally got his sword out of the ground with a stiff tug and bent to block it, but he was too slow: although he wore protective clothing he yelped as Vincent hit him hard across the ribs with a dull smack of his blade, he stumbled backwards, tripped on a dislodged stone in the pavement and tumbled over onto his backside. A loud clatter rang through the air as his sword fell from his hand. Before he could get up or reach for his sword, Vincent positioned the point of his blade triumphantly at the man’s throat.

With a grin Vincent sheathed his sword and backed away a few steps.