The Duel

The wind billowed the man's shirt as he stood on the hill, staring down at village. His legs were slightly apart, his hands behind his back. The shirt was partly opened as he enjoyed the feeling of the wind. It had been too long.

The sword hanging by his hip swung in the breeze; his other sword lay on the ground near his feet.

He turned his head as he heard the panting of the portly young boy coming up behind him. His pose remained unchanged as he glanced at him.

“You came” the older man said simply. “I didn't think you had the guts, boy.” He turned his head back to his view. “That gains you some respect at least.”

“I don't want your respect” the younger man said. He was in his mid twenties, and slightly overweight. He was trying not to show how winded he was from the walk up the hill.

The older man turned himself around to face the boy. His right hand moved to touch the hilt of the sword. A small smile cracked on his face.

“Turn back now and no one needs know your shame.”

“I'll stay.”

“Look at you. You can't even walk up here without breaking a sweat. Go home boy. Play with your toys.”

The younger man shook his head. “I just need a few minutes.” He produced a hip flask from his back pocket. “Will you join me in a drink before we start?”

The older man eyed him suspiciously as the boy unclipped the top of the flask and produced two small glasses. An amber liquid flowed out into the two glasses and the boy handed both glasses out. The older man picked the left glass.

The younger man gave a gesture of a toast then knocked his drink back in one, then refilled his glass.



“You can't expect to win” the older man said after drinking his drink.

“I will win. I bet my finger on it.” The younger man held out his left hand, holding the flask with his little finger straight out.

“You willing to bet your right hand on it too?”

“My hand?” The boy was taken aback for a moment. “But the code....”

“Don't tell me about the code!” the older man shouted over the boy. “A Blademaster knows the code. You think you're the first boy who has challenged me for this?” His hand stroked the sword once more.

“A finger for a first failed challenge, a hand for the second!”

“Let me tell you, boy” the older man continued, taking another drink “the last boy who challenged me, he lost his head.” His eyes narrowed as he told the story, watching the reaction of the fat boy. “Oh, I cut off his little finger first, then his right hand. Then took his head.” He smiled as he dropped the glass to the ground. “Oh yes, the code states anyone can challenge me, but I make sure no one tries a second time.”



The younger man bent down to pick up the glass, then started to put the flask away. “You're trying to make me back down; to leave an not try to take the sword from you.”

“I told you” the older man paused for a moment to yawn. “You can't win. You're fat.”

The younger man clasped his hands together and stretched them. “And you're old. I'm not leaving here without that sword.”

The older man removed the prize from his hip and placed it down on the ground next to his broadsword. He picked up the larger sword. “So be it, boy.” He brandished the sword in both hands, pointing the tip towards his opponents neck. The blade wavered slightly before dropping down.

The younger man drew his own sword and slashed upwards, underneath the older man's arm. He drew blood, but scored only a flesh wound. The older man snarled as he spun slightly, trying to find his feet.

“You are old and tired” the younger man continued, striking him again.

The older man blinked his eyes, then lunged forward, hitting the fat boy on the knee. He cried out in surprise and lashed out himself.

The older man fought off another yawn and took a step back.

The smaller sword flashed in the sunlight as the younger man swung in a precise arc, making contact with the older man's wrist, and severing the hand.

The older man screamed as he dropped to his knees, grabbing his stump with his remaining hand. The younger man was panting hard, sweat beading on his forehead. He kicked the man in the face, sending him sprawling back.



“Old, and so very tired.” He yawned himself as he bent down to pick up his prize. He knew he would sleep well once he got home. He glanced back to look at his defeated foe, the way his chest slowly moved up and down, and the ground around him was slowly stained red.