I watch intently as the two clash. I barely remember to breathe; I have not felt this powerless for a long time—I know that there's nothing I can do to influence the outcome. The blurriness of my echo-vision and the distance worsens my anxiety; it's difficult to tell what is happening, who has the upper hand. Sometimes Hayhek does, battering his opponent away with a series of heavy strikes. Other times it's Benkal who seems to have the advantage, as he slashes deep grooves into Hayhek's tungsten armor.

The only thing clear to me is that the battle is going to last a while. Hayhek's mace, probably even more so than the others', is designed mainly to repel the deep darkness. It's not enruned to devastate armor also. Benkal has a similar problem. He made his sword to prove a point, to look spectacular by dulling the lights around. He made it for show, not function.

On and on the battle continues. Mace hits sword, sword clashes against armor. The rough gravel is like a sea of emeralds and blood in my echo-sight. The two combatants' harnesses are rendered in blues and purples, turning to greenish or reddish where they have been struck. Because of the constant noise both from the quick-clashing metal and the yells of the spectators, no darkness comes over me, yet too many unclear sounds blur everything. Both runeknights blur into each other as the cries of the audience grow in volume.

Despite this, however, I become able to tell the fighters apart by their styles. Benkal fights like an angry salamander, leaping and slashing with great aggression and vigor. He wields his sword precisely—it's clearly his favorite weapon, in the Allabrast tradition. Hayhek is more defensive and cautious. He always waits for a good opportunity before he strikes and tends to aim at his opponent's limbs. He fights very much like a dwarf, as I was taught to.

The colors near me shiver violently. I turn to the source of the rippling and see that Elder Brezakh is talking to me. The roughness of his skin and beard make them appear orange and crimson, like flames. It's a most unnerving effect.

I lift up my visor.

"...dare ignore me?"

"I was concentrating on the fight," I say.

"Your dwarf will lose. Benkal is tiring him out. Any moment now, and he will run him through."

"We will see about that."

I look back at the battle below, this time with my eyes of flesh. It's even harder to make out what's happening than it was with my echo-eyes. One moment light flares brilliantly, and in the next deep shadows shroud the duel. Occasionally orange sparks fly when a blow makes shrieking contact.

"It's Benkal who is tiring," Ithis whispers to me. "Hayhek has the greater stamina."

I nod. "I think you might be right."

Benkal's sword-strikes, at least from what I can make out, do indeed seem a touch more sluggish than they were at the outset of the duel. Meanwhile, Hayhek's pace of footwork and weapon-work continues at a constant pace.

Slowly and surely, the flashes of light start to become more frequent, and Benkal starts to fall back.

He stumbles! Hayhek sees the opportunity, swings his mace in a circle over his head, once, twice, building up immense speed and power. Benkal shifts as if to dodge, but the mace is already coming down at him. He raises his bronze shield. Hayhek's mace hits directly in its center, and the bronze shatters apart with a sound like the death-scream of a bell.

Benkal collapses onto his back from the shock of impact. I lean forward, grinning widely. To my left, Elder Brezakh draws breath sharply.

Hayhek lifts his mace again and swings down with brutal force. He seems to be aiming at his opponent's thigh. I would have gone for the kneecap.

The mace impacts with a metallic crunch. Benkal cries out. A cheer goes up from the Runic League—it is quickly drowned out by yells of anger from the other spectating guilds. Runethane Halmak steps forward, places his hands on the railing.

"My Runethane, do not be so hasty!" says Elder Brezakh. "My nephew can still fight!"

Hayhek brings his mace up again, but hesitates. I hiss a curse. Benkal throws himself up and forward, thrusting his black sword toward Hayhek's gorget. Shadow swallows the fight. Shouts of horror echo from the Runic League, while cheers go up from the rest of the stands. I freeze in fear.

But brilliance blooms again. Hayhek has managed to batter Benkal's hand away. The glow from his right gauntlet—protection from his own weapon's effects, no doubt—fades. Hayhek lunges, aiming directly for Benkal's blade. It clashes into its middle, and for a moment both light and shadow cancel each other out.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

The black blade flies from Benkal's hand.

"Crush him, Hayhek!" I yell out. "Smash his head! Now's the chance!"

"Kill him!" my guild screams. "Nachroktey! Nachroktey!"

Hayhek, a little less overcome with blood-lust, sweeps his mace at Benkal's damaged thigh plate. Benkal predicts the arc of the blow, steps back. Hayhek strikes again, and Benkal leaps back to where the dark sword lies and grasps it with his left hand. Unlike his right gauntlet, however, his left has no runes of light grafted to it for protection.

"Quickly!" hisses Elder Brezakh. "End this quickly!"

Benkal swipes desperately with the dark blade. It clashes against Hayhek's mace and its light dims momentarily. Benkal slashes again and succeeds in scoring Hayhek's helm. Hayhek stumbles—the strike was a hard one. Benkal stabs just under Hayhek's pauldron. Blood spills out, bright scarlet in the light. Hayhek yells out, pulls away. Benkal attacks again; Hayhek composes himself and manages to block.

"End this, nephew!" Elder Brezakh yells down. "End it!"

Benkal slashes again and again, wildly and rapidly. Hayhek remains calm, blocks the blows. Yet time is running out—blood is flowing down his armor—the wound is a deep one.

Benkal's strikes grow even faster, even more wild. He screams out. I clench the railing hard. Hayhek's blocks are becoming slower, and the dark sword is getting through white sparks fly out the shadows from Hayhek's tungsten plates. Now it is he who stumbles—Benkal immediately stabs down into his ankle, and Hayhek falls over. Benkal stabs at his neck. Hayhek only just manages to roll out of the way.

"No!" I yell.

Benkal stabs down again—Hayhek drops his mace and grasps the blade with both armored hands. The point stops an instant from the eye-slit of his visor. He clenches hard. Benkal wrenches himself backward, trying to extract the blade, but Hayhek holds firm. Benkal screams—but whether from anger, bloodlust, or pain, I can't tell.

"Push down!" Elder Brezakh yells. "Don't pull, push down! Stab him! Run him through!"

But he can neither push nor pull. Hayhek's grasp is too strong. Benkal continues to scream.

"Stop the fight!" Runethane Halmak yells suddenly. "Both of you, end this fight! Benkal, drop your blade!"

Yet the young dwarf does not, cannot. His own runes—or rather, my runes—have seized hold of him. He wrote a poem of a shadow devouring all light there is. Now it is devouring the light of his life, the brightness of his soul.

"I order you to stop!" yells the Runethane.

"Stop!" bellows Elder Brezakh.

"You'll have to drag the sword from his hand!" I say urgently. "Send someone down, my Runethane!"

He smashes an armored fist into the railing in a fury. The metal bar snaps.

"Oh, damn this all!" he shouts. "I'll go myself!"

Runic League and Red Anvil dwarves part as he turns and charges through the crowd toward a thin door. Elder Brezakh rushes to follow. I hurry after, and beckon Ithis to come as well. He's the one holding my weapons in Hayhek's stead—I think that I am very soon going to need them.

"Armored around the edge!" I shout over my shoulder to my guild. "Unarmored in the middle—just in case!"

I don't have time to see if they're obeying. Halmak and Brezakh are already in the doorway. Two guards make to block my path. I shove them to either side and barge on through. Ithis follows close behind. The half-covered light of my mace lights the corridor a whitish-gray, like dirty chalk.

Our heavy footsteps echo loudly. Neither Halmak or Brezakh seem to notice that we're following them, or else they just don't care. The fate of Benkal is more important.

"My Runethane—" begins a guard at the bottom of the stairs.

"Open the door!"

He hurries to obey. "And the two behind you?"

But Halmak and Brezakh are already dashing through. Before the guard can move to block me and Ithis, we're through too, and rushing over the dark gravel toward the two combatants. Benkal's left hand remains locked around the hilt. To my dismay, it seems that its spell has taken hold of Hayhek as well, despite the better quality of the metal armoring his hands—he also appears unable to release the weapon.

"Hayhek!" I shout. "Let go!"

He looks at me, and even that movement seems to take incredible effort. Ithis hands me my mace and I charge, aiming to smash the black blade apart.

Runethane Halmak's hammer reaches the black metal first. The sword-blade bursts into fragments. Hayhek gasps in relief, and his arms splay out either side of him. Ithis and I rush to undo his left pauldron.

"Chains!" I shout, looking around desperately. "Healing chains!"

"Healing chains!" screams Elder Brezakh. "Throw them down!"

Silvery ropes are thrown down from several of the stands. I nod to Ithis and he dashes for some. Brezakh charges in the opposite direction.

"Hayhek!" I say. "Hayhek! Stay awake!"

"I'm fine," he gasps. "Just cold."

I pull away his pauldron and examine the wound. It's deep, going right to the bone, yet it's not so wide, and neither is it ragged. The stab was a clean one, in and out. I struggle to pull his boot off and see that the one to his ankle is similar in shape.

Maybe if the shadowy metal had remained stuck into his flesh for a long time it would have done worse damage, drained his life away, but his flowing blood remains hot.

Ithis returns with a roll of bandages and two lengths of chain and we begin to bind the wounds. The chain is half wrapped when I'm grabbed from behind, pulled back. I turn furiously and shove my assailant away. It's one of the Red Anvil guild, in bronze armor.

"How dare you!" I scream out, and before I can stop myself, my fist is flying at his face. The punch dents his visor deeply and sends him sprawling on his back.

"Traitors!" another guard shouts. "Criminals!"

They surround us. Several draw swords.

"Stop!" Runethane Halmak yells. "Let him treat his friend! This is a trial, not a battle!"

Abashed, they sheath their swords. Ithis and I finish wrapping Hayhek's wounds, and now I have the time to spare to look to Benkal.

Elder Brezakh and one more senior runeknight are bent over him, screaming:

"Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!"

But he does not wake. His skin looks cold, and his eyes are empty.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.