Silver Blades: Prize Fight

Interlude 3 - The Prize Fight

L.E.Y. 3150

Ivy.

"I'll save the girl," the pretty one said.

I lay in a daze as he dressed my wounds with hastily cut strips of his shirt. Poison, loss of blood, and the entrancing way muscles played under his perfectly smooth skin were a heady mix that made the room spin.

" 'Tuli, if you've stanched the bleeding, the girl will keep!" the king's man called after a time. "El needs help with the big guy."

"Tuli," I breathed to myself, clearly delirious. Guess he was named after some kinda flower?

"Rest," he told me, switching the dagger to his left and drawing his sword. "I'll be but a moment." He turned away and my eyes followed.

I was shocked to realize people were fighting outside the cage. The tall tilwenna was working Boss Bhozak hard, but he had donned some kind of metal gauntlets, and for all his bulk he dodged or swatted her steel aside on every pass. As I watched, he caught her sword's blade—just plucked it from the air as casually as waving—and bashed her twice with thundering spike-knuckled blows from his other fist.

"Ella!" the captain cried from the other direction, his anguish giving Tortelli a momentary advantage.

He couldn't disengage, though, and another savage blow would have followed if flower boy hadn't darted in from behind to hack Bhozak's arm off at the elbow. The wench fell away as the boss let go of her sword, platinum hair everywhere, leaving Tuli with the cleanup.

Satisfied that his woman would survive, the guard captain regained his footing. I couldn't understand how he was even still alive, but he and Tortelli moved fluidly, and must have been more evenly matched than I would have believed. Which didn't make sense. Long, drawn out sword fights were for children's tales and street theater. Without an audience, earnest exchanges between blade masters intent on killing each other normally lasted a matter of moments.

What is happening here? Was Tortelli toying with the tilwen for some reason? I wouldn't put it past him. He did like to argue his views in lengthy sessions rendered in pain.

He harried the king's man with a wall of spinning, fast-moving steel; a maneuver from a southern style perfect for curved blades like his scimitar. An opponent never saw strikes or parries coming 'til it was too late and Tortelli moved from form to form with ease.

To my surprise, the tilwenor captain kept up. There was something odd about his sword. It was an extremely long and slim weapon, like the latest Kadenite swords, but something was wrapped around it.

Chips of it flew every time their weapons met... My mouth dropped open as I realized. He was fighting with his sword tied into the sheath!

"A beautiful Dust Devil," the captain was saying. He didn't even sound winded. "I've never seen a finer example. You had a Salibarian teacher, unless I miss my guess?"

"Condolan," Tortelli snarled back, his voice strained with concentration. "And his was from Lundora."

"But of the old Salibarian school, no doubt," the captain insisted. "It's a beautiful style."

"You may be familiar with Ja'alma," my boss hissed, "but ... do you know Entauru?"  Without missing a step, Tortelli flowed smoothly into the broad strokes of the Entauru forms, cutting at the tilwenor's legs, sword arm and head in three successive circles.

"I love Entauru!" his fool opponent exclaimed, almost excited. "I studied it, maybe a hundred twenty years ago in Kershon, under Andeyabi Maeron."