Vikter & the Dark Spire

CHAPTER EIGHT: TRAINING

Vikter ducked as the sword blade whizzed by overhead "That was too close!" he thought to himself as he took several steps back and away from his opponent. He raised his swords in front of him, but it was no use.

A few steps away, Airyn smirked and shook his head, his eyes full of disdain. The elf was fast and strong, and it was all Vikter could do to keep from losing his swords every time he attacked. He wouldn't last much longer. He was sure of that.

Airyn lunged, stabbing at him. With a flick of his wrist, Vikter deflected the swordpoint with his own blade and it stabbed solidly into thin air beside him. Overextended, Airyn's gut was left open to attack for the slightest fraction of a second before he recoiled. That was all Vikter needed.

He drove his knee up and into Airyn's gut with all his might, and the elf crumpled to the ground.

"Good!" came Sage's voice from a few steps behind where Vikter scrambled to feet. "You're clever, Vikter!"

"Clever?" Vikter thought to himself, smiling. But his moment of gloating was a moment too long. In a blur, Airyn spun his prostrate body, kicking his legs around and out before Vikter could even think to react. Next thing Vikter knew, his head had struck the cobblestone and he was staring up into the blue sky. He groaned when Airyn's face appeared above him.

"You want to fight cheap?" he snapped. "I can fight cheap, too." Then Airyn turned and walked away and something about that bothered Vikter.

"That's right," he called in a weak voice as he rose to his elbow. "Run away. You never stood a chance..." Vikter's voice faltered as a wave of dizziness swept over him. He felt weak, and the back of his head stung with pain, but he couldn't let Airyn just walk away like that. If it had been anyone else he was fighting, he would have been fine throwing in the towel now. He had taken a beating. His head pounded, his lip was cracked, and he was bleeding from at least half a dozen flesh wounds the elf had left upon his body. But he couldn't give up. Not now.

Airyn stopped. "You can't be serious," he said without turning around.

Vikter staggered to his feet, wiping his bloody lip on the back of his hand before picking up his swords. "Dead serious," he said as he took his stance. "I never yielded. You walk away now and I'm the victor."

"Nice one," came Casper's smiling voice from the sidelines. He was never one to leave a good pun unappreciated.

Airyn, however, turned, looking even more offended and indignant than usual. Vikter didn't care. What did he have to lose? Airyn did nothing but treat him like an embarrassment as it was, so what did he care if he was suddenly offended by him?

"Vikter," came Sage's voice. "Are you sure you can go on?"

"I'm sure," Vikter said, his eyes locking onto Airyn's.

"So be it!" the elf snarled. And then he charged.

Vikter had always known Airyn to be a fierce fighter, but he had never experienced ferocity like that which the elf hurled at him in that moment. His double swords screamed through the air as he whirled and spun and jumped and ducked and rolled and stabbed and slashed.

By some miracle and a lot of desperate parrying, Vikter sustained only a few minor wounds during the attack. "You're clever," Sage had said. His words echoed through Vikter's mind as he deflected yet another explosive combination of attacks. Airyn was stronger, faster, and a better swordsman, so he knew he had to use this newfound cleverness to his advantage. Airyn was good, but he wasn't perfect.

Just then, Airyn paused his onslaught and eyed Vikter, his swords poised as he circled him slowly. The elf's movements were smooth and graceful and light. The opposite of Vikter's strong, direct approach to combat. And there it was—Airyn's weakness.