Tales of the Vangen: The Black Ministry's Betrayal (Book 1)

Chapter 28: A Duel to the Death

It had been a long time since anyone had challenged Regis to a duel. A thrill bloomed in his chest, radiating heat from cheek to cheek. They say the art of dueling had been invented in Danic. Two warriors agreed to the conditions of the other if they were to win or lose. No outside interference. No dirty tricks. There was only the matching of skill, with your life as the bargaining chip.

"You have no idea how long I've waited for this." Regis smiled. "Twenty years to be precise."

"I'm not the least bit surprised." Tranquillis hefted his bastard sword over his shoulder, leaning into it. A swordsman's stance. "You've fought without honor for too long. I can see the hunger in your eyes."

Regis took a step down the dais, body low to center himself. "Is that all you're going to do, old man? Insult me to death? I can hear your bones creaking from here."

Another step and then another. By the time Regis had reached the bottom, he was nearly fifteen feet from Tranquillis. The Minister had not moved from his position. Still focused on his stance, like an unwavering statue.

"Go on then," Tranquillis goaded. "Come at me and see whose bones creak first."

Regis obliged. He roared and propelled himself from the stones. His axes came down upon Tranquillis. Metal squealed as his iron bit against the bastard sword's metal. Tranquillis remained unmoved.

"Pathetic." The Minister whirled his sword up from beneath the axes. Regis ducked, just as the blade screamed past his vision. The two backed off again, assessing each other once more.

Regis hadn't expected Tranquillis to move at such a speed. He couldn't afford to underestimate him again. The cut on his cheek was proof of this.

"It appears I have taken first blood." Tranquillis mocked. He placed the bastard sword back on his shoulder. "Do you yield?"

"Never," Regis spat.

Tranquillis gave a withering sigh. "Then, you will die."

The Danic warriors came together in a clash once more. A rhythm developed between them as sword and axes met.

Strike. Step. Strike. Strike. Step.

Probing blows were deflected. Feints were caught and retaliated. Regis danced about Tranquillis, trying to chip away at him. The Minster, however, never left his position, matching every blow Regis could give him.

"Yield," Tranquillis repeated.

"No." Regis lashed out. His breathing began to labor now, growing more ragged with every swing of his axes. Tranquillis' defense was as impregnable as a mountain fortress. And the old man had shown no signs of tiring. Was his foul wyrdling magick sustaining him? It didn't matter. Steel always served better than sorcery ever could.

"Yield."

"Shut up!" Regis swung, caught Tranquillis' sword in his ax, and pulled, yanking the Minister's arm forward. He turned down with the other, aiming for the wrist.

Metal squealed as Tranquillis unhooked his sword and pulled back. Instead of his wrist, Regis struck the flat end of the bastard sword. His ax exploded upon impact, showering them both in iron.

Regis retreated, shielding himself with his arm. The shrapnel burned into his flesh. Hot and red. It only took a glance at his ax to know what had happened. Where a full head should have been, now only half remained. The rest had been shorn clean off. With regret, he tossed the ax aside.

Tranquillis pointed the unscathed sword at Regis. "Your mettle is as weak as your ax, prince. Yield, before I am forced to kill you."

Regis bit down on his lip until he could taste copper. That damned word was starting to get on his nerves now. "I will not surrender. You know this duel can only end in two ways. Yours or mine."