Eater-Of-Ants nudged Ardin. "The chieftain wants blood. Someone fights his knifelord to properly amuse him before negotiations begin. Doesn't have to be to the death, but usually ends up that way. You accept or bad things happen." Ardin glanced at Marten. Marten had nothing to say. This was Ardin's call. "I'll see what I can do," said Ardin. He stood, accepting the two weapons handed to him. The yrst was a parrying knife, the grammol a many-barbed blade. Once thrust into the body, the hilt is wrenched from the blade and kept as a trophy. The embedded blade transports the dead man's soul to a warrior's paradise or to hell -- whichever he deserves. The two squared off. Ardin lowered his weapons. The other paused, suspicious, then lashed forward with a fierce thrust. Ardin became a blur. His two weapons tangled with the opponent's barbed grammol, he twisted, and the enemy blade snapped free of its hilt. Ardin bowed, turned and sat down beside Marten. The Malkoch knifelord and chieftain both stared at him wide-eyed. "Did that impress them, or will they eat us now?" whispered Marten... |
