Garrett pulled Heofonfyr free and stepped back, wolf-like eyes flicking at Roper, who, he knew, was next in line. He unleashed his wide grin as he saw who his opponent was and hefted his mighty spear, stepping back to give Roper space to advance. Roper raised Cold-Edge, opened his mouth to speak, but another figure stepped out in front of him. It was a guardsman, his ponytail exceptionally long, evidently determined to fight Garrett.
Pryce the Wild.
“No!” shouted Roper. “The Eoten-Draefend is mine!”
Pryce did not even turn to face Roper. Instead he launched a lunge at Garrett that almost took out the Sutherner’s eye. It would have done, but Garrett was just equal to deflecting it so that it grazed the side of his face and sliced into his ear. The force of his lunge had sent Pryce sliding forward through the mud and he danced backwards, parrying Heofonfyr twice before the two warriors separated. There was a tense pause. That first lunge alone had made Garrett cautious, and the two warriors appraised each other across the space that was forming around them as each side gave their champion room.
“What is your name?” called Garrett in his accented Anakim. “I wish to know who this is that I am about to kill.”
“My name? I am Pryce Rubenson. I cut off Earl William’s head. I hold more Prizes of Valour than any man living. I am the fastest warrior in the north. I facilitated the death of Lord Northwic, and when I am done with you I will kill your master too.”
Garrett nodded slowly. “Lovely accolades,” he said. “I am the Eoten-Draefend, of Eskanceaster. I have duelled with the Unhieru and killed Gogmagoc’s eldest son, Fathochta, in single combat. I have killed one of your winged legates and half a dozen Sacred Guardsmen. Tonight, I shall boast that I brought to justice Earl William’s killer.” With that, Garrett attacked. Heofonfyr surged forward, blade silver-white in the hail and streaking for Pryce’s chest. But it found only empty air: the guardsman was gone. He had stepped aside as though he had known for days where that spear would be at that moment, and delivered a backhand slice that Garrett had to duck beneath. Pryce bounced off the ball of one foot and struck right, then left, forcing Garrett to parry with a shower of white sparks. He was frighteningly quick and when Garrett returned some thrusts of his own, they seemed to bounce off an impenetrable shield of flashing alloy. Pryce lunged forward and Garrett was forced to react to that snake-like speed, swinging Heofonfyr across his body in a parry. But Pryce had been feinting. His sword, instead of being deflected by Garrett’s spear, surged into his chest and sent the huge Sutherner backwards. His bone-plates held the powerful blow but he almost lost his footing in the mud and had to flail his arm to remain upright. Pryce took advantage and lunged for his thigh but Heofonfyr came at the guardsman in a slashing arc that cut across his jaw and sent him reeling back. Pryce stood off for a moment, raising his hand to his jaw and taking it away to observe the fresh blood that beaded there. Garrett’s slip had been faked to draw a wild lunge from Pryce and it was the Sutherner who had drawn blood.
The battle raged on around them, less exalted heroes clashing and dying in their thousands, but Roper was entranced by the combat before him.
Heofonfyr surged forward once more, going for Pryce’s unarmoured knee. Pryce did not move except to lift one leg so that the spear slid harmlessly past. Garrett swept it to the side, hoping to cut Pryce’s other leg from beneath him whilst all his weight was on one limb, but somehow Pryce catapulted himself over the arc of Heofonfyr, escaping quite unharmed and bringing his own blade round in a savage overhead attack. Garrett ducked away and he and Pryce clashed four, five, six, seven times to produce a curtain of white sparks, blades moving so fast that Roper could not tell the difference between lunge and parry. Chips of Unthank-silver were flying off Pryce’s weapon where it came into contact with Heofonfyr’s diamond-dust edge. The two warriors were almost dancing with one another, feet twisting this way and that in the mud in a series of moves so skilled that they looked pre-ordained. But it was Garrett who was retreating. Pryce was too fast and Garrett had to move backwards to give himself more time to react. Pryce crowded him and launched an enormous swing at Garrett’s neck. It was easy to block but so hard that it was clearly aimed to intimidate Garrett. The Sutherner responded with all the force he had,
