DUEL

DUEL, by R. M. Gulaya, artwork by Lilith Graves

 

 

 

This was a magnificent place to spill blood. The clearing here was not a natural thing, but rather a scar, blasted out of the thick pine forest by magical fires of war some fifty years ago. Kael marveled at the scene, so familiar yet brand new. Back then it was charred, shattered trees still gleaming orange, the sky a reddish-black cloud that loomed far too low. If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the heat of the blaze on his face, still hear the cries of the thousands who died that day.

Now it was quiet, serene, perfect. Ankle-high snow blanketed the clearing, and white capped trees tightly surrounded the space, forming a massive area. Had the old man thought to return here earlier in life, he may have chosen this place for the site of his home. Now, perhaps, it would mark his grave.

The afternoon freeze set in, biting at his wrinkled face and hands. His thick snow-white cloak proved to be useless in the chill. But Kael was Undan, if the cold bothered him, he would never admit it, not even to himself.

His opponent was late. Kael wondered if the traitorous wretch would even bother to show himself. He would wait until sundown, and no later. After all, the site of their duel was not an easy place to find, but his opponent would know where it was. After all, he was here all those years ago, standing at the head of an invading army.

Kael–as anyone from Unda would–arrived at the appointed time and place, ready to face an honorable death, or achieve a righteous kill. His opponent may be a traitor, but he was still Undan. He would show.

As minutes faded into hours, snow flurried from the slate-gray skies and the old man finally wondered why he had bothered to come himself. He was here to duel as Kael Aegis, one of the great generals of Unda, but that man vanished decades ago; a war criminal, guilty only of siding with those who lost. Now he went by Vero Genesse–a forgettable name in this region–and he tried his best to be a forgettable man.

It was by chance he spotted the traitor yesterday on the streets of West Varland. Kael had chosen one of the more remote farming villages in Unda for his home, and had not expected to ever see a familiar face. He could not fathom what that man was doing back in the very country he helped decimate all those years ago. The fact that he even set foot in Unda after the misery he affected on its people was a terrible insult.

Kael’s hands instinctively brushed the hilt of the ornate shortsword resting at his side. In truth, he had not touched his service weapon since he began his new life, and as such was horribly out of practice. He was old now, slow, but not weak. For his new beginning, he chose the modest profession of farmer, married a local woman, and even delivered a few offspring to House Genesse. Here and now, though, he felt the oldest man in history, having twice lived full and complete lives.

Forcing away thoughts of his peaceful life, Kael drew his sword, scanning the treeline to make sure no one watched from afar, and practiced a few of the more complex spells from his past. The muscles lagged, the joints creaked, but the motions were ingrained. He swung his sword in an exaggerated arc and pivoted on his heel. A huge, crescent-shaped icicle–razor sharp–emerged from the point as it carved its path through crisp air. The projectile sailed forward and disappeared into the treeline. The old man sheathed the sword, satisfied that his skill was more than enough to handle one man of the same advanced age.

The snap of a branch resounded in Kael’s ears, sharp in the muffled silence. He jumped at the sound, hand closing tightly around the hilt of his sword. Never averting his gaze from the source of the disturbance, he circled to the other side of the clearing.

There he stood, Ekunoro Branth. The monster from his past emerged from the hazy white trees and into the open.

It was all Kael could do not to strike him down at first sight, but resisting the base urge made him a better man than his opponent. Honor did not need to be kept, no one else would know what happened here, but that was of no consequence. Kael would know. Killing Ekunoro in honorable combat would not absolve any sins in the eyes of Unda’s new overlords. This was for Kael, and Kael alone.

Ekunoro’s dark face had become hard and lined. A silver, short-cropped beard graced his chin, and stark white hair curled down to his shoulders. At a glance, unrecognizable. It was the long, heavy warstaff he carried that proved his identity beyond any doubt. It was taller than Ekunoro, with beautiful, intricate patterns of Undan flora etched into it. Despite countless battles, the staff had never received a single scar. Kael would recognize that weapon anywhere.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Kael said. “But it’s good that you did. Let’s finish this the traditional way.”

Ekunoro whispered something. What he said was lost in the icy breeze, but the slight wave of his hand alerted Kael to the attack. A pair of daggers flew out of the trees behind the aged general. They were upon him in an instant, but his own blade, drawn in a flash, sent them sprawling to the snow. He glared back at his opponent, venom dripping from his eyes.

“You resort to tricks, Ekunoro? Where is your honor?”

The silver-haired man drew another dagger from beneath his cloak.

“Lost it in the war,” he said, and with another whisper, cast the blade.

To Kael’s eyes, it seemed as if the knifepoint appeared in front of his face the instant it left his opponent’s hand. A purely reflexive flick of the sword saved his life. The knife fell harmlessly into the snow, swallowed up like the others.

Fire burned in Kael’s veins. All the old memories came flooding back. Their friendship forged through pain and blood, their separation, and the war. No matter his reluctance to remember, all thoughts of his past life found their way to the war. It was here in this very forest, all those years ago, that he found his friend again. Seeing Ekunoro among the enemy had been the worst moment of Kael’s life. Surrendering to him was the second. But the last laugh still belonged to Kael. He had taken his revenge.

With a twisted sneer, Kael thrust his sword forward with all the power he could muster. A massive crystalline harpoon coalesced around the blade and shot towards Ekunoro, but he swiftly sidestepped the projectile and shattered it to snow with a lazy strike from his staff.

Kael had already begun the motions for his next spell, but here his age betrayed him. He was barely halfway through the motions of his incantation when Ekunoro made a quick come hither motion. As if on strings, Ekunoro’s three daggers jumped out from the snow where they had fallen, and soared straight into Kael’s back. One embedded so deep the point jutted out his chest, creating a crimson blemish on his snow white cloak.

Kael sank to one knee. Numbness crept out from the knife in his spine, relaxing his extremities, but he refused to release his sword.

“Traitor as you are, I had thought you a warrior,” his words were choked and gurgled. “But you’re a simple coward.” Propping himself on his sword, Kael groaned as he rose to his feet, struggling to keep balance. Black tendrils crept into the edges of his vision, and he began to shiver. It’s an old saying, Undans feel the cold only when standing next to Death himself.

Through a tipping haze, he saw Ekunoro grip his weapon at one end with both hands, and with a great cry in a dialect Kael did not understand, swung it in a wide arc. A gust of wind that put the brutal hurricanes of the south to shame took Kael off of his feet and sent him sprawling backwards. New pain seared through his back as the trunk of one the great pines brought his tumbling flight to an abrupt end. For a long second his legs were gone, but the feeling soon returned in searing waves.

Ekunoro was already standing over him, the trail of disturbed snow left behind served as the only evidence he had not simply appeared from thin air. Kael had fought others with the ability to speak to the Wind before, but never with this level of mastery. Ekunoro’s magic was too precise; the Wind did not allow humans such complete control over it, or so the old man had thought.

Kael waved his sword, his grip on it failing one finger at a time. Still, the practiced motion of the spellcast was second nature even in his battered state. Four spears of ice lanced out of the ground, each from a different angle around his opponent, all straining for his chest. They seemed to Kael to pass through their target, as though he were a phantom. In the same instant, Ekunoro again popped up at his side. An explosion of snow revealed the path he took at a speed impossible to comprehend. Before Kael could look up at his opponent, the massive warstaff cracked down on his head. The world spun on a brand new axis. The snowy ground, now stained with red, hung above him and dripped down into the sky. Something hot stung his eyes. He tried to shuffle backwards but was unable to tell if he was even moving.

 

***

 

Ekunoro looked down at the battered man at his feet. The years of meditation, of training to soothe his ever present anger, had succumbed to the inferno generated at the sight of Kael. The visage of his old friend melted into the memory of a city alight, of smoke so thick his vision ended at his fingertips, of an entire people erased in a matter of days.

When he approached the site mentioned in Kael’s challenge, he had expected a trap. He expected to face a madman looking for a quick and brutal finish to the one loose end left behind in his trail of vengeance.

In Ekunoro’s wildest dreams, he never thought Kael would actually be waiting alone, hopelessly clinging to the old ways of false honor he had long since abandoned.

“Traitor!” Kael shrieked at the trees, blinded by blood in his eyes. “This should have been honorable!” The words rasped out through labored gasps. “A duel, not mundane butchery. Why?”

Ekunoro said nothing. It could have been the first time they spoke in decades. He could have asked why, demanded a reason, an excuse, anything. But once he was there, face to face with the man who commanded the eradication of an entire city and its people–his people–there were no words. There was only this.

The staff descended again and again, Kael’s skull crumpled like a melon under the blows. The battered man somehow attempted to cast another spell during the savagery, but only succeeded in creating a small mound in the snow at Ekunoro’s feet before the life finally escaped him.

Now, staring down at what was left of Kael Aegis, the Butcher of Yrem, Ekunoro felt no satisfaction, no remorse. Only the bitter relief of a job done too late to save anyone, but nonetheless complete.

 

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R.M. Gulaya is a speculative fiction writer from Washington state.  Most of his time is split between working and being a dad, but writing takes up any bits of free time he can cobble together.  To date, Duel is his first published story.

 

Lilith Graves is an alumni from the University of New Mexico with a Bachelor’s in studio arts. She currently enjoys doing freelance illustration in various media, from 3D digital sculpting to charcoal and watercolor.