Rune King

The sword in his hand felt heavy, but Gunnar ignored it. It still hurt to take in breath, and the wound in his side hadn't healed up half as much as he'd hoped that it might. But he couldn't let that get to him, either.

If it came down to it, he'd have to kill Valdemar, and he'd have to do it without hesitating. Without worrying about the consequences. Either that, or he would be at serious risk for losing himself. There was more experience on his side, quite a bit more in fact. But that meant nothing if he were fighting at half-strength, trying not to hurt him "too badly."

The moments stretched thin as he waited for Valdemar to join him. The challenge had been implicit in his declaration that he had control of the raiding party, and Gunnar had gone the extra mile, declaring that he'd be waiting in the middle of camp.

The wait wasn't quite cowardice—yet. But if he were another few minutes, Gunnar thought, he could fairly claim an easy victory. There was no way that the rest of the men, even the youngest, would accept the commands of a man who wouldn't even show up to a simple duel.

That wasn't to be, though, to Gunnar's severe disappointment. He pushed through to the middle, hefting a shield. It was an unusual sight, his carrying a blade and hefting a shield on his left arm. He must have been unused to it, but it would have been wrong of him to use his ax. Another point in Gunnar's favor, he reminded himself.

The two men clasped hands in what could only be called an illusion of civility, and then separated, each watching the other for any signs of movement. Gunnar tried to catch his breath, wincing with each. The longer this went on, he thought, the better chance that he had to recover and start to feel like himself again.

Valdemar must have known it, because as Gunnar stepped back he stepped in, testing the older man's guard with the point of his blade. It was gone before Gunnar could slap it away with his shield, pulled back before it touched flesh.

Faster than Gunnar had expected, he judged. That worried him. Before, in battle, Valdemar had always relied on his strength, wielding an ax that most men would have struggled merely to keep aloft. Yet it seemed that with a sword in hand, he had hands that could have matched anyone here.

Gunnar was quicker, though. He'd always prided himself on the speed of his thrust, on his ability to hide his intentions until it was too late. He stepped up, his hands at the ready, his shield up—Valdemar's blade snaked out, Gunnar managing to catch it with the flat of his own sword and smacking it away.

The riposte came suddenly, and arced around the edge of the shield, heading for Valdemar's unprotected sides, but he danced out of the way, tapping the blade with his shield as he did so.

This wasn't going to be a fight that was settled quickly, Gunnar decided. There was time enough for him to be careful. He took a step, and as he did, his blade came around to see how Valdemar defended his forward leg.

The shield came down hard, smacking the blade down before it found its mark, but as he stretched for the attack Gunnar felt something tearing in his side, a wound reopening. Something that hadn't happened since he could remember.

The parry set him off-balance, and then the pain distracted him, and Gunnar stumbled. Valdemar, as quick as he had proven himself, didn't let the opportunity by. He moved in, his elbow kept in close. If he hadn't been practicing with a sword, then he was a natural genius with his body.

The form was perfect, his blade making a straight shot towards Gunnar's ribs. It was all that he could do to get away with a light cut, barely able to smack the weapon away before he was skewered through.

What was happening to him? Gunnar had fought better opponents. He could see the moves happening almost as if they were in slow motion, but his body was… sluggish. Something was wrong with him, very wrong, and he needed to get it sorted out immediately.

He stepped back and tried to feel his muscles. Feel where he was tight, and what moved properly. What was wrong with him?

His side was numb, even the ache of having torn something gone, and yet he still felt as if he could hardly move his sword arm. Even trying to adjust it, find a comfortable position, seemed to be as if he were moving through water.

His shield arm was moving properly, but it was little consolation. A solid blow or two, and it would be splintered completely in half. This was certainly not the position he had hoped to find himself in when he had accepted the duel.

Every advantage had seemed to be his when he had started. Valdemar fought with an unusual weapon, and he might have been caught off-guard by the challenge from a man who was, by rights, already dead.

He hefted the sword again in his hand and circled around a testing jab, watching Valdemar for openings. He kept a neutral stance, and he wasn't too aggressive. Surprising. The unfamiliar weapon must have been having an effect on him after all, making him feel as if he had to compensate by being particularly careful.

If that was what he was thinking, then it was absolutely right. How Gunnar could manage to get around him, though, that was the real question.

"Have you had enough yet?" Valdemar smiled wolfishly, whirling his blade. He'd measured the distance well; it would be more than a step inside his guard, and the way that Gunnar's body was moving… he wouldn't make it before the big man could dance out of the way.

The only way that he could turn this around would be to fool him into attacking when Gunnar was already waiting. That would put him in position. His shield was heavy, and it wasn't going to help him. Not if he had to bait an attack. He would need to give Valdemar an opportunity that he couldn't refuse, and at the same time one that Gunnar could close in an instant.

He dropped it in the soil, the heavy wooden shield landing with a thud that seemed to Gunnar to be louder than it was.

"Giving up?" Valdemar didn't relax for a moment, even as he claimed his victory.

"I don't need a shield to protect myself from an amateur," Gunnar called back. One of the boys laughed nervously. The words were bold, coming from him. He'd narrowly avoided a skewer through the heart once. Without the shield, it wouldn't happen again.

He watched the point of Valdemar's blade carefully. He had to respond in an instant. The very moment that his point started towards Gunnar's unprotected flank, that would be the time to launch his counterattack.

Valdemar circled, certain that there was some kind of trap. Gunnar silently agreed. There most certainly was a trap in store, but it was the furthest thing from certain. He only hoped

that he wouldn't guess wrong about which way Valdemar would move.

The berserker finally stepped in, his blade still waiting. He moved closer, too close for a lunging attack. Either could have caught the other with a swing, but still he waited. Gunnar let out a heavy breath. He wanted to attack, wanted to strike home and end this.