Harbormen

"No. This is something I have to do on my own, Shandra."

The blonde woman's eyes found the ground and she rubbed her arms. "But...I'm sure Khelgar, at least, would-"

The tiefling smiled gently, touched by her friend's concern. "But what if I were to let someone fight for me, and...they lost? I don't want another death on my hands, especially someone dear to me."

Shandra nodded slowly and sighed. "I suppose you're right." She gave Tasha a quick, forced grin, "Hit him hard, okay?"

"Heh. Will do."

Grobnar, who had been staring listlessly at the sky, suddenly gave a little squeal. "Oh! I've just thought of a song for this occasion!" He bulled out his lute and began playing happily.

Tasha gave him a quick smile, briefly rested her hand on Shandra's arm, and then slowly walked into the arena.

She approached Lorne, who stood huge and imposing in the arena's center. A man next to Lord Nasher's side began to speak in a magically amplified voice, explaining the rules of this combat.

The cleric turned away from Nasher and looked at her companions, watching her from the stands. Casavir, Qara, Sand, Neeshka, Khelgar, Elanee, and there, standing partially concealed by shadows behind the group, Bishop.

On sudden impulse Tasha grinned and waved at her companions, then blinked at Lorne when he gave a low growl. Bishop was right, the tiefling thought as she eyed him. He's really not in control. He want to tear into me this second.

Tasha gave the huge man a lazy smile and said, "Hiya."

He looked down at her, dark eyes narrowing dangerously, and stroked his falchion almost lovingly.

She blinked up at him, lifting one hand to sheild her eyes from the sun's glare. "Whoa. You're head's like a beacon for the sunlight. Did you know that?"

His lip curled angrily. "Shut up! Just for that, I'm gonna rip the-"

"Flesh from my bones, I know, or skin from my flesh or whatever," the cleric finished for him, absently waving her hand through the air. "Lots of people have said the same thing." She gave him a look of mock surprise and gasped, "Wouldn't you know it, they're all dead!"

Lorne actually growled, the dark rumble starting in his chest and rising dangerously.

"Is the accusor or her champion here?" came the voice from above them.

Lorne turned and snarled, "We are here."

The man nodded and boomed, "Is the accused or her champion here?"

"Yep." She considered adding, And how are you this fine morning? I'm just peachy, but decided against it.

He eyed her gravely. "Very well. Move to each ends of the arena."

The pair obeyed, then turned to face each other.

"And...begin!"

The next few seconds seemed to move in slow motion for Tasha. The crowd screamed, practically begging for bloodshed. Her companions all yelled to her, perhaps trying to give her advice. Lorne roared and charged, falchion glinting acid green in the dawn's light.

Dawn... she thought with a strange peacefullness, and wondered for a moment where the feeling had come from. After a moment she smiled and murmured, "Thank you, Lathander."

Alrighty, let's see just what this thing does... The tiefling brought one gloved hand to her neck, where a glinting snake hung loosely, and said 'Haste!' in a loud voice.

Almost immediately she felt the sudden glow of energy, the extra spring in her step and the wild rushing of her blood.

Twin daggers came out of her boots in a lighting move and she crouched, waiting for Lorne to reach her. "Score one to Bishop."

The man came closer, his long legs eating up the distance between them. Closer, closer...and then he was only six feet away, within range of striking at her. The cleric gave him a huge, falsely confident smile, and rolled to the side when he swung.

She sprinted a few steps, moving impossibly fast due to the haste spell, and whirled back to launch a dagger at Lorne. It clipped his shoulder, cutting shallowly and doing no real damage, and the man came on.

"Aw, crap!" she snarled at him, pulling another dagger out of a slit in her leathers, then turned and dashed towards the other end of the arena.

Bishop nearly laughed out loud at the scene; Tasha would speed away from Lorne, then turn and throw a dagger or two to keep him occupied, then would run away. It looked, he thought absently, like a bear running after a squirrel.

Tasha let the chase continue until all but one of her daggers had been thrown. She felt only a little winded, since the haste spell would keep her from any real fatigue. Lorne, she noticed with satisfaction, was bright red with fury, frustrated at the ridiculous game she was playing.

"Hold still, damn you!" he roared at her.

He's at his breaking point... he's gonna go berserk. "Score two to Bishop," Tasha muttered nervously.

As if on cue the man seemed to grow larger, muscles bulging, and knuckled whitening on the hilt of his huge blade. Tasha gulped.

"Lathander, give me strength!" she called out to the dawn light, instantly feeling a surge of power throughout her body. The cleric sprinted a few feet, Lorne predictably following, and whipped back abruptly to throw the last dagger. It hit him in the thigh with a dull thud, sunk in, and began oozing blood, and the man paused. He stared down at the blade, then grinned up at Tasha and ripped it out without flinching.

That's not good... Her scimitars came out in a blur and she yelled 'Haste!' again, touching the snake. The spell renewed itself, bringing fresh energy.

This time Lorne came on slowly, stalking around her in a wide circle. She turned in time with him, crouched and ready for the first strike.

"My turn to make a threat," she snarled when the blow came, swishing above her when she rolled backwards. "How about I rip every bit of hair from your oversized frame...oh, wait, you don't have-"

The cleric broke of abruptly, launching herself at Lorne, who met the rush furiously.

Both scimitars flashed wildly, ringing against his falchion as she rolled, twisted, and ducked in hasted manuvers that he barely matched. She scored one, then another, hit on his body, but they did no real damage and only served to enrage him further.

Tasha dipped backwards, avoiding another slash, and threw herself forward in a roll. One blade flashed dark, glistening red when it connected to Lorne's thigh, and the other dove in for a fatal cut.

In a desperate move, the man twisted and cut down with his sword. The blow missed by a hair, but his kick did not.

The tiefling felt the air blasted out of her, and then she was flying away from Lorne. She sailed a few feet, into the arena wall, and slumped to the dirt limply. There was a strange, white light on the edge of her vision, and the cleric heard someone screaming her name from far away. Then a tree formed in front of her blurred vision.

Wait... her thoughts swirled numbly as she watched the tree lift off the ground, then return several feet closer. That's no tree...

She blinked rapidly, trying to focus her vision as Lorne's huge boot drew closer. Come on, Tasha, MOVE!

"You're dead, fool," came a distant growl, and the boot stepped down a few inches from her face.

Bishop's grip on his bow tightened when Lorne walked to the fallen tiefling. Get up, dammit! Get up! he found himself fingering an arrow, wondering what the penalty was for interferring. One shot, right in the man's face...

"I'm gonna enjoy this." Lorne gloated as she turned glazed eyes up to him. The falchion came up, moving in slow motion, and then came down in a rapid blur of steel and acid.

Her mind was hazily trying to understand the situation, but her body reacted on instinct. Tasha's side groaned in agony when she raised her arms, clutching her blades numbly, and slashed dissorientedly at the man in front of her.

One scimitar shot straight up, its curving blade intercepting Lorne's falchion and managing to knock it slightly aside. The blow aimed at Tasha's heart found her shoulder, and an explosion of white hot fire raced through her entire right side.

The other weapon went out at an angle, hitting Lorne's leather-clad shin and driving through it, and the blade imbedded itself half-way into his leg. He roared, more in rage than pain, and staggered backwards, leaving his falchion imbedded in the cleric's shoulder.

The pain from his blow brought Tasha's mind reeling back into reality, and she opened her mouth in a silent scream. Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh that bloody hurts

She gasped in a breath and prayed madly, words tumbling out of her mouth in a confused and hurried order. The pain receded, and she turned to look at the huge weapon.

There's no way I can pull that out before he reaches me...oh, this is going to hurt so bad... She took a deep breath, gritted her teeth, and rolled to the side, screaming.

Lorne stood and hobbled towards the fallen woman, then collapsed again on his gushing shin. He growled when she rolled, ripping the falchion out of her shoulder and screaming a healing prayer. The wound slowly closed, but blood still seeped out and her face remained contorted with pain. Abruptly the man rose, ignoring his leg, and lunged for the falchion.

He grabbed the hilt right when Tasha snatched her scimitar and whirled on him, eyes wide and breath ragged. The falchion came out, swung around and impaled the tiefling when she lunged to him.

For what seemed an eternity they stared at each other, the screaming crowd forgotten. Tasha hung suspened on Lorne's blade, sticking through her stomach. Lorne felt something warm and wet on his neck and saw the tell-tale glint of red metal near his collarbone. Surprisingly, there was little pain, just the strangest sensation of falling into a dark pit. And, suddenly, his head seemed to roll back impossibly far, glazed eyes barely registering the red and orange dawn above him. Then there was the feel of the cool dirt underneath him, though he didn't remember lying down.

Tasha fell to her knees when Lorne, a scimitar imbedded in his throat, slumped backwards. She tumbled forwards, towards the man, but the hilt of the falchion was pressed against him and prevented her from reaching the cool, inviting ground.

As if from far away, voices seemed to be calling to her. People seemed to be screaming, cheering, and she hazily wondered what they were cheering for. Then, on the edge of her vision, she dimly made out a group of blurred figures jumping out of the stands and into the arena. The figures, she thought, looked familiar. And then one of then had its hands on her shoulders, another was tearing off her leather and shirt, there were murmuring voices, the feel of warmth spreading into her bleeding stomach and, mercifully, a black cloud that blocked out the sounds and figures and pain and carried her into peacefull darkness.

Whew! I can't believe I managed to finish this before we left for vacation! Ok, so this will definitely be the last chapter for about two weeks...review if ya liked it!