Part 42:

"Fight to yield or to incapacitation," Fontaine said, and then stepped away.

Montreux stepped around Alistair, and Alistair let him circle, turning with him but stubbornly not giving ground.

When Montreux charged at him, he let out a mighty War Cry, feeling the fury turn to magic as it rolled out of him. The Chevalier was thrown back, landing hard on the ground.

Before he could get up, Alistair hit him with a powerful uppercut of the shield. Montreux staggered and stepped back, blood dripping from under his helm. The pair moved around each other again, searching, searching, ever searching for an instant of weakness.

Montreux darted forward, faster than one would think a man could move in plate armor, and slammed his shield hard against Alistair, popping the pommel of his sword out to slam brutally into his helmet when the Warden parried the expected slash.

It was Alistair's turn to stand shaking his head, trying to clear it. Montreux pressed his advantage, slashing into Alistair's upper thigh.

Metal screamed and tore. Alistair grunted. Blood covered Montreux's sword.

Alistair stepped back, bringing his sword back in tight and shifting the sword. When Montreux's eyes darted to it, he slammed the sword out hard, hitting Montreux's sword arm with a powerful 'crack!'

It was clearly broken, but the Chevalier didn't hesitate. He knelt, and in a single smooth motion, let go of the forward strap of his shield and pulled a poultice out. Immediately, the arm was knit, and he picked up the sword again.

"He's cheating!" Mira gasped.

Alistair dimly heard Fontaine speaking to her. "No. There are no rules in this fight. Criminals, demons, Darkspawn… they don't fight fair. So neither can we."

Blood continued to run out of the hard, sharp cut on his leg, and he knew his time was running out. Montreux knew what he was doing, and the cut was far more than superficial. It was well-aimed, nicking the femoral artery.

He had maybe a minute, or less before he could no longer function. Even a nick to this artery was deadly, and he could feel the faintness setting in already.

He should yield so that he could live. He really should. But Montreux saw the amount of blood he was losing, and grinned.

His confidence, his arrogance, was his undoing.

He came in towards Alistair, who exaggerated his suffering, pretending to be faint and dying already—though there was less pretense in it than he would have wished.

When the Chevalier brought his sword up for a final blow, obviously believing that he could 'accidentally' kill Alistair, the Warden lurched forward, driving his sword upwards with all his strength.

The Chevalier's arm severed as the sword sliced into it, dangling crazily as his sword dropped the floor. He reached for another poultice, but Alistair was too close this time. His other hand, disengaged from the shield, was sliced as well, though with much less efficiency than the other.

It was enough, though, that he could use neither.

He screamed, rather like a little girl, Alistair thought.

"I yield, I yield! Save me!" Chevalier Montreux screamed, then promptly lost control of his bowel and his bladder.

Alistair lost consciousness and tumbled to the ground.