The sound of steel on steel echoed through the still morning air.
It was a haunting sound, cooling the blood in a way that the temperate air could not. It was a sound that could still be felt long after the noise had left the ears because it carried with it a prelude to furious action.
Both men stood in age old positions.
Tactical stances practiced so precisely and so often that they were as natural as walking, as natural as breathing.
The Spaniard shifted his weight.
The man in black raised the point of his sword.
The Spaniard lunged low with his rapier into the newly exposed area.
The man in black, anticipating the attack blocked low and countered with a rolling back handed slash to the throat. The Spaniard swayed away from the cut, unharmed.
Again they faced each other, motionless in the metallic echo.
Appraisals were made, mutual respect was established. The man in black had formerly been the Dread Pirate Roberts a man whose life was unceasingly plunged into a world of cunning deceit and calculated violence. He had fought more duels than was healthy for a man of his age and had the scars to prove it. The Spaniard was no stranger to the sword; he had been driven by vengeance since childhood to learn all he could about fencing. As a teen he had been a live-in student at the infamous Salle D'Armes in Florence, graduating a Blade master. Since then he had lived the life of a sword for hire, ever sharpening his skills in preparation for the day he would meet the man who murdered his father.
Yet despite their backgrounds they were not what you would call aggressive men. Anger had no place here, neither one would shout or curse at the other. They were men of action not words and their swords would speak for them. Strangely neither man wished the other ill intent, they had sat calmly side by side and talked. But the conflict had to be resolved. They would settle this encounter the way they had been trained: with a skilled hand and a sharp mind.
Motion exploded between them. Tongues of silver darted forward and back between them in an intricate pattern, cutting deeply into the haze of dust raised from the furious movement of their boots.
Dust clung to the back of his throat and his mouth was dry. Wesley allowed himself to pant a little now. He was almost spent from the climb but had managed not to show it. The Spaniard was good. He was better than good he was deadly. But loosing to this man meant loosing his true love, and that just wasn't an option.
Indigo was both delighted and frustrated. This dark crusader was matching him move for move. Not since simultaneously dueling his instructors in Florence had he felt so unsure of the outcome, he realized then that he had spent too long in the company of the wine bottle. As much as he admired this mysterious man he had to defeat him, his father's killer must be found and made to pay the price. That could only happen if he was alive to do it. He tightened the grip on his father's sword.
The boulders and rocks sat clustered around them like an audience struck silent with anticipation.
The orange yellow glow of the broken dawn splashed across the very tops of the ruins around the combatants, and rolled slowly down the crumbling spires like a mixture of liquid amber and fresh honey. To a close observer it was easy to see that the stone that made up the ruins were not from around here. Few would know however that they had been transported halfway around the world by an ancient fleet to this site, to make what was centuries ago a magnificent Stronghold. Its walls were legendary and its workmanship unsurpassed in its time. This combined with the natural defense of the knee watering cliffs at its sides made it a military out post of no small consequence.
Long before these stones became mere rubble, this Stronghold gave rise to a thriving and prosperous town. The walls its people were not always drab grey, they once were full of intricate carvings of far off lands and white washed to make the whole lot gleam as if it was all carved from a single huge piece of marble. The proficiency of its soldiers and its nearness to the common trade routes made this a favorite meeting place for merchants to exchange payments, making the local markets rich with the finest fabrics and the rarest spices. The streets were lined with fruit trees and from the roofs of peoples hoses hung baskets of flowers from all parts of the globe.
But of course this little slice of paradise could not last. Word got out about the riches that were often held here. Greed was the eventual down fall of this mighty Stronghold. Not the greed from its citizens, the families that lived here felt blessed. Not greed from its soldiers, they were all well disciplined troops and content to be posted in a place that could protect their family's and provide for them so well. It was the greed and envy of the neighboring city that caused this place to fall.
Its walls could fend of great armies but it was powerless to stop the corrupt hearts of men.
A thief was sent ahead of the invasion. His task, drug the town's water supplies. It was an easy mission. He blended in with the midday markets crowd; his slight of hand skills enabled him to drop a small container into the large public well. Later that night the neighboring city sent a contingent of its best troops headed by the Captain of the City guard to share meals and wine with the off duty soldiers. They were of course welcomed in freely, the multiple gates closing solidly behind them. No one suspected a thing. That night the town was attacked from the inside. The drug had taken affect leaving people drowsy and disorientated, there reactions slow and sluggish.
The alarm was eventually raised but too late. By the time the bell had stopped ringing it was over. The Stronghold took a decade to build and one night to burn. After the invasion and fire no one returned to rebuild. The sound of the name of this former oasis by the sea came to represent to too many, all that was wrong with the world. What remained quickly fell into disrepair. Stone masons began to quarry the high grade granite for use in new houses, and what was left was soon reduced to ruins by the winds and storms from the ocean.
Wesley's mask felt gritty and the muscles in his arms felt tight. As it turned out neither of them were left handed. What are the odds of that? Wesley thought absently to himself. He would have shaken his head in sympathy for his backfired strategy but he didn't have the time. Once he found a way to beat this mans sword, he had a giant to overcome, a genius to outthink a princess to rescue and a country to flee. It was going to be a busy day. And to top it all off he had another stone in his boot. Great.
Indigo was seriously beginning to doubt his ability to finish this fight the way he had intended. At first he thought this man would be easy to dispatch because of the exertion of climbing the cliffs. Ever since they had crossed swords however this man's form and style were steadily growing stronger. He thought at first it was just a ploy to cover the man's weakened state but now he had the feeling that the man was just toying with him from the beginning. It was a very intimidating thought.
Indigos own steps now became ever so slightly less sure and his attacks ever so slightly more desperate. This man seemed immortal; he just couldn't see himself winning. His resolve was breaking. It was the start of a downward spiral he knew well. He had caused a many swords to fall much the same way years ago.
-Flashback-
Indigo lay dozing on the tavern table not quite awake and not yet asleep. His minds eye drifted over images of his youth. His father standing amidst a field of wild flowers between their family's house and his father's metalworking forge by the stream. The azure sky broken here and their, with iridescent white clouds. His father looked down into his young clear eyes and smiled that enigmatic smile he often wore when they were alone together.
'We have done well this time eh little indigo?' his fathers voice thick with timbre and accent.
Slowly and great skill his father pulled their latest creation from the scabbard at his hip. Sunlight played along the mark-less rapier blade as he deftly swung the point to the ground. He brought it to a quick and complete stop just under the head of a wildflower, severing the stem. The deep blue-purple flower head balanced perfectly on the flat of the blade. It was the same type of flower that dominated the field in spring and the same type of the flower that his mother had named him after.
'See little indigo even the flowers dance at the beauty of this one's craftsmanship' his father flipped the flower head lightly into the air again and again each time swapping the sides of blade it landed on. Such was the gentleness of his father's movements that the dewdrops in the centre of the flower never spilled out over the petals. The young indigo laughed with delight at seeing the flower 'dance'.
Finally his father stopped and tilted the blade point down towards indigos palm. Indigo watched as the angle caused the dewdrops to spill out onto the blade, the flower the slipping down the water trail into his awaiting hand.
'We mustn't let the flower go to waste eh? Take it to your mother little Indigo so she can wear it in her hair. I have to finish the general's sword.'
Young Indigo stood still and watched his father's retreating form for a few precious moments then turned and ran to the house, both hands cupping the flower for his mother.
...his mother smells like a hamster!' rancorous laughter rang throughout the tavern as Indigo lifted his head from the wooden table, his ebony locks falling back onto his shoulders. The room was full of fishermen and farmers, sharing drinks and friendly insults. 'At least I know who my mother is!' came the reply from the other side of the room, followed by more drunken laughter.
Just then the tavern door burst open and a pale faced and mud streaked messenger stood looking about, holding himself up on very shaky legs. The room went quiet under his desperate gaze and the Barkeep spoke up ' what's the matter man?'
The messenger at first looked beyond words but then blurted out in a tiny voice ' their coming!'
'Who?' Persisted the Bar keeper. All eyes once again turned to the messenger.
'...marauders! Their coming ...here!' he all but whispered in the quiet room.
Blank looks were traded among the crowd
'Maraudersare coming! HERE!' he finally boomed and promptly disappeared back out into the cold night air. Suddenly every one felt very sober.
Marauders were the name given to a large gang of desperate men that had been pillaging up and down the coast. Well equipped from raiding the recent battlefields to the north, they stuck fear even into the towns that didhave troops garrisoned at them, unlike this one.
Chaotic action flared throughout the room as the Barkeep banged an empty cup on the bar to get everyone's attention. 'Get your family's in here! Your families will be safer if you get them here and take them upstairs! 'Frantic husbands and fathers fled out into the night to gather up their loved ones. Travelers grabbed nearby belongings and started heading up stairs. What the Barkeep said made sense and everyone knew it, the tavern was three stories tall and made of stone unlike the village's other houses and buildings that were all ground level and made of wood.
Indigo sat amid the flurry of people and looked around slowly. It appeared he was the only one left wearing a sword. All the others that he had seen with swords had somehow vanished. Indigo's hand shot out to his left with a speed that defied his drunken state and clasped down hard onto the arm beside him. The arm that was holding onto the neck of the rum bottle. His rum bottle. He turned to face the culprit who happened to be a very sneaky looking young man. The young man that had snuck up behind him leant across the table and tried to steal his rum before disappearing to safety. The cheek! Indigo stared at him for a long moment. It was enough. The young man grinned sheepishly, sensibly let go of the rum and ran off up stairs with the others.
Soon enough the common room was empty, the townsfolk safely upstairs. Indigo put his bottle on the counter and began to move the tables and chairs around, clearing a long narrow section in front of the main door. Blocking the doorway would only slow the marauders down not stop them. If the tyrants got position of the ground floor they could burn the building from the inside out or just simply starve them out. Indigo knew that the only chance these people had was to defend this door way, and that the only person who could do it was him.
Fezzick and Vizzini would still be away for he didn't know how long, he being left behind to guard the horses. It was up to him alone.
With the chairs and tables like this they could only come at him three or four at a time, small enough odds for him to defeat considering the superiority of his skills. The only question was how long did he have to keep it up? How many men would they loose before they decided the risk was no longer worth the reward? Soon he would find out. He took a final look around nodding to himself, lent back against the table behind him, crossed his arms and waited.
It didn't take long.
A single man in ragged clothes and hodgepodge amour bust through the door with a broad cutlass. Indigo looked at him with eyes as steel-like as the sword at his hip. "You will kill no women and children today" he spoke quietly, his arms still crossed. The man stepped back startled then looked around. Finding no one else in the room he smiled and lunged forward with his cutlass, murder in his dark eyes.
A whisper of sound as Indigo's sword cleared from his scabbard and found its mark with lightning speed. The flat of the blade cracking hard against the man's wrist, he yelled, dropped the sword and ran out.
Shouting followed, shouting and curses as the vagabonds assembled somewhere outside realized that all the houses and buildings were empty. All but one, so told them a man holding his wrist painfully.
Three marauders quickly entered the room, and were quickly disarmed. Minor cuts and bruises but enough to stop them from fighting. Morosely they retreated and were replaced with more. Two with cutlasses and one with a spear and shield. Indigo studied them for a moment then faked an advance. They rushed to meet him, he coolly steeped back disarmed them the first swordsman, who through fear stood stock still, the others cannoning into him and all falling to a great heap to the floor. The spear was poking out from in between them at a funny angle so Indigo quickly cut it into pieces the size of kindling. It took a while for the men to untangle and lift their heavily armored and badly battered bodies from the floor. During this time Indigo went back to leaning against the table again, arms crossed his sword sticking up from the wooden floor close by.
They fought all through the remainder of the night.
Indigo's skills enabled him to disarm or wound many but on occasion they pressed in on him and he had to do more. Many lives upstairs were at stake and he would do anything to stop the marauders from inflicting vile acts upon them. It's what his father would have done.
In time the deep red light of dawn spilled through the open doorway and onto Indigo's sweat drenched face. "Red light at morning Shepard's warning" he mumbled to himself. He was exhausted. How many more were left? He looked down to his right hand; it was shaking ever so slightly under the weight of the sword. He had to end this he realized just then. If he didn't they would.
They had to know how tired he was, how close they were to victory. One last chance he thought.
Break their resolve. Make them surrender.
The Captain of the marauders was an evil looking man. He cocked his crossbow with a click and loaded one of the precious few bolts he had. The men around him were skittish, looking at each other and at the door way to the stone building nervously. None of them were soft men, most murderers and thieves, but all of them scared. He bellowed a curse at them and called one over to him, his second in command, the smallest but also the most vicious. They would go in there and shoot the man dead, take what ever they could and go. They couldn't stay here much longer, without the cover of night they were easy pickings for a military patrol.
Indigo wiped the sweat from his face and stiffened his composure. After a few deep breaths he headed out of the doorway.
The bolt fired from the crossbow tore clean through his shoulder and lodged in the outer wall of the tavern Indigo paused then turned to face the crowd. 'My name is Indigo Montoya, I cannot be killed by mortals until my fathers death is avenged' he stepped over a small pile of bodies towards the crowd and stared at them. 'Drop your swords or forfeit your lives' he demanded coldly.
40 men dropped their swords to the cold earth and fled into the forest.
The captain of the marauders looked around left and right, he was alone. He slung his crossbow over his shoulder and jogged off after his men. His bluff had worked, they thought he was unstoppable.
He waited a decent interval then staggered over to a nearby wall. Slumped heavily against it and slid till he has sitting on the ground. His eyes closed. Time passed.
It could have been minutes or hours before he heard Fezzick's booming voice.
'Indigo? Did you win?'
Followed by Vizzini's.
"Look at all the swords on the ground, you Neanderthal, look at all the bodies! Of course he won!"
Indigo opened his eyes and smiled.
"Fezzick. It is good to see you. Have you seen my rum?"
-End flashback-