Chapter 6: The Challenge

Chapter 6: The Challenge

The Lolth-touched poked his head out from around a corner and darted back once he had set his eye on his target. The master was good, but Amalagh had learned young how to stalk a potential enemy or, in most cases, a potential victim. His steps were carefully measured and graceful as he balanced his considerable bulk so perfectly that he barely made a sound.

Stepping out, Amalagh crossed the hall with several long strides and turned to step through a pair of double door, both hands keeping a firm grip on his scimitars. As poorly made as they were, the weapons, and more importantly his ability to use them, still gave him a sense of security and confidence.

Amalagh whirled to face the doors as the slammed shut, seemingly on their own accord. He turned back quickly, aware that someone could have rigged the door as a distraction to get an attack from behind his back. His hands tensed on his sword hilts. He could smell the unmistakable odor of surface iron mixed with the sweat of his palms.

"So, you're the first challenger from the new class, are you?"

Amalagh spun to face where the voice had come from, and saw the one-armed weapons master. His studded leather had mostly been replaced by an intricate set of full plate armor that covered his arm and legs. Spike and ridges jutted from the armor in seemingly random places, including a hooked, sharp-edged blade that protruded from the elbow joint. His bastard sword – an unusual choice for a drow weapon – hung loosely in its sheath.

"You've certainly changed much," Zumud remarked, looking up and down Amalagh's form and eying the younger elf's scimitars, "but the quality of your equipment has not."

Amalagh's lip twisted into a scowl. "Why don't you test their quality for yourself?"

"If you seek to fight me for a reward, I'm afraid you're being misled. The teachers use me to weed out those stupid enough to challenge a master to single combat. The only thing you'll receive from Anglin and Randiir by attacking me is a quick death."

Amalagh took a step back. Some support from the teachers had been what he was hoping for, but looking back he realized that he had been a fool to believe Anglin's words.

"Very well then," he said, recovering from his epiphany quickly. "I still want to fight, to test my own skills against a master."

Zumud nodded in agreement. "We will disregard rank then."

The one-armed drow drew his bastard sword and pointed it towards Amalagh. The weapon's long and straight blade appeared custom-made, well crafted and sharp, but also heavy and unwieldy. The hilt was also lengthened so that it could have been gripped with another hand, but Zumud held it easily in his gauntleted fist.

"You may have defeated Zand ten years ago, but your revi'n malarin will be of no use to you here against anyone with a competent level of skill. I hope you've learned something over the last ten years."

Amalagh drew his iron scimitars and gripped them tightly, but was put off by how light they felt in his hands. The weight in itself was not the problem, but the balance of the blade would make Amalagh slightly less coordinated. Dismissing it, he readied himself to face Zumud.

"You use the draa velve, I see," Zumud said. "But let's find out if you can do something with it!"

Amalagh sprinted towards the master and started his routine with a cutting sweep towards Zumud's left side with his left blade. With no arm and no weapon to block, that side would be his most vulnerable spot.

But the bastard sword came across with tremendous speed and knocked aside the scimitar aside before parrying the underneath thrust from Amalagh's right hand.

"You're fast, I'll give you that," Zumud admitted as the young drow took several steps backward to recover. "But your maneuvers are amateurish and predictable. You have yet to hone your raw talent into true ability. You must do better to keep me entertained."

Amalagh scowled once again, and Zumud saw his weakness: his temper. It was good to fight angry, but letting anger fuel him and letting it control him were two different things. Zumud understood this, which was why he took care to never lose his cool during a battle.

The young elf thrust his left scimitar low to Zumud's right, expecting him to parry with the bastard sword, but the one-armed master used the spiked plate legs instead. Blocking the strike, he flung his other leg high and spun, bringing it back down to catch the scimitar between both armored limbs. Amalagh tried to pry his blade his blade loose, but the ridges in the armor held it fast. Zumud then thrust in to attack, but was thwarted by the Lolth-touched's other scimitar.

Zumud then called on the power of his animated shield, which sprung from the corner where it had been concealed and, flying of its own accord, smashed into Amalagh's back. The massive drow was thrown backwards by the large adamantine shield, which hit him with the force of a charging bull rothé. Landing ten feet from his one-armed opponent, Amalagh gritted his teeth in anticipation of a brutal attack. One of the first rules of fighting on the streets was to take full advantage of any moment of weakness with a swift and ruthless assault.

But it did not come. Instead of pressing the offensive, Zumud jolted the scimitar from his armor and kicked it casually to Amalagh. The Lolth-touched watched in amazement as the weapon clattered to the floor in front of him.

"Get up," Zumud ordered. "I hoped this battle would be interesting, but you're beginning to bore me."

Getting back to his feet, Amalagh attacked once again, his blades weaving a complex routine that surprised the master. Zumud was still able to defend, using the bastard sword and shield to parry expertly. But the Lolth-touched continued his offensive without letting up, hacking and slashing with abandon at the one-armed master. He was fighting with all his might, yet it seemed that Zumud was hardly even trying. The master equaled his speed easily, and seemed to have greater balance despite wielding the heavy bastard sword.

After several routines, Amalagh finally saw his opening; he swept his blade across and struck the bastard sword right where the hilt met the blade. He brought the next scimitar in for another quick strike, pushing the bastard sword out wide. With both blades inside the shield, Amalagh pushed upwards with a double thrust that would have eviscerated even an armored warrior. His blades went up and into Zumud…

…but pierced nothing. Amalagh, expecting some resistance as the blades pierced their target, stumbled forward and passed right through Zumud.

"An …illusion?"

The warrior's perception was immediately cleared as his suspicions were confirmed, but quickly blurred once again as the weapons master's shield smashed into the back of his head. Amalagh looked up and saw Zumud standing over him before he noticed the cold metal of the bastard sword against his neck.

Dropping his swords, he spread his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I yield."

Zumud let a derisive sneer cross his face for a fleeting moment and raised his sword as if in preparation for a coup de grace. Amalagh closed his eyes tight in anticipation of the killing blow, but instead heard the distinctive rush and clink of the sword being put back in its sheath.

Daring to open one eye, Amalagh saw Zumud readjusting the shield onto his back. The one-armed drow turned back to him, his face now serious.

"The normal punishment for attacking a master and failing to kill him is death, but in your case I think I will make an exception."

"Why?" Amalagh asked, puzzled as to why the master would spare his life. Zumud's actions defied the normal kill-or-be-killed standards of their race, and someone of his position would surely not have lasted long with such a trusting nature.

"Because I said that we would disregard rank. This was not a student fighting a master. This was a sparring match between two swordsmen. Nothing more."

Amalagh was not sure, but he thought he saw a barely imperceptible wink from the one-armed weapons master.

"Your draa velve has potential. You and I should spar once again someday, and I'll teach you a few things."

Ralak-Nûl Zumud, Amalagh mused, what drives you?

With all of his equipment secured, the master turned on his heel and strode from the chamber, leaving the young student alone in the dark.