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Keilor and Mathin didn’t waste time. At the signal, they unsheathed their swords with lightning fast moves and attacked.

The individual moves were a confusing blur. Both men fought as if they’d just came fresh from their beds, not spent the morning fighting off hoards of opponents. The men were nearly equal in size, strength and endurance. What would tip the scales of the fight?

***

Mathin on a normal day was difficult to defeat. Mathin with charmer scented victory in his nostrils was a demon.

Keilor fought him with every ounce of energy and concentration at his command, sparing no thought to Mathin’s increase in prowess since last he’d sparred with him, years ago. The boy had held the promise of greatness. The man surpassed it.

But Mathin was making no progress against him, either. Time and again their blades struck, and neither man faltered or so much as blinked.

Until their swords locked.