“I said I would,” he groaned. “I’ve come to claim what was lost.”
“You can barely stand.”
“I invoke,” gasped Philip, “the right to combat.”
“You have no sword.”
“You have my sword,” replied Philip, forcing his eyes to meet his opponent’s.
“You cannot have it.”
“You cannot deny it. It is my right.”
The old creature nodded, its face so still—like a death mask.
The swords were brought out: Philip’s father’s, lost as spoil long ago, and the black blade which had beaten it and slew Philip’s father.
The black sword was raised. Philip, swooning, leaned on his.
Tale Told 