Drawing my sword, I lowered my weight, readying myself to spring. He glowered at me, his hand moving toward his hilt. The fingers, just brushing the ruby of his pommel, held. In his eyes, I saw the waring thoughts, the battle of desires, to kill me, to further his plots. He had no time for this duel, and yet, I knew, he could not resist the scent of blood.
Yet, indecision was just as much a boon to me. I could hold him by a short duel, and I was holding him even by the threat of one.
He moved, as if to step around me, but I hopped back a little, still blocking his path.
“Come on, you old bastard,” I said. “You know you want to.”
With a growl, the decision was made, and his hand curled around the gilded handle. I waited as the silence fell. My friends would escape, I reminded myself, and if I won, or even just wounded our enemy, then my life would be well spent.
With a roar, his blade flashed in the flickering candlelight, and our swords met with a dull clang.
Tale Told 