Brigands & Breadknives by Travis Baldree - 10

At some signal invisible to Fern, the elf and the tapenti broke into action at once.

Astryx loped forward, dust spitting from her bootheels as she closed the distance, the Elder Blade hardly swaying in her grip as she moved.

Chak tossed his hat away. His eyes narrowed to slits as he brought his slim dagger up into a middle guard, and he flung his right hand out to the side again. His fingers writhed, and blue sigils burned on his palm as he snatched arcane fire from the air. The magestones on his belt pulsed with a sympathetic glow.

And then there was no more space between them. Astryx’s blade described luminous arcs as she wielded it with a graceful inevitability, every movement executed with such brutal economy that even Fern recognized that she was witnessing something otherworldly.

Fern discovered that she’d climbed down from the cart, one paw tightly gripping the clasp at the throat of her cloak.

Astryx hammered relentlessly at Chak’s dagger with precise strikes, any one of which should have spun it from his grasp. Instead, blue fire splashed like phantasmal water with every impact, repelling the Elder Blade with explosive cracks of sound. Still, Chak retreated step-by-step under her assault, his right fingers busily plucking the air with the dexterity of a bard, each digit wreathed in rings of spectral flame.

With a snap of the wrist, he thrust his palm against the broad side of his dagger and barked something indecipherable. A ring of golden light burst forth from the impact, blowing the surrounding grass flat and tossing his black hat into the brook.

“My lady!” cried the sword.

Astryx slid back four strides, her shirt flapping so sharply that it cracked against her. She leaned forward, digging her heels in and grabbing the other end of the Elder Blade to hold it crosswise before her like she was barring a door. The elf kept her feet, and when the shock wave passed, she was immediately on Chak again.

He fell back, grimacing, his motions becoming more frantic as he sketched a new pattern with his magic-wielding hand. The magestones at his belt glowed even hotter, sizzling like fat on a hot skillet.

“Your legends are well deserved,” panted Chak. “But all legends must eventually pass into memory.”

With a harsh cry, he sketched a triangle in the air with the tip of his dagger, and the afterimage seared Fern’s eyes.

When she blinked away the light, she gasped as Astryx’s ankles clapped together as though lashed with cord. The elf teetered for a moment, overbalanced by the blade in her hands. A triumphant smile bloomed on Chak’s face.

“Oh, fuck,” whispered Fern.

Then Astryx reversed the blade in her grip and whipped it downward so that it passed between her booted legs, sending shreds of leather spraying out behind her and severing the invisible bindings in a burst of skittering sparks.

She snapped her left foot forward with a dry slap of leather, resumed her stance, twirled the blade in a precise half circle to level it at Chak’s throat.

For the past several days, Fern’s estimation of Astryx had drifted downward with every dogged step, bland reply, or fervent word of admiration for dry footwear.

It ascended again rather sharply.

Now the tapenti stumbled backward as Astryx pressed her advance. The splashes of blue flame that marked his frantic defense grew weaker, and the reports of the impacts less resounding.

His genteel demeanor crumbled into something desperate and savage, and he swore in ragged surprise.

“Mages often struggle to disarm their opponent,” observed Astryx. “I find their options limited.”

Did she ever sound out of breath, Fern wondered?

Chak grunted, his handful of magic stuttering as though unsure of itself.

“I release you from your word,” the elf continued. “Strike a fatal blow without fear for your honor.”

The tapenti blinked, flicking his gaze to Fern and Zyll as though they might object, and then with an unnatural twist of his knuckles, his fist boiled black, and the air went harsh with the smell of ozone.

A chill crawled up Fern’s whiskers, and sudden pressure built against her eardrums. All sound went distant—the stream’s chuckle impossible to hear, the clash of blades becoming a faint ringing of dinnerware.

She dimly heard Astryx’s sword shout something. A warning?

Then, with a motion so casual it wasn’t clear what she’d done until after it was over, Astryx flicked her longsword out and to the right and severed the belt at Chak’s waist.

The magestones thudded to the ground as though each weighed ten stone—

—the black knot of deadly energy in Chak’s fist ruptured into a tangle of silver light—

—and the tapenti was blown off his feet, back into the railing of the bridge.

His hips slammed against the wood, and he flipped up and over the side to sprawl in the shallow water below.

Fern’s ears unplugged immediately.

She was so overawed, she almost forgot to feel miserable and small.

Sensing a presence to her left, she stared dazedly at the goblin standing beside her with hands unbound, the hazferou on her head, and a razor-sharp smile on her face.

“Zhu-chuk tah wrashoh,” declared Zyll, and burst into applause.

The hazferou was most displeased.

“Arcanists always forget about their vulnerability in the heat of battle,” said Astryx. She leaned down to extend a hand to Chak, who crouched, dripping, on hands and knees in the brook.

He stared at her doubtfully for a moment before closing his eyes, drawing in a deep breath, and accepting her assistance to clamber out of the water.

“My thanks, Oathmaiden,” he replied, with as much dignity as he could muster.

He did his best to regain some more of it once on dry land, despite his soaked pantaloons and the audible squish his boots made when he moved.

However, he lost it all again with a startled oath when Zyll popped up beside him to offer his bedraggled hat. Smiling, of course.

Still, he took the hat.

“Hm,” said Astryx, frowning at Zyll’s freshly unfettered hands.

“Suvak,” said Zyll, apologetically. She plunged them into a pocket and immediately withdrew them again, freshly rebound.

The elf’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing.

Chak strode stiffly to where his belt and magestones lay in the dust, trailing a pitter-patter of brook water. He scooped them up, fussed over the severed belt for a moment, and then tied a knot in it and slung it over his shoulder.

He turned and bowed formally to Astryx, who watched, bemused.

“It is my honor to have been defeated by you, Lady Astryx,” he said.

“It certainly is,” declared Nigel the Elder Blade, in an aloof tone.

“Manners,” said Astryx.

“Yes, well,” muttered the sword. “It’s only that—”

Astryx sheathed him, and his voice cut off abruptly.

She nodded at Chak. “I’m pleased you didn’t die. Perhaps rethink the belt. Leather isn’t the wisest choice.”

“Ah. Yes.”

Fern and Chak endured an uncomfortable pause while they all stood in front of the bridge. Astryx, for her part, appeared unperturbed and simply waited patiently, while Zyll rocked back and forth on her heels with a wide grin.

Fern wondered if all dramatic showdowns had such an awkward aftermath. It was more painful than a book group pretending they’d read the story. At last, she couldn’t stand it anymore. “So. Um. Which way are you headed?”

Chak looked embarrassed. “My things are up the road.” He pointed toward the chimney smoke of Bycross. “We are traveling in the same direction, are we not?”

Another pause.

The tapenti’s embarrassment deepened. “I do not suppose you would like to join me for dinner?”

Astryx began to reply, but Fern was faster, thinking of loaves of bread you could load a catapult with and cheese that smelled of unwashed laundry.

“That sounds perfect.”