Redforne stood, revealing the prone figure of my friend. Theo's eyes were closed, and there was blood marring his forehead and most of his right ear.

“Pity. A brilliant, brilliant swordsman,” he said, sounding out of breath but still grinning mightily, “with appallingly bad taste in friends.”

“No!” I shouted, fingers attempting to dig themselves into the stone ledge that supported me, “Theo!”

“Oh come now. He's not dead. See?” Redforne said, savagely kicking Theo in his exposed side with the toe of his boot.

Theo didn't make a sound or even twitch, despite the horribly loud sound of Redforne's foot connecting with his torso.

“Well, okay ... I suppose you'll just have to take my word for it. I must say, that was quite fun ... he almost nicked me on that third pass there,” he chuckled, his face unwilling to part with the grin he'd fixed upon it.

“Eagan, look ... let's-”

“And even though he is still alive, I'm afraid that he probably can't hear you right now. Still, I suppose you'd like to say some-thing, hey?”

I looked at him, uncomprehending.

“Don't want to say goodbye to your friend? For shame. Ah well, I guess you're not the sentimental type,” he said, adjusting his grip on the sword he hadn't sent sailing through the air during the fight. He stood straight-backed and put a single foot on top of Theo's chest, extending his arm so that the point touched the ground about six inches away from the big man's exposed neck.

“Redforne! Stop!”

“One...” he said simply, looking upwards at me.

Gods! I crouched there, frozen, not knowing what to do.

“Please, Eagan!”

“Are you sure you don't want to say goodbye?” he asked, bowing his head slightly to get a better view of his sword and the helpless swordsman underfoot. “Two...”

I have utterly no idea how I was able to get down to the floor so quickly.

Hands scraping against rock, the sudden pain in my knees and hips, drawing my saber and shortsword, running over the hard stone cobbles, screeching a furious sort of battle cry ... I'm sure these things happened, but I can't really remember them at all.

The only thing I remember was this overwhelming sense of hatred, an impossibly strong need to succumb to insane berserk rage.

And so, before the word 'three' had escaped Redforne's lips, he found himself having to defend against a red-hazed onslaught of viciousness I hadn't even known I was capable of. His sword removed itself from the vicinity of Theo's neck in order to parry the multitude of savage swings that I began throwing at him.

Snarling, I lashed out again and again, spinning and turning, left and right, utterly lost in my own zeal to destroy this man who had threatened the life of my friend.

I swung countless times, putting everything I had into each swing. Dozens of blows rained down on the object of my hatred from every possible angle, each strike bringing with it a sharp ringing sound. Not a moment passed that didn't see me swinging, turning, exploding with anger at my foe.

Hours seemed to pass as I swung at him hundreds, perhaps thousands of times.

Though oblivious at first, the part of me that was 'me' began to emerge from my scarlet fog of rage, noticing a few things. Important things.

I noticed stitches in my side, and the sweat cascading from my forehead. Rage requires energy to feed it, and even the most athletic of individuals would be hard pressed to maintain that level of aggression for more than a minute or so. Judging from how I now felt, I'd had more than my fair share of minutes already.

The other thing I noticed was that the savage, primal, berserker part of me needn't have bothered getting all worked up. Redforne was unmarked, having blocked each of the dozens of blows calmly and expertly with his single sword, one right after the other.

My main-hand saber felt exceedingly heavy just then, and I let it linger upon the edge of Redforne's blade as he gently parried the latest of my flagging offensive. We stared over our crossed blades at each other, the only sound being my ragged, gasping breaths, my chest pumping like furnace bellows. A delighted grin lit up Redforne's face.

“Yeah!” he cried, exultant. “That's the spirit!”

And it occurred to me that I was about to die.

He calmly stepped to the side a few paces with his eyes still on me, his single sword still crossing mine defensively, moving away from where Theo lay. It was almost as though Redforne did not wish to risk accidently stepping on him or involving him further, though whether out of respect or simply so there would be more room for footwork I couldn't tell. I noticed as well that he happened to be moving in the direction of his discarded second sword.

I leaped at him, moving swiftly towards the patch of floor that his sword lay, hoping that I might get close enough to kick it away, denying him a second blade to fight me with. It was already a hopeless fight, I knew, but two swords versus one was an advantage that I couldn't ignore at this point, now that I was thinking again. Maybe I would be able to last longer by going completely defensive against his single blade.

The point was moot. He slipped under my attack with a roll and scooped the sword up from where it lay before I could even get halfway to it. I stopped my advance abruptly, watching him return to his feet and spin about into a flamboyant and cocky guard position, a variation of his usual one.

“There,” he said, taking a deep breath in through his nose as if savoring some delicious aroma, slowly exhaling with exaggerated calm and contentment. “Isn't this nice? Doesn't this feel better, us here like this? Both of us armed, we finish this like men of honor, uninterrupted ... just you and I.”

There was a sharp series of thuds that came from my ruined door, like someone urgently pounding on it with a closed fist. I heard a deep, muffled voice call out what I believed to be my name.

Raptor-like, Redforne's head snapped towards the door.

“Damn it,” he said, sounding more annoyed by the timing than actually concerned.

“Cyrus!” I yelled as loudly as I could. “Help!”

“Of course. With everything else having gone awry, why would this be any different?” Redforne shook his head almost imperceptibly and gave me a look of disgust before taking a step forward, attacking with a simple lunge.

I parried while leaping sideways, avoiding his fairly obvious thrust.

He stepped back, and so did I.

It was lazy, and wasn't the sort of attack that was meant to get through at all. He just wanted to make sure I was ready, and that he had my attention.

Then, he began.

As with anything I take pride in, I like to think that I know how to fence reasonably well. I'd fought in several duels, which takes a certain amount of grit and determination, given the possibility of injury or death. I know what I'm doing, I guess you could say.

I've never been more baffled than that moment when the fight with Redforne became serious.

Redforne's attacks seemed almost unconcerned, lackadaisical. And alien! I mean, you spend years of your life learning certain moves – how to block them, how to employ them. What certain moves are good for, in what manner they're weak, things like that.

I wasn't seeing anything I recognized.

Whenever I saw something that did seem familiar it would either be coming from some angle that was clearly impossible for a move like that, or it turned out to be a completely different move than I'd thought.

Sometimes I had to scramble clumsily to one side or another in a panic, because both of my swords had somehow gotten tied up at the exact same moment. Sometimes I would move to block a sinister looking strike angled at my head, my sword encountering nothing but empty air.

Other times I would begin reacting to one movement being made by Redforne, only to see it turn into something else completely, forcing me to correct my movements in a manner that was likely to make me stumble or turn awkwardly. He'd make gentle swipes that were insultingly casual, yet that were well placed enough that I had to take them seriously or risk being cut.

Once, as I moved my off-hand shortsword to block one of these unexpected thrusts, I accidently cut a shallow scratch on my left leg with my own sword tip.

Between passes he would give me a mere second's respite, during which the only sounds that could be heard were my ragged breathing as well as the urgent thumping coming from the door. Both were getting louder.

Through it all Redforne managed to maintain a look of joyous glee, giggling mirthfully despite the loud periodic thumping that was coming from the door, laughing occasionally at the sight of me stumbling over my own feet or otherwise being made to look foolish.

As he had with Ismir, he was simply toying with me.

He hadn't marked me with a single wound yet, though the opportunity had existed for a dozen or more. This was what he'd been waiting for his entire life - he wanted to draw it out for as long as possible.

More than that, he wanted me to know it.

Emotionally, I began to fall apart. I knew the hopelessness of trying to beat him, even as I knew I'd refuse to simply lay down and die without so much as a whimper. Cyrus was beating against the door, attempting to get into the room I was trapped in. Would he fare any better against Redforne, or be able to prevent him from killing me?

Not likely, and Redforne knew it as well. He appeared unconcerned that the steady pounding at the door was becoming louder. He was taking his time, looking as though he were savoring every moment. This was retribution he'd been waiting his whole life for, after all ... revenge for the death of his family.

That last thought caused an unexpected stir in my own emotions, familiar energy from the coach ride home welling up inside me.

I stopped my defensive posturing abruptly and flung myself at him, snarling, catching him mid-movement and a little surprised. I belted out a cross-body backhand cut that he had to leap backwards to avoid, his swords held high in the air, and I followed it up with a lunge that attempted to see the point of my sword split through his backbone.

Redforne deflected my thrust wide, but I didn't care at that point. Spinning like a dancer while sending my off-hand blade out point-first, I forced him to parry while my heavier sword arced towards his unprotected side. I shouted with effort this time, putting as much force into the blow as I could, as if pinning all of my hopes on this single attack.

He didn't parry. I don't really know what he did - I missed him entirely, with both blades, and the force of my spin caused me to stumble sideways a half-step.

As I attempted to recover myself, I saw Redforne flick his sword towards my exposed head. Unlike his fight with Ismir, he didn't bother to use the flat of his blade.

I felt the sharp metal edge slam into the side of my temple with an impact that seemed to rattle the teeth inside my head, and everything flickered dark for a brief moment.

Pain blossomed above my left ear, and a good quantity of blood began to trickle down the side of my head and along my jaw. A lock of blonde hair that had been decorated with a hint of the dark red fluid fell gently to the ground beside me.

In a frighteningly short span of time, I realized I could feel the blood begin to drip from my jaw to my chest. The left side of my face felt different, and I was dizzy.

Cursing, I lurched upright and took two bounding steps towards Redforne, who had taken up his deadly guard position and was awaiting me intently. All but ignoring the silvery blades pointed directly at me, I leapt into the air while bringing my sword arm tightly into my body and holding my left out behind me for balance. Upon touching the floor I sprang forward in a full extension, the point of my sword traveling at a speed that surprised even me. It was a desperate kind of jumping lunge, which I may have actually made up right there on the spot. Whatever it was, it felt violent, it felt solid ... it felt right.

It missed completely.

Redforne managed to slide around the sword thrust and brushed past me, to my right, just as I stretched out in my full extension. My flank suddenly exposed, I moved to stand up from my elongated crouch so that I might turn to face him.

The room lurched unexpectedly, which I attributed to dizziness at first. Then, I realized I was still locked in a rather exaggerated and dramatic crouch. I looked down at my right leg, which I couldn't seem to unbend-

Because it now had a sword sticking through it.

About a foot of Redforne's magnificent blade remained visible to me, the rest of it either hidden underneath my leg, or inside of it. The sword had gone completely through, in at the top and out the bottom. This probably meant that it had missed the bone, or simply nicked it. I didn't really care which at the time – I mean, there was a sword in my damned leg!

The pain didn't even register until I saw it sticking out of me, almost perfectly vertical, making my still bent leg appear as though it were some macabre sword holder. I saw my left hand reach to clutch at it, which made me realize that I'd dropped my own blade upon the floor.

The air around my face was thick with the smell of blood. I could only stare at the column of steel that protruded from my leg. The insistent thumping at the door seemed to grow louder, become more solid.

“Well, as much as I've enjoyed this time we've spent together Tucat, I'm afraid that this is probably where we say our goodbyes,” Redforne said with mock sadness. “You're getting rather sloppy with your attacks now, and that wound you forced me to give you will probably take all of the fun out of things, what with you limping around pathetically. Also, the pounding on the door is starting to concern me ... I should probably try to have this all wrapped up by the time your men break the door down, hey?”

“You've got nowhere to go, Redforne,” I said through clenched teeth, trying to keep from falling to my side as I maintained the awkward crouch I found myself in. Blazes, did my leg hurt! “You're trapped in here too - only one way out.”

“Why, you're right. Or rather, you were. Coming in here, I thought there was but a single entrance and exit, with the exception of the dumb-waiter leading to the kitchen, which I also took pains to disable. However, Lord Haundsing here has shown me a delightful and surprising new way out that I hadn't counted on! If it leads outside to – no, wait. It probably leads directly to his keep. Does it? I'll bet it does.”

I grimaced, both at the unexpected revelation and at the pain I felt as I pulled experimentally on the hilt of the sword embedded in my thigh. Even that gentle touch sent waves of rippling agony downward.

“Everyone will still know it was you, Redforne, the moment anyone sees you. Hope ambushing me was worth it, you spineless cretin, because the Redforne name will mean less than nothing after this. You're finished.”

“Oh, I think not. If even a fraction of what you've said is true, I think there's some wiggle room when it comes to getting into the Prince's good graces. And, as far as someone seeing me is concerned, I wonder what would happen if I ran down Lord Haundsing's passage and into his keep, grabbed the first knight I could find and told them that their master was in dire need of help after being ambushed by the infamous Lord Tucat,” he said with a sly grin. “They rush down here, your fellows break down the door, both you and Lord Haundsing lying there, dead ... why, there'll be all kinds of opportunity for entertaining confusion, won't there?”

Theo, as if on cue, began to stir.

Glancing over at my best friend, Redforne appeared about to say something when a staggeringly loud 'boom' shook the door, small bits of metal and burned wood falling off of the enormous obstacle, which now stood slightly askew.

“Oh yes,” laughed Redforne easily, peering over at the door as if fascinated. “I definitely think it's time to finish up here.”

I gritted my teeth and yanked on the handle of the sword, which pulled the blade up out of my leg about two inches. White-fringed pain like I'd never known existed shot through me, and I feared I might pass out, even as I braced myself for another pull.

“I do have to hand it to you though, Tucat,” he said, pausing for a moment to wipe the blade of his other sword, “I'd had years to put all of this together, plan everything down to the last detail, and still you almost managed to get out of it alive. I must say, even though the outcome was never in doubt, what you managed to pull at the Circles today was really quite unpredictable.”

He sniffed unconcernedly as he inspected his blade and tested its edge with a thumb, presumably in a manner that he'd imagined himself doing for many years. Doubtless he'd have some sort of clever prepared line to deliver when the time was right, killing me in one of the many dozens of ways he'd visualized since hatching this plan as a young boy. Even as the sharp cracks coming from the vicinity of the door changed in both intensity and tone, suggesting that progress was being made, I could almost see him trembling with anticipation and joy.

I wasn't trembling. I was no longer thinking of how terrifying my situation was, how afraid I was, or praying to any of a dozen deities whose sudden thunderous manifestation might prove helpful. I found myself focused on the last words Redforne had spoken aloud. The Circles.

Unpredictable.

A feeling of hope rose up from the center of my chest, followed by a strangled scream of purest agony as I threw every ounce of will I had into the act of pushing the sword upward and out of my leg. I could feel every inch of the cool steel scraping along the muscles of my thigh. Slight shifts in how I was holding the handle sliced the cut open further on either side of my wound as the blade came upwards and out. Then, about halfway along its length, the blade got thinner and began to glide out, slick with the blood coming out of the newly aggravated wound. The pain caused me to clench my jaw so violently that I feared I might crack a tooth.

I saw the tip of the blade come free, and awkwardly lobbed the bloodied masterpiece away from me, towards the wall. It fell with an ignoble clutter, which caught Redforne's attention. He looked to it, and then he looked to me...

And then he smiled cruelly.

“Come now. Let's get about this – your father is waiting,” he said, hefting the gleaming blade with exaggerated menace, “as is mine.”

Overly dramatic asshole.

He stepped towards me as I glared up at him from my crouch. Then depending mostly on the muscles of my left leg, I rose and flung my sword arm behind me, putting every scrap of energy I had into an overhand crescent, aimed at Redforne's torso at the point where his neck met his shoulder.

He made the obvious parry with his single longsword, and then countered with his own version of the same thing, blade singing through the air.

I made an awkward leap towards him and to my right, my plan being to avoid the blow entirely. As Redforne's edge came swing-ing down towards me, I curled forward and tucked my entire lurching, pain-wracked body into a shoulder roll.

A really, really bad one.

It was the sort of shoulder roll that you'd fumble through if you didn't know where to put your sword as you were doing it, one that ended with you half-sprawled and facing the wrong way, your sword stretched out behind you. It was the sort of bumbling, inept move that would cause a fencing instructor to wring his hands in frustration.

It was the kind of awkward, clumsy roll that someone like Mouser might do.

I rolled over onto my knees in order to spin back around behind me, still gripping my sword, the position of my arm causing the sword blade to scythe sideways as I turned, quickly.

A quarter-turn in, my arm was nearly wrenched from its socket as my sword edge buried itself deep into the back of Redforne's calf muscle.

“Glaa-” he cried, collapsing mid-spin and falling awkwardly to the ground. The very tip of Redforne's sword altered its course slightly, slicing my vest open near the shoulder before connecting with the floor with a mighty ringing sound.

Still mostly on my back, I pushed with my legs so that I could put some distance between us, ignoring the pain the simple move produced. Though the newest cut had not broken the skin, the front of my shirt clung to me like hot sticky tar as a result of the blood from my head wound. I could still feel it trickling down the side of my cheek, drips falling from the point of my chin with the regularity of a heartbeat.

The pounding at the door was now accompanied by the sound of splintering wood, and I could hear Cyrus urgently calling to me through an opening he'd made in the entrance.

With agonizing slowness, I began to crawl backwards with my arms as well, heading towards the front of the room where my couches and other assorted items of leisure were located. I no longer had my sword, which I'd left buried in Redforne's leg once it had been forcibly wrenched out of my grasp.

I was still struggling to move away when I saw Redforne rise unsteadily, hunched over with his weight on one leg, his face a mixture of confusion and anger. He gingerly moved his damaged leg so that he might inspect it, see what had caused his fall.

I'm pretty certain he didn't expect to see my saber sticking out of him like that, almost perfectly horizontal, no part of it touching the ground. It had struck incredibly deep into the glossy leather of Redforne's thick high-topped boots, which appeared to be holding my blade in place.

From my angle, it was all but certain that I'd connected with bone.

Redforne, perhaps seeing things differently from his angle, sneered as he looked at the sword, a fine layer of perspiration covering his face. He raised the leg with my sword in it, hopped uncertainly once or twice, and then sharply brought his own blade down to swat the sword free from his calf.

It was entirely the wrong thing to do.

My sword clattered on the stones behind him, free of its fleshy prison. Myself, I don't know if removing it like that was what caused the damage, or if the damage was there the entire time just waiting for the sword to be removed, but damage there was. And it was substantial.

The simple act of Redforne putting weight on that foot resulted in his leg sheering sideways fractionally, boot buckling at the back. An urgent, closed mouth scream erupted from just below his violently clenched jaw.

A pool of blood appeared on the floor beneath his foot, and began expanding rapidly.

I continued to scramble away from him, realizing just then that I'd stopped. Pushing myself up a little with my arms, I tried a similar experiment with my own leg, putting a small amount of weight on it. I was likely in shock, so I probably wasn't even feeling the full extent of the damage to my thigh, but the pain I felt was more than enough to convince me that attempting to use my leg was a bad idea.

I collapsed back to the floor and continued to pull myself away from him. Redforne simply stood there staring at me, as if considering.

“Tucat!” He tightened his grip on the sword and hopped once toward me, face twisted with pain. The black, glossy pool of liquid beneath his foot was growing bigger.

“Redforne, you're bleeding! Lie down, you idiot!”

“You think so?” he said, words growing ever uncertain and distant. “You think a little blood loss is gonna stop me? Here? After all I've done? Is that what you think?”

He all but slurred his last words. The next hop forward, his foot made the tiniest splashing sound.

Emptied of all of my rage and horrified at what I was seeing, I felt something akin to guilt very suddenly. Pity.

“Eagan, stop! Your leg-”

“My leg, your leg ... irony ... cute! You're not going to-” he said, hopping once more and then abruptly stopping, as if surprised. His head shot up alertly, as though hearing something, and his eyes began looking around frantically. They had an unfocused quality about them.

He crouched awkwardly with his hands out in front of him, eyes still casting about, face a deathly shade of white. He fell, not by accident, but the kind of controlled fall that you might do in the dark ... arms stretched before you to sense where the ground is. The sword, still clutched in his right hand, clinked softly as it touched the ground.

Redforne was fading impossibly fast. As if suddenly finding himself in total blackness, he tilted his head to the side as if about to listen to something.

“Tucat?” he rasped.

“Eagan. Roll onto your back. Get your legs in the air, we need to staunch-”

A sloppy swing from his sword clattered off the stones a foot away from my legs, and he turned his ear towards the sound with a look of expectation.

“Get him? Did ... father?”

He didn't sound good at all. My heart squeezed uncomfortably in my chest.

With a tremendous, creaking roar, the bulk of the door finally splintered and gave way, falling to the ground with an earth-shattering thud.

“Milord!” Cyrus cried out, clearly. I saw my Captain rush into the room, stepping over the door, his sword drawn. Three small, dart-like arrows were protruding from his shoulder, pinning his half-cloak to his arm, great beads of sweat rolling off of his forehead.

Theo groaned, pushing himself up into a slow roll onto his side. His movement was spotted by Cyrus immediately.

“Haundsing! Son of a bitch!” he cried, striding forward with his hand on his sword.

“No!” I gasped from the floor.

I didn't sound so hot either.

“Milord!”

I held my arm up so that he might see where my voice was coming from. “Not him! Haundsing ... he's a friend. Cyrus, over here...”

An instant later he was kneeling beside me, telling me not to move, warily regarding the figure of Redforne that was stretched out a few feet distant. Redforne's skin was an unholy color, eyes wide, his head rolling gently against the floor in an effort to raise it.

“Bandages! Tourniquet! Cut off the blood he's losing from his leg! Quickly!”

“Lord Tucat, you're bleeding!”

“Get a bloody tourniquet for Redforne!” I shrieked, pulling my-self up so that I could crawl on all fours towards the young Lord, whose grip on his sword had relaxed completely.

“Milord, I-”

“Now!” I bellowed.

Cyrus jumped up and bolted to the cupboard where I stashed my various balms and poultices. I finished making my way over to Redforne, pulling the remaining sword from his unresisting hand and tossing it away. It would be a miracle if he had even one swing left in him, but I'd been on the receiving end of a few dozen miracles in the past couple of days, and wasn't interested in taking chances.

I inspected his boot, which had been split open awkwardly, part of the boot actually curling into the deep red wound. Blood was thick, and everywhere.

“Father...” I heard Redforne mumble, weakly.

“Relax, Eagan. Save your strength,” I said in a hushed tone. Then, angling my face away from him, I called out behind me. “I need a knife to cut this boot! Hurry!”

“Father, I'm-” he began, impossibly quietly, just as Cyrus came skidding along the floor beside me on his knees, bearing bundles of bandages and rope. He looked at the wound, the blood surrounding us, and his eyes went wide.

“-I'm sorry,” I heard Redforne whisper.