In Death's Keep

Lockstan barely parried the quick thrust and took an elbow to his face for his efforts. This confrontation was not going anything like he planned. In an effort to create some distance he threw himself backwards and drew his second sword while he rolled to his feet. He knew he was not the fastest swordsman in the world, but he was damn fast. That mixed with his strength and his intelligence made him a match for even the most experienced warriors, but this grizzled old fighter standing in front of him was an enigma. The young Captain could not believe a man of his age could so easily deflect his powerful blows much less have the position and bearing to strike and strike repeatedly. He cursed inwardly, his heart told him that he would not be able to beat this man; nothing was as it should be. The whole campaign was riddled with problems. It should have been a fairly easy passage through a mountain range, and then a quick surrender of an unguarded city, which should have led to the destruction of the whole Eastern Dominion, but such, was not the case. Now this, he should be able to just cut this old man to shreds, but as it were he was outmatched and there was nowhere to run but through him or back over the wall and he would be damned before ran like a coward. His mind work furiously as he attempted to find the old man’s weakness yet no matter what angle he approached the problem, he always came back to the same conclusion; he was going to lose this fight. Utilizing two weapons and every dirty trick he could think of was only buying him time. Lockstan had never met a man that could best him and the thought of it was paining him more than the several wounds he was receiving. It was at that moment that he had a startling realization. He could accepted that he would not be remembered as a great conqueror, he could accept that he would not be the man who swept the Eastern Dominion, he could accept that he would not be the man who took Arxsolum, and he could even accept that he would die here today. He would not, however, accept letting some man brag that he had bested him. He formulated a plan no longer with the idea of winning but based on the idea of not losing; there was only one way he could rob the old man of his victory. He turned his sword edge slightly to the right in order to position his attack. Against anyone else the move would have been negligible but against this man it was everything because he was good, too good. So goo in fact, he would never suspect what was to happen next. Gryffyn was surprised at the skill of this young warrior, he had faced countless men in battle but this man was different. He was incredibly strong but did not rely solely on strength. His technique was flawless and he quickly changed tactics to fend off the attacks. His conditioning was superb and seemed that he would never tire. The old Weapon’s master knew that the young man would not be able to hold him off forever but he was growing weary himself and needed to make his move. Then he saw it; the large man angled his sword slightly to the right. It was his only the slightest of an opening, but it would be enough; he would attack on the man’s left first high then low, and finish with a reverse spin for what should be the beginning of the end. That small movement should be the catalyst that would put the young warrior further and further down the path toward defeat. His sword moved like a bolt of lightning arcing high aimed directly below the defender’s shoulder. Gryffyn knew this blow would be blocked so he had only a fraction of a second to anticipate the trajectory of the man’s sword so he could slide right into the next sequence. To his surprise the giant of a man did not try to block this attack at all and in doing so created an opening of his own. The man set him up, it was suicide, but it was genius. Gryffyn could only hope that when his blow struck it was enough to kill the big man instantly or at least decrease the force of the blow he knew would be coming. The strike was perfect and penetrated the lacings of the young warrior’s armor and entered the man’s ribs, but he did not see pain on the man’s face only a smile for at that instant both his swords came crashing downward between Gryffyn’s neck and shoulder with a force that was overwhelming. The blades coursed through the armor protection and bit deep into the old man’s upper chest. The force of the blows was enough to embed the weapons solidly into his torso and knock him to his knees. Gryffyn never expected to live forever, but never did he imagine one so young would be his undoing. He locked his eyes on the invader, who was looking back at him. Gryffyn was in awe of this younger generation, the commitment of Jaxen, the power of Sorcia, the ability of Perata and now this man, a boy who matched a master. He realized there and then that this invasion was far from over; it seemed that fate had been waiting for this time in history to let loose upon the world warriors equal to the greatest of legends. As his life force drained from his body he summoned up his last remaining bit of strength and saluted the man in front of him. He knew that this may have started as just an invasion of a city, but it would become a war of epic proportions.