And his blade was in his hand and mine in mine.
I moved around the desk.
“What an enormous chutzpah you possess,” I told him. “What makes you better than the rest of us, and more fit to rule?”
“The fact that I was able to occupy the throne,” he replied. “Try and take it.”
And I did.
I tried a headcut, which he parried; and I parried his riposte to my heart and cut at his wrist.
He parried this and kicked a small stool between us. I set it aside, hopefully in the direction of his face, with my right toe, but it missed and he had at me again.
I parried his attack, and he mine. Then I lunged, was parried, was attacked, and parried again myself.
I tried a very fancy attack I'd learned in France, which involved a beat, a feint in quarte, a feint in sixte, and a lunge veering off into an attack on his wrist.
I nicked him and the blood flowed.
“Oh, damnable brother!” he said, retreating. “Report has it Random accompanies thee.”
“This is true,” said I. “More than one of us are assembled against you.”
And he lunged then and beat me back, and I felt suddenly that for all my work he was still my master. He was perhaps one of the greatest swordsmen I had ever faced. I suddenly had the feeling that I couldn't take him, and I parried like mad and retreated in the same fashion as he beat me back, step by step. We'd both had centuries under the greatest masters of the blade in business. The greatest alive, I knew, was brother Benedict, and he wasn't around to help, one way or the other. So I snatched things off the desk with my left hand and threw them at Eric. But he dodged everything and came on strong, and I circled to his left and all like that, but I couldn't draw the point of his blade from my left eye. And I was afraid. The man was magnificent. If I didn't hate him so, I would have applauded his performance.
I kept backing away, and the fear and the knowledge came upon me: I knew I still couldn't take him. He was a better man than I was, when it came to the blade. I cursed this, but I couldn't get around it. I tried three more elaborate attacks and was defeated on each occasion. He parried me and made me retreat before his own attacks.
Now don't get the wrong idea. I'm damn good. It's just that he seemed better.
Then there were some alarms and excusions in the hall outside. Eric's retainers were coming, and if he didn't kill me before they arrived, then I was confident that they'd do the job-probably with a bolt from a crossbow.
There was blood dripping from his right wrist. His hand was still steady but I had the feeling then that under other circumstances, by fighting a defensive fight, I just might be able to wear him down with that wrist injury going against him, and perhaps I could get through his guard at the proper moment when he began to slow.
I cursed softly and he laughed.
“You're a fool to have come here,” he said.
He didn't realize what I was doing until it was too late. (I'd been retreating until the door was at my back. It was risky, leaving myself with no room for retreat, but it was better than sure death.)
With my left hand, I managed to drop the bar. It was a big, heavy door and they'd have to knock it down now to get in. That gave me a few more minutes. It also gave me a shoulder wound, from an attack I could only partly parry as I dropped the bar. But it was my left shoulder. My sword arm remained intact.
I smiled, to put up a good front.
“Perhaps you were a fool, to enter here,” I said. “You're slowing. you know,” and I tried a hard, fast, vicious attack,
He parried it, but he fell back two paces in doing so.
“That wound's getting to you,” I added. “Your arm's weakening. You can feel the strength leaving it-”
“Shut up!” he said, and I realized I'd gotten through to him. This increased my chances by several percent, I decided, and I pressed him as hard as I could, realizing I couldn't keep that pace up very long.
But Eric didn't realize it.
I'd planted the seeds of fear, and he fell back before my sudden onslaught.
There was a banging on the door but I didn't have to worry about that for a while anyway.
“I'm going to take you, Eric,” I said. “I'm tougher than I used to be, and you've had it, brother.”
I saw the fear begin in his eyes, and it spread over his face, and his style shifted to follow suit. He began fighting a completely defensive battle, backing away from my attack. I'm sure he wasn't faking either. I felt I had bluffed him, for he had always been better than I. But what if it had been partly psychological on my part too? What if I had almost beaten myself with this attitude, which Eric had helped to foster? What if I had bluffed myself all along? Maybe I was as good. With a strange sense of confidence, I tried the same attack I had used before and I scored, leaving another trail of red on his forearm.
“That was rather stupid. Eric.” I said, “to fall for the same trick twice,” and he backed around a wide chair. We fought across it for a time.
The banging on the door stopped, and the voices which had been shouting inquiries through it fell silent.
“They've gone for axes,” Eric panted. “They'll be in here in no time.”
I wouldn't drop my smile. I held it and said: “It'll take a few minutes-which is more time than I'll need to finish this. You can hardly keep your guard now, and the blood keeps running-look at it!”
“Shut up!”
“By the time they get through, there will he only one prince in Amber, and it won't be you!”
Then, with his left arm, he swept a row of books from a shelf and they struck me and fell about me.
He didn't seize the opportunity to attack,. however. He dashed across the room, picking up a small chair, which he held in his left hand.
He wedged himself into a corner and held the chair and his blade before him.
There were rapid footsteps in the hall outside, and then axes began to ring upon the door.
“Come onl” he said. “Try and take me now!”
“You're scared,” I said.
He laughed.
“Academic,” he replied. “You can't take me before that door falls, and then it will be all over for you.”
I had to agree. He could hold off my blade with that setup, at least for quite a few minutes.
I crossed the room quickly, to the opposite wall.
With my left hand, I opened the panel through which I had entered.
“Okay,” I said. “it looks like you're going to live-for a time. You're lucky. Next time we meet, there won't be anyone to help you.”
He spat and called me a few traditional vile names, even putting down the chair to add an obscene gesture, as I ducked through the panel and closed it behind me.
There came a thunk, and eight inches of steel gleamed on my side of the panel as I was fastening it. He had thrown his blade. Risky, if I chose to return. But he knew I wouldn't, for the door sounded about ready to fall.
I descended the pegs as rapidly as I could, to the place where I had slept earlier. As I did, I considered my increased skill with the blade. At first, in the battle, I bad been awed by the man who had beaten me before. Now, though, I wondered. Perhaps those centuries on the Shadow Earth were not a waste. Maybe I had actually gotten better during that time. Now I felt that I might be Eric's equal with the weapon. This made me feel good. If we met again, as I was sure we would, and there was no outside interference-who knew? I would court the chance, however. Today's encounter had scared him. I was certain. That might serve to slow his hand, to cause the necessary hesitation on the next occasion.