A cold wind blew across the Laauar Plains in the dead of night. Vencian sat motionless on his horse, his gaze steady.
Quenya hovered near his shoulder, her faint glow barely visible in the dim light. She was silent, and Vencian could tell without words that she was spent.
They had pushed hard to get this far from the keep, and his vision was already starting to fail him. If he didn't blink often, the figure of Osrick ahead of him seemed to split into two, then merge back together.
He slowed, pulling the horse to a stop near a jagged stretch of the fractured plain. Behind them was nothing but open frost-covered emptiness. In front of them, the ground broke into narrow ridges and deep cracks. One wrong step could send them tumbling into the chasm.
Through the mist, Osrick's horse appeared. Osrick dismounted in controlled movements, one hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword.
Neither spoke.
But Osrick knew he'd been played.
"Where are Jeriko and Sebastian?" Osrick asked in a low, steady voice.
Vencian shrugged once, his movements casual despite the tension. He was breathing heavily, but his face remained unreadable.
They said nothing more.The terrain offered no advantage for mounted combat; it forced both of them to fight on foot. Vencian slid down from his saddle; his boots crunched on frost-coated stone.
He was far from the keep, alone with Osrick. One last obstacle stood between him and freedom. Without hurry, he ran through the facts in his mind, reciting them out of habit rather than out of hope.
Everything was slipping away. All strategy had faded; nothing remained of any plan or advantage.
He felt numb toward Osrick now. The night had already taken far too much from him. If Osrick intended to stand in his way, let it be. Whatever happened next, happened.
Osrick's eyes narrowed as the two began to circle each other. He had heard plenty about Vencian Vicorra, champion of last year's Lojyl tournament and a name that traveled beyond noble circles.
He wasn't sure how much of that was inflated by noble pride, but a reputation like that had to have some basis. Beneath Vencian's fatigue and calm front, Osrick suspected something dangerous still waited to come out.
Osrick lowered his blade, its point resting in the snow. "It ends here," he said quietly. His voice was even and detached as he took a slow step forward.
Vencian shook his head. He braced himself and adjusted his grip on the sword. "I wouldn't be so sure about that.".
Osrick smirked. "Don't expect a quick death, Vicorra."
Vencian lunged first. He slashed low toward Osrick's knees, hoping to throw him off balance. Osrick blocked it easily with a sideways sweep of his own blade. Sparks flew as steel met steel.
The impact's vibration shuddered up Vencian's arm, and he wavered for a moment.
He didn't lack behind in terms of physical strength. However, slashing and defending required a finesse he had yet to develop, and his inexperienced grip let too much of the collision's force travel up his arm.
The biting cold air and the yawning chasm at his back reminded him how close to death he already was.
Osrick swung again. Vencian crouched to dodge the blow, but the point of the sword came so close to his shoulder that he could almost feel the coldness on the blade. He twisted aside, narrowly avoiding a cut.
His boot landed on a frost-rimed ledge that crumbled under his weight. The void yawned just beyond, and he had to lurch sideways to keep from pitching into the chasm.
He rolled with the momentum and pushed himself back up, slower than a fighter in his prime should manage. His rise lacked the snap of trained reflexes, more a scramble for survival than a display of agility.
He responded with a wide overhead slash aimed at Osrick's shoulder. Osrick jumped back, then countered with a sharp riposte. Vencian felt his sword knocked aside as their blades scraped together. His vision blurred at the edges, and he staggered.
His boot slipped on ice. The snow gave way under his weight and for a heart-pounding moment he nearly fell forward. Osrick took advantage of the moment. In one fluid move, he thrust his sword straight at Vencian's leg.
Vencian leapt back, barely evading the strike. The force threw him sideways. He collided with the unstable edge of the path. His ribs cracked against the hard ice. A piercing pain stabbed through him, and he gasped.
As Vencian tried to catch his breath, Osrick advanced with a measured step. His eyes narrowed. "Funny," he said without raising his voice. "I thought you'd put up more of a fight. You won that tournament, didn't you? Claimed you were some champion?"
Vencian spun to meet him, gritting his teeth. He blocked another swing with one hand on Osrick's sword. As Osrick pushed forward, Vencian twisted and tried to use that momentum. He swung a knee up quickly, but his foot caught on a loose rock.
Vencian gathered what little strength he had left. He shifted his stance, feet slipping awkwardly over the frost.
A faint shimmer rippled in the air around Osrick, warping his outline for a heartbeat. Osrick's eyes flicked to it, guard raising instinctively, then the distortion vanished.
Quenya was nowhere to be seen. The connection he usually felt when shaping an illusion wasn't there, leaving him with only the hollow ache in his chest where that bond should have been. Before he could think on it further, Osrick was already closing in.
The effort stole what was left of Vencian's strength. His shoulders slumped, his blade dipping lower than it should.
Osrick moved in before he could recover. His sword swept across Vencian's arm, the cut slicing through muscle and forcing Vencian's grip open. The weapon slipped free and clattered against the ground.
Vencian gasped as cold fire burned in his lungs. He threw out an arm to block, but Osrick's fist smashed into his ribs, driving the air out of him
A sharp flare of pain tore through his side, and a glancing hit to his jaw sent his vision exploding into a haze of white specks.