The two blades met above Raymond's head.
James never saw the contact. He was still arriving, the field sliding around him in shapes, no depth, no distance, and all he had was the sound of steel coming down and Durendal going up toward it on instinct.
It was barely enough.
Baldwin's sword hit his and the whole weight of that strike went straight down through James's arms into his shoulders and out through his knees, and his legs folded. He went down to a crouch in the mud with both hands locked on the grip and the blade shuddering an inch above Raymond's shoulder, and for a moment he genuinely thought Durendal was going to come out of his hands.
His vision finished settling while he was already under it.
*That is not Morcant.*
Morcant had been strong. Morcant had made his arms ache. This was something else entirely — the difference between a heavy weapon swung well and a wall arriving.
Baldwin did not waste a second being surprised.
