playacting, though, because Saiph was letting him dictate the strokes, so he couldn’t be in any real danger. Now the Minotaur was seemingly crippled and unable to use his arms… but Rigel knew better than to believe it. Elnath lowered his head and charged, bull-like.
Rigel stepped aside and blooded him some more, much as he hated to do it. He wanted this farce to end as soon as possible, but however it did end, there had to be blood—and lotsof it. It suited both his purposes and Elnath’s to make this a show that the starfolk would remember for years to come. However much he liked Elnath, Rigel had no illusions about the Minotaur’s intentions. If the Minotaur could outwit Saiph, he would kill the halfling and hope to be retired to stud. Again and again he charged, flashing his deadly curved horns, while Rigel leaped aside and whacked him, rarely drawing blood, and then only superficially.
Why didn’t the idiot just run away, back to his pen, and call it a draw?
Finally the Minotaur made his move. As was to be expected of a wily and experienced duelist, he launched a complex attack. He first maneuvered Rigel against a thicket of thorns to impede his freedom of movement, and then charged with his head lower than usual to conceal his other ploys, moving much faster than previously. His left arm, miraculously restored to power, hurled a rock; his right, similarly rejuvenated, threw a handful of dirt at Rigel’s eyes; and his horned head dipped low enough to disembowel the insolent halfling and toss him across the arena.
Alas, while Rigel Halfling was a merely a promising minstrel—and then only by earthling standards—Saiph was an ancestral defensive amulet. It caused its wearer to leap aside with superhuman agility and plunge his blade like a silver lightning stroke into the base of the Minotaur’s neck and down through his aorta and other major organs.
Even so, as Elnath toppled, one of his mighty arms reached out to catch Rigel and drag him to the ground, pinning him. It shouldn’t have been possible for any being, whether human, starborn, or minotaur, to speak while spewing torrents of blood both internally and externally. Yet somehow,in defiance of medical facts, Elnath looked down on Rigel Halfling with one gentle bovine eye and gurgled:
“Gracias!
”
And then he died.
Chapter 12
R igel extricated himself and scrambled to his feet. His sword had vanished, its work done. Judging by the sun, the fight had lasted much longer than he would have guessed. The audience was applauding. The imps at the back were bouncing up and down with excitement, but the adults were more interested in the refreshments being brought out. Only the killer mourned his victim.
Physically exhausted, emotionally nauseated, he trudged back to the grandstand, cloaked in the Minotaur’s blood like a flag of shame, with his face full of grit. He wished he hadn’t lost the red cloak somewhere in the battle; a dose of that might have done the elves a lot of good.
Muphrid rose and turned to address his guests. “So the murderous Elnath Minotaur meets his just deserts at last! Dear friends, after Rigel Halfling’s stirring demonstration of his ancestral amulet, Saiph, we have other exciting acts for you to witness. Our next performer will be Starborn Sadatoni, riding his famous hippogriff, Kabdhilinan, who will round up a fire-breathing chimera to display—
Oh, yuck!”
Rigel had jumped up and pulled himself onto the stand right beside the host. Muphrid had not expected this dirty, sweaty, and blood-drenched apparition.
“Barbarian! Go get yourself cleaned up immediately!”
“Me?” Rigel offered a gory arm. “I thought you would want to lick the blood.”
Starfolk cried out in revulsion and those in aisle seats practically climbed over their neighbors to put distance between themselves and the savage halfling as he stalked up to the portal at the back. The male imps were grinning, of course. Young Izar stuck out his
Rigel stepped aside and blooded him some more, much as he hated to do it. He wanted this farce to end as soon as possible, but however it did end, there had to be blood—and lotsof it. It suited both his purposes and Elnath’s to make this a show that the starfolk would remember for years to come. However much he liked Elnath, Rigel had no illusions about the Minotaur’s intentions. If the Minotaur could outwit Saiph, he would kill the halfling and hope to be retired to stud. Again and again he charged, flashing his deadly curved horns, while Rigel leaped aside and whacked him, rarely drawing blood, and then only superficially.
Why didn’t the idiot just run away, back to his pen, and call it a draw?
Finally the Minotaur made his move. As was to be expected of a wily and experienced duelist, he launched a complex attack. He first maneuvered Rigel against a thicket of thorns to impede his freedom of movement, and then charged with his head lower than usual to conceal his other ploys, moving much faster than previously. His left arm, miraculously restored to power, hurled a rock; his right, similarly rejuvenated, threw a handful of dirt at Rigel’s eyes; and his horned head dipped low enough to disembowel the insolent halfling and toss him across the arena.
Alas, while Rigel Halfling was a merely a promising minstrel—and then only by earthling standards—Saiph was an ancestral defensive amulet. It caused its wearer to leap aside with superhuman agility and plunge his blade like a silver lightning stroke into the base of the Minotaur’s neck and down through his aorta and other major organs.
Even so, as Elnath toppled, one of his mighty arms reached out to catch Rigel and drag him to the ground, pinning him. It shouldn’t have been possible for any being, whether human, starborn, or minotaur, to speak while spewing torrents of blood both internally and externally. Yet somehow,in defiance of medical facts, Elnath looked down on Rigel Halfling with one gentle bovine eye and gurgled:
“Gracias!
”
And then he died.
Chapter 12
R igel extricated himself and scrambled to his feet. His sword had vanished, its work done. Judging by the sun, the fight had lasted much longer than he would have guessed. The audience was applauding. The imps at the back were bouncing up and down with excitement, but the adults were more interested in the refreshments being brought out. Only the killer mourned his victim.
Physically exhausted, emotionally nauseated, he trudged back to the grandstand, cloaked in the Minotaur’s blood like a flag of shame, with his face full of grit. He wished he hadn’t lost the red cloak somewhere in the battle; a dose of that might have done the elves a lot of good.
Muphrid rose and turned to address his guests. “So the murderous Elnath Minotaur meets his just deserts at last! Dear friends, after Rigel Halfling’s stirring demonstration of his ancestral amulet, Saiph, we have other exciting acts for you to witness. Our next performer will be Starborn Sadatoni, riding his famous hippogriff, Kabdhilinan, who will round up a fire-breathing chimera to display—
Oh, yuck!”
Rigel had jumped up and pulled himself onto the stand right beside the host. Muphrid had not expected this dirty, sweaty, and blood-drenched apparition.
“Barbarian! Go get yourself cleaned up immediately!”
“Me?” Rigel offered a gory arm. “I thought you would want to lick the blood.”
Starfolk cried out in revulsion and those in aisle seats practically climbed over their neighbors to put distance between themselves and the savage halfling as he stalked up to the portal at the back. The male imps were grinning, of course. Young Izar stuck out his
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