“Daggers it is,” Artemis said with a smile. He drew his blades with one swift motion, glancing down to admire his own work. The black matte finish still gave him a tingle so deep he could feel it in his bones. The balance and weight of the blades was so perfect he had a hard time believing that they were made by his own hand. He felt pride; something he still didn’t quite recognize.
As Artemis lifted his gaze, he suddenly felt as though the man across from him held some odd familiarity to the young warrior. He recognized the soot covering the man's tunic and thought back on his forge; he'd lost count of how many times he'd left work looking similarly. They both shared the same eye and hair color of brown and blue respectively. One thing they certainly didn’t share was size; the man stood two heads taller than Artemis and roughly doubled his weight. It was unlikely they’d be confused as siblings.
Artemis moved toward his opponent, preparing for the introductory dance of any duel. As bodies moved, the elegant exchange masked with violent blows was in reality a respectful greeting of warriors. And so he began lightly, taking a quick step in and slashing from his right. As expected, the man easily lifted one of his large arms up to block the blow. Metal on metal – a sound any seasoned warrior knew well.
’Interesting gauntlets,’ Artemis found himself thinking. He admired the work. They were only of iron, but still well made. An elegant design, excellent functionality, and enough magic to add the versatility a warrior would need to stay alive.
He stepped out to the side, spinning quick and low to cut at the man’s legs. Again, as expected, he reacted well and stepped back in time to avoid the cut. Artemis rose to a spiked gauntlet sailing toward his face, and with a deft movement of his left hand, he struck at the gauntlet to parry it slightly and dodged the rest of the blow.
Artemis stepped away again, putting a few strides between himself and the warrior. Though mid fight, he took a moment to look up at the sky. He knew he was within the Citadel, but the power of the magic that saturated these walls never ceased to amaze him. He felt as though he were strolling through Underwood on a summer day. The sun beat down on his face. He closed his eyes briefly, taking in a slow deep breath to bring his full awareness to this moment and this battle.
As he opened his eyes, his body visibly changed and appeared more fluid. It was as though he had turned a switch within himself. Artemis’ training and experience gave him what he needed to succeed and stay alive. One of those lessons instilled in him early on was that the best fighters did not plan their movements. They trusted their training and instinct, relying on muscle memory and primal reaction to succeed. Making decisions took time, and used resources – stay composed, move, breathe, and stay alive.
His hands came up in front of him, blades pointed out wide. Knees bent, mouth closed, eyes focused. The sun struck the blades, yet not a single beam of light refracted from the surface. “So it begins,” he said as he propelled himself forward toward his opponent.
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