Yesteryear Fiction

The Match
By Dabril Aldenire


“C’mon!” Zulu, an extremely tall human dressed in white workman’s clothes yelled at a smaller dark-skinned Elven female dressed in extremely well fashioned chain mail. He tossed his sword back and forth between well muscled hands as he stood facing her in the hot sand of the beach. Fea’s well muscled legs tensed and she kept both of her long scimitars at the ready. Zulu gestured toward himself and gripped his well fashioned jewel encrusted rapier in his right hand. “Bring it!”

Fea’s legs tensed again, and this time she acted.

Catching Zulu off guard, She rushed him, and, agile as a cat, ran up his chest, using his face as a launching pad and doing a flip in mid air, landing on her feet facing him, scimitars still at the ready.

Zulu quickly recovered and faced her again.

She waited in a combat stance, looking as if she was ready to pounce on her prey at any moment.
They stared each other down for several minutes, and Zulu dropped into a sitting position while Fea relaxed and stood up straight.

“Giving up so easily?”

Zulu looked up, said simply: “No.”

Fea smiled. “What are you doing?”

“Waiting.”

Fea nodded. “Oh.”

She backed up a little way and dropped into a crouch as Zulu continued to look her in the eyes, both quietly watching the other. And then, suddenly, without warning, she rushed him, and when she got just out of arms reach, she jumped over him, and, swinging one of the swords while in midair, smacked Zulu in the back with the flat of the blade. Once again, she landed on her feet out of arms reach, smiled as Zulu turned and faced her, crouched and stuck the rapier into the sand.

Fea relaxed a little bit, eyes still watching him intently. He acted as if he were going to sit down again, but then he rushed her, one hand held back and clenched in a fist. Fea jumped again, once again landing behind him and facing his back, but this time, she landed closer, and moving so fast the spectators could barely see it, she gave Zulu a good kick, knocking him sprawling into the sand.

She dropped into a crouch again, and watched while Zulu recovered his feet.

He immediately rushed her again, almost catching her off guard. She moved quickly, jumping out of his path at the last minute, almost losing her footing. Zulu turned again, stopped. He knew Fea too well, knew she would never use the same move twice.

He rushed at her with a shout, and this time Fea did not move, just readied her scimitars and watched him running at her. The instant he reached her, he moved his hand with great speed, almost clutching Fea’s hair, but she turned aside the attack with a reflexive upward movement of one of her blades, giving Zulu a hard knock on the wrist. Looking up as she did this, Zulu saw his chance, made his move.

He swept his leg in an arc under Fea, knocking her off her feet and into the sand on her back. Zulu quickly moved in, and, slamming his hand into her chest and holding her down, he drew back his other hand and struck. His fist missed it’s mark, and impacted on Fea’s lip instead of her nose. Zulu then got up, helped Fea to her feet. She moved her hand to her lip, and it came away bloody. She smiled at Zulu.

“Good match.”


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I wrote this years ago when I was living in a staff on Gneebar hill with Caramon and a little man who called himself Crabulus.