How we think the fight will go

It was almost impossible to get the two men to even agree to fight. Despite Mandorallen’s mental limitations, his honor would not permit him to attack a man who had done no wrong to him. And although Zedd had a cold streak, he wasn’t about to kill a man who clearly fought on the side of good.

It was only after Mandorallen received a rather insulting note proclaiming his beloved, Nerina, had been kidnapped, was he forced to demand satisfaction.

The field he was told to meet at was a lovely grass plain, as perfect for picnics as it was for galloping across towards a line of insignificant infantry. With the anger Mandorallen felt, he was rather disappointed that there was no infantry to trample under his warhorse’s iron-shod hooves.

What he did see, though, was a tower in the distance, and an old man—his simple robes hanging loosely off his slender frame—standing in the field. The man’s white hair shot off in every direction, and despite the differences in his stature and demeanor, Mandorallen’s thoughts immediately went to the ugly sorceror, Beldin.

The old man raised his hand in greeting.

“Hello, Mandorallen.”

“I dare say, I did not give thee permission to address my person in such a companionly fashion. Prithee, hold thy tongue lest I be tempted to rip it from thy foul mouth.”

“I don’t think you understand…”

“Silence, snake! I have often been accused of lacking understanding, and yet time and again I have proven myself with sword and lance. I will hear no more falsehoods or slanders, miscreant.”

“’Miscreant?’ I think that’s going a bit far, don’t you?”

“I think your ears have only just touched upon the anguish they are about to receive. Release the lady Nerina at once, and your end shall be quick.”

“I’m trying to tell you…I don’t have her.”

“Dost thou dare lie to me? I am no fool—“

Zedd snorted.

“—I am no fool,” Mandorallen continued firmly, “and your name is not unfamiliar to me.”

This time it was Zedd’s turn to be confused. “I’m sorry?”

“Thinkest thou that I would not see past this ruse? Zeddicus? Or should I say…Zedar?”

“Seriously, I have no idea what you’re talking about—or even what you’re saying. All I know is that we’ve been tricked here, and I have no desire to fight you.”

“Alas, wretch,” Mandorallen said, lowering his visor, “that decision is no longer thine.” With that, he spurred his horse.

The animal seemed to move slowly at first, its mass building up the necessary momentum to carry it and its rider across the field. Steadily, though, its speed grew, until the pounding hooves were churning up the earth with tremendous frequency.

As Mandorallen charged, he noted with some respect that the wizard stood his ground. He knew from his friendship with Belgarath that sorcerors possessed impressive powers, but his understanding of what they could do was limited—and he did know ten feet of lance would render any man incapacitated, magic or no.

He was gladdened, then, to see Zedd roll back his shoulders and point a hand towards the knight.

He means to do me battle—excellent. As much as I want nothing more to remove this villainy from this fair land, it would be remiss of me to slay an unarmed opponent.

Not as much fun, either.

Mandorallen leaned forward in his saddle.

***

Zeddicus’s face was one of intense concentration. And yet, it lacked the fury he could call upon if needed.

I truly don’t want to hurt you, he thought. But I don’t want to die, either.

Wait…

A small smile touched his lips.

His hand pointed towards the knight, a gout of flame shot from his palm. It arced through the air, landing not on the horse and rider, but rather the tip of the lance, engulfing the wood in orange and red. The fire made rapid work as it consumed the weapon, and Zedd could hear an unchivalrous word echo from behind Mandorallen’s visor as the knight dropped the charred remains of the lance.

Knowing he wasn’t about to be pierced with the lance, Zedd still waited nervously to see what the knight did next.

Mandorallen drew his sword.

A sigh of relief escaped the wizard.

The knight’s horse was unstoppable now, a juggernaut of destruction aimed at the wizard. Zedd held his ground, though, only making slight moves to get himself into a better position.

As Mandorallen neared—his sword held high above him—Zeddicus put up his own arm, as if to deflect the blow.

He could almost sense the knight smile in triumph.

The sword came whistling down, and Zeddicus angled his arm just a little more, whispering to himself…

***

The steel bit through the arm like a scythe through wheat, shearing it off at the shoulder and even slicing a wound into the wizard’s torso. Mandorallen’s horse carried him further afield, and it was some time before he was able to slow his mount and turn it around.

When he did, he saw the man lying in the distance, not moving at all.

He prodded his horse forward, and he eventually came upon the body, the grievously severed arm of the wizard lying a few feet away. Dismounting as gracefully as a man in full plate-armor can, he walked to the body.

It wasn’t breathing.

“Thou art unworthy of it, but I ask for Chaldan’s blessing upon thee. For all the good it may do.” And he got back on his horse and rode to the tower, in hopes of finding his love.

***

Even as Zeddicus’ body lay prone, he had already begun the arduous process of regrowing his limb and healing his wound. The death spell he had cast on himself had preserved the illusion that Mandorallen had killed him, knowing that he could have easily destroyed the knight, but at the peril of his own soul. By faking his death—and knowing he was powerful enough to heal himself—he had allowed the dim-witted knight a chance at resolution, while keeping the blood off his own hands.

I’m not simply going to kill because someone wants me to, he thought.

But if I find those bastards from Suvudu…

Predicted Winner: Mandorallen (on a technicality)