30.   The Duel.

Dworkin never returned, not as if Akin had really expected him to. He could not honestly say he was very enchanted with his great-grandfather. He had helped Akin’s father to escape from prison, but when it came to the son… Inconsequential… Akin pouted as he slowly drifted to sleep.

The sun was already high when they came for him. There were several guns pointed at him at all times, so he had no chance to make a move while they made him mount his own horse – that was the one he had arrived to town on – or on the way to the forest edge. There, by an old oak tree – exactly as the Judge had commanded – they were met by two lonely spectators, who had apparently arrived earlier. Brand was wearing the same black cape over a green velvet doublet and tight-fitting pants also green. Viss was dressed in a black cotton dress with a black shawl over her head. Akin could not help smirking – quite appropriate for the occasion. The time to escape was now or never, but after being forced to dismount he suddenly found himself unable to move, even his lips. Nothing but thoughts rushing though his mind. It was said, the Jewel of Judgement could induce such effect, but it had been lost many years ago. Had Brand come in possession of it once again? Or had he somehow learned to do without? Was Dworkin aware of it?  He must have been if he followed Brand around…  Was it really the end, then?

Everything seemed unreal and moving in a slow motion. The sneering Marshal, a deputy throwing the rope over a thick branch, weeping and gesticulating Viss pleading with motionless Brand, the black shawl sliding off to reveal long blue tresses swaying on her face in total disarray.

“Wow!  Just look at her hair, fellahs!”

“Forget it, Butch, must be a new city fashion. Let’s get done with it…”

“NOOOOOOO!” Viss lifted her teary face toward the skies furiously shaking her little fists. As though in response to her wail – no, definitely in response to it, the sky being perfectly clear – an enormous lightning bolt rent the air, igniting the oak like a match. The Marshal, who must have been an exceptional horseman, managed to stay on his rearing and neighing mount, but his deputies were not so good or lucky, although it took them no time to start toward the town after their horses, first on all four, then staggering to their feet and leaping like rabbits. A splintered flaming treetop crashed to the ground, with a no less deafening roar, right next to where the Marshal had been just a moment ago, but he was already on his way overtaking his men and lashing his horse madly.

“Very impressive, Viss. Ele will be proud of you, I’m sure.” Wearing an expression of a slight amusement, Brand nodded to the disheveled trembling girl, seemingly in a trance, her face pale and convulsed, her lips slightly moving as if whispering some endless chant. He turned to Akin. “I was wondering when it would kick in. There were quite a few rather powerful witches in her ancestry. And whaddya know, apparently she does care for you.”

With a grin, he slowly, somewhat leisurely, waved his hand in the direction of Akin, who suddenly found that he could move again. “All to the better.  Just you and me,” Brand’s grin grew broader and nastier. “You’ve been quite entertaining, Nephew. Well worth the trouble of arranging a Shadow pocket. Of course, I’d never let them go as far as to actually hang you in any case. True, your father’s crossed me a few times, yet one of the royal blood doesn’t die by rope. Die you shall, make no mistake about it, but by my blade!”

He raised his arms, two almost identical swords appearing in his gloved hands. He hurled one of them with such force that almost half of the blade’s length sank into the ground right in front of Akin. “Now defend yourself for your life!”

There was no hope. Although Akin charged wildly with all the fury of a madman driven by fear, he was no match for his Uncle’s skill. There was not even a tiniest opening in Brand’s defenses, and while being slowly driven back across the glade into the inferno of the blazing oak, he reflected rather bitterly on his father’s cunning ways to defeat a stronger opponent. Like Duke Borel of Hendrake, or even Benedict himself. Yet his own bag of tricks was quite empty and Brand kept pressing. With his back uncomfortably close to the flames, Akin sidestepped and lost his balance falling on one knee. He awaited the final blow for some time before it occurred to him that Brand did not seem to take advantage of the situation. As a matter of fact, his uncle appeared to be distracted by something – his sword hand so steady before, but trembling now, slowly lowered while his face turned ashen.

“There’ll be another day, Nephew… there’s always another day,” Brand muttered before simply disappearing into thin air.

Struggling to catch his breath, unsure of what had just occurred although evidently he was somehow granted at least temporary relief, Akin glimpsed at Viss. The girl’s eyes were wide with terror and her words were hardly distinguishable through sobs. “Something happened to Ele. I know it did. I can feel it!”

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