For your entertainment, I am posting a previously unpublished flash piece here:


THE DUELIST
Copyright 2005 Eric Marin


"You should have left the city, Gus," I said, as I parried a rapier thrust directed toward my left leg.

"And give John the satisfaction of saying that you had-" Gus paused in his reply to counter my riposte, "-forced me to flee? Never."

"Better fled than dead," I said and punctuated my morbid rhyme with a quick slash across Gus' forearm.

A sharp indrawn breath told me that I had scored a touch, even before the blood began to soak his silk sleeve.

Our audience standing outside the dueling ring began to talk amongst themselves, and I could see money changing hands from the corner of my eye.

Idiots. Only fools would bet against me in this duel.

I am known as the finest blade in the Newer England colony - a professional. Gus, as a member of the New Boston aristocracy, was a competent amateur, no more, even though he had received his training from me. His insult to John Covington, the heir apparent of the Covington banking clan, had resulted in a contract offered for the family's satisfaction.

I was the duelist on call at the time, and a professional does not let personal relationships interfere with his work.

"You could offer an apology, Gus," I suggested, as I swayed out of reach of a head cut.

I rotated my blade through his attempt to return to a guard position, and pricked his throat before withdrawing.

Gus backed off a step, his free hand reaching up to touch the welling drops of blood that my point had left.

I held off to give him time to recant. Our friendship was worth that much.

"What I said about him was true," Gus said, his voice earnest and his eyes wide with conviction. "He does abuse women. He whips the maids and servants, and he has treated my cousin worse than his dog ever since she married him."

I shook my head. "You know that whether it's true or not doesn't matter. You called him out in public and tarnished his family's honor."

The dueling system had replaced the family wars that had almost destroyed New Boston and the Newer England settlements. All guns, explosives, and heavy weapons were banned from civilian ownership and remained under the control of the colony's defense force, which swore to remain neutral in internal conflicts.

Swords now decided internal matters that the law could not.

It wasn't a perfect system by any means, a bloody social convention in truth, but it was an improvement over what had gone before.

And I loved it, even on days like this.

"That isn't going to happen unless . . . ."

"You know me better than that, Gus. If I threw duels for friends or for just causes, I would never work again."

"Is your work more important than our friendship?"

I hesitated. Gus was special. I had watched him, as I trained him in the ways of the blade over the last few years, transform from a gawky and uncertain youth into a self-confident and caring young man. He was a crusader for justice. A reformer. The type of man who would someday take a seat in the Newer England congress.

The sort of man who would work to end dueling.

I saw him tense at my pause, ready to attack again. I knew that he would not retract his insult or flee. He was too proud.

"Yes, Gus," I said, as I lunged forward and drove my rapier point into his heart. "My work is more important."

Gus dropped his weapon to the ground and tried to clutch at my slim blade, but I drew it back out and retreated two steps.

Blood spread like spilled ink across his shirt, and he collapsed atop his rapier with a groan.

I flicked the blood from my blade and sketched a salute to Gus, as his second, Frank Collins, rushed out to try and help him.

It was a lost cause, of course. Just like so many other causes my blade had cut down.

I walked away from my dying friend, and Vincent, my second of many years and himself a professional, held out my cloak to me with a sad look in his eyes. I exchanged my rapier for the cloak, and watched the spectators drift away.

There were days I regretted my choice to become a duelist. Today was one of them.

But I would choose no other profession. I lived to duel. Someday I might die of it, but not on this day.

"Let's go have a drink, Vincent."

He nodded and we left the dueling ring behind us -- until the next duel brought us back.