Swept Away (The Swept Away Saga, Book One)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The two men jostled against each other, their swords moving so quickly that sparks shot out from between the contact every few thrusts. Sweat ran down their faces, their feet slipping in the sand as they attacked again and again, death written over both of their features. Slashing upward, Tristan succeeded in cutting across the captain's jaw. The blood dripped down onto the sand, running down his neck and soaking into his shirt.

Terror gripped me as I watched, held tightly in the arms of John Butler. He seemed to be of the opinion that I would fling myself into the circle if I was let go, but I didn't even know if I could stand, let alone join the fight.

The two men parted for a moment, breathing heavily, circling around each other, before the captain dashed forward and sliced Tristan across the shoulder. He cried out in pain, jerking away, the red liquid welling up and rolling down him, joining the captain's in the sand.

"Come on, boy," the captain taunted. "Ye can do better than this, surely?"

Tristan, not fazed by the jab, simply smiled, rotating his shoulder and returning to a battle stance, his eyes glued on his opponent.

They ran at each other again, blades sliding against themselves, each man pushing with all his strength to topple the other. They had grabbed one another's wrists with their free hand, shoving and attempting to twist the joint to their advantage. When neither gave, they broke apart, moving in the circle.

Kicking sand into Tristan's face, Captain Rodrigues charged, raising his weapon high and slamming it downward. Tristan got his blade up just in time, stopping what surely would have cut him near in half. He was at an odd angle now, struggling as Rodrigues pressed his weight into it. The two blades continued to sink further, hovering above the intersection of Tristan's neck and shoulder. Roaring in frustration, half blind, he jerked his leg out, missing his target. The edges fell into him, digging into his skin. Victorious, the captain drew his cutlass back, slicing clear down Tristan's chest and bringing him to his knees. His voice sounded strangled as he cried out in pain, shock clouding his features.

It didn't occur to me that I was screaming and crying until I felt the sand under my knees, James Abby and John Butler both holding me forcefully as I struggled against them. All I could see was the red rolling down Tristan, gathering in the sand beneath him.

Captain Rodrigues laughed as he booted Tristan over, pointing at the spray of blood that was expelled from the wound. I couldn't tell if an artery had been cut or not, there was so much fluid oozing out.

"Have ye had enough yet, lad?" The captain growled, bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet, an itchiness to his movements, like he couldn't wait to feel death at the end of his blade again.

Tristan slowly stumbled to his feet, trying to brush the sand out of his eyes and gather himself again. His shoulder was obviously hurting him, arm twitching as he tried to grip the sword better. His breathing was labored, but his eyes refocused on the target, never once looking away to anyone else. When Rodrigues charged this time, Tristan was ready, knocking the blade away, slicing him clean across the chest, and punching him in the face, his own wound in no way effecting his fighting.

Captain Rodrigues stumbled, falling backward into the sand, scurrying away.

"Come on, Captain, ye can do better than that," Tristan rasped, sharing a smile that looked more like the baring of his teeth.

Startled by the attack, Rodrigues roared in frustration, not bothering to pick up his sword as he got back on his feet, charging like a bull. Catching Tristan in the stomach, they tumbled to the earth, rolling around, yelling and struggling, more evenly matched than I'd ever thought possible. Blood smeared across the ground as they moved, leaving no sign as to who was more gravely injured.