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"You are mine, Knight!" Sylverlin hissed.
Tremaine moved to meet him.
Nelk ran up alongside his friend as if he now planned
to join Sylverlin in the duel against Arryl. The spiked ball
of the elf's mace swung back and forth, a wicked-looking
pendulum. It grazed Sylverlin's leg.
The swordmaster howled in pain and collapsed into a
writhing heap on the now-bloody surface of the field.
"The goddess has blessed it," said Nelk, smiling at
Arryl. Nelk was on him, mace cutting a deadly arc. The
one-armed elf moved with far more speed than the
Solamnian was expecting, struck at him with lethal skill.
Had he not trusted Nelk, Arryl would have suspected that
the elf was indeed trying to kill him!
Arryl brought up his sword and jabbed, keeping the
other at bay, as they had planned. Nelk nodded and, his
back to the crowd, he winked at Arryl. The two circled one
another, feinting strikes, but, as far as onlookers were
concerned, they were too expert to fall prey to such tricks.
The crowd cheered.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, Sylverlin appeared. Sword
raised, he headed for Nelk, prepared to stab the elf in the
back.
Arryl had no time to shout a warning. Nelk could not
have heard him if he had
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