Duel on the Rainbow Bridge

They could see the majority of the floating continents from their vantage point on the rainbow bridge. Only a few oversides were visible, the rest showing their undersides to the travelers. They paid little heed to the vista however, both having traveled extensively in their long lives.

The two travelers appeared identical to the casual eye. Both were dressed in mismatched, well-worn leathers, reinforced with metal at the various spots one would expect to unexpectedly receive a dagger thrust in a dark alley in a crowded city. They bore their wealth two ways: in the form of precious stones or metals shaped into jewelry, for long term storage, and a small coin purse, for more immediate use. This fit with their profession, which was generally called a sellsword. Though they were also known as roving blades. While a trade practiced by all the races of Void, it was especially common among the elves, eager to live fast and avoid eventual consumption by their race’s great doom.

Closer inspection revealed the differences between the two elves. One wore a snug metal cap with the image of a bird in flight stamped upon the front. While plain, the quality of the cap’s construction was attested to by numerous divots and scratches. The rest of his equipment was unremarkable, except for his sword. The grip and guard were decorated with intricate geometric patterns absent from a strictly utilitarian weapon. When the blue-steel blade danced in the elf’s hand, the balance was deadly obvious.

His companion’s blade was mundane in appearance, though no less lethal. The black leather he wore was decorated with a white flame, which occupied the entirety of his chest. There were nicks here and there on the design, from where the cured hide had turned away untrue blows. His boots clinked as they ascended the multihued bridge; they were adorned with several strands of small gems.

“You’re sure this is good, Agathar? It would be an awful long way to travel to find out the nobles had settled their differences.”

“Luther, nobles never settle their differences. If they weren’t killing each other, they wouldn’t have anything to do.”

“Still, I’d hate to get there right when they called a truce, even if it was only a temporary one.”

“Don’t worry, there’s always work in Aramore for roving blades. If we aren’t guarding a nobleman, there’s plenty of merchants with goods that need protecting.”

Luther snorted. “That’s brain-dead work for blades below our caliber.”

“True, but an elf needs to eat. And no doubt these merchants will have daughters who have never met an elf, and a roving blade no less.”

Luther shook his head. “No thanks. I’ll stick to taverns, much less complicated. And fewer risks.”

Agathar laughed.

They continued in silence, watching the world grow smaller beneath them as they ascended the multihued arch. Their walk was interrupted momentarily when a coyote came slinking towards them, head lowered. It moved to the far side of the rainbow and glanced at them furtively as it hurried by.

“Must have gotten lost,” Luther commented.

“Yeah, not much game up here,” Agathar agreed.

They were nearing the crest of the rainbow when they heard voices drifting towards them, prompting the two elves to stop. The looked at each other and loosened their swords. Nodding, they resumed their walk, though with none of their previous nonchalance. Gradually, several elves and a wagon appeared over the crest. A few of the elves wore fine outfits of many colors and rode horses.

“Looks like merchants,” Luther whispered.

Agathar nodded.

The rest of the elves were dressed commiserate with their trade and walked beside the wagon. It was open-topped, but there was an oilskin tarp lashed over the cargo. It was pulled by two horses. One was black like coal while the other was the color of white sand. Among the obvious laborers, there were a few roving blades.

“Agathar, you umbral-skinned cur!” one of them shouted, storming forward. This roving blade was dressed in leathers of a noticeably finer quality compared with Agathar and Luther. He was protected by a similar style of metal augmentation to his armaments. But the pieces were uniform in manufacture, clearly having been added by the same craftsman. Like Agathar, he wore a tight steel cap, though his was decorated to appear as a humanoid skull.

Agathar squinted a moment, then laughed. “Oacenth! You rust-bladed son of a milk maid, I never thought I would see you again.”

“I thought the same about you,” the elf growled. “Fortunately, happenstance has seen fit to allow me to reclaim that blade you cheated from me.”

“Cheated? We diced fair and square. You’re just sore you lost such a treasure,” he said, drawing the blade and waving it towards Oacenth.

Oacenth snarled at the blade’s taunting dance, grabbing his sword. “I’ll take it back right now.”

“Come and get it.”

One of the mounted elves walked his horse forward. “Oacenth, we don’t have time for this nonsense. We are already behind schedule. And your sword is a finer piece of work than that one’s,” he said, pointing at Agathar with dismissive disdain.

“This is greater than a mere tool, Orthanc. This is about honor and trust.”

Orthanc rolled his eyes. “We need to keep moving and get these goods to the market in Emerikat. If we have any more delays, we could miss the season entirely.”

“If you must continue without me, so be it. I know it’s hard for you to understand concepts that don’t involve coin in some way, but this is to be finished between me and Agathar here and now.”

Orthanc glanced around at his other sellswords. They were nodding in agreement with Oacenth’s sentiment.

“Fine. Settle this if you must. We will continue on, try to catch up if you can.” With that, he gestured in the direction they were going and the wagon got underway. One of the other roving blades lingered with Oacenth, in case Luther tried to interfere with the duel.

The horses clomped down the rainbow, the wagon creaking behind, leaving just the four roving blades staring at each other.

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about this?” Agathar asked.

“No,” Oacenth replied, drawing his sword.

“Good.” Agathar stopped his blade’s dance and pointed it at Oacenth. Their seconds stepped back and the two elves began circling each other, weapons pointed at each other’s faces. After a moment, they armed themselves with daggers in their other hand.

Agathar circled patiently. This would be no duel to first blood or surrender so it wouldn’t do to rush in. Oacenth wanted Agathar’s life and the sword, he would come and try to take them. There wasn’t much waiting.

Oacenth came forward with a growl, covering his advance with a short thrust. Agathar dodged away from both the sword and the edge of the rainbow before making his own exploratory attack. They continued in this way for some time, making hateful but measured assaults on each other, before coming together with locked blades. Each worked dagger, sword, and feet to try and unbalance the other as they moved around the rainbow, often coming perilously close to the edge.

Agathar drew first blood. While Oacenth’s attention was drawn his proximity to an eternal fall, he managed to snake his dagger around the jeweled hilt of Oacenth’s sword and left a burning wound on his arm before dancing away.

“First blood to me. Do you want to give up Oacenth?” He smiled. “Honor has been satisfied. You can walk away and no one will think the less of you.”

“Honor may be satisfied, but trust will only be happy when you’re dead,” he replied with a snarl.

They began their dance of death anew, each displaying an augmenting of vigor. The clash of blades and rough growls sailed into the ether. Luther and the other roving blade watched intently, neither interfering.

After numerous exchanges, both were bleeding from a number of superficial cuts. Both had been silent for several passes and they were breathing heavily. It was evident that one would soon fall. Each was determined to have it be the other elf and marshaled their strength for a final clash. The came together with a crash that sent Oacenth staggering back. Agathar kicked him. His waned energy meant Oacenth was able to catch his foot as it connected and they were both sent tumbling towards the edge. Their weapons fell from their hands as they went over.

Luther and the other elf rushed to the edge, a rapidly fading scream ringing in their ears. When they looked over, they saw Oacenth taking an eternal fall and Agathar hanging on to the rainbow. Luther went to help him, but was stopped by the sound of steel.

“No interference,” the other elf said.

“What? Oacenth lost.”

“And your friend may yet lose too, if he can’t pull himself up.”

The two elves stared at each other with hard eyes. Luther slowly stood back up and moved away from the edge. The other elf did the same, but he didn’t sheathe his blade. Agathar managed to pull himself back onto the rainbow. It took him such a time to recover his breath that he was lying in a small pool of blood before he was able to stand.

“Satisfied?” Luther asked the other elf. “Unless there is anything else for you to do here, you can return to your merchant.” Wordlessly, the elf backed up several paces before turning around and heading after the wagon. Confident he wouldn’t return, Luther helped Agathar gather his belongings, stopping to tear some makeshift bandages with which to bind his wounds.

“We’d better get to a healer,” he said, seeing how pale his friend’s face was.

Agathar nodded in response, too tired to speak.

Once everything had been gathered, they resumed their march towards Aramore, though at a much slower pace. The journey down the other side off the rainbow was uneventful. The rainbow bridge met the continent near a small lake. As they descended, they could make out a cluster of dwellings along the edge of the lake closest to the bridge.

“That must be Traveler’s Succor,” Luther said.

For its remoteness, the town was large. The buildings were constructed of a local wood that was deep red in hue. They accented the construction by whitewashing window sills and door frames, an effect that was very pleasing to the eye. When they entered the town, they saw each door was painted with a white symbol that seemed to denote the profession of the occupants. The inn, which Luther and Agathar quickly identified, had a mug painted on the door, and was one of the largest buildings in the village.

They stayed there for several days while Agathar convalesced under the care of an old wise woman. After he was pronounced fit to march, they resumed their journey to Aramore. Upon arriving, they found that the conflict had grown to encompass several noble houses and had resulted in numerous massacres among the narrow, winding streets.