Forest Kingdom Trilogy 1 - Blue Moon Rising

grin widened as he moved lightly forward, his sword licking out to test for holes in Harald's defence.
    For a while the only sounds in the courtyard were the stamp and scuff of booted feet on the bare stone, and the occasional rasp of blade on blade. Breath steamed on the chill air as the two brothers circled each other warily, and then Harald lunged forward, his sword flashing in a bright arc for Rupert's unshielded ribs. Rupert parried the cut easily, stepped inside the blow and kicked Harald in the knee.
    Harald lurched to one side as his leg betrayed him, and Rupert slammed a knee into his gut. Hatald bent forward over his pain, almost as though bowing to Rupert. Air whistled in his throat as he fought for breath. Rupert darted back out of range and allowed his brother time to recover; he'd waited a long time for this victory, and he saw no reason to rush it. The guards had responded to the brief exchange with interested murmurs, and out of the corners of his eyes Rupert could see money changing hands. He grinned tightly, and then his brother came to meet him again. Harald's sword and shield were steady, but he favoured his left leg. Rupert felt a grim laughter stir within him. Harald was already beaten, even if he didn't know it yet. Coldbloodedly, Rupert set out to prove it.
    His sword sang through the air as he swung the blade double-handed, and blow by blow, cut by cut, he drove Harald backwards round the circle. Splinters flew from Harald's buckler as Rupert pressed home his attack, his sword flashing past the shield's rim to draw blood from a dozen minor cuts. Harald bobbed and weaved and cut vicously at Rupert's unprotected head and body, but always he was thrown back with fresh blood seeping into his chain-mail, as Rupert showed him every skill and dirty trick he knew.
    Rupert was the better fighter, and now he and everybody else knew it. The guardsmen applauded and cheered every move, and Rupert laughed aloud as he drove his brother back. A sudden impatience took him, and slamming aside Harald's buckler, Rupert smashed the sword from his brother's hand, kicked his feet from under him, and then set the point of his blade at Harald's throat as he lay helpless on the blood-splashed cobbles.
    'Yield,' said Rupert hoarsely.
    'I yield,' said Harald quietly, bitterly.
    Rupert stared down at him for a long moment, and then stepped back. He'd beaten his brother, just as he'd dreamed for so many years, but somehow it didn't quite feel real yet. The applauding guards fell silent as Harald rose painfully to his feet, his shield arm hanging limply at his side. His immaculate chain-mail was scarred and bloodied, and he left his battered sword where it lay. Blood trickled unnoticed down his face as he smiled coldly.
    'I should have had you killed years ago, Rupert. If by some miracle you survive the journey to the Dark Tower, don't come back. I won't make the mistake of fighting fair again.'
    He turned his back on Rupert and limped away, slapping aside the helping hands guards offered him.
    Rupert watched him go. After all the years, all the insults, all the pain, he'd finally beaten his brother. It didn't feel as good as he'd thought it would. He shrugged, and grinned round at his guards. They seemed strangely subdued, almost as though they were waiting for something ... A sudden suspicion flared in Rupert's mind, and he'd just started to turn when a mailed fist slammed into the small of his back, sending him sprawling to the ground. He made it to one knee, and then a steel-clad boot buried itself in his gut.
    He writhed on the cold ground, sobbing with pain.
    'Never drop your guard, Rupert,' said the Champion calmly. 'You know better than that.'
    His boot lashed out again, catching Rupert on the hip and sending him rolling into the feet of the silently watching guards. He lurched to one knee and reached for his sword. The Champion's boot slammed down again, but this time Rupert was ready for him. Instead of snatching back his fingers he continued the movement, caught the Champion's ankle in both hands, and twisted him off balance. The Champion fell heavily, and by the time he regained his feet Rupert was waiting for him, sword in hand.
    'Now that's more like it,' said the Champion approvingly. His sword licked out to open a shallow cut on Rupert's left cheek, and then the Champion had to jump back out of range as Rupert's blade sheared through the chain-mail over his ribs. The Champion glanced down, and saw blood