Finally the floor was cleared, and one of the undead was drawing a glowing circle on the floor, to mark out the boundaries of the duel. Solcadens stepped forward to face Sparrow. A couple of gangly zombies limped up, handing each of them a dueling sword and almost falling over themselves as they bowed — as it was, the one assisting Sparrow dropped a few teeth on the floor.
Sparrow swallowed her nausea, pocketing the hammer head as she took up the sword. It was a wicked thing, notched and curved, probably something Neddryn would have liked to wield. Sparrow swung it a few times, and felt horribly awkward. She had never been the best fencer, and watching Solcadens take up his blade with practiced ease, she could plainly read her own death into the situation.
Solcadens and she met in the center of the ring, saluted to one another, then turned their backs to each other as they paced to the edges of the ring. It was an old ritual she had done so many times with her father when he had deigned to teach her some swordsmanship, that Sparrow felt queasy at the comparison.