Gambit

This week’s Monday Flash Fiction for the A-to-Z Blogging Challenge is…

GAMBIT

Gladfel watched as three hundred pounds of muscle tromped into the middle of the open field. The warrior’s sword was large and heavy; he held it like a bamboo stick.

“Your majesty, let it be me.” Ared was young and powerful. Maybe not three hundred pounds, but more than a match for the man. Gladfel smiled.

“Not yet, my boy.”

“I don’t understand, my lord. You must defeat Karrag’s champion to win his land. You only have three attempts. I can do it!” Gladfel put a hand on Ared’s shoulder.

“This is why you are the warrior, and I am the tactician,” he said. “I’m sending in Pokel.”

“Pokel?” Ared glared at his king. “With respect, my lord–are you mad? Karrag’s champion will destroy him!”

There was a loud, impatient grunt from the field.

“I’m afraid you are probably correct, Ared. But that will make Karrag think he has beaten our champion. Karrag’s champion will think our next challenger is not as good, and he will not fight as well. You will do away with this man, and the next two, without losing your breath.”

“Too bad for Pokel,” said Ared.

“Indeed,” said Gladfel. “But his is a noble sacrifice for the greater victory.”

Another, louder grunt came from the field. Gladfel summoned Pokel forward. Pokel emerged from the nearby tent. Though well-built, he was half the size of Karrag’s champion. His veins didn’t protrude, and his sword was obviously heavy in his hand. He stepped forward with poker face to confront his adversary.

Gladfel hid his eyes when the first swing of the blade came down on Pokel. There was a loud clang. To Gladfel’s astonishment, Pokel blocked the strike and managed to swing his sword close to the man’s unarmored abdomen. The man dodged and tried another blow which connected with the plating on Pokel’s back. The force sent Pokel to the ground, but he recovered and was soon standing again. Pokel tried some jabs to the man’s arm, but the man was too quick, and Pokel only just avoided a counter-blow to his chest. Pokel threw his weight behind a swipe to the man’s head. But the man exploited Pokel’s exposed stomach. The slash almost severed Pokel in half. He crumpled to the ground in a mess of blood and entrails.

Moments later, Karrag crossed the field and approached Gladfel.

“Ha ha!” he cried out. “Your man fought bravely. But he was no match for mine. Are you ready to admit defeat?” Gladfel looked concerned. But then broke into a grin. “What is so funny? Your champion is dead. Surely you’re not going to continue?”

“Oh, Karrag!” Gladfel said. “Of course I will continue. You see, that was not my champion.” Karrag looked concerned. But then broke into a grin.

“I see we think alike,” he said. He pointed to the man wiping his blood-soaked sword on his tunic. “Borak is not my champion either.”