[Gwathagor]

After a short break, the crowd and the final three contestants were summoned once more to the fighting circle by Lithor.

"The final contestants are Crabannan from the North, Degas of the Folde, and our own Eorl Eodwine!"

The last name was met by many cheers and hurrahs - the crowd clearly favored their eorl, who met their applause with a smile and lifted sword. Crabannan was grim and dour as usual as he sized up his opponents and hefted his shield. If he felt jittery or nervous, he showed no sign of it - unlike Degas, who seemed possessed by an anticipatory energy. He shifted his weight from foot to foot and looked tensely from Crabannan to Eodwine to the crowd and back again.

"These three will fight each other at the same time, each for himself and against the other two. Any man hit thrice will be eliminated and the last man in the ring wins!" announced Lithor. "Now, warriors - ready!"

The three combatants moved to pre-marked points in the dirt, forming a kind of triangle, all at equal distances from each other. Crabannan cracked his neck, Degas set his jaw, and Eodwine took a deep breath. The crowd was tense.

"And begin!"

Nothing happened immediately. The fighters made no move and the crowd barely breathed. A cloud shifted overhead, hiding the sun for a brief moment. A eagle shrieked high above and in another part of Scarburg, a horse whinnied. A soft breeze blew the scent of August grass up off the plains. For a moment, all was still. Then Degas made a sudden rush at Crabannan, the reverie passed, and they were away! Crabannan was too crafty to be taken by surprise, and stepped back with his left foot as the younger man came at him. Then with his shield upon Degas' back, Crabannan threw the other past, cutting the backs of his calves as he did so.

"One against Degas!" cried Lithor. The crowd cheered.

Degas stumbled, but was up again and whirled around just in time as Eodwine, seeing the opportunity came on strong from the left, aiming a blow for the shoulder. This Degas easily blocked by raising the rim of his shield - but instead of attempting to cut back at Eodwine, he instead lunged away, at Crabannan again. Crabannan, however was not there. He was attacking Eodwine now, and the two were hammering back and forth like two dwarves at an anvil (or like two Rohirrim at arms, as the case may be) - once, twice, and again.

As Degas leapt at Crabannan again, he noticed that Crabannan used footwork and shield-wards that were almost identical to Eodwine's, which surprised him very much, for Crabannan was known to be from the very far north. He had no time to be bemused, however, for he was immediately forced to negotiate the point of Crabannan's sword which suddenly presented itself before him. He struck down furiously with his shield and swung across his body with his own sword. Crabannan ducked his head to the side, avoiding a blow which would have cost Degas the game, and took a step back, a little surprised at the fellow's tenacity and fire.

Crabannan watched as Degas whirled at Eodwine, who was lunging at Degas' exposed sword-arm, which was pulled back and high and the last moment. Degas aimed a kick at the forward edge of Eodwine's shield, but Eodwine was too much a veteran to be taken in by such an old trick and merely stepped back, putting Degas off-balance. He struck out with his blade and caught Degas on the right shoulder.

"Two against Degas!" cried Lithor enthusiastically. Some in the crowd cheered, some groaned.

But Degas was not done. His shield flew up and dashed against Eodwine's out-stretched sword just as his sword smacked soundly against Eodwine's side.

"One against the eorl," remarked Lithor. The crowd had nothing to say.

But Degas still not done. He shoved Eodwine with his shield, ducked, spun on his right foot and lunged catching Crabannan hard on the right leg. The latter staggered back and winced visibly.

"One against Crabannan!" The crowd roared with delight at Degas' trick.

Crabannan was himself again in a moment. He renewed his guard. Degas, of course, now found himself in between his two opponents and hurriedly stepped out of the way. There was a momentary pause in the action, for Degas was now forced to be more cautious and Eodwine was still recovering from being nearly thrown in the dirt by Degas. Eodwine had noticed Crabannan's momentary stagger, however, and remembered the limp with which the raven-haired man had walked into Scarburg a month ago. He was an honest man and not given to taking advantage, but he was wise enough to play against his opponents' weaknesses. Crabannan, it seemed, had one.

He renewed his attack against Degas, who was nearest him, determining to finish the young fellow first and then to move upon Crabannan's apparently weak right. Shield forward, Eodwine pressed hard against Degas, aiming blows wherever he could. With a quickness that the older Eodwine could not match, Degas brought his shield across his body and suddenly back again, catching the back rim of Eodwine's shield with the boss of his own shield. Thus locked in a shield bind, Eodwine could do little but attempt to disengage towards Crabannan. It was too late however, and Degas had already cut him on the back and thrown him aside.

"Two against Eodwine," said Lithor. The crowd groaned.

Eodwine recovered quickly though and let the force of the throw carry him towards Crabannan, who was now moving with a definite reticence and even - he fancied - a limp in his right leg. Keeping his shield between himself and Degas, he dashed hard at Crabannan. His first cut at Crabannan's arm was deflected by the other's shield and his second cut, which was aimed at Crabannan's shield-shoulder, missed by an inch. Crabannan retreated half-heartedly beneath the onslaught, doing his best to ward off the blows with his shield and keeping his right leg well out of harm's way. Eodwine cut low this time at Crabannan's now exposed left leg, just beneath the lower edge of Crabannan's shield.

"Two against Crabannan!"

Eodwine flicked his eyes back toward Degas - and not a moment too soon, for Degas was swinging at him with sword and shield combined, apparently in an attempt to over-power him. Eodwine countered with a slash of his sword that came close to Degas' midsection and caused him to halt abruptly. The eorl swung back with his sword, meaning to catch and fling back Crabannan's inner shield-edge, thus presenting the Northerner's midsection as an open target. To his surprise, the shield was not there. He looked up at Crabannan, and, even as he brought his sword around and prepared for a powerful blow that would surely cause the dark fellow to collapse up on his bad leg, he found himself staring into a pair of knowing eyes and a grim smile. His puzzlement increased - and then his mighty blow came up short against the hilt of Crabannan's upraised sword. There was not a stagger, not a flicker of pain or weakness in Crabannan's eyes and then Eodwine realized he'd been fooled.

Eodwine was only permitted a brief instant for surprise, because Crabannan had suddenly whirled to Eodwine's left, out of reach, and headed for Degas. As Crabannan turned, he thrust his own shield hard against Eodwine's. He then lunged at Degas, who dashed the blow aside with his sword as Eodwine slashed at where Crabannan's back had been exposed a second before. Degas' sword flicked around and returned the lunge. Foiled by Crabannan's instinctive side-step, he allowed his momentum to follow though into kick, as he tried again to dislodge his attacker's shield. This time he succeeded and Crabannan's shield-arm was flung up, out, and back, but Crabannan was too quick to let this slow him down. He let the shield go, and it spun away into the dust, at the same time tossing his sword into the air. As Degas slashed violently at Eodwine and then prepared to execute a quick blow back at Crabannan's chest, Crabannan seized Degas' sword-arm with his now free right-hand. Pulling him close, Crabannan caught his own sword in his left hand and struck Degas with great force upon the thigh of his right leg - almost exactly where Degas had hit Crabannan earlier. Then, receiving insult upon injury, Degas found himself sprawling in the dust. Crabannan had tripped him.

"Three! Three against Degas!" hollered Lithor, and the crowd echoed the cry, indeed, they nearly screamed themselves hoarse, for they had never seen anything like this in their lives.

"Degas is out!" cried Lithor.

Degas rolled away and exited the ring, but Eodwine and Crabannan paused not a moment, for the heat of battle (such as it was) was upon them and they were both seasoned warriors. As far as they were concerned, the battle never stopped, and if you asked either of the afterwards, they couldn't remember a thing Lithor had said. Without blinking an eye or taking a breath, Crabannan leapt over Degas, twisting around to face Eodwine as he did so. As he came down, Eodwine flung his own shield at Crabannan's feet and sprang into the attack with a quickness that surprised even him. Crabannan was tripped and fell quite flat - but turned a somersault and came up with his sword at Eodwine's throat.

A stunned silence fell abruptly. The horse neighed, the eagle screamed. The crowd dared not breath. Then, as the crowd went suddenly wild, and as Crabannan and Eodwine's eyes met for the second time during the fight, they both smiled. Broad, boyish, irrepressable grins, followed by bursting, side-shaking laughter, as Crabannan leapt nimbly to his feet and Eodwine furiously shook his hand. Lithor's voice was drowned out entirely as the crowd swarmed about the two contestants, caring not a straw that their favorite had been beaten by the melancholy Northerner.

"Three against Eodwine! Crabannan has won!" shouted Lithor, leaping on a log and waving his arms. "He's won! He's won!"

And so he had.