Like the scythe of death incarnate, the sword whizzed down. Arvan was just able to dodge the blow. The blade passed him by a hair's breadth.

Groaning, the young man backed away. He snatched up his own sword. He had named the mighty bladeProtector because it had saved him in the battle against the orcs, and at the moment Arvan could only hope that the weapon would live up to its name this time as well. Steel clanged on steel, so powerfully that sparks flew.

Arvan grasped his blade with both hands.Remember your anger," he said.For this rage gives you the power with which you could kill even an overpowering monster like Zarton!

With great difficulty, Arvan parried another blow from his opponent. His blow was so violent that a terrible pain went through Arvan's hands, up his arms and into his shoulders. For a moment he thought he was paralyzed and could not move in time to parry the next blow.

His opponent took a swing.

Arvan ducked. The blade passed over him. Then he sped forward, letting the tip of theprotector drive toward his opponent's body.

But he let his sword snap back. The blades clashed against each other. The blow was so powerful and precise that Arvan could not hold his weapon. Theprotector was torn from his hand in a high arc.

Before he had even taken a deep breath, he felt the cool metal of a sword tip against his throat.

"Don't try to fight like a halfling, Arvan!"

"But ..."

"Because you can't, and the fact that you grew up with them doesn't change that."

"How would you know how halflings fight? Are there any where you come from, Whuon?"

The dark-haired warrior grinned broadly."I was able to observe your halfling companions during the battle, at least for a short time, before I lost sight of them and I followed you to protect you from the consequences of your own battle rage." Whuon lowered his blade. He took a deep breath. The swordsman's upper body was exposed, as he had wanted to spare his doublet in this practice fight. Arvan's gaze kept being drawn to the metal plate embedded in Whuon's chest, magically connected to his body as if it were a part of him. Whuon twirled the blade through the air a few times and then let it slide into his other hand in one smooth motion."What is it? Do you still have enough rage left in you to fight properly, or are you poking the air with your blade as if you were holding a halfling's dainty rapier?" he taunted.

Arvan swallowed.

"I don't think my anger is enough today to really be on my game," he said.

"What is it?" asked Whuon."Does anything occupy your thoughts so much that it kills your will to fight, or is itthat?" With a swiftness not expected from someone wielding such a mass