This sword fight comes from The Brotherhood of the Black Flag.  Our hero, Michael McNamara, has just been recommended to Captain Stephen Reynard, a pirate turned pirate hunter.  McNamara's been recommended to Reynard as a likely new crewman to aid in his latest hunt, but first Reynard wants to audition him.

(Just as an FYI, Black Flag is a tribute to classic swashbuckler films, and the fight choreography is intended to emulate the style of those movies.  Also, Reynard's "serpentine" fencing style is real schiavona fighting style, not something I made up.

 )

***   

“Allow me to give the fencing instructor a lesson of his own,” Reynard said.  “You know what kind of sword this is?”

“A schiavona.”
 

“Very good.  You know your weapons.  Ever fight anyone who ever used one before?” 

McNamara shook his head.     

“You’re about to,” Reynard said.  “The men I hunt are dangerous, battle-hardened killers.  Those who sail under my command have to be men I can count on to know how to fight.  You don’t mind if I take your measure in front of these assembled peacocks, do you, Mr. McNamara?”

 
“Not at all,” McNamara said.  He rose and removed his own coat and waistcoat and drew his colichemarde, eager to show Reynard just what exactly he could do with a sword.   

“Captain, are you sure about this?” Sabatini asked, glaring at McNamara as he stepped between them.

“Easy, Nick,” Reynard said dismissively as he stepped around his quartermaster.  “I’ll be quite all right.  I have every faith in Mr. McNamara’s abilities with a blade.  Faith, of course, that those abilities are inferior to my own.” 

“I wouldn’t put too much stock in that if I were you,” McNamara retorted.  “Believing yourself to be a greater swordsman than you really are is a common mistake among beginners and amateurs.” 

“Ah, but it’s not a mistake if one actually is the greater swordsman one believes he is,” Reynard said with a chuckle.  

McNamara couldn't help smiling at the banter.  He'd often scolded his students for wasting energy on verbal sparring, and he could only imagine how they'd react to him engaging in it now.  “I’ve heard boasts like that from too many of my students to take them seriously.  So to join your crew, I have to outfence you?”    

“No, I just want to see how long you’ll last,” Reynard replied.  “You’re not going to beat me.  If you’re ready, Mr. McNamara?”    

“Whenever you are, Captain Reynard.  I’m looking forward to proving you wrong.”    

The two men saluted, and then stood perfectly still for a long moment as their blades lightly touched.  Then, with astonishing speed, Reynard thrust at McNamara, who barely managed to parry in time.  McNamara frantically blocked three more lunges and a slash to the neck before riposting, which Reynard easily fended off.  McNamara sought to press the attack, feinting at each of Reynard’s flanks before aiming a lunge straight at his chest, using just enough force to make sure the tip would only touch Reynard; after all, this was an audition, not a fight to the death - something McNamara hoped Reynard was remembering as well.  Reynard, however, barely seemed to acknowledge the feints, his arm merely twisting as he parried the lunge as if with a will of its own, and then thrust at McNamara, who was now wide open.  Unable to parry, McNamara sprang backwards, out of the range of the schiavona.

 
“And where do you think you’re going?” Reynard asked, a predatory glimmer in his eye.  “We’re not done yet.”

“We’ll be done soon enough,” McNamara retorted.  “Right after I’ve won this bout!”

McNamara carved a small figure-eight into the air with his sword before cutting at Reynard, his blade ringing against the former pirate’s.  The two swordsmen held their ground as they dueled, only advancing or retreating a few steps.  Like McNamara, Reynard favored speed and dexterity over mere strength, although Reynard was quite strong and firm of wrist.  His attacks, feints, and parries were only the briefest flickers of movement, and McNamara found himself thinking of Reynard's style as “serpentine.”  Although McNamara’s colichemarde was lighter and therefore faster than Reynard’s schiavona, Reynard’s heavier blade seemed to twist like a snake in order to intercept each one of McNamara’s attacks.  When attacking, Reynard turned his body in order to thrust from all sorts of angles, even high and low, making him very difficult to predict and defend against.  Reynard would even lunge multiple times in rapid succession, but the weight of the cage-like hilt allowed him perfect control of each strike.  More often than not, McNamara had to dodge Reynard’s sword instead of attempt to parry it, and more than ever he was thankful that his sword had a colichemarde blade.

The blades crossed and locked for a long moment, and then sensing a momentary stalemate, the two men disengaged, circling each other warily. “Impeccable form, Mr. McNamara,” Reynard said.  “I have to say, I’m quite impressed.  We might actually be at this for a while.”

“If you’re pressed for time, you could always surrender.” 

 
“Oh, I think not.  If you want a victory, you’ll have to earn it!”
  

The fight resumed, and McNamara found himself grinning with pleasure, enjoying crossing swords with a man as skilled as Reynard was.  It was rare that he had the chance to duel merely out of competitive spirit, just for the sheer pleasure of matching his own abilities against another opponent.  He’d done plenty of close quarters fighting against the Spanish during the wars, but that was real battle, and battle was not something that any sane man could enjoy.  Life and death combat was a maelstrom of blood, noise, and savagery, and it was no place for finesse.  This, however, was a mere contest of skill against skill.  He found himself entering a euphoric state, acting and reacting almost on instinct, smiling with pleasure even as his sword arm began to tire and his breath felt like fire in his lungs.

“I just realized something,” Reynard said as he parried McNamara’s latest series of lunges.  “We never did say what would constitute a victory.”

McNamara reared back to avoid a particularly nasty cut.  “You’re right.  First blood, perhaps?” 

“In front of all these genteel, delicate stomachs?” Reynard replied chidingly.  “Bad form, McNamara.”

“In that case, what about one of us disarming the other?”

Reynard grinned.  “Agreed.”

McNamara feinted and then cut at Reynard’s flank.  Reynard parried, but not with his blade.  Instead, Reynard raised his arm slightly so that the debole of the colichemarde struck the cage-like hand guard of the schiavona’s hilt.  Reynard twisted his wrist, the cage trapping McNamara’s blade.  His eyes gleaming triumphantly, Reynard turned his arm downwards with terrific force, tearing McNamara’s sword out of his grip and sending it clattering to the floor. 

McNamara gaped as he stared at his empty hand and then at Reynard, who smiled innocently.  “It was your idea,” he said.

--edited by Ian Nathaniel Cohen on 4/8/2014, 10:36 PM--

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“Out now!” Janis matched words to deeds as she all but dashed to the tunnel. The Ambassador was already moving, his huge bulk disappearing into the darkness. He reached the light at the far end and hurled a punch forwards.

Two things happened at exactly the same time. Firstly, a figure in white looped around the Ambassador's tree-trunk like arm and kicked him in the forehead. He reeled backwards, but grabbed hold of his attacker, slamming him into the nearest wall. The second was more prosaic. An alarm started screaming.

“Well that tears it,” Ahn said as she darted past Janis, her foot slamming into the side of the Ambassador's opponent. The white-robed Terosian hurtled backwards and slammed into the balcony, the wood actually cracking under the impact with a single sharp crack. Ahn landed beside him in a crouch, her hand dipping into a pouch on her hip and producing a badge.

“I am Officer Ahn of the Academy Roots,” she said, rising until she stood ramrod straight, “you are all under arrest.”

Another Terosian in white hurtled towards her, his fist glowing with barely controlled chi. Janis flipped a loop of chi round his neck as she leapt over the Ambassador, yanking it down and over the balcony railing. There was a sound like a wet twig snapping as his neck slammed into the railing and he went as limp as a wet rag.

“Yeah, that never works,” Janis noted as she landed in front of the dwarf.

This is a fight scene from my current work-in-progress, The Lesser Evil.  One of the main characters, Peter, finds an intruder in the house, attempting to kidnap his girlfriend.

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He charged out naked and bleeding.  In the great room a man with long blond hair had Linnea, limp and completely motionless, slung over a shoulder.   He moved for the door, and Peter snatched up a fireplace brush lying nearby on the floor and lunged, clubbing the intruder in the hamstrings so that he went down heavily with his burden.  Linnea's head bounced against the floor with a dull thud.  A weird metallic whine rang in Peter's ears and filled his head, higher than any pitch he'd ever heard or had been able to conceive of before now.  The base of his spine itched as though an electric current was entering there, and it tingled all the way up the column of his vertebrae and into his head to merge with the whine.  Or maybe it was the source of the whine.  He couldn't tell.

Linnea's face was covered in blood.    And she lay unmoving and still, so still, her eyes half open. Somewhere deep inside Peter a dark well of despair opened. Red rage erupted up out of it and washed his vision a shade of crimson as bright as the blood that stained her face.

 He gripped the brush in both hands and swung it sideways with all his strength.  The skinny blond fucker twisted at the last moment and brought his arm up so that Peter wouldn't cave in his face.  The strike sent a sickening jolt into the bones of Peter's arms.  Someone was screaming in deep, guttural, berserk fury, and Peter realized after another heartbeat that the terrifying sound was coming from himself.

The brush slipped out of his bloody hand, and that was all the time the blond needed to reach the fireplace and pick up the poker.

Peter snatched his weapon back up and rained a flurry of quick blows down upon his foe, whose face was twisted into a rictus of concentration behind the fluted bar of wrought iron he brought up to shield his pathetic vermin existence.  The fucker's name came to him - Evan Reese.  The junkie who'd tried to end Linnea's guitar-playing days. Reese wasn't particularly tall, and Peter towered over him by half a foot.  He used the advantage of his superior height to hammer downward.  Reese couldn't withstand the onslaught, and each time Peter's makeshift cudgel connected with the wrought iron, the smaller man was force back a step.

Reese twisted and feinted, pushing the bar at Peter's throat with both hands.  He couldn't get inside Peter's reach, but it was a fast enough movement that it made Peter instinctively pull back to protect himself, even though there was no real danger from it.

Reese laughed breathlessly.  "Another suitor for our fair Linnea's hand, just like me," he said in American-accented English, glancing at Peter's nakedness.

"Shut it, cocksucker.  I am nothing like you!" Peter roared, and swung the brush in a fury.

But Reese caught the blow with the poker, barely an inch away from the apple of his throat.  Peter pressed, using his height as a lever.  "Just like me," Reese croaked and stomped down.

Peter's bare foot collapsed from under him and he went down before he even knew what was happening.  He took Reese with him, and they careened into one of the sofas near the picture windows.  It slid sideways and back, knocking over a couple of the guitars.  Peter had lost the brush but he managed to lever himself up and back from Reese, using the armrest of the sofa to brace his back.  The other man was still clinging to his precious weapon, struggling to his feet when Peter kicked with his uninjured foot and sent the poker spinning out of Reese's grasp.

Reese should have feared for his life, but the idiot was grinning.  "I thought it was Mark that bound her," he said in bemusement.  "But it was you.  I wonder how a weak, stopped-up pup like you even managed such a thing."

The feeling of electricity crawled up Peter's spine, pulsing in time with the high-pitched whine in his head.  He yanked Reese up by a fistful of his shirt, and the inner shriek scaled upward like the howl of an angry banshee.  The electrical feeling writhed in Peter's hands and along his arms.  The sensation was more than adrenaline.  Exhilarating, it made his innards twist sickeningly at the same time.   He balled the front of Reese's shirt up in both his hands, bringing the man closer, and the sound and sensation became almost overwhelming.  He didn't understand it, but somehow it was coming from Reese. 

Cold terror and uncertainty crept into him, and his rage flared against it.  Reese's gaze met his own.  "Oh, you don't even know, do you, my brother?"  He laughed.

Peter slammed Reese's head against the floor and choked the laugh off.  He wanted to see those glittering green eyes dim and go glassy.  He was sure that if he could make that happen the the sickening crawling sensation inside would cease.  Something horrible was happening, and something even more horrible was about to occur.  Peter could feel it as an escalating physical pressure.  Or maybe he was going mad.  Either way, it would stop when Reese was ended.  He slammed the blond head down again.

Reese's eyes rolled like those of a terrified animal.  He grabbed at Peter's wrists feebly, trying to pry them off himself, and Peter felt contemptuous laughter bubbling up from his chest.  Too late, fucker. 

A man's voice was yelling from somewhere, and Peter hesitated.  "Peter, stop!  Stop!  You'll kill him!" 

Well, that was the whole idea.  

Here's a scene from the end of the first plot element in my story.  SPOILER ALERT, it does contain spoilers about the welfare of an early character!  Fight scenes are things I both love and hate writing.  Striking a fine balance between enough imagery and too much.  Enjoy

The servant tending to Borisgoth suddenly made a strange noise.  He looked at the servant to find his eyes wide with fright and pain, a Tobisgothian spear clean through his abdomen.  Borisgoth acted quickly and as if guided by some external force; drawing his sword and spinning the opposite direction with such speed and force he buried his sword into the armor of a Tobisgothian knight who had appeared quickly around the corner.

“Ambush!”   Borisgoth cried as he pulled the sword out of the knight.  He directed the force in such a way to bury the hilt of his sword into the faceguard of another knight who had appeared from the opposite side.  He too dropped to the ground, blood seeping through the slots of his faceplate.  Borisgoth’s shout seemed to unleash absolute terror upon their small camp.  Dozens of well-trained and armored Tobsigothian knights burst forth from the trees.  Servants, knights and generals all drew their swords before being flinging themselves into combat.  Borisgoth had been lucky with his first two foes but was not so against his third.  These knights proved battle hardened and fought back with incredible efficiency and force.  He knew the knight he currently fought against was likely half his age and at his physical peak.  He felt his wounds and body begin to ache and weaken as he blocked stout blow after blow.  Summoning unworldly strength Borisgoth grabbed a shield from one of the fallen knights and send it crashing across the helmet of is foe with a great cry, the force of the blow crushing his foe`s helmet to half its width.  Borisgoth only had a split moment to gather his senses when another knight drew forward and sent a blow with his spear so hard it knocked the shield from Borisgoth’s grip.  He used his sword to block the repeated blows from the spear.  This Tobisgothian moved fast, his strikes were accurate and Borisgoth had great difficulty keeping is sword where it needed to be.  The knight lunged forward and delivered a strong blow to Borisgoth’s pelvis.  He felt a great pressure as the thick leather of his armor did its best to shield the blow.  Tears welled in his eyes and he let out a massive roar.  He severed the Tobisgothian and his spear clean in two.  Seeing no enemies coming from his direction Borisgoth turned his attention to defending King Orisgoth.  He saw two generals down and bleeding from gashes through their armor.

I am still writing the new story and yes the fight scene hasn't been written yet but the fight scene will be boxing, Judo and Greco-Roman wrestling;  but I can easy do these and related to this are chase scene -- I've done two chase sequences in my career's history both as my own name and as my pen name Lloyd Phillip Campbell.  Not only a good fight scene but it also doubles as a chase scene where someone is someone is speeding up I-355 as I want to really capture a scene where it's a dark road rage element.   As in the fight scene leads to a kill of the rager.  

They start clenching up and one has a crowbar in hand;  they both pulled out in middle of I-355 -- someone was clearly pissed.   When they realized the son of a bitch loosened up his lugnuts so they both started going at it about 110 mph;  and started with a side smash of the car then proceeded to go off the road.  both cars flip over and they crawl out.  One guy gives chass.  

"You motherfucker!" 

"You loosened up my lugnuts you piece of shit cocksucker"  

*grabs the guy jamming his elbow into the teeth.*  

"Fuck you"  

*even more punching exchanged; brass knuckles pulled out and direct hit to the solar plexus -- the sound of metal cracking bone is harrowing.*

"You swing like a prostitute that was more like a bitch slap than a punch"  

*right hook exchanged then a grab of the arm.*  

At a split second the guy was on the ground before he even realized he got flipped.    

"Ease up you bastard you realize we're in middle of I-355"

"Eh he's got a gun watch it man!"  

*grabbed gun hand, disarmed him with the same gun then pointed the gun at kneecap pulling the trigger*

--edited by napacione on 1/25/2016, 12:52 AM--

--edited by napacione on 1/25/2016, 12:55 AM--