With one final, annoyed look, Josef charged.
It was a good assault, a straight-on rush and then, three steps in, a feint to the left. Milo Burch stayed still just long enough to let the boy think he’d fallen for it and then quietly ducked out of the way. The boy charged past him and stopped, boots skidding on the loose dirt. He turned around, panting. Milo smiled at him, resting the stick on his shoulder.
“That was good,” he said. “Perhaps you should try—”
Josef was running before he could finish, cutting around to Milo’s left. Again, Milo let him get just close enough to commit to the blow before ducking down. Josef’s sword whistled over his head, and the boy stumbled past him. Josef cursed loudly, and Milo stepped right to avoid the second sword that thrust from below. He spun around as Josef carried the thrust through, bopping the boy on the head with the stick as he passed.
Josef yelped in surprise and stumbled, falling to the ground. Milo sighed.
“If I’d taken your duel, that would have been the end, you know,” he said, swinging his stick. “I won’t think less of you if you want to give up.”
He’d barely finished when Josef dropped the sword in his left hand. The knife came a second later. Milo opened his hand, letting the stick drop in his grip just before the knife sliced through the air where it had been. As soon as the knife was past, he sidestepped again as Josef followed through with a lunge at his legs.
“Again, not bad,” Milo said, grinning. “Why don’t you—”
“Shut up!” Josef shouted, grabbing for the stick with his now-empty left hand.
Milo stepped neatly out of his reach, making Josef stumble as he overbalanced. The boy was panting now, his face red from the sun and slick with sweat.
“You’re not a bad fighter, you know,” Milo said gently. “Surely you’re good enough to see the difference between us. You know you can’t win. There’s no point in pushing yourself.”
Josef scowled at him, breathing hard, and then flicked another knife right at Milo’s hand.
This went on all afternoon. Josef would attack and Milo would step out of the way. Josef never attacked the same way twice, but the end result never changed. As day wore into evening, Josef’s lunges grew slower, but he did not stop until finally, as the sun sank below the horizon, he tripped and fell and did not get up again.
Milo leaned on his stick. “Are we done?”
Josef didn’t answer. He just lay in the dirt, panting. Milo sighed and set the stick on the ground beside the fire. He walked over, shoved his hands under Josef’s arms, and began dragging him toward the cave.
“What are you doing?” Josef gasped.
“Keeping you from dying of dehydration,” Milo said. “I also imagine you would like some food.”
Josef stared at him. “But I’m your enemy,” he said, the words wheezing.
“You’re the only one who said that,” Milo said. “I was sitting here minding my own business.” He dumped Josef unceremoniously on the floor of the cave. “Do you want some water or not?”
“Yes, please,” Josef said, lying flat on his back. “Thank you.”
“Polite,” Milo said, handing him the water skin. “I like that.”
Josef was too focused on drinking to answer.
He drank the entire water skin and half of another, and then ate the five loaves of bread that were meant to keep Milo the next week. He was still chewing when he fell asleep. When he was sure the boy was out, Milo tossed his blanket over the boy and walked out to sit beside the great black sword that was still staked beside the fire.
“What do you think?”
“He’s stubborn as a rock,” the sword said. “He’s slow, his movements lack subtlety, and he has no grace.”
Milo arched a white eyebrow. “Since when do you care about grace?”
“A minimum is required,” the sword grumbled. “Still, he lasted five hours. That’s the best yet.”
“It is, isn’t it,” Milo said, rubbing his aching arms. Dodging all day was harder than it used to be. “He’s spirit deaf, you know.”
He felt the sword’s ambivalence brush over him like a shrug. “I’ve had many deaf wielders. Hearing isn’t what matters. It’s everything else.”
“Well, you’ll have to stop being so picky,” Milo said quietly. “We don’t have much time left.”
“I have all the time in the world,” the sword answered. “Still, we’ll see. Tomorrow, maybe.”
“Tomorrow,” Milo said, lying back to watch the moon rising over the desert.