Richard unsheathed his sword and held it up. "You shall pay for this, my friend! Prepare to lose every vestige of your dignity!" "There's no shortage of dignity in this world, Dickon. I shall simply collect some more!" Valentine slammed his visor shut. His arm had begun throbbing in spasms of agony. His tight grip on the sword's hilt caused rods of fire to shoot clear up to his shoulder. But he couldn't back down now. Not when his pride was at stake. The verbal sparring now at an end, Richard and Valentine circled each other, closer, and closer still, until the gleaming weapons finally clashed with a ringing of metal. The sun cast a blinding ray of brilliance off the swords' sharp edges. Dodging the boulders, wall, and eventually even the tombstones, the two noble soldiers entered the heat of the blazing duel, equally matched in strength, finesse, and desire to win. Valentine knew he was a fair opponent for the highly skilled Duke of Gloucester despite his injury.
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