The Stabber ducks and weaves between my attacks, avoiding them by a hair's breadth. If I needed any further confirmation that despite all appearances, the Stabber was not by double, then this was pretty much it. He's fast, much faster then I am. Even if I concentrate my magic in enhancing my speed, there's no way I can match the pace of the Stabber. But at the same time, my opponent's strength is inferior to mine. I won the clinch with him when our weapons locked together and the thrusts from the Stabber's short sword are comparatively weak.

That's still cold comfort though.

As the Stabber completes his dodge, the short sword flashes out at me like a stroke of lightning, his hand moving so fast that my eyes just barely catch the movement. There's a sharp pain as the edge of the Stabber's blade carves shallow wounds into my torso, my rhino skin enhancement absorbing the brunt of the attack. I hurriedly bring my own weapon up to block and there's a series of harsh metal clangs as the Stabber's weapon pounds away ineffectually. Changing tack, my opponent sends a snap kick straight to my stomach, but I lower my arms just in time to cushion the impact. There's a muffled thump as the Stabber's boot smacks against my reinforced lower arm, accomplishing nothing other than to push me slightly backward.

The Stabber quickly backs away from the range of my sword, hopping on his feet like a prizefighter who would show up at the tavern fights. There's a look of frustration on his face as well, the Stabber clearly annoyed that his modus operandi of stabbing is not working quite so well against me. Without a firm stance on the ground, there's only so much damage the Stabber can do to me, especially once my defensive spellwork has been factored into the equation. The trade off is that he's always ready to dodge the moment I begin to launch an attack of my own.

I begin to press forward with short, quick jabs of my weapon. I might not be able to match the Stabber's speed, but I can still keep him on the defensive. As long as he's too busy bobbing and weaving about, the Stabber won't have an opening to strike at me. And once I corral him into the wall of the canal, all the fancy footwork in the world won't be doing him any good. Keeping the pressure on, I begin to push against my enemy. None of my blows have landed yet, but its only a matter of time.

The Stabber's mouth is a thin, puckered line as he makes increasingly desperate attempts to break past my flurry of blows. But without a weapon that at least equals the length of my own sword, its a vain attempt, resulting in the Stabber retreating from me each time. No matter how fast he is, rushing at me would just result in the Stabber impaling himself on my sword. I keep my own footwork steady, ensuring there are no breaks or stumbles that would break the tempo of my assault.

The Stabber's hand reaches into his robe and there's a flash of steel, followed by a glancing pain along my arm. I narrow my eyes, ignoring the light wound that the Stabber's throwing knife had inflicted. Clever, the Stabber tried to bait me into instinctively dodging or blocking the incoming knife, relieving the pressure my assault subjecting him to. But with all my attention focused on the duel, it would take far more than such a basic trick to fool me.

I switch to a one handed stance with the sword, presenting my profile to the Stabber as I continue tracking him with those swift sword thrusts. As yet another knife is sent flying my way, it is harmlessly deflected by the wall of steel I am unleashing without any additional movement on my part. With only my side profile available as a target, the Stabber can only aim straight in the direction my sword is slashing in.

I grin, as the Stabber's back slowly begins to close with the wall of the canal. The noose is tightening. It'll be over soon.

I lash out once more, this time adding a short lunge to my attack. The Stabber is taken by surprise by the abrupt change in tempo and jukes to the side a moment too late. My sword stabs, ha ha, the Stabber right in the gut and I hear a stifled cry of pain coming from that pursed set of lips. My enemy then throws himself backward, blood oozing out of the wound as his back hits the wall of the canal. The Stabber gingerly touches the wound with an open palm, wincing in pain. But he nevertheless remains standing upright, not quite ready to go down for the count.

"I don't know what your game is," I growl threateningly, "but you picked the wrong person to impersonate. If you come clean, you just might get to live."

"I'm not impersonating anyone." the Stabber rolls his eyes, "I'm Mac Nair."

"You're not me." I snap, the blade of my sword steadily edging toward the Stabber's throat.

"That's right. I'm not you." the Stabber agrees and all of a sudden, his body blurs into action.

I feel my sword running the Stabber through as his afterimage darts forward toward me. But the Stabber doesn't stop, his blurred figure literally passing through my own body like a ghost. I feel the mass of the Stabber press on to my insides, like a particularly heavy dinner. Then the sensation ends as the Stabber emerges at my rear. Before I can react, the Stabber's blade lances into my shoulder as he puts all his weight into this single attack.

"AUGGH!" I scream as the Stabber twists the blade as it firmly lodges itself inside me.

"I am Mac Nair." the Stabber whispers into my ear, "So who does that make you?"

And with a wrenching movement, the blade is pulled out of my shoulder, sending blood spraying all over the place. I feel my sword arm lose all feeling as my weapon falls from my hand's powerless grip. The scent of fresh blood is everywhere, overwhelming even the pervasive sour stench of the dirty water gathered at the base of the canal. I grit my teeth, reinforcing my mental hold over the rhino skin spell as it threatens to unravel. Invisible pins and needles stab all over my body as I forcibly re-anchor the defensive spellwork with all my available magic.

Just in time for the Stabber to shove me face first into the canal wall.

The Stabber grabs me by the collar of the maid uniform and pulls me backward, slamming me by the face into the wall once more. I feel concrete give way to the impact, reduced to fine powder from the impact to my head. Rhino skin nevertheless does its work, saving me from having my skull split open like a melon. But my head is left spinning out of control, causing me to stagger drunkenly about, falling hard on my back.

"Oog." I blubber, as the rain starts to intensify, drenching both of us. The Stabber looms over me, his short sword pointed squarely at my chest. I briefly consider whether I should close my eyes to avoid witnessing my own end.

"MAC!" someone out of my sight shouts and I hear the galloping of hooves. Followed by a single gunshot.

The Stabber's body bucks forward, as he staggers from the impact of the bullet drilling into his back. Caught completely off balance, my enemy doesn't notice my legs pistoning out, smashing him squarely in the shin. The Stabber topples over like a sawn down tree, whimpering in pain and holding on to the shin I brutalized for dear life.

As I wobble back to my feet, a man riding a small pony thunders toward the dueling ground at full tilt, his eyes blazing with fear and urgency.

"Ramon!" I wave with my good arm, relief flooding my entire body.

I have no idea how Ramon got here. Neither do I care. That sleazy lothario had now become my shining ray of hope. Ramon's ponytail is jostled about by his pony's galloping and I see several pistol belts strapped over his torso and waist, each with a pair of guns at the ready. His pony is laden with a saddlebag as well as a small bundle of luggage. Ramon had certainly come both ready for trouble and to make a quick escape.

"Get on!" Ramon yells, a hand outstretched to help pull me on to the pony.

I gratefully accept the offer and mount behind Ramon, eliciting a snort of discomfort from the animal. The Stabber has begun to climb back to his feet, nursing his injured shin all the while. None of that jumping on the spot anymore, huh?

But there's murderous intensity in the Stabber's eyes as he screams like a wild animal toward the heavens, raising both arms to the sky in defiance.

"We need to go." I urge Ramon while fumbling at my belt for a healing potion.

"Did you really burgle my house, Mac?" Ramon demands, sounding somewhat cross, "And are those my healing potions?"

"Go! Go!" I hurriedly push Ramon down on to the pony's neck as a throwing knife whizzes over our heads.

Ramon gets the message, and the pony peels off into the rain.