Lucien cut through the last Gorgon between him and the cloaked man leading the attack on the rebel camp and kicked the body away from him. The Gorgon soldier fell to the mud and lay there motionless as the last Blackwater stepped over him and toward the unknown man, who was beckoning the rebel leader forward, his words cutting through the sounds of battle. Lucien stopped in his tracks a good five feet or so away from the man as he removed his gloves and drew his curved sword. Lucien had only seen swords with curved blades a handful of times, if that. He had read about them in his youth though and the techniques required to use them properly; one must use wide strokes in order for the blade to slice through flesh, as stabbing was not possible with such a blade.

Lucien took notice of the fire spreading as embers rained down and sparked other tents in the camp. Those fighting near Lucien and his cloaked opponent formed a kind of circle around the two, refusing to go near them as they slowly circled one another with swords drawn. A snarl crossed Lucien’s face as the man insulted his bloodline by saying the other Blackwaters he had killed were disappointing to him. It was hard to tell which of his relatives the man had killed. The eldest Blackwater watched the curved sword arch through the air, catching the light of the fire and turning orange with each passing arch. Blood trickled down the blade Lucien’s sword as he raised it slightly, ready for battle.

Lucien was the first to make a move as he broke the circling pattern to lunge forward in a downward slash easily blocked with a graceful arch of the man’s blade. The rebel leader lunged a second time in a stab directed at the enemy leader’s stomach. The cloaked man blocked again with a lazy arch of his curved blade. A soft glow began at Lucien’s fingertips and grew until it lit his palm. With a small wave of his hand, Lucien stepped away from the cloaked man, the fog suddenly becoming impossibly thick and growing darker. Lucien’s footfalls were as silent as a cat’s as he stepped around the man and away a few yards.

“Retreat! Use the fog as cover,” Lucien’s voice came from all sides at once, amplified to a loud rumble akin to thunder.

As his voice echoed and bounced around the trees of the swamp, he stepped silently through the fog, seeing as though he had not cast an illusion. He positioned himself behind the cloaked man and lunged forward, aiming a slash at the man’s back. The enemy leader was able to barely duck under the slash, escaping with nothing but a torn cloak. The man swung his curved blade in the direction Lucien had attacked from, but he had already slipped around to the man’s flank and slashed forward again. The man managed to block the second blow as well, but with less grace than when he could see the attacks coming before they were right upon him; if not for his quick reflexes he would not be able to block the attacks at all. Lucien continued his pattern of lunging forward from the fog and then moving to another position only to lunge again, with no particular pattern to keep the man guessing.

“Am I as disappointing of a fight as my other kin,” again Lucien’s voice thundered from all sides of the man.

The enemy leader looked in each direction, trying as he might to detect the location of Lucien’s voice, but it was impossible. Lucien hoped that his illusions would buy his men enough time to escape along with the civilians as well as the sick. Hopefully they found their way out of the fog surrounding the cloaked men and the Gorgon soldiers. The sounds of sword clashing still penetrated the fog, now accompanied with the sound of fire burning the canvas tents the rebels had called home; as awful as the fires were they were actually helping the illusion by adding more smoke to further thicken the fog around the Gorgon soldiers and their leader.