[ WP ] He drew his sword silently

He may have been silent drawing his blade, but he was no craven coward. With a shout he entered the field from the forest, caracoling with his mount, yelling out a challenge. We all looked up from the string of mounts we were tending. A hussar. With his massive amount of braid and his fur trimmed pelisse and busby, he cuts a fine figure on his bay horse. We smirk at one another. Hussars are dandies and popinjays to a man regardless of nationality. They consider themselves the greatest swordsmen and horsemen in any army. Perhaps. They are favorites of the women, what with their sharp uniforms and their dashing lifestyle. They drink champagne straight from the bottle, smoke constantly and chase women incessantly. They are the best dressed thieves and scoundrels the world over. They are in a word, vainglorious. 
 
 One of my lieutenants starts to climb into his saddle. I stop him. What better way to improve the morale of my men than to see their commanding officer fight and win in single combat. I grab my shako from the field table it was laying on and buckle it to my chin. I look down at my uniform to make sure I'm presentable. My dark black outfit with green facings is certainly more subdued than the hussar's getup, does n't matter. I do not know what regiment he is from, they certainly know mine. The 1st Royal Lancers is the continent's premier cavalry unit, the chosen bodyguards of the King himself. There are no better wielders of the lance anywhere. 
 
 I start riding to the middle of the field. One of my troopers tosses me a lance. I catch it without looking. As I ride to meet the hussar, his eyes flare as he catches sight of his opponent. He can not withdraw now, not without humiliating himself in front of his fellows. Still, if he slays me, his leader would promote him to Colonel on the spot. We get within twenty feet of one another. We nod and acknowledge the other. I break the silence first. `` You know who I am, I am afraid I do not who you are.'' His horse sidesteps ever so slightly. `` I am Captain Francoise Gagnon of His Imperial Majesty's 3rd Hussars. It is an honor sir.'' `` So it is. Shall we begin?'' He smiles and nods cordially. `` Absolutely. At once!'' `` Very well. Good luck.'' 
 
 We move away from each other, counting out the distance, making sure there's no rabbit warrens that could catch a hoof. Once we're three hundred yards apart, we turn. He waves his sabre, I raise my lance in salute. We start off a canter, never wavering from one another. After a hundred yards, I break off in a gallop. He follows likewise. The horses are flying towards each other, clods of earth being thrown in the wake. With my lance, I have reach and the first strike. I aim towards his torso. Right before I run him through, he throws his body over the left side of his horse, hanging off the saddle with just a hand. My lance hits empty air. Both sides cheer at this marvelous display of horsemanship. We turn, and commence another attack. This time my lance punches into his left shoulder, throwing him back in the saddle. Before I can twist it deeper into him he hacks at it with his sabre, leaving the lance head and six inches of ash wood sticking in his shoulder. I toss my broken weapon aside and draw my blade. We circle, trying to find an opportunity to strike. He is bleeding, he needs to defeat me before blood loss weakens him. He charges. I block the overhead strike, and duck a wild horizontal slash. He could have decapitated me if it connected. I stab at his face, and he desperately knocks it aside. I then make a feint at his thigh with a quick stab, he swings his blade to block it. That leaves his head and right shoulder exposed. With a flick of wrist, I turn my stab into a high cut, chopping clean into his neck where it meets the torso. It sinks in two inches. He drops his sword and throws his hand on the wound, blood seeps between his fingers. It is a lethal injury. 
 
 His eyes meet mine. I nod my head in respect. His face, though pale, does not show fear. I grab the reins of his horse to steady it. I am inches from his face. His pupils are massive as endorphins flow through his system. I am the last thing he sees. A normal sort dressed in blacks and greens. `` When you meet Death, tell him Colonel Schneider sent you.''
