Ian was the highly trained fencer, adept of the sword.

Glenfernie's knowledge was lesser, more casual.
But he had his bleak wrath, a passion that did not blind nor overheat, but burned white, that set him, as it were, in a tingling, crackling arctic air, where the shadows were sharp-edged, the nerves braced and the will steel-tipped.

They fought with determination and long--Ian now to save his own life, Alexander for Revenge, whose man he had become.

The clash of blade against blade, the shifting of foot upon the rock floor, made the dominant sound upon the mountain-side.

The birds stayed silent in the birch-trees.