Madre de dios, this hurts. Damn that Montaigne wench. I have fought eight duels now. For the first time in my short life, I have had to duel a woman. Today I fought the most incompetent swordsman, or woman rather, yet sustained the worst dueling wound in my life. Arrgh. Damn that wench.

Two days ago, things were actually looking up. Remy had somehow managed to smuggle me out of Charous. In the process, a letter was sent to me via messenger from the KRC telling me to rendevous with my companions at some Montaigne river port. After leaving Charous under the cover of night, I made my way on foot, until I came upon this small village. It was one of the quaint little hamlets. The kind of one horse town you only find in the countryside. When I left, I was riding the one horse.

I hid during the day, avoiding patrols, and traveled at night. Things were good until the second night. That night, I noticed I was being followed. A lone rider, not particularly bright, or skilled. After a few miles, I ambushed him. The hunted became the hunter. The sight I chose was, I think, poetic. Had I ridden another ten paces I would have been unhorsed by a rope he had stretched across the road with which he intended to ambush me. He was a common brigand, nothing more.

While in the process of checking his near lifeless body, I had wounded him severely, I was ambushed by his companions and taken. The leader, a man calling himself Jacques, an alias by his own admission, is a self-proclaimed freedom fighter. Supposedly he and his band are in revolt against the tyranny of the local noble, some viscomte or other. In reality, I think they are nothing more than bandits, but then I do not know this viscomte, and if he is anything like to nobles in the Montaigne army, then maybe Jacques is doing the right thing. Too bad there are not more men like him.

Jacques second, a woman called Margarete, is a little spitfire. Physically, she is one of the most beautiful women I've seen in this country. Emotionally, she is a demon. Since I nearly killed one of her companions, she continues to focus her anger on me. Understandable that she would do this, but the vehemence, with which she does it, is unsettling.

The "brigands," having blindfolded me, escorted me back to their encampment. Surprise! Waiting for me there is William and Reynaldo. They were rescued from the servants of the viscomte who rules this region. Maybe Jacques is a rebel after all.

I was actually relieved to see both of them alive and well. At least until the peacock comments started from the Vodacce dog. We almost fought another duel right then and there. William, however, stopped it, much to the apparent dismay of Margarete. Too bad wench, no blood today. Everywhere I go in their little camp, I can feel fire and hatred burning through me. I am not too popular in this camp. Oh well, I'll get over it.

Jacques has arranged for us to get some supplies and new weapons, all we have to do is get to his contact in the port. We shall, apparently, be allowed to leave come the morning. In the meantime, their "doctor" has been tending our wounds. William and Margarete seem to be getting along well. A little surprising, considering her hatred of men. The rest of the night bares little tension.

Last night's tension paled by comparison to the mornings actions. Shortly after William and Margarete rejoined the camp, I was called out. Shock! Margarete, for reasons all her own is challenging me to a duel. Is this woman stupid! Jacques and William immediately try to talk her out of it, but she will not listen. Somewhat awkwardly, I accept. I have never fought a woman before. I find the thought....distasteful. Asking if she wants blood or death, she says she will accept blood. So be it then, to first blood.

As I prepare for this unfortunate incident, Reynaldo, approaches her. A last, in vain as it turns out, attempt to talk her out of this course of action. She, of course refuses. He shakes his head and says something about my being an arrogant peacock, but that I am also a skilled swordsman. I didn't catch the whole conversation, but what I did hear surprised me. I didn't think the Vodacce had it in him to pay me any respect at all.

We face off, Margarete and I. I look over into her eyes. Such beautiful eyes, full of passion. Yet they are also hideous. I see there rage, frustration, hatred. Nothing that a man should see in the eyes of a woman. Where life should be, I see only death. It is at that point, that I realize I am looking into a mirror. A scream. My thoughts interrupted, I see Margarete charging. Fool, she will lose. At that point I lose myself in the duel. My actions are automatic. Without think I step forward to strike. My mind screams no, but it is as if my body is acting on a predestined course. Instead of striking, and ending the duel, my blade flashes up across her vest, cleanly slicing away all the buttons. The end result, a bared chest.

A slight chuckle had begun amongst the onlookers, only to be interrupted by a bloodcurdling scream from Margarete. She drops her sword, draws a dagger, and leaps at me. I am so stunned by her action that I don't even move. I just stand there and let her come. My mind knows that I could dodge or parry the blow, but my body just lets it come. I see the blade, how razor sharp it is. I watch it enter into my shoulder, and let out my own scream of pain, as the momentum of Margarete's attack barrels me over.

In an instant, Jacques is there pulling her off and screaming that we should leave.

Pain. Another jolt and fresh spasm bring me back to reality. This wound will scar. A bad scar I think. But one that I need. Margarete taught me a lot this morning. I need to start releasing some of my hatred. Easier said that done. Pain. Damn that woman! It is funny, well, except for the pain of course. She hates me with every fiber of her being, yet we are kindred spirits. I doubt that she realizes it, or that she would ever admit it, but we are. Tortured souls, hating life.