Air whistled as they grew closer and closer still. There was nothing to keep them from oblivion but their own skill, and the luck that had been with them so far. Sleeping Tiger made an excellent feint - his was the weapon with greater reach, and thus the perfect choice. For his part Eragos did not think the saber had the distance to dip under the flail for any sort of damage at all. Yet he had to try. At the last possible instant, he flung his saber across his body with an easy sort of swing. Into the armored left hand it went, and he kept the blade low, the better to strike.
It must have been a lack of speed. The blow had been anticipated. Instead of feeling the bite while steel entered flesh, that sharp jerk of the wrist, Eragos felt a hard blow fall against his shoulder. It narrowly missed striking his throat, or his bare chest, but the white armor he'd commissioned all of those moons ago stopped the flail from drawing blood or carrying him out of the saddle. A war whoop escaped the Grey Rider's lips as he passed between them unscathed, with a hit to count against his enemy. His horse turned quickly. The rider's mount danced. And the grey one let out a string of curses.
He hadn't killed anyone.
"You have the luck of Amasa, boy!" the rider bellowed.
"I should have brought the damned sword," Eragos spat, for Sleeping Tiger's ears alone. "I'll draw him from the left. Take him on the right - we cannot afford to delay."
Eragos worked his shoulder in a fast circle as Rand turned to face the dual-wielding rider. Their first pass had been inconclusive. Eragos wondered if a second would provide any further information regarding which of them would live and which of them would die. A second quick rotation, and the charge was on again, two knights against the fiend, their thundering hooves the only sound to be heard for miles, so far as the combatants were concerned.