For a moment, she had carried the fear that rather than take her bet, he would simply refuse and order his men to overrun her. She likely would have taken several of them down with her, but one person, half-human or not, simply wasn't capable of fighting off an entire army. She was surprised, then, when he took it with no hesitation whatsoever. Perhaps his pride ensured that he couldn't back down from a direct challenge, or perhaps he had some deceit hidden up his sleeve.<br/><br/>She would be afforded little time to ponder his motives, however, for he suddenly lunged, sword wielded with the grace of a professional fencer. She was already reaching for her own blade as she flung herself backwards, ripping it from its sheathe and bringing it up to guard. The two blades met with an ear-piercing ring, the impact jarring her arm but not loosening her grip. Bracing one foot behind her in the dust, Aryel suddenly twisted her wrist to lock their blades and threw her arm to the side, attempting to fling his blade, and by extension him, away. Her wings, which had previously been tucked against her shoulders, were now half-open and held low. The position looked odd, but her intentions now were not to fly, instead, they served as a counterbalance, and by quickly flicking and moving them she could shift her weight with greater ease, allowing her at least a chance to keep up with him. Unlike Rysalt, Aryel was not a naturally-graceful sort, her people were as hardy and stocky as the bristle-maned steppe horses they rode. Her stature carried a fair bit of her lithe demon mother, but in her corded muscles and athletic figure, she was all human.<br/><br/>Escape? "I never planned on running," she retorted, hanging back for a moment while she sized her opponent up. Despite having the face of a pampered elven noble, it clearly wasn't his first day with that sword. She was tempted to drop her own weapon and resort to her armored fists to beat the daylights out of him, a far more satisfying method of combat for her, but if this was truly a battle to the death, it would only disadvantage her. Likewise, she would save her flames until the moment she had a clear shot to his vitals--all the reports said he had a propensity for magic, and she wouldn't have put it past him to have a ward or two against fire in his armor or blade. She cocked a brow as he mentioned allies of his within the capital. "Oh?" Her tone was heavy with sarcasm. "Who are they? I might know 'em, and if not, I'll be sure to hunt them down once I'm done with<i>you." </i>On the last syllable, she rushed forward herself, blade held low and with both hands. She aimed for his unarmored abdominal muscles, her swing travelling from left to right in an attempt to spill his guts across the ground.