by M. M. Whan
“Effie!” She called to him, and he gritted his teeth at the nickname. He hated it when she called him that, so he turned slowly, casting a sidelong glance at her. “Good luck.” She said quietly, unexpectedly, and he offered a nod in response.
Eferath met his father at the bottom of the stairs. For the first time in his short life, he noticed that his father was nervous, not for him, of course, but it was the first time the proud man had entered Escoran’s borders since he retired. It was Eferath’s first time, however, but he had often heard of the splendor surrounding the place. The young man had waited a long time for the tournament. Ever since his father mentioned it to him, it was all he could think about since. It was exciting, yet terrifying at the same time. His father had expressed that this tournament would be filled with opponents who have been training for many, many years, despite the fact that they would be the same age as him.
“Are you ready, my son?” Eralon asked him as soon as he stepped foot onto the ground floor. Eferath offered an uneasy smile in response.
Eferath looked to the side, and noticed that there were significantly more traveling gear resting against the wall than just he and his father could carry. It wasn’t until his mother and little sister picked up some of the burden, and nodded to him.
“We are ready to go, father.” Emily remarked, pointedly looking Eferath’s way as if to taunt him that she was ready before he was.
“I was not expecting you to come along, mother.” Eferath said softly, and she smiled, and kissed him on the forehead.
“This is an important day for you, my son.” She replied. “We would not miss it for the world.” Eferath smiled warmly, even though he was much more nervous now that his family would be watching.
It was late in the morning by the time they had reached the high and thick perimeter wall of the mighty city of Escoran. The sun was shining brightly, and the temperature was promising to be quite favorable for the tournament. There was not a cloud in the sky, and the air was so clear, the Dragon’s Maw mountains seemed to be that much more imposing with the spur of the closest mountain reaching the northern perimeter wall.
Escoran was one of the few major cities in a hundred square miles. At first, it started out as an unremarkable frontier town erected in close proximity to the Road, but now, two centuries later, it sported a population of over thirty thousand men, women, and children. It was a military city, built on strong foundations of tradition. It sported the largest military of any city, boasting almost half of its current population as soldiers. Escoran also housed the most reputable fighting force in all the realms; the elite Crystal Guard.
The Guard was comprised of five thousand of the highest trained fighters in the entire realm, the best of the best. They had never been defeated in combat, and were often given seemingly impossible missions, yet they always came through, no matter the odds.
Eferath was awestruck as his eyes settled upon the magnificence that was Escoran. He had never seen anything so incredible in all his years. Even as he and his family approached the impressive city, Eferath couldn’t help but notice hundreds of people flocking to the main gates, presumably to register for the tournament. Not too long after, Eferath was registered, and he waited in the stands with his family as the ceremony for the tournament began.
Inside of the grand walls of Escoran, there was a massive stadium, large enough to house the entire population of the city. The stands were designed in a high outward sloping pattern to allow for those sitting behind each respective row to still see down inside. The exact middle was cobblestone, perfectly laid to minimize the spaces between each stone for the best surface. The dueling ring was a large square area painted white onto the surface of the floor. Confetti sprinkled down in many different colours, falling from a source the young man couldn’t find.
The cheers of the crowd were deafening, but the only one to have their ears covered, was his little sister. His mother and father seemed to absorb the energy of the crowd, and they seemed excited indeed. Like most of the fighters, Eferath’s family was seated in the first row. Eferath couldn’t help but kneed his hands anxiously, he was the second fight in the tournament, and at first glance at his competition, he knew he would be sorely pressed. Still, he had to have confidence in his father’s rigorous, and unique fight training. He had faith that his father’s teachings had prepared him for anything he might face here today.
Eralon noticed his son’s unease, and rested a comforting arm over his shoulders. He felt the young man tense as soon as the fight announcer made his way out to the middle of the dueling ring. Eferath turned to him suddenly.
“Has anyone ever been killed in this tournament, father?” Eralon swallowed hard, and nodded solemnly.
“Yes, son, there has indeed been many hopefuls killed during this tournament over the years.” He hadn’t wanted to let his son in on that detail, not yet. He did not know how his son would react when he was told that there was a high chance that he could be killed. After all, the combatants were using real swords, not wooden ones. One mistake could spell disaster, or worse, to any poor contender. Upon looking at his son’s suddenly fearful expression, Eralon feared that Eferath no longer held his concentration.
He reached over and grabbed both of his son’s shoulders, and forced him to look into his eyes.
“Now listen to me!” He growled, and Eferath’s eyes locked on his own. “You must focus, these other boys here are here to win, and they will do anything they have to to do that!” Eferath swallowed hard, and nodded. There was no way he could even think to kill another young man like himself, but neither did he want to be the one who was killed. With a great sigh, he returned to watching the opening ceremonies, now more anxious than ever.
It was not long before the ceremony announcer moved to the centre of the coliseum, to the middle of the duel square. The acoustics inside of the massive structure allowed for the man’s voice to be heard perfectly, even by those in the highest row.
“Greetings ladies and gentlemen!” His baritone voice boomed loudly, “and welcome, to the grand coliseum of Escoran!” The crowd’s cheers grew deafening for a long while, until the announcer bade everyone to quiet down.
“The hour marks the beginning of the Crystal Guard Melee Tournament!” Again, the cheers were deafening. “It is time for the first match of the tournament!” Eferath trembled with excitement at these words. Despite his considerable amount of fear, he could not deny the feelings welling inside of him.
“For our first match, we have Kanye Fallowfield of Nairfidel!” The crowd roared as the young man stepped forward into the dueling ring. He carried a serrated edge scimitar, and was clad head to toe in bronze ring mail armour that glinted in the sunlight. The man was quite tall, slightly bigger than Eferath, and his iron kite shield was nearly half of his height. The shield bore the emblem of Nairfidel; a golden willow tree over a black background.
“And allow me to introduce Gavin Streamflow of Bordwin!” This time, the cheers were not so loud as a relatively small man entered the dueling square. Unlike his opponent, he was clad in studded leather armour, and carried a two-handed longsword.
When the crowd had finally calmed to an anticipating hush, both combatants met at the centre of the ring, one on either side of the announcer. Eferath couldn’t hear what was said to both of them, but both fighters soon bowed to him, then touched swords before retreating to their own corners. Eferath leaned forward in anticipation as the gong was struck, prompting both fighters to approach each other.
The clash of metal upon metal rang out in a most distinguishable note as combat was joined. The fighter from Nairfidel was very skilled, but so was his opponent. Both young fighters fought fiercely, ducking, dodging, weaving, parrying with just barely an inch to spare. Eferath nodded in admiration, but he did well to hide his smile. The fight lacked rhythm. Neither of the young men strove for the upper hand, nor were they pressing the attack, or defense. It just seemed so… Messy to the dis
ciplined fighter.
Both young men parted after another long toe-to-toe engagement, they were already exhausted. Kanye’s shield was mangled with one strap broken. He tossed it to the ground at his feet as his chest heaved with exhaustion. Both sported nearly a dozen wounds, but neither showed any signs of surrender. The soldier from Nairfidel rushed in suddenly, sword leading, but the Bordwin defender was more than ready.
Before Kanye even got close, Gavin spun a deft circle, and used his two-handed weapon to turn his opponents’ sword out and away, causing him to lose his balance. Kanye stumbled right past, and Gavin merely stuck out his foot to trip his opponent. As part of the same movement, Gavin swung the pommel of his weapon in a backhand swing to connect squarely on the back of Kanye’s head. The young fighter stiffened, then fell flat on his face, unconscious.
The crowd roared loudly, cheering the victorious young man’s name as Gavin bowed low to his opponent, then to the announcer. The announcer paraded Gavin around the ring, raising his hands up high while the crowd soaked it all in.
When the victor left the ring, Eferath swallowed hard. His palms were sweaty, and his entire body trembled. Eralon must have noticed his unease, because Eferath suddenly felt an arm across his shoulders.
“You’re up next, lad.” His father said softly, concern edging his voice. Eferath nodded solemnly, trying to hide his obvious anxiety.
“Eferath from Tallonin!” The announcer cried, and he stiffened before standing up slowly. Eralon stood up beside him, and placed something into Eferath’s waiting hand.
Eferath looked down, and saw that his father had handed him his own sword and sheath. He looked up into his father’s eyes completely surprised, mouth agape, unable to find the words. Eralon stopped him from saying anything, though, and merely assisted in belting the sheath to his son’s side.
“I promise to make you proud, father.” The young man vowed quietly before bowing, and walking toward his corner of the ring.
“I do not doubt that.” Eralon remarked quietly as he watched his young son walk out into the dueling ring.
Eferath tightened the belt holding his chain mail tunic tightly to his waist as he strode toward the centre of the ring. His opponent’s name was Shu T’ze, and he was from a city far, far away. His exotic almond shaped eyes seemed out of place on the young man’s strong facial features. Shu was barely five feet tall, but Eferath did not underestimate him because of his size.
Both fighters bowed to the announcer, then to each other. Then the announcer stood between them.
“All right, lads I want a nice, clean fight. You break when I say, and if your opponent is on the ground, any attacks will lead to disqualification, understood?” Eferath nodded, and the announcer looked over to Shu T’ze. “Understood?” Shu also nodded, and the announcer smiled grimly.
“In the event of a knock-down, you move to the corner I tell you to and stay there until I tell you to leave, got it?” Both young men nodded their accord, and the announcer smiled.
“All right, then. Touch swords, and come out fighting!” Eferath’s eyes never left those of his opponent, and the two swatted each other’s sword before backing off.
Just before the gong sounded, Eferath cast a nervous glance at his family, who used hand gestures to encourage him. The young man took a deep breath to steady his nerves, and to fall deep within his focus. Eferath spun his sword around in his grip, then assumed a fighter’s stance.
Bong! Both young men approached the centre of the dueling square. Eferath held his sword at the ready, but it was not in any usual guarding position as he came upon his opponent. Shu held his sword out in front of him, then smiled and winked as he separated his hands, and his sword! Instead of just holding one sword, Shu T’ze now held two! Eferath swallowed hard, and brought his weapon out in front of him as he back stepped.
Eralon swore under his breath as his son now faced an opponent proficient in two-handed fighting. He had never taught Eferath how to fight two handed, nor did he even get a chance to teach him how to defend against such attacks. He grew suddenly very worried, and he looked to his unusually calm son with worry.
Eferath and Shu began circling, each taking a measure of the other. Eferath carried no shield, so he was already at a huge disadvantage, but if being at a disadvantage bothered the young fighter, he certainly did not show it. Shu came in suddenly, hard and determined, but Eferath swatted both attacks away with remarkable speed. His opponent came in again, double-thrust low, but the young man merely turned his hips at the last moment to allow the twin swords to pass by either side of him harmlessly. Shu could not recover in time as Eferath came in hard behind the attack and struck the young man between the eyes once, twice, thrice.
Eferath ducked suddenly to avoid getting his head taken off by one of Shu’s horizontal slashes. The young fighter straightened suddenly at the nick of time as Shu brought his second blade up in a devious upper cut that barely missed its mark. Eferath launched himself into a backhand spring while the crowd oo’d and awed at the near miss. As soon as he landed, Eferath drew his other sword then charged back in.
Eralon couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He knew that his son was good, but he had no idea that he could adapt to a two-handed fighter so quickly!
Metal on metal cried out as one continuous note as both combatants met fiercely. Eferath began moving in a pirouette, his right backhand coming across at neck level, while he followed up with a gut level slash. Shu cried out in surprise as he barely managed to bring his swords in to block the young man’s cunning attack. The crowd cheered loudly but was drowned out by Shu’s enraged scream. Eferath willingly allowed himself to move to the defensive as his opponent’s anger played itself out. Impacts rang out as one long indistinguishable note, and the entire crowd fell silent.
Sparks flew wildly as both fighters fought fiercely. Suddenly, Shu came in hard in an all-out attack that brought both parallel swords slashing down. Eferath deftly maneuvered both of his blades between Shu’s in an X formation before uncrossing his blades forcefully, swatting the attacking swords harmlessly out wide. The defeat left Eferath inside Shu’s defenses, and the wide-eyed attacker could only look on as the young man took the full advantage.
Eferath reversed his grip on his sword and thrust in hard, connecting squarely on Shu’s stomach. Shu doubled over with a great oof! Sound, but Eferath didn’t stop there. While his opponent was still stunned, the young man drove the pommel of his sword into Shu’s face. Cartilage crunched noisily and blood gushed from Shu’s broken nose as he stood straight.
With a sigh, Eferath tightened the grip on his sword hilt, and slugged his dazed opponent hard between the eyes. With his eyes crossed, Shu fell onto his back, unconscious.
Eferath deftly spun both swords in his hands, backward, forward, then inverted in his grip as he slid them back into their sheaths. The crowd was hushed as the announcer checked on Shu T’ze. The announcer declared Eferath as the winner, and the crowd erupted in deafening cheers.
Eralon, Lillyan, and Emily rushed out to meet him as Eferath made his way toward them. His mother crushed him in a hug, and kissed his cheek. His father clapped him hard on the shoulder, and Emily merely punched him in the thigh playfully. Eralon was truly awestruck by what he had seen his son accomplish; never before had he witnessed such impressive adaptive skills, especially when he could wield two swords for the first time so skillfully!
Lillyan and Eralon shared knowing smiles. It was true that their son had accomplished what very few skilled, if not veteran warriors could boast in their entire careers. Eferath noted the expressions on his parent’s faces, and he was very pleased. He raised his chin proudly, and smiled.
Eferath continued on to win his next match, and the one after that, and every match following until it was announced that he was in the final match. There was only one more match before the finals, and Eferath and his family waited anxiously.
Lillyan tended to her son’s many minor
injuries, but the young man did not show that the pain even slightly bothered him. Only one combatant had been killed during the tournament, but it was also the first, and only match that did not have a victor.
A dazzling series of attacks left the poor defender dazed, and lying flat on his back, but his opponent did not relent like he was supposed to, and brought his weapon straight down for the kill. The blatant disregard of the rules resulted in an immediate disqualification, and the young man was immediately arrested.
Eferath was now mere minutes away from the final match, but he found that he was no longer nervous. His confidence in his skills and abilities had only grown throughout his matches, and he could tell by the expression on his father’s face that he had made him proud thus far. And so, when his name was called to enter the dueling ring one final time, he answered that call with an added spring in his step. His eyes were inexorably drawn to the steadily darkening sky. His father had warned him about fighting in the failing light; movements became like a blur, and subtle shifts in posture easily noticed in favorable lighting was otherwise invisible.
“It will either be a curse, or a blessing.” Eralon had told him moments before he was summoned to the dueling square. Eferath had never fought in failing light before, and the new experience made him nervous. He had been watching his opponent carefully, and he could not ignore the young man’s impressive skills.
Eferath approached the centre of the dueling square to meet with his opponent for the final match. Edward Carerre was his name, and he was a son from Escoran. Naturally, Edward was a crowd favorite, but the cheers and applause for Eferath was no less deafening. Edward was the first contender to have worn plate mail armour. It was not a full suit – just the upper half of his body. It was impressive for someone of their age to be strong enough to wear such heavy armour. But if plate armour was cumbersome and limited movement, Edward certainly did not show it.