by M. M. Whan
Eferath was brought out of his contemplations a moment later as the announcer finished speaking.
“All right, now touch swords, and come out fighting!” Edward took a step forward, and clapped Eferath on the shoulder.
“Good luck to you.” He said softly before slipping his helm upon his head. Eferath nodded, clapped Edward on the shoulder, and the two clanged swords together, and headed for their corners.
Eferath took a deep breath and tightened his grip on his father’s sword, then reached down and scooped up his kite shield. The young man glanced over at his family, then eagerly awaited the sounding of the gong.
Bong! sounded the gong, and the crowd roared as both fighters closed to melee range. Eferath came in cautiously, the failing light made each move seem more deceptive than it actually was. He was trying to take a measure of his opponent, but Eferath had never fought in low-level light, unlike Edward. A fact proven barely a moment later as Eferath barely brought his shield up in time to deflect a powerful sword strike. His lack of concentration, coupled with the sheer power of the blow made the young man stagger back several steps.
The next slash came in at Eferath’s neck level, but he was too quick for it, and ducked beneath the swing. He had to spin around immediately, though, and he thrust his shield forward just in the nick of time to knock the sword harmlessly out to the side. Edward’s backhand slash forced Eferath to bend over backwards to narrowly miss having his head taken off. The crowd gasped at the near miss as the blade passed mere inches from the young man’s face.
Edward was no novice to combat, and was certainly no weakling as far as strength was concerned, and Eferath found himself having to thrust his hips back to avoid getting skewered. The desperate move worked, albeit barely, but Eferath found himself in dire straits as he stood bent over his opponent’s sword. It was at this moment that the young fighter realized that he had been on the defensive the entire match. Not only that, Edward always seemed one step ahead of him. And so, when Edward drew his sword for another strike, Eferath stepped forward, and shield slammed his opponent hard. As part of the same movement, the young man stepped forward and brought his blade in for a downward slash but it was picked off before even getting close. But Eferath was not finished. As soon as his attack was defeated, he used his built-up momentum to spin around a complete circle before slamming Edward square in the mid-section with his heel.
Edward stumbled back several steps before falling on his rump. For several moments, the young hopeful from Escoran just sat there in the middle of the dueling ring as if stunned. Eferath hadn’t expected his attack to be so effective, but he remained on his guard as he retreated to the designated corner.
“Are you all right, son?” Eferath heard the announcer ask his opponent as he rose to his feet.
“Aye, I am fine.” Edward replied calmly as he lowered his helm’s visor and stalked forward. Eferath walked forward to meet him, and sparks erupted brilliantly as their swords connected. Sword on sword, shield on shield they battled, their movements nothing more than an indistinguishable blur in the low light.
Edward swung his sword and Eferath predictably ducked under the attack moments before the cunning Escoran fighter punched out with the edge of his shield. Eferath saw the move coming, though, and managed to dive into a side-roll, reducing a would-be solid hit, into little more than glancing blow. Even a glancing hit made Eferath see stars as he rolled to his feet. Though he managed to stave off defeat, the maneuver forced him to discard his shield. The young fighter rose to his feet, eyes locked onto Edward’s shadowy form.
Surprise was not the word for it when Edward slipped off his shield, and tossed it unceremoniously to the ground beside him. Eferath stood surprised amidst the surprised gasps from the spectators. This was truly a man of honour, the young fighter told himself.
For the next few minutes, not a breath was taken by any of those watching. Swords whistled, sparked, and clanged together powerfully. Sparks flew, bathing the fighters in intermittent colorful light. Attacks and parries came impossibly fast, swords humming through the air only to ring out sharply with each impact. Both fighters spun circles, pirouettes, jinks, feints, and even countering each other’s counters. Both young men suffered injuries that would have felled most men, but neither seemed to care. They were a perfect match to the other, neither one gaining any ground on the other. Never before had any of the spectators seen such an impressive display of swordsmanship, even the veterans were surprised by the level of skill.
Eralon and Lillyan exchanged surprised glances, there was no way their son could have become this skilled with the sword in just a few months of intense training. Their movements were so fast they were blurred, and the ringing of metal on metal impacts sounded as one long continuous note. The dizzying display left the crowd breathless.
Eferath struggled to regain his balance after an attack sequence from Edward left him staggering. Edward came in hard, slashing down, across, under, backhand, and diagonally. Not only did Eferath manage to parry the attacks while off-balance, he even managed to counter a few times. No matter how fast those attacks came from the talented Escoran swordsman, Eferath’s blade was always there to swat it to the side.
Suddenly, after night had fallen in full, with nothing but the torchlight to guide their movements, Edward lowered the tip of his sword, and stood with his feet together. Eferath stared at him incredulously, then followed suit.
“It appears that we are evenly matched, my friend, and it would be a safe guess to assume that neither of us will gain the upper hand anytime soon.” Eferath couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but he could not deny his opponent’s words. The young fighter had given Edward his all, using his best and most secret fighting moves to no significant gain against his skilled opponent.
“What do you propose, then?” Eferath asked him, and Edward’s smile was wide and genuine.
“We draw.” Came the simple answer, and amidst the surprised gasps from the crowd, both fighters sheathed their swords at near the same time. Despite the surprise from the crowd, a great cheer rose up a moment later the likes of which the stadium had not heard since it was constructed.
Eferath and Edward bowed to the announcer, who looked upon him with sincere admiration and respect. Both young men clasped wrists, then nodded. The crowd hushed suddenly and both combatants about-faced just in time for Terryn Fallherder, King of Escoran to enter the arena. Edward and Eferath quickly dropped to one knee, but only Edward lowered his gaze from the king’s. Eferath, however, was taught by his father to never lower his eyes from anyone, no matter who they were.
“Rise, my young friends.” The king said in greeting, and the two did as they were bid. Terryn approached, and placed a hand on their shoulders. “You both fought very well, such magnificent swordplay has never before been seen in these walls.” Despite the requirements for propriety, Eferath couldn’t hide the proud smile that came to his face. The king’s face grew suddenly grim, and he clasped both of his hands in front of him.
“You do realize the rules of my tournament forbid the final match to end in a draw, don’t you?” Terryn’s voice was quiet, with only a hint of a threat. Out of the corner of his eye, Eferath noticed Edward visibly pale, and swallow hard under the kings wilting glare. When that gaze locked onto his own, Eferath did not shy away.
“Well,” the young man said a moment later before crossing his arms across his chest. “Looks like you had better change your rules, then.” Eferath replied evenly, his expression cold and unyielding. Edward turned sharply to regard him with a mixture of surprise and fear. Terryn’s expression looked as if he would simply explode. But as quickly as that expression came, it disappeared, and a measure of calm came across his face.
“Our rules are here for a reason-“ he began, but Eferath cut him off.
“Your rules mean very little to me.” He interrupted coldly, and a chorus of surprised gasps erupted from the crowd.
Eralon and
Lillyan exchanged stunned glances at their son’s gross disrespect toward the king. Both of them knew beyond a doubt that such disrespect usually warranted severe punishments – most likely public execution. Eralon couldn’t believe what his son was doing; it was like he was watching a completely different person in front of the king.
After silence that seemed to stretch on forever before the king broke out in loud rolling laughter, but the tension did not lessen. Surprise was complete for the onlookers as Terryn reached over and clapped Eferath hard on the shoulder.
“You are so much like your father!” He said while laughing, he reached for Eferath’s hand, and he squeezed the old man’s hand while staring into his eyes. “I will look forward to hearing of your undoubtedly impressive exploits in my military.” Before Eferath could reply to him, the old king clasped him by the wrist, as well as Edward, and raised both of their arms up into the air.
“Citizens of Escoran, and treasured guests, I present to you your tournament champions!” At this, the crowd’s roar was absolutely deafening and pride was the only thing that kept Eferath from shielding his ears.
Chapter 4
ONCE THE POST TOURNAMENT CEREMONIES were completed, Edward and Eferath were both treated to as grand a feast as either of them had ever seen, their families as well. Eferath’s family congratulated him, even though the young man could not help but notice their awkward stares. After the feast, he returned his father’s sword, and Eralon took it smiling widely.
“Since when have you been able to fight two handed?” His father asked him when they were on their way home. Eferath could only offer an embarrassed shrug in response.
“It was nothing more than instinct,” he answered thoughtfully, staring off into the failing light on the horizon. “I knew I wouldn’t be fast enough with one sword to defeat him, so I acted upon my instincts.”
“That was some of the best sword fighting I have ever seen.” Said his mother as she came up from behind to walk beside him. Eralon nodded his agreement, then placed his hand on his son’s shoulder.
“In all my years I have trained thousands of young fighters into greatness, but you my son…” Eralon said, looking at Eferath as if for the first time. “You may have what it takes to be the best.” Eferath only offered an indifferent smile in exchange for the unexpected compliment. The young man was never very comfortable receiving compliments from anyone. Especially about his skills with the blade, it meant very little to him that those close to him thought his performance was outstanding. He did not practice his sword dancing techniques for fame or prestige, no. Eferath trained with his sword because the fluidic movements brought him a measure of peace and purpose to his life.
“The academy will make you better.” His father pointed out, and he smiled as he pat his son on the back. Lillyan looked over to Eferath and noticed his less than enthusiastic expression.
“You have made us very proud today, my son.” She said to him. “Know that we have, and always will be proud of you.” Eferath smiled somewhat absently but looked away almost immediately.
The young man spent the rest of the trip home in silence. Tomorrow would be the very first time he was away from home for any extended period of time. Two years would pass before he would be able to see them again. He was more than a little excited about being trained by the most reputable militia in all the realms. But his family was very important to him. It was not uncommon for orcs and goblins to make random attacks on his home village. Tallonin had few swordsmen as it was, and he was afraid that he would be away when he was truly needed.
“Is something bothering you, Effie?” He heard his younger sister Emily ask him. He turned to regard her, and saw that her expression was uncharacteristically calm and serious.
“The future, Emily.” He answered cryptically, and when he looked over at his sister, he saw that she was deep in thought.
“What decides your future?” She asked him suddenly. “Is it the things and people in your life that decide what choices you should make in order for you to live a fulfilling life? Or is the future determined by the choices you make for your own reasons?” Eferath looked at her in genuine surprise. It was as if she were reading his thoughts. But as he thought about what she said to him, he realized that he didn’t have an answer for her.
“I am afraid I do not have an answer to that.” Eferath replied simply. “I just cannot help but think about all of you and your safety.” His reply had Emily laughing before he even finished.
“Father did just fine defending our home since before you were born!” She remarked dryly while still laughing. “I am sure he will do just as fine without you.” The bluntness in which she said it sent the young man back on his heels.
Eferath spent the rest of the journey home in contemplative silence. A week later, the young man was standing before the barracks that would be his home for the next two years. The tan colored half-cylindrical building stood nearly thirty feet tall, and stretched nearly fifty feet. There were three dozen of these buildings arranged in ranks three rows deep. Each barracks was designed to be home for eight soldiers.
To the east of his position there was a massive cobble stone square located in the middle of green field. A parade square, he surmised. Not too far from the parade square were a series of large buildings made of red brick and angel stone. This was the Academy, one of the most prestigious military training facilities in all the realms. Tall, thick perimeter walls kept secret many of the goings-on that took place inside.
The academy sported training areas for every trade; archery ranges, sword-fighting arena’s, and spell caster quarries. Everything needed to make recruits the very best of their trade. Eferath was as excited as he was nervous and overwhelmed. This place was nothing like he had ever seen before. He saw scores of troops running and marching in formation. He looked on in awe as he watched a platoon of soldiers doing fancy displays and formations with their swords. He tore his eyes away from the spectacle in time to spot Edward Carerre trotting his way from one of the barracks.
“Eferath!” He called, “how are you, my friend?” The two shook hands as soon as they were close enough.
“I am well,” Eferath replied. “In fact, I just got here not too long ago.” Both of them looked around at their surroundings a moment later.
“Follow me to the barracks, Eferath. We need to get you squared away before roll call.” Edward said and he started off toward the third building in the row.
For several weeks, Eferath’s experiences in the academy were the most difficult, challenging, and grueling he had ever faced. To ease the stress of his studies, Eferath found that there was a practice arena where he could spend his free time honing his skills. It was in this arena that the young man spent every waking moment of his free time, just him and his sword. If Eferath had entered the academy with superior skills that gap only grew wider as the weeks passed by.
Eferath preferred to spend his time practicing with his sword. The others he was training with were insufferably obnoxious and competitive. Everything was a contest with them; strength, speed, skill, even lineage. It was no secret that nearly every soldier in the academy was from either noble, or royal lineage, with the exception of Eferath and Edward, the pair were outcasts as far as the others were concerned. Not a day went by that Eferath did not envision himself throttling every one of them. On those moments when he thought he could take no more of their pompous attitudes, he would come here, and his frustrations would flow from him like the movements of his blade.
The attitudes from the nobles only grew as the weeks turned into months, and their ire always seemed to be directed Edward’s and Eferath’s way. Especially after Eferath’s skills continued to grow and leave the competition behind did they become more aggressive. Pranks were so common; the young man became immune to reacting to them. He knew beyond a doubt that jealousy fueled them, and he simply refused to lower himself down to their level and retaliate. One such royal, a prince in fact, was p
articularly angry toward the young pair. On one occasion, the prince, upturned Eferath’s bunk while he was asleep on it. The entire barracks erupted in laughter as Eferath sprang to his feet, hands curled into fists, ready for a fight.
Corbin Fallherder was the young prince’s name. He was skinny, but tall, closer to six feet than five with a strong frame. He had blue eyes, and short, curly dirty-blonde hair. His fair featured face was curled up into a taunting sneer as he watched Eferath approach.
“Ooo what’re you gonna do?” The prince taunted, but Eferath said nothing, only walked within arm’s reach. Wordlessly, he raised his curled fist and stepped forward to strike. Well, he would have if Edward had not caught his arm with his own.
“No, Eferath!” Edward warned sternly, and Corbin’s condescending grin stretched wider. “You will be kicked out of the academy, if not executed outright! Corbin will get his soon.” He added as the threat of Eferath getting kicked out of the academy seemed not to have the desired effect. The threat lacked conviction, and the rest of the barracks erupted in laughter a moment later as they apparently were not convinced either.
Edward led Eferath away from the barracks and he was glad for the reprieve.
“Do not worry about him, my friend.” Edward said to him as soon as they were far enough away from the barracks to not be over heard.
“I don’t,” Eferath replied without missing a beat. “He will get his when the grand tournament begins. I will take great pleasure in humiliating that one.” Edward laughed as he clapped his friend on the shoulder.
“Aye, I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he’s lying flat on his back!” They both shared a hearty laugh as they headed for the dueling arena.
“Hi Eferath.” Hailed a soft feminine voice. The two stopped mid-stride then looked at one another before looking back over their shoulders. It took only a brief moment before Eferath recognize the young woman as Denara.