Soul, heart, life; what were they if not illusions we create to give us hope to continue through the pain and agony of our connected progressions, she thought as she relived the time she had first met him. And though he had saved her from what would have been a treacherous life, what neither of them could foresee is that his introduction to her had set in motion events that would render her life much more perilous and painful. Yes, he had saved her and created a hope for a future wherein she would truly live and be delivered from the effects of her wretched parents. Yet just like in battle, while his sword created hope and life for one, it also rendered death and destruction upon the other. And just as he had done so decades ago, he stabbed her with a sword much more deadly than one fashioned from steel. He ran her heart and belief through with one forged in the fireborn heat of betrayal. She might not know what was coming next, but she knew who she had become. She was Soliana, and she demanded justice.
Gainey (Feast).
As the late morning sun shone through the windows of the combatant’s area, there was a palpable expectation gathering momentum from the assembled crowd. No doubt in anticipation of the inspired words contained within a well delivered message from their Lord and provider. From our secluded vantage point, I could not see him rise, but I could feel it as the emotions transferred from the crowd above to us beneath. There was an audible hush as the longing to be inspired reached its pinnacle. I too was caught up in this hopeful moment of inspiration from a leader I was going to serve by giving my life to the Empire and, in essence, him. I was hoping beyond hope that my sacrifice, my family’s sacrifice would be justified by the magnificence of our Lord as reflected in his speech. And he did not disappoint.
Spoken in a tone to cut through our collective doubts, the five of us heard Lord Emordin Henchat speak as if his words were meant for only our ears, “Members of our great Empire and Province, today I bring to you not just the culmination of all of our hard and difficult work throughout this last year, I bring to you the celebration of its harvest. Long have we toiled, long have we suffered under the turmoil of the everyday grind and grudge that we have come to know. Yet today, I bring you hope through the games and entertainment of this Festival of the Moon to rival those in Pretago Cor itself!" Hearing the Lord Henchat compare our province to the Capital city, the gathered crowd swelled in pride and burst into applause. When the cheering and clapping slowed enough to allow other sounds to be heard, Lord Henchat continued, "We have assembled a truly amazing array of performers, even going so far as to enlist the perfection of the Elves themselves! We will play host to those surrounding us who will stand in awe of all that we have assembled. We will deliver unto them a Martial Tournament to rival all others in the realm for none have the skill at arms as we do in the Twin Oaks Province. Yet I do not want to overshadow why we are here and the significance of this week long celebration. Make no mistake, my brethren, we are here for one and only one reason," he paused to look in our direction, "to honor those who will sacrifice themselves for a greater good and greater need. We are here to continue the tradition that has built our Empire upon the backs of its men and their selfless sacrifices to continue the program responsible for our tremendous success and growth. We have five such men with us today. These five will do what must be done and leave everything behind. And why will they do this?” He paused just long enough to hold and build the anticipation of the gathered throng. With an increased emphasis, he concluded his rousing words with the only six that would have been suitable, “For the good of the Empire!”
“For the good of us all!” I found myself, as did the four other Selectees, responding with the gathered crowd as we erupted into applause following Lord Henchat’s speech. It lingered for a shorter time than it felt, and when it did desist, I was somehow left with a feeling of longing to hear him speak again. My emotion was shared by at least one other selectee as the guard’s son was trying to remain unnoticed as he wiped tears from his eyes before they streamed down his cheeks.
Our attention was drawn back, sharply, to the reality of the next steps by the short, succinct words of Sintrinos, “It is time,” was all he said as he walked through the door leading to the Grounds of Valor. As he confidently entered the area, the din from the audience seemed to slow in time with his steps so that when he reached the center and stopped, so did all other noise. Pausing to slowly look around the arena in a complete three hundred and sixty degree rotation, no doubt for dramatic effect, his eyes came to rest where they began, upon the Lord’s Dais. “Are you prepared to receive the Selectees, My Lord Henchat?” The lord, without standing, raised his right hand in the air with his palm facing himself, slightly inclined his head while allowing his arm a slight and slow descent signaling Sintrinos to continue with his presentation of the Selectees.
In a booming voice belaying his squat stature, Sintrinos accessed a commanding presence no doubt in part responsible for his appointment as The First Counselor to Lord Henchat, and began his introductions, “Lord Emordin Henchat, I present to you your first of five Selectees on this first day of the Festival of the Moon. Bartin Mares, son of Gorin Mares and Fyelana.” Upon hearing his name, the guard’s son quietly looked toward the rest of us for a moment, bowed his head as he turned and walked to the center of the Grounds of Valor to applause. When he reached the middle, the introductions continued and did so for the remaining four of us.
“Nurimoor Indu, Son of Nurimoor Indu and Geishi. Almirin Shon, Son of Kleinmor Shon and Leysana. Dulos Dontin, son of Sion Dontin and Murina.” With the conclusion of those three, I knew I was last. Emotions cascaded throughout my mind fueling my already pounding heart with the heat of burning coals from the mines of the Dwarves. Time itself seemed to stop and I found it difficult to breathe, let alone to traverse the lonely distance to join my companions. All of my senses dulled, including my hearing made thick with thoughts of home, elves, and everything I would leave behind.
Hearing it as faintly as if I was hundreds of feet away instead of the fifty small paces, Sintrinos announced mine and my family’s names, “Drin Martos, son of Intari Martos and Dolfiana.” It was by complete instinct I found my feet following my eyes as I numbly walked to stand next to the other selectees upon legs almost too weak to maintain my balance. Shaking, I found the eyes of both my father and mother upon the Dais. I could not avert from them, nor could I focus upon them as doing so created more emotions and memories to flood my already brimming mind. On the verge of collapsing, I was again brought back to the enormity of the day by a single, pristine voice. Instantly I knew who it was. My attention shifted, as did all attentions within audible distance of this piercing sound, and settled upon the disarming and centering beauty I had seen earlier in the day.
She sang with her soul and it radiated out to all of ours. The Elven language was beautiful to hear in common speech, but when combined with the slow, melodic enchantment she now casted was at least, capturing, and at greatest, completely enthralling. Before I knew it, my eyes had again met hers, and she took full advantage of it by singing my doubt, fears, desires, hopes and pain. She saw right into my admiration for my father, my protection of my two young twin sisters, and my love of my mother and dissolved it away by replacing it with an uncommon peace. Within moments, my heart slowed, my mind cleared, and my courage grew. I was steadied. In the span of her song, and they scope of her eyes, I was at once deconstructed and remade.
As her song faded, there was utter silence. The moment lasted but a few miserable seconds the way the first seconds after a beautifully setting sun having vanished behind the horizon lay miserable across the eyes as they long for the unique beauty to return again.
Cutting the silence was the powerful voice of Lord Emordin Henchat, now standing and looking directly at the five of us. “Youth of our future, I bid you to harken upon my words as I impart to you a truth you shall choose to believe or not. You will be leaving in just a few short days. All that you know will be left behind, possibly never to be seen
again. Mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, will all shed tears at your departure. You will shed tears as well, but I will not let you embark upon your future with only tears of sadness. For just as you will be leaving everything behind, you will be joining the greatest mission this realm has to offer. You will become part of something larger than yourselves and you will join, in body and heart, everyone who has walked the lonely steps before you. Look to your fathers, look to your brothers, look to all the men of the Silver Empire, for they have all done what you are about to do. And they are all responsible for our collective greatness! As are you! For we cannot achieve greatness for one, unless we sacrifice for all. With your sacrifice and that of your families’, you five will own the respect of your friends, your parents, and your Lord. And you five will be responsible for the good of the empire, and the good of us all!”
A thunder erupted from the arena upon the conclusion of his speech. Its effect was in stark contrast to the elven song we had heard moments before. Where she inspired peace and calmness, he inspired the rising blood of answering the call. My heart beat fiercely, but not for what I knew I was leaving, for what I knew I was gaining. As the applause withered slowly away, at the behest of the Lord Henchat, Sintrinos silently escorted us to the Lord’s Dais where we sat and awaited the first match of the Martial Tournament.
The crowd, settling from the rousing speech, was growing restless with the delay between it and the beginning of the fight. Many of their heads were looking around in expectation to catch a glimpse of The Doombringer, Bractos. Aside from the semifinals and finals, this was the most anticipated fight because of the lopsided carnage between last year’s champion and this year’s most widely unknown combatant. For this year, it was a boy of about fourteen years of age. When announced to take his place in the arena, he did so by carrying a wooden staff approximately six feet long. He wore clothing I had never seen before as it was loose around the thighs and upper arms, but wrapped with straps around his lower legs and forearms to hold it tightly to his body. He walked slowly to stand in the center of the arena and closed his eyes when he arrived at his destination. He stood softly and to silence.
When Bractos was introduced, he jogged out to the center to wild applause and yells. The scene and comparison between the boy, Vennesulte Duul, and the mountain that was Bractos Bane, was almost comical because of the massive difference is size between the two. I almost felt sorry for Vennesulte except for the understanding he entered the tournament under his own volition. So when they each took their positions opposite the other, I felt no compassion for him. In fact, I was looking forward to seeing him beaten with the first blow from the blunted and padded edge of Doombringer.
The fight began with a fast and barbaric rush from Bractos aimed at overpowering Vennesulte and ending the fight before it really began. Perhaps falling victim to his confidence, or perhaps losing focus at the last second, Bractos did not receive the end result of his first attack as he hand planned. With lightning quick speed and precision, Vennesulte side-stepped the raging bull, flicked his staff in an almost imperceptible manner, and sent Bractos sprawling to the ground.
The large man regained his footing, stood up, and charged again, but when Vennesulte side-stepped a second time, he was ready. He lifted his leg to avoid the tripping motion and swung around with a back handed, horizontal slash aimed at crushing the boy’s back and ending the battle then and there. Thrown off balance by his miss, Bractos stumbled a few paces forward. After avoiding the backhand counter, Vennesulte rapidly hit him three times in the back with his padded staff adding an additional four steps to the large man's stumble. With these three strikes, all were made aware that this battle was far from that which they had originally perceived. This battle was not between a previous champion and a young, misguided youth who mistakenly entered the tournament. It was between two combatants equally seeking a victory, and each equally believing they were deserving of it.
This time, it was Vennesulte who pushed the action and set the pace. Lunging to the right, then stepping back to the left, he gained a loading effect upon his front leg that propelled him into the air. Having fallen for the initial direction of movement, Bractos left himself open to the overhead, air-born strike Vennesulte was now unleashing. But he was quick enough to recover and block it. Doing so left Vennesulte in the precarious position of being within grasping distance of his vastly stronger opponent. Bractos grabbed him with his free hand and lifted the smaller frame into the air, no doubt intending to smash him into the ground. But before he could, Vennesulte reached one of his legs over Bractos’s outstretched arm and hooked it around under his shoulder. He then threw his arms backward over his head diving toward the ground. Just before his head was sure to meet its end, he caught himself with his hands, still holding onto this staff. The momentum generated as a result was enough to break Bractos’s grasp leaving him unbalanced again. Without pausing, Vennesulte piked his legs and swung them through his supporting arms contacting the large man’s unbalanced legs, once again, causing him to taste the dirt.
However, Bractos was not just a large and cumbersome hulk. Even when off his feet, his quickness was deceiving. He spun on the ground catching Vennesulte’s heal landing him on the flat of his back. Bractos then unleashed a blow from his fist meant for the boy’s nose. Spinning and avoiding it by inches, Vennesulte, in one motion, swung his whole body using his legs to generate an amazing amount of force. Now supported by one extended hand, the boy was completely upside down spinning toward a final blow. Pushing off the ground, he reached all the way around with both hands on his staff and twisted fiercely, aiming for Bractos’s head. The connection produced a crack and subsequent silence that could shake the pillars of the world. Bractos had fallen.
Vennesulte recovered from his triumphant blow in the same motion he delivered it. Facing the Lord’s Dais, the small boy clasped his hands in front of him, and slightly bowed his head. As he began walking toward the exit of the arena grounds, the crowd was still stunned into silence, yet the young boy seemed not to notice. His lack of celebration and matter of fact demeanor at his current accomplishment no doubt lent to the silence. It was not until he had fully cleared the exit to the Grounds of Valor that the Lord Henchat began a slow clapping, once engaged by the rest of the onlookers, grew into an appropriate level for the conclusion of the first match.
“So, my five Selectees, how fare you with the ending of the first match? I should think, I have never seen anything so unexpected,” stated Lord Henchat as a direct question to the five of us.
It was Bartin, the guard’s son, who spoke first, “My Lord, I do not think anything would have surprised me more.”
“What about you young Martos? What does a farmer think of engaged battle?” the Lord said as he squarely looked at me.
First looking to my father for encouragement as I have never spoken to even minor Royalty, let alone one of the High King’s cousins, I was hoping he would have offered more than the encouraging grin now marking his lips.
“Well, come now young Martos. What thoughts have you upon this matter?” As the second names were announced, I found myself unable to escape responding.
“I must admit, my lord, I am most unfamiliar with combat with swords and axes, let alone what the young boy, Vennesulte, was able to do against a much larger opponent. I can say only that I am unworthy to comment as I lack sufficient knowledge,” hoping I was not pressed further for an opinion I could not form.
The Lord Henchat squinted and subtly inclined his head toward my father while he kept his eyes upon mine, “My good man, Intari, you have done well raising your son to reflect the qualities of humility and temperance not commonly seen from one so young.”
“Thank you my Lord. He has learned well and surpasses my understanding when I was his age,” returned my father with grace I did not know he possessed.
“Well spoken, Intari. Well spoken.”
It was a few moments after this that Niodia subtly annou
nced to the families that they were to be dismissed from the Lord’s presences to continue with celebrating the rest of the day in accordance with their own desires. The remaining matches of this first day proceeded without as much excitement as the first; however, with Bractos removed from the tournament, there was a gradual growth of interest that had been absent for several years. More and more people attended what were traditionally the less attended matches. When the final match of the day had concluded, while the sun was still yet high above the horizon, the Lord Henchat stood and announced to the five of us that the feast honoring his selectees would begin shortly. We were requested by the Lord to follow him while he walked through the Festival to its location. Our families, having been allowed to depart from the Dais, were no longer present. As a result, we all were inclined to follow the Lord's request, even though it really was not a request at all.
The path through the festival while at the Lord’s side was a much different experience than I previously had while walking through the festival in all of my years. There were a great many people in attendance as the weather was perfect resulting in very crowded streets and booths. Without the Lord’s presence, this would have proven difficult to negotiate; however, with his presence, all delays were removed. All people parted to make way and bowed their heads with a soft acknowledgement to Lord Henchat. Our way was entirely uninhibited by the throng of attendees. As such, we were able to swiftly make our way to the grounds of our Lord’s feast.
The conversation during our journey was minimal as we were all nervous to address our Lord. He led most of it, but it was lacking any substantial merit. We discussed the fortune Fate had granted us by lending us such marvelous weather. We talked of performers, and actors, and comedians, and battle. We talked of food and drink and days gone by. Such at it was, it did provide an adequate distraction from the nervousness we all felt.
Convergence (The Dragon Within Saga Book 1) Page 19