"How do you feel, Jack?"
Jack smiled at the youth now somehow as tall as him as he flicked his top hat and flashed a wolf-like smile as the three of them made their way past the first floor tavern that served food the quality of any upscale restaraunt, heedless of the speechless stares of countless lords and ladies that enjoyed the Silver Wand's fare and resident celebrities, as well as the raucous calls of said celebrities, Delvers dressed in full adventuring gear which seemed to be their standard dining attire.
"Looks like it's time for a duel!" Declared a massive broad-shouldered fellow, flashing a fearsome grin through a full crimson beard as he banged his fist against the massive slab of wood serving as their table, his proportions perfectly matching what Jack imagined a dwarf might look like, if he were the size of a Conanesque barbarian. In a word, he was huge.
The lushly endowed silver-haired woman beside him dressed like every man's fantasy of a fully armored Valkyrie, gave a bemused nod. "About time. It was getting damned boring around here. You coming, Silk?"
To this a man dressed in midnight black beside them flashed an indulgent smile, moving so fluidly it was beyond eerie, as if liquid mercury had turned sentient and sensual as a crimson dream as he flowed forward, seeming to flash Jack in particular a chilling smile.
But Jack paid no more head to the adventurers that seemed to now be trailing them for fun, than he did the growing crowd of men and women dressed in everything from top hats and tail coats to tight fitting jackets with ruffles and lace along with poufed knee-length trousers of every color imaginable, though their stockings were uniformly white, and their silver-buckled boots or shoes were a glossy uniform black. A collage of dresses of every style and ornamentation imaginable were also in evidence, ranging from sleek silk attire hugging curves in a way Jack had thought only adventurers would dare, to tight fitting bodices and fuller skirts that went all the way down to dainty red shoes, with every style of bonnet, shawl, cap, tricorn and top hat imaginable in evidence, including a few dandies with particularly full heads of hair that bothered with no hat at all.
The only thing the ever-growing assemblage of ladies and gentlemen had in common as they followed Drake, his sire, and Jack along the supernaturally clean tree-lined boulevard showcasing spectacular examples of renaissance and medieval architecture to Jack's mind, besides the fencing blades most of the lords and just a few of the ladies wore, was their obvious upper class status and the intent way they gazed at the proceedings as Jack and his father stopped before the entrance of a grand parthenon-like structure complete with massive columns and grand steps leading to a wide set of doors, that Jack inferred was, in fact, the Hall of Lords.
Yet much to Jack's surprise, the moment they approached the steps to the hall, no proclamation was made, no shout of challenge offered. And far from growing restless and discontent, the swelling crowd now comprising folks of all social strata, grew deathly still.
Not a sound was uttered as the golden afternoon light turned crimson with the setting sun, and the gong of a distant bell could be heard.
When six bells were rung, only then did Drake step forward, his manservant and father just a step behind. And much to Jack's surprise, his friend's now powerful squeeze of his shoulder had Jack moving forward as well, matching Drake, step for step, as they proceeded up the three massive steps leading up to the parthenon-like hall, just as the silver peels of a much closer bell could be heard ringing, as if in answer to the distant call from across the grand city of Greyspeak. A that moment the massive hall doors were opened by a quartet of fully armored knights, who stiffened only momentarily at the challengers just feet away, and the massive crowd now looking on.
Jack noted that the foyer just inside was filled with nobles of obvious means and self-importance, so lost in their hushed conversations that they only noted the quartet of men standing as silhouettes to the setting sun and the vast crowd behind them as they emerged from the grand marbled building, hisses of surprise and gritted teeth turning to undisguised looks of relief when Drake and his father deliberately looked past those men and handful of women who raced away from trouble at as quick a pace as they dared with heads held high, until finally settling on a pair of lords bellowing with snorts and laughter.
"You played the Narratas like harps, Father. There's no way they'll free themselves from your purse strings now!" snickered none other than Morlin himself, to his father's bemused smile.
"True. Now keep your damned mouth shut until we get to the—"
His words cut off with a wheeze when he caught sight of what was waiting for him. The bloated lord reflexively snarled with outrage and glared for all he was worth, as if desperate to intimidate the doom standing before him by compelling apologetic winces and averted glances... only to find himself pinned down by four implacable stares.
"How dare you!" Lord Hecklebart snarled, bulbous features twisting into a hate-filled grimace as Lord de Leone's gaze pinned him fast, while Drake, still fully garbed in steampunk dueling gear, flipped up his goggles of silver and brass to gaze coldly at a shocked-looking Morlin, who flinched before Drake's glare.
"No... No! That's impossible. There's no way you can be... no!" The young noble's haughty features that absolutely begged to be smacked, in Jack's humble opinion, blanched with something surprisingly close to genuine terror. Jack thought it a minor miracle that when the youth stumbled back with lurching steps, he didn't actually fall on his ass, and Jack could imagine the roars of laughter this would have caused. But all there was was deathly silence.
And the weight of what were now hundreds of stares, somehow pinning them all to a stage that transcended the physical, as Drake roared the lines destiny itself decreed must be said.
"For conduct unbecoming of a lord, I challenge you, Morlin Hecklebart! I, Drake de Leone, do accuse you of acts most unbecoming and foul! Acts which I shall prove by a duel to submission! May the loser be forced to bleed before the world the truth of his crimes over the course of one full moon!" He flashed a bleak smile. "And should you actually manage to best me, Morlin Hecklebart, then the world will glimpse my secrets as well, and you may paint yourself in whatever rosy lies you like."
Gasps of awe and soft chuckles could now be heard from the ever growing crowd below, and Jack could sense the enormity of this challenge, the gravity of the stakes involved. He could only wonder what the consequences would be, after all, if the scion of any noble family was forced to reveal all his doings, both upfront and cloaked in shadow, enacted over a full month's span of time. Drakes own personal sins being the least of the follies that might be revealed.
Of course, by the tension Jack suddenly sensed emanating from Drakes' father, this particular dueling blade would cut both ways. For if Morlin actually won... but Lord de Leone remained utterly silent, even as Hecklebart snarled his protest.
"This is a ridiculous challenge!" the bloated man roared, jowls quivering with outrage. "My son has done nothing wrong! Ever! You merely seek to steel our clan's secrets for your own ends." His eyes widened. "This is clearly an attempt to break the power of the council! The duke's clan seeks to undermine our authority! We must unite together against this outrage!" Anxious eyes gazed desperately around, as if looking for support.
Only for him to flinch and huddle in on himself when all he saw were the pitiless gazes of the crowd below, his fellow council members having already fled en mass, just as fast as their dignities would allow. All of them grateful, perhaps, that folly hadn't been gazing their way that night.
Morlin's snarl was akin to that of a frightened dog trapped in a corner. "How many times did I crush you in the sparring rings at the Academy, Drake? You truly think you'll get the best of me now? Ha! You're a fool to challenge me, where all the world can see the weakness of your will, the flaws in your technique!"
Drake's cold gaze didn't waver for a second. "I choose magic, unrestrained."
Morlin blanched at those words, Drake flashing an icy smile, waving to his seneschal who, with an imperious bow, flipped open a carrying case containing assorted pairs of all the weapons Jack had caught sight of, back in his quarters.
"No need to scurry back home, Morlin. You wish an accompaniment to magic? Choose whichever blade or pistol you prefer." Drake laughed coldly. "Hell, Morlin, I'll let you choose all of them if you like."
Morlin clenched his jaw, voice thready as he fought just to speak. "No. There is no way you can be this fearless. I've beaten you too many times before, Drake. How dare you look at me as if you're my master!"
Jack flashed a cold smile. "I think the bitch is stalling, friend."
He could feel the sudden weight of Jevon's disapproving stare at his interruption, yet Drake just smiled.
"Clearly."
But Morlin was quick to focus on any distraction. "And who the hell is this low-life to interfere in our affairs?" his eyes widened. "You! You're that wandering nobody who dared to mingle amongst his betters. I could have your head for that, maggot!"
Jack smirked, this time wisely saying nothing.
Drake's gaze hardened. "Are you done stalling, coward? Or are you ready to fight?" He then flashed a mocking smile. "Or, are you so afraid of me that you'd rather fight my second?"
"Your second?" Morlin's alarmed gaze met his father's outraged countenance as the older man stepped back, his voice becoming a tight, desperate whisper. "Father! Usling still isn't here?"
The elder gave a curt angry shake of his head as he stepped back from a glaring Lord de Leone, sliding beside his son, before stepping behind him. "Neither he, nor our rooks, as you well know. Where the hell is Vidrig?"
But Morlin could only give a helpless shake of his head.
Jack couldn't help smirking at their desperate terse whispers. And a dark part of him couldn't help catching Morlin's gaze and winking, claiming so much with a smile that made the youth blanch and stumble back, eyes wide with growing panic, quickly turning to a hot glare.
"No! This, this is insufferable!" Morlin blurted before a coldly glaring Drake and the restless, mocking murmurs of the audience below.
"Quit stalling, boy, and accept the challenge!" roared one gruff voice Jack thought was an adventurer, accompanied by mocking laughter and jeers.
"Hecklebart's a house of thieving cowards!" roared a rough, drunken voice, followed by shouts and curses as the crowd's mood began to turn ugly.
Surprisingly, it was Lord de Leone himself who roared a rebuttal.
"There will be no disparaging the honor of any noble clan or house!"
He spoke with a voice echoing the fearsome majesty and deadly prowess of his namesake, the power of the mighty lion resonating with his words.
"This is a challenge given to one Morlin Hecklebart by the righteous Drake de Leone! A matter of honor! Of wrongs that must be righted, between these two gentlemen alone! You are all invited to glimpse whatever truths might be revealed. But it is not for you to pass judgment. Only to bear witness!"
And with that pronouncement, the boiling crowd began to still, with commoner's looking abashed, adventurers clearly amused, and the well-to-do clearly relieved, many nodding and smiling their approval. But Lord de Leone had already turned to face Morlin and Lord Hecklebart once more.
"You have been challenged, Morlin Hecklebart. Do you accept the terms? Or do you refuse to bear the truths that would be revealed in entwining peril with the stories of both your lives?"
Lord de Leone stared at a terrified-looking Morlin for long seconds, before giving a cold shake of his head. "If you so desperately fear to face the consequences of your actions that you are rendered speechless, you may flee. Flee, and accept that whatever my son claims about your character and deeds committed can never be challenged after this night."
Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.
"And they can't be proven either! They would be nothing but scurrilous slander and baseless accusations!" screamed Hecklebart senior.
Drakes father's gaze hardened. "And even knowing that, your son refuses to fight. Implying that either the truths he would hide are so ugly, or the fear he has for my son so great, that he would rather allow the most outrageous slander to taint his reputation than to even chance the truths that would be revealed!"
"That's not it!" Morlin desperately screamed, finally finding his voice. "That's not it at all!" Panicked eyes darted over the crowd. "I just... I have no cravat. Drake has an enchanted cravat! And his weapons..."
"I brought braces of whatever you desire, Morlin." Drake said with a cold smile, waving his gloved hand as if to showcase the enchanted cases his manservant Jevon so gracefully held up for their perusal. "You may, in fact, have whichever one of a set you prefer, for the duration of this duel. And I shall claim the other. Wand? Saber? Pistol? Spadroon? Take your pick, Morlin. And as for cravats?" With a single twist and flare, he sent his cravat fluttering in the wind with a certain panache.
And somehow Jack wasn't surprised to see it caught by a breathless young lass wearing a tight dress of silk and lace hugging a physique all but bursting with the potential for sweetest motherhood, the girl in the first blush of womanhood herself, her artfully pinned bonnet framing golden locks that did nothing to hide flawless features or the bright blue eyes and breathless gasp of a girl utterly smitten with the gloriously charismatic young lord now flashing her a bemused smile.
It was that sort of moment, and his friend now had that sort of charisma. Having placed at least one point in it per level, Jack was now bloody certain. Still, he couldn't help grinning, loving the perfect timeless moment the pair of them were gazing at each other as if actors in a divine play, the scene being set for timeless love... or perhaps, darkest tragedy.
But sparks were flying, either way. Jack's too sensitive ears were now picking up far more than he wanted to from the gossiping top hats below.
"That was Lady Velonia. She actually caught his cravat!"
"Her father's worth an absolute fortune, I hear. His spice trade is near the equal of legendary merchant Mercator."
"Newbloods hardly worth the ducal clan's time. They had to buy their baronetcy."
"Because they are that rich!"
"How bold to court the interest of a royal heir. Even if this is her coming out season!"
"Well, Morlin?" snapped Drake, folding his arms and tapping his foot rather theatrically. "Choose your weapon, or concede your crimes for the world entire to hear!"
"You know what you must do!" snarled a hot-eyed Lord Hecklebart, from behind his son.
Morlin gazed slack-jawed at the crowd for long moments, and Jack couldn't hold back a snicker, the crowd now roaring with with laughter. And even Lord de Leone didn't bother scold or reprimand.
And perhaps the humiliation flushing Morlin's cheeks had been the impetus he had needed. "Fine!" He screamed.
Drake flashed a hungry smile. "About damned time."
But Morlin was paying no attention to his challenger, eyes flitting desperately across the derisive crowd before he flashed a fierce smile that filled Jack with sudden apprehension.
"By I still have the right to pick a champion! I choose... Aroust Craveat as my second!"
This had the perhaps desired effect of causing the crowd's mockery to transform to curious whispers and speculation as an imposing figure of sleek muscles showcased by formfitting black leathers and a sinuous grace stepped forward from the surprised crowd, his long gloved fingers tapping the jeweled hilt of the smallsword he wore at his hip.
He flashed a cool smile as he adjusted his tricorn hat, and Jack felt a chill race down his spine when the man's cold dark eyes met his own.
Magesight skillcheck made!
Jack held back a tight curse, sensing the powerful enchantments warding both hat and leathers. He wasn't quite sure if they were ethereal artifacts or made of deeper, richer, enchanter's magics that could endure the depths of Shadow and wouldn't fade to worthlessness if forced to leave the glorious swirl of magical energies enveloping this city in its eternal embrace. But either way, it spelled trouble for Jack tonight. He was somehow positive of that.
"Are you sure about that?" asked the roughened voice of Aroust. "You know my fee."
"Yes, of course we'll pay your fee!" Snapped Lord Hecklebart.
Aroust turned his considering gaze to Drake, a hard smile upon his lips. "And considering the glorious nature of this... contest, which I assume not limited to the blade alone?"
"No," Drake said. "Blade and magic both may freely be used by both parties."
Aroust's smile grew as he turned to his prospective employer. "And there you have it. I'm afraid I'm going to have to charge double my standard rate, my dear Lord Hecklebart, for facing double the peril. Hazards of the ring. I'm sure you understand."
Hecklebart's boated features turned red with outrage. "Two gold crowns? How many times have you boasted of your resistance to ethereal hexes? Aroust Magebane, you dare to call yourself! Able to charge forth and lunge before your hapless opponent can unleash a single spell. Isn't that the tale you tell when wooing all your doxies? And Drake's second isn't even a student of the Academy! Are you out of your mind? Do you think we're all fools?"
Aroust actually had the gall to shrug as he ascended the steps before the massive fluted pillars of the Lords Council Hall, effectively taking the stage as he glanced at the crowd with a smile.
"I wouldn't dream of calling my prospective employer any such thing. And yet, here we are," he said with a shrug and a wink, earning a couple soft chuckles from the crowd. "If your son no longer wishes me as his second, he need merely say so." His gaze turned flinty hard. "And I will never offer my services to the Hecklebart clan again."
Jack winced even as he smiled. Aroust did have a certain flare about him, and Jack could so easily see him winning over audiences as the charming rogue in any tale. So long as they didn't get too close a look at the hardness of his features. The coldness in his pale blue eyes. Bit still, he could flash a winning smile, and knew how to gauge the feel of a crowd.
"Fine!" Lord Hecklebart hissed. "But you'd better be worth it!" And the flash of gold was clear at least to Jack as the pair gave a single pump of gloved fists, Jack's ears catching at least a few of the crowd's whispers as the deed was done.
"How gauche, right in front of everyone!"
"Anyone who's played cards would have seen the hand-off."
"Truly, they are the villains of this play. Hecklebart the devious mastermind, Aroust the charming scoundrel, and Morlin plays the sniveling coward so well. How delightful!"
Jack couldn't help grinning at that, before his blood froze to ice as the cold appraising eyes of a man who clearly walked the Path of Peril held his own.
Now favoring Jack with a pitying smile. "I'll make it quick, boy. When you feel cold steel pierce your bowels, best you fall to the ground and concede with a groan. So long as you do so gracefully, I won't tear as I extract, and you might even heal without being a cripple who can never hold his piss again." He flashed a mocking wink. "I wouldn't want to be the despised villain of this delightful little play, after all. I'll leave that honor for the cowards who hired me."
Insight check made! Or so Jack could almost imagine the words ringing inside his head as he took in the audience and the true scope of the elevated area before the grand council hall. It was almost the size of a courtyard, and absolutely perfect for Jack's needs.
He flashed his would-be executioner a smile, raising his voice for all to hear. "Then, on the off chance you and I actually do face off, I'm sure you wouldn't mind granting me a bit of space to get off at least a single spell. You are, after all, the renowned Aroust Magebane. And I? but a lowly commoner, after all, who has never even set foot in this city's prestigious academy, let alone held a proper fencing blade in his life."
Jack flashed his most winning smile. "After all, we would want our audience to have something of a show before you inevitably skewer me, wouldn't we?"
Jack did his best to tuned out the oddly appreciative murmurs of the audience, just as he did his friend's suddenly worried looks. And Aroust was even game enough to chuckle and nod.
"Well played, boy. Sure. Let's keep it interesting. Twenty damned paces, the length of this extravagant stage, and the crowd will gasp with awe when I flitter past all your spells and send you crashing to the ground with a single, near bloodless, thrust of my blade."
The crowd actively applauded that, and it was all Jack could do to hold back his smile.
Charisma modifiers in full effect. Congratulations! Negotiation is now Apprentice Rank 2
Arcane Perception check made!
And that was when Jack spotted it, the telltale emanations given off by the main gauche, or long quilloned parrying dagger, on the man's right hip. No deadly enchantments like the vampiric blade he and Drake had claimed, nor the shadowy dagger that could pierce any defense that his friend Sin had exulted in finding. Rather, it held the subtle enchantments most suited for this city, mirroring perfectly the resonances Jack saw in the case still being held by the loyal butler Jevon.
Aroust's main gauche wasn't just a tool for parrying long thin sword blades and getting in deadly thrusts at short range.
It was also a wand.
Jack's mind flashed to recollections of his battle with Magus Usling, recalling how well that monster could use his wand to parry discretely cast spells. To say nothing of shooting rocks at Jack with almost bullet-like force, reminding Jack yet again of a certain spell it would behoove him to master, no matter how worthless it might seem at novice ranks right now. But still, in recalling their duel and how effective that wand had been, and the particulars of their struggle, Jack couldn't help but feel a sudden surge of hope, thinking that he just might know how to get the best of this man.
Either that, or he would be ruthlessly disemboweled for the delight of the crowd.
Because the way Morlin was glaring at him before turning to face Drake once more made his next move painfully obvious. Though even Jack was surprised by the sheer brazenness of his foe's next gambit.
Morlin flashed a relieved smile. "There you have it, Drake. Our seconds have been chosen, and have even declared terms!"
Drake's cold gaze didn't waver. "Seconds are ceremonial, to assure fair play and a champion, should primaries be incapacitated for any —" Drake blinked, now gazing down at Morlin in bemused disbelief. "No. I don't believe it. Not even you are that craven!"
But Morlin was already on the ground, screaming like a stuck pig.
"I've been struck by foul magics! Black witchery seeking to cripple me before my duel!" His eyes alit upon the stage, for the entire elevated foundation was effectively a stage at that point, desperate eyes gazing his father's way as he rolled about the polished stone tiles, groaning with pain. "Please, send for a healer! I must fight this monstrous villain before he further slanders our family reputation with his scurrilous lies!"
Even Lord Hecklebart was gazing at his son with incredulity, before giving an abrupt shake of his head. "It's not safe here, son! Enemies of our entire clan, allied with the duke's estranged brother, will do all they can to defame us and the council entirely, before grabbing unbridled power for themselves. We must retreat immediately!"
And to the disbelieving stares of the entire crowd, the pair hobbled for the far steps, Hecklebart pausing only long enough to glare at Jack, before looking Aroust's way. "Double if you make it permanent!" Before sprinting off with his son, showing surprising reserves of stamina for such a bloated curmudgeon, Jack thought, as the entire crowd began howling with laughter.
Drake turned to his father, a look of bemused awe upon his features. "Did he really just do that?"
"And don't you dare make up any false accusations, you vile pricks! Or the Council will hear about your treacherous witchery!" screamed the retreating lord as he and his son burst through the very few spectators watching from the rear, Jack now noting absolutely no impairment in Morlin's movements as he raced away like a man on fire. - Of course, Hecklebart's wheezy, breathless voice could barely be heard over the increasingly raucous laughter he fled from.
Lord deLeon chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Truly, son. I never realized the pair were such craven cowards before."
And Jack couldn't help flashing a fierce smile as the man's soft words conveniently resonated through the crowd entire. For all that they had been sharply scolded to only bear witness, judgment had certainly been passed.
Then he froze as the cold eyes of the sell-sword locked upon his own, now favoring him with an almost predatory smile. "Indeed, a most amusing turn of events. Still, there is one last act to be performed before our little play comes to an end. Would you not agree... second?"
Aroust had the gall to wink. "After all, we wouldn't want the crowd to part without at least one scene worthy of their time. Don't you think?"
Somehow Jack found himself nodding, even as Drake hissed. "Jack, you don't have to!"
Only for his father to correct him. "Much as it grieves me to say, he does, my son."
Hard eyes glared down at Aroust. "Your blow best not be fatal, champion."
Aroust smirked. "I will fight to win, Your Grace, as I was paid to. As my reputation demands. As for killing him?" He smiled almost fondly at the restless crowd. "That remains to be seen."
Hard eyes caught Jack's own. "Best we make it a good fight, boy. One worthy of the tavern bards that will be telling of this night of cowardice and battle long after we both fade to dust."
Jack suddenly found himself doing all he could to stave the sudden surge of peril sending his pulse pounding and his guts twisting with dread as he gazed into the coldly smiling features of the man now twenty paces distant, and radiating the promise of death that had Jack wanting to flee as quickly as Morlin had, just moments ago.
Instead, he forced his parched lips to whisper a handful of desperate words, taking comfort in the crimson shield now forming on his left arm, thankfully not hindered at all by the coat he wore as a softly buzzing friend perched happily on his right shoulder to the delight of the crowd.
"Are both combatants ready?" Lord de Leone called in his baritone voice just seconds later, his intent gaze giving Jack a solemn nod conveying so much without saying a word at all, before turning to Aroust, who laughed, teeth flashing bright in the light of the setting sun, drawing both small sword and main gauche with a skilled flourish, holding blades both high and low as he met Jack's desperate gaze and grinned.
"Begin!"
And in the blink of an eye, almost certain destruction was racing for Jack, death flashing behind Aroust's gleaming eyes.