The arena floor was paved smooth. The grass usually grew out during Spring, but by Summer, the field trampled back down to plain dirt, solidified during the Summer heat. Dueling sports were out of season in the Summer and Winter, only opening up to the public during the Spring and Fall, where it never got too cold nor too hot. The arena owners permitted both the Colorswords and the agencies to practice and hold their own events.
While the arena here wasn’t as extravagant as others—there wasn’t much room to build anything massive, like how most would prefer to have their arenas—it could still seat three thousand attendants in the curved stands. A tarp could be heaved over the skeletal, domed roof in case of undesirable weather.
Today, the arena was bare. The hot gaze of the sun had no clouds suppressing its touch. Under ordinary circumstances, Ranun would dread exposing himself so much. That had, in part, been his curse’s fault. Ever since he discovered his condition, he couldn’t be out in the sun too long. Otherwise, he risked tiring himself out and squeezing his shrinking lifespan further.
But not every day could someone see Symond Whyte duel. Ranun was one of the lucky three that got to watch up close. Beside him—in the shade of the walls—was Captain Bolt of the Colorswords and Quin Hrole, the young prince’s love. They were rooting for opposite teams.
Ranun rooted for both of them.
Ranun wanted Dean to stay in Soucrest, where he and Quin could be safe from their near-tyrannical father. And the prince could make a good Kingsguard if he was anything like his father. But, in the instance that he beat Symond, Ranun feared his reign as king would soon after crash into the ground.
In theory, anyone who wanted to take the crown could challenge him for it. The strongest warrior rules, after all. Under Ranun’s curse, he couldn’t afford to accept duels, let alone even practice dueling anymore without taking years off of his life. There was one trick, however, that Ranun exploited. Symond Whyte, the Sixth Wonder.
Ranun hadn’t received many challenges as his people generally adored him, but if one did challenge him for his crown, Ranun pointed to Symond, claiming that if they couldn’t beat their second strongest warrior, then there was no way they could beat their first.
But of course, as was Ranun’s entire rule, that had been a lie as well. Ranun wasn’t the strongest warrior in Soucrest, nor was he the second. Or the third, fourth, fifth. A warrior could fight anybody and everybody at any time. Ranun couldn’t. He wasn’t even sure if he could hold a blade in a fight anymore. There was one always around his waist in public, yet he hadn’t unsheathed his sword in a decade.
Damn curse.
Symond warmed up in the center of the field, opposite Dean, who did the same a couple of feet away. You could tell how different the two men were as warriors by how they stretched; Symond tightened his legs and conditioned his arms and joints while Dean twisted his body and focused on his overall core.
There hadn’t been a warrior Ranun knew who was stronger than Symond. Dean’s father had gotten close to killing him once before the revolution, but then again, Symond almost killed him as well.
Could the heir finish the job? Well, he wouldn’t be the heir if he won, would he?
Dean didn’t have his father’s looks or personality. But did he have his style? Likely not from his stretches. Dean lifted himself in a handstand with only one hand, positioning his legs straight and his other arm bent around his back. He then came down as if a pushup, moving his head freely and without any noticeable strain.
Ranun looked at the woman to his left, looking forward anxiously, seemingly less confident than Dean. She still had her reservations about Ranun, refusing up to now to look at him square in the eyes. He understood. The young woman needed her space.
How would I react, seeing my brother’s killer before me? Perhaps identical. But I’ve adapted myself to war enough. I’ve forgiven men—Symond even, who had killed countless allies of mine.
“You look like a buffoon stretching like that,” Symond said as Dean bent over his side, moving back to his feet. Symond dropped to plank, cocking Dean a smug look in the eyes. Challenged, Dean dropped down, planking opposite of him. Ranun could see the boy’s grin from over here. He seemed to do well under pressure, as the prince was practically playing with the man who might send him back to his father.
Their standoff went on for a minute without anyone dropping, eyes locked on one another. Symond grimaced, struggling to stay planked. Dean, however, smiled. “Don’t sweat it, old man,” Dean said. “At least you got your muscles to be proud of.”
Symond laughed. “You’d be surprised.”
Dean smiled. Eventually, Symond fell. He lifted to his knee, catching a slight breath. Dean won that contest by a mile. Again, Ranun feared for Symond. If Symond, of all people, was losing his touch, then the future looked bleak for King Ranun.
I don’t even like the crown, Ranun thought. It had been a life of work and problem solving, playing favorites for one side and villain to the other. He did a fair job of the ruling part, he believed, but that had still consumed so much of Ranun’s life. The last sixteen years had gone by in a flash. Aeryn had grown up too fast. Ranun couldn’t even duel him to celebrate his graduation. The crown had taken so much out of him. And yet, I cling to the crown, all without even wearing it.
“Enough of this,” Symond said, standing up. Dean still planked, mocking Symond. “SWORDS!” he yelled out.
Dean looked down and between his two feet behind him. Two of Symond’s interns dragged two large swords from the arena entrance, parting the earth as blades ripped through. They were weaker young men who likely filed Symond’s reports and cleaned his office rather than fight under his agency. After some struggling, they arrived at the center of the arena, sticking the heavy swords into the ground.
The swords were identical to each other, both having a foot-long hilt, the faces of the blades were half as long, the tip reaching down six feet; larger swords than most warriors wielded.
Dean grabbed one of the hilts. “I can’t work with these,” he said. “I don’t use two-handers.”
Symond smiled, walking over and taking the hilt from Dean with his left hand. “These are mine,” he said. Symond flicked his wrist, bringing the sword up, holding it in a single hand. He did the same with the other, now holding two two-handed swords in two different hands. His freakish bodily strength triumphed that of any man Ranun had ever known. At his age, this feat should be impossible. Hell, even at Dean or Ranun’s age, this was utterly ridiculous.
Dean gaped. “Then what about my swords?”
The supreme commander grinned deeper, amused. He turned to one of his assistants. “Go bring him his blades.”
With a nod from Symond, the assistant hurried to the entrance before jogging back out, bringing with two curved blades, the tips arching slightly back to point at the hilt. They weren’t traditional straight blades, but they were arguably better at slicing, gliding more easily through the wind.
Awful at stabbing, though. The assistant handed Dean the swords. Immediately, the young prince went red.
“These are my swords!” Dean yelled. He looked at the blades. “You dulled them!”
“Of course I did,” Symond said. “We aren’t fighting to kill each other. Mine are dulled as well.”
“These are ruined!” Dean said, looking at both edges. He grunted before twisting the swords in his hands, adjusting. The twirling turned to juggling, showing off his beautiful dexterity with the curved blades, almost blurring together like an engine-powered saw.
“Ranun,” Bolt said. “Symond is going to win this, right?”
Quin stifled a shiver. Ranun barely caught her motion.
“I don’t know,” Ranun said. Though if he had to guess, he’d pick Symond despite all of Dean’s talent. “At Dean’s age, his father fought Symond and almost killed him. Though, King Reagle is a classical fighter. The swords I see in front of me tells me there’s more Wind Form in him than Gold Form.”
“Wind Form? So you think he’ll be a counter to Symond’s Fire Stance?” Bolt asked.
“Maybe,” Ranun said. Wind form specialized in evasion and swift attacks, which in common theory should foil Fire Stance, the form so reliant on their offense, they sacrifice defense. “If Dean is skilled, he should be able to evade some of Symond’s attacks. Normally, that is enough to gain the advantage over Fire Stance, but Symond is of a different breed. Even when defense is supposed to be his downside, he’s still far above average protecting himself.”
“The Sixth Wonder,” Bolt nodded. “I haven’t seen him fight since the placement matches. He and Kinler were at it for an hour.”
Ahh, the old Kinler versus Symond duels, Ranun thought. The Blue Bladesman and the Sixth Wonder, complete opposites but near equals. In his prime, Kinler could stand ground with Symond years after his own, which wouldn’t be impressive against anyone other than Symond Whyte.
“We’ll see what happens,” Ranun said. The two men were adjusting to their swords, testing swings, cuts, and jabs. “Dean’s as balanced as Kinler, so he may stand a better chance than we believe.”
Quin clenched her fists. She had protested after Ranun declared that they would duel. She wanted to take his place and fight Symond instead. Dean refused, however. Still, Ranun wondered about this woman’s potential as well. She was the one who injured a few Colorswords, only taken down after they caught Dean.
Did that mean Quin was a better fighter than the prince?
“How long do we have to wait?” Quin said.
Surprised that Quin spoke, Ranun looked down at her. Before he could speak, Bolt got his words out first. “Be patient. Be glad you aren’t fighting on his behalf.”
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Quin snapped her head to Bolt. “I’d prefer to fight him instead,” she said, averting her eyes back to the duelists taking a few steps back, preparing to begin. Quin spoke softly. “I trust my odds more than his.”
Ranun laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Quin asked defensively.
Ranun crossed his arms over his stomach. “I have a feeling I’m not going to see the son of Reagle out there, but the soul mate of you.”
She grimaced, like hearing Ranun speak at all was reason enough to cringe. She scoffed, turning away once again. But before too long, she spoke again. “Why did you show me the curse?”
Ranun panicked, snapping his head to his left. Bolt had moved away, moving to the arena's walls to retrieve his canteen near the exit. He couldn’t let him hear of it. Bolt was among the few who hadn’t known.
“I thought it would calm you down,” Ranun sighed, alieved that she hadn’t spilled her secret so soon after hearing it. Though, this wouldn’t have been an issue if Ranun hadn’t told her in the first place. Oh well, regrets were made to be felt later, not sooner. “I thought that if you despise me so much for killing your brother, you’d at least appreciate the fact that your brother had the last laugh.”
“And what makes you think I’ll stay quiet?” Quin asked.
“I can tell by your face,” Ranun said. He looked upon her with analytical eyes. The eyes he built his nation on, spying past the skin and into the mind. “I’ve studied many expressions in my life. I have a power of some sort. It’s a little uncanny, yes, but I have the ability to detect lies by the face. But it goes past the lies. When I see a face like yours, I can tell you value honesty. If you had to choose between revenge and closure, you’d pick the latter. You’re kind, but don’t like showing that about you, am I wrong?” To no protest, Ranun continued. “What I told you is far too honest and sincere that you’ll never tell. Even if tortured.”
“I may if I’m tortured,” Quin deadpanned. Wait, no, she is serious.
Ranun laughed. “I tell the truth about Bouma. I have no reason to lie. They were threatening the townspeople, and I couldn’t stand by. I will apologize to you for killing your brother, but I won’t apologize for saving those people. Not ever.”
She nodded. Like that, they finally came to an understanding. Good, one thing crossed off Ranun’s list. As for the other…
Ranun stepped forward, catching both sets of eyes. “First to land a significant blow over the other wins,” he said. “Speak now if you demand other terms. Otherwise, I’ll begin the duel.”
Symond grunted, turning his head to Dean. The prince simply smiled.
Ranun raised his hand to the sky. His eyes blinded by the sun, he adjusted his hand to provided shade. He looked down. Their eyes were on each other instead of Ranun, focused. He smiled, swinging his hand down. “Begin!”
Ranun walked backward a few steps, regrouping with Bolt and Quin as the two duelers sprinted towards one another.
Dean came forward a tad faster than Symond, though Symond wasn’t that much slower than the prince. Dean slid to Symond’s left before they collided, slashing with both swords as he skirted through the dirt off his right thigh. A good tactic, but Dean was mistaken in the direction he approached. Symond pulled his left sword back, ringing as Dean’s edges slipped off the sword’s face. The prince on the ground quickly leaped up back to his feet, greeted with Symond’s right blade.
The prince ducked under the swing, going forward and under to aim for Symond’s stomach. The commander again pulled his left sword, blocking the attack before it could connect.
“He’s dodging his attacks with ease,” Bolt said.
“Who?” Ranun asked. An argument could be made for both.
“Well… both of them,” Bolt said.
Symond continued adding pressure, building a greater distance between them, using the extra length of his swords as an advantage, aiming to win through sheer reach alone.
“Dean won’t get anywhere targeting Symond’s left side,” Ranun said. “He uses his left sword primarily for the defensive. That’s why he always starts with swinging his right.”
As Ranun noted, Symond raised his attacking sword in the air, slamming it down, aiming for the prince’s center. Every time the prince attempted a counter, it had been Symond’s left sword coming back to block. However, despite Dean’s failed counters, Symond hadn’t been making any ground himself. If he couldn’t land an attack with his right hand, then he was no better off than the prince. In fact, he was arguably worse since one couldn’t win a duel through defense alone.
“We’re at a stalemate, it seems,” Bolt said. “This is the son of Reagle Novac?”
Ranun laughed. He looked down, seeing a slight smile on Quin’s face. Thankfully at this moment, Quin seemed to hate Reagle more than him. “More or less,” Ranun said.
As the battle progressed, Dean’s endurance dwindled first. His movements slowed, and his motions started to suffer as a result. While he continued to dodge, he lost his ability to counter properly, keeping him locked on the defensive. Symond didn’t relent, continuing to swing wide across his body.
Symond’s sword lifted to the air before the veins in his wrist bulged as he shifted his arm to slam downward. Dean lunged backward instead of inside, bringing his back against the arena wall. Symond’s sword exploded against the ground, forming a smokescreen between the two. He pulled his wrist back, set his feet, then lunged forward, piercing the cloud of dirt.
Dean barely ducked under the stab, keeping himself alive in what would have been a potentially fatal blow, even with dulled edges. Symond’s sword wedged into the wall, stuck. Dean gasped for a breath, hesitating.
That slight moment of indecisiveness cost him, as Symond made his move first, swinging low with his left sword, entrapping the prince between two blades. Just when Ranun thought the duel was over, Dean leaped over the low-swinging blade, lunged to Symond’s right, then kicked the floor, halting all of his momentum, allowing him a strike at Symond’s wide-open shoulder. The blade came down with violent speed—
Symond roared, pulling his right sword back and out of the wall, blocking Dean’s blade with the long hilt of his sword. The commander let out a crazed smile, twisting his body and sword in an attempt to cut down the prince.
Dean had no other choice but to block with blades. The impact sent him flying backward, skidding off the heels of his feet.
He’s still standing? Ranun thought, seeing the prince take a crushing blow from Symond and keeping on his feet to continue on. Few had ever claimed such a feat, most with bodies both taller and stronger than Dean’s.
“You’re slippery,” Symond said, now breathing himself heavily. The battle turned quickly in Symond’s favor.
Dean couldn’t speak, his breaths heard from across the arena floor.
Ranun turned to see how Bolt and Quin were reacting. The Colorsword captain honed into the duel like a hawk, finding every detail he could feasibly register in his mind. While skilled himself, there was a lot for him to learn from the young prince, from the angles he attacked to his outstanding footing.
The prince had a body more flexible and in his own control than anybody Ranun had ever seen up close before.
Quin shook and stirred, Quiet like a mouse. Palpable fear emitted off her like steam from a kettle. This wasn’t looking good for Dean.
“I could bring you to Freedon,” Ranun said. “Or you can stay here. This is Dean’s duel, not yours.”
“I love him,” Quin said, turning up to Ranun. “I can’t leave him.”
Ranun sighed. This is too difficult. Looking at the duel, even Ranun was growing nervous. What if things didn’t play out as he expected?
Symond dashed first, not letting Dean recover. He opened up with another smash to the ground. Followed by another, and another, and another, filling the arena in a giant smokescreen of dirt. Only slight outlines of either of them could be seen from the sidelines. For them, it must have been worse, having all of that in their eyes. Ranun questioned why Symond made such a mess, considering Dean’s fighting style had been better accustomed to such a condition. But without his endurance, Dean couldn’t utilize the fog. Symond swung his left sword, cutting through the cloud, searching.
He found nothing at first. Once more, he swung his left sword. Dean’s smoke cover brushed away to the blow, revealing him, prompting Symond to lunge with his right blade, connecting once again.
Dean flew back and off his feet this time. His left sword spun out of his control in the air, spinning out and away from him. He crashed into the floor, barely holding onto his other blade. Dean lay on his stomach as Symond marched over.
If boots could speak, his was on a tirade.
“You’ve lost,” Symond said, declaring what was yet unofficial. The blow, while crushing, connected to Dean’s blades, not his body. Therefore, it wasn’t significant enough to declare Symond the victor. “Why would someone as privileged as you throw your life away? You had it all, a crown right in front of you. The largest kingdom in Valoria; all of it could be yours. And it still can. This is a favor I’m giving you, sending you back.”
“There are more than crowns and kingdoms,” Dean coughed.
“Like what?” the commander asked.
“The people around you,” Dean said, lifting his head. He could barely get to a single knee.
“That’s nice,” Symond said. He raised his right sword in the air, keeping his left tip down near the floor in case Dean went for the legs. The duel was all but over. The only question on Ranun’s mind was how over the top his final blow would be.
“You’ve never been in love,” Dean whispered. The silence brought his words to Ranun’s ears. “Have you?”
Symond paused.
Dean’s eyes widened. He sprung up off his single knee, lunging with his sword, swinging for the neck. Symond’s right sword had been too high to attack, while his left was too low to defend.
Symond whipped his head back, reacting a second later than his standard speed. Only centimeters separated Symond’s neck and Dean’s halted blade. Then, the young Prince coughed.
Symond’s left sword jabbed the prince under his jaw.
“Dean!” Quin yelled, running off. The prince fell over, and his sword fell from his hand.
So close, Ranun thought. Symond was so close to being beaten.
The two warriors looked like an art piece, statued at the final moment. Symond’s eyes were bulging, barely able to comprehend how he got out of the losing position. Dean broke the silence first, coughing up blood from the floor.
“Dean!” Quin held him in her arms, resting his back on her legs.
Ranun walked over himself to get a closer look. Captain Bolt followed.
“He’s alright,” Symond said. “He’s only stunned.”
Quin wrapped her arms around the prince, holding him close to her chest.
Symond dropped his swords to the ground, nearly shaking the earth under them. Ranun and Symond shared a cold stare. The commander had won the duel.
“I’m sorry,” Dean said, his defeated eyes set on Quin. “I couldn’t beat him.”
Quin cried, tucking Dean’s head under her chin. “It’s okay. We are in this together, right?”
Dean looked past Quin, straight to Ranun. “King Ranun, please, keep her here with you. She won’t be safe in Midhelm. My father would kill her.”
Ranun frowned. “Sorry, kid,” he said. “The young woman makes her own decisions.”
“I’m not leaving you!” Quin said, her hands held the prince up by his back.
“Please—”
“Stop your crying, girl,” Symond said. “The young man lost the duel deciding his fate.”
“Symond…” Ranun couldn’t bear it anymore. He had to step in, insist that—
“No,” Symond raised his voice, shutting the king down before he even spoke. He eyed the couple holding onto each other, sobbing, fearful. “So it’s my choice. Mine. And I can’t let you go back.”
Ranun raised a brow. Silence. Total, dead silence.
“What?” Bolt questioned.
Quin and Dean looked to each other before simultaneously looking back at Symond.
“You two know too much,” Symond said. He glared toward Ranun. “Classified information our idiot king shared without thought. If it were up to me, and If I could, I’d kill you both. I’d shove your bodies into a tomb and let your corpses sink below the Aden Sea. But, Ranun would never allow that. So, that leaves me with one option. You’ll work for my agency. It’s the only way I can keep my eye on you.”
Dean shifted to his knees. “Thank you!” he bowed down, planting his forehead to the ground. He cried, but this time with joy. “Thank you! I owe you my life.”
“Good,” Symond grinned. “You will address me as General Symond from now on.”
“Right, General Symond,” Dean repeated.
I knew he would pull through, Ranun thought. He smiled.
“Bolt,” Ranun said. “Escort them to the agent apartments.”
“Right, sir,” Bolt said. Dean and Quin followed the captain out the arena exit.
That left Ranun and Symond. King and supreme commander. False king and true king.
“He’s a good fighter,” Ranun said.
“Better than I expected,” Symond admitted. His hand pressed against his gut as his stomach pumped, seeking air. While he could go for an extended time against Kinler, Dean’s fighting style brought more out of him in only a couple of minutes. “No doubt about it.”
Ranun laughed. “Almost beat your streak.”
“I wouldn’t go that far…”
Ranun crouched down, picking up one of Dean’s blades. He’ll probably want these back, dulled or not. “When did you change your mind?”
“As I said,” Symond said. “They know too much.”
“Your eyes tell me your tongue is lying,” Ranun grinned. “Deep down, you’re a big softy. Admit it.”
Symond looked to his right hand. A silver jeweled ring wrapped around his ring finger, though Symond wasn’t married. They said he wore that ring for his love of the battlefield, with rumors saying he loved his swords more than he ever would another human being.
Symond clenched his fist, swinging it down.
“Not exactly,” Symond said, walking toward the exit.