Jarvis slowed his horse to a trot as he neared a narrow stone bridge.

A man sat at the foot of the bridge, seated on a wooden stool in the partial shade of a willow. He wore drab leather armor and a short sword at his side. Jarvis smirked as he noticed the man was seated exactly in the road’s center.

When the man spotted him, he stood up from his seat at full height, a hand immediately resting upon the pommel of his sword.

“Halt!”

For a moment, Jarvis thought to simply continue his horse’s trot and pass by the man. However, the bridge’s narrow walkway, made even narrower by the man in the way, dissuaded him. He settled for continuing his horse’s trot until he was right next to the man, towering over him while making him squint his eyes upwards.

The man scrunched up his face at the sudden bright sunlight and Jarvis took extra glee in the ensuing silence, forcing the man to speak again.

“I’m Halas, son of Horace, guard of the bridge. To pass, you’ll need to pay a protection fee of thirty silvers.”

Jarvis scoffed.

“Thirty silvers? To cross a backwater bridge? So that you can protect a gods forsaken town?”

Halas’s face seemed to scrunch up even more.

“Thirty silvers to cross the only bridge within thirty miles of this spot, so that I can protect our town from random riffraff that want to sneak in and make trouble.”

“Oh? Does the riffraff you see passing by go riding on war stallions while bearing the king’s banner?”

“The riffraff doesn’t go passing anywhere while I’m here. And any riffraff can take a horse and a banner from a dead man if they put a little thought into it.”

Jarvis’s hand rested upon the pommel of his sword.

“Are you threatening me?”

“No, good sir. I’m not riffraff. I’m just a man trying to guard a bridge. From riffraff.”

“Well, then perhaps I should inform you that I am Sir Jarvis of Tomes, member of the king’s court,” Jarvis proclaimed, raising his banner as well as his chin. “And you would do well to let me pass this bridge so I can do our sire’s duty.”

“For thirty silvers, you’re more than welcome to pass, Sir Jarvis.”

Jarvis narrowed his eyes. But then he half smiled.

“Couldn’t your supposed riffraff take thirty silvers off of a dead man and pay that to you?”

“They certainly could. But they’d sooner take their chances with the river than pay a fee.”

Jarvis grimaced.

“And what do you do if some wayward traveler doesn’t have the means to pay your fee?”

“A traveler will always have the means to pay the fee.”

“Even peasants?”

“Especially peasants.”

“You can’t expect me to believe that every peasant that journeys across this bridge carries a pouch of silvers with them, can you?”

“I don’t. Peasants only pay a copper.”

“Oh? You’d charge a man of the king more than a peasant?”

“I charge what is acceptable of a man of your supposed position.”

“Supposed?”

“As I said, any riffraff could steal a king’s banner and horse. I only have your word to go by. Anyone can say they’re a king’s man. If you are who you say you are, you’re more than capable of paying the silvers.”

“You play a dangerous game, peasant,” Jarvis sneered. “If you had an ounce of wisdom, you would have already let me pass. Now? You might get off with a light flogging if you get down on your hands and knees and beg my pardon.”

“Threatening me won’t get you across this bridge. You can either go find another bridge, pay the fee, or fight me in a duel. If you are riffraff, you’ll fail. If you hold your own, then it’ll be clear you are who you say you are.”

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Jarvis’s jaw almost dropped.

“A duel?” he laughed. “Out here? With no witnesses?”

“The gods always watch as witness.”

Jarvis scrunched up his nose.

“Fear not,” Halas reassured, “if you are truly one of the king’s men, I’ll know after trading a few blows with you and let you pass swiftly thereafter.”

Jarvis scoffed.

“It is you who should be afraid! What if I kill you?”

Halas gave Jarvis a long look.

“Then that is fate.”

“Hmph! If you are so intent on throwing your life away, I will humor your wish!”

Jarvis reigned his horse to the side, trotting her up to the nearby willow. He dismounted her with a sweep and tied her up to a sturdy branch after setting aside his banner. He gave the chestnut-colored stallion a nice rub along the neck.

“This farce will only take a moment Sunshine. We’ll get you to town soon enough.”

He strode on over back to Halas.

“We duel here?”

Halas nodded.

Jarvis eyed the surroundings.

The road, a mere dirt path, had shoots of grass encroaching at its edges. Beyond the edges, the grass grew at knee height. Across the bridge, the unkempt grass continued far off towards the horizon, until the barest hints of a village could be seen.

Jarvis sighed.

“I can’t believe I am doing this,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Killing some upstart, foolish peasant in hell knows where.”

He gazed at said peasant, finding the man standing perfectly calm, once again in the partial shade of the willow.

Letting his shoulders relax, Jarvis pulled down his helmet’s visor and drew his longsword.

“Very well Halas, I am ready for your test whenever you are.”

Halas nodded and drew his own short sword.

For a moment, Jarvis wondered if he should ask Halas if there was anyone he should inform in the very likely event of his gruesome injury or death.

But then, he dismissed the thought. The neighboring town would do just fine with one less peasant. Hells, the town would likely be grateful to be rid of this nuisance.

Jarvis strode forward with measured steps, sword held in a middle guard position. Halas meanwhile held his sword low and to the side while retreating backwards at a slant, until he stood just in front of the bridge’s stone rail, now fully in the willow’s shade. 

Jarvis continued forward.

Six paces.

He rolled and shook his shoulders, shifting his iron plate armor and the interlinking chainmail shirt beneath.  

Five paces.

He lowered his center of weight slightly while tilting his longsword forward.  

Four paces.

He slowed, studying Halas carefully.

Three paces.

The man was full of openings.

Jarvis stopped in disbelief, waiting to see if Halas would adjust. But the peasant stayed stock still, gazing at him with a blank expression.

The neck, the elbows, the thighs, the ankles… Jarvis could strike anywhere he wanted for an initial crippling, perhaps even killing, blow. His grip clenched at the nerve of the peasant to challenge him to this duel so unprepared. At the very least, he found it a blessing that they were well and truly far away from any witnesses. This would have been the talk of the high courts for days, allowing himself to be dragged into fouling his blade like so! The shame it would have been!

Jarvis focused on the peasant’s sweaty neck.

Two paces.

With a light exhale, Jarvis feinted a thrust left, drawing Halas’s guard upwards.  

Jarvis instantly followed with a swivel of his wrist and thrust his blade to the left side of Halas’s exposed neck, his gaze willing the blade to stab the jugular.

But Jarvis’s eyes widened as Halas eerily slipped past his thrust like a snake and stepped within a pace of his body.

Jarvis braced himself as he continued his forward momentum, holding full faith in his armor.  

An iron grip seized his wrist with an irresistible pull while he felt a vicious shove at his back. His legs went out from under him.

He rolled forward with the momentum, preparing to recover with a hop and turn.

But grassy field gave way to a steep slope that went down the side of the bridge and he never stopped rolling.

Until he crashed into the fast river below.

Jarvis sputtered and kicked and flailed in the icy cold water, fighting to regain control. But the river hardly cared as it dragged his struggling form along.

Jarvis’s mind spun, the only thought on his mind to stay above the river’s surface.

The river slammed him into a rock, jarring his shoulder. But the impact shocked him into clarity.

He threw himself towards the shore, managing to grasp at some grass, pulling himself upwards. But the grass snapped at the roots and the current pulled him back into the waters.

After three more attempts of snapping grass and slipping mud, he finally grasped a large stone firmly embedded in the shore. He held on in a contest with the flowing waters, struggling to keep a firm grip with his wet hands.

With a groan, he heaved his chest up onto land, taking quick breaths while he remained submerged from the waist down.

With a grimace, he pulled himself further up the steep slope, dragging the last of his body out of the water.

Jarvis laid prone for some moments, his limbs and chest heavy, a shiver running down his back from the icy cold waters.

Halas.

With a reinvigorating growl, Jarvis clawed his way further and further up the slope, until he breached its edge, stumbling onto his feet in the tall grasses. Water poured down from where it had gathered within his armor, drenching the grass beneath his feet. He reached for his sword.

“I’ll kill that…”

However, his hands grasped at empty air.

Jarvis’s gaze snapped towards his waist.

His sword was gone.

“By the gods…”

Jarvis shakily cast his eyes to the deep, fast flowing waters below. He followed the current up towards the bridge but didn’t see his sword anywhere.

He limply fell to his hands and knees, gaze lost in the current.

His hands clenched at the grasses beneath him, and he raised his face in a snarl towards the bridge.

It was deserted.

Jarvis threw himself to his feet, his gaze swiveling all around him, weary of another trick from the devilish peasant.

However, the peasant was nowhere to be seen.

Jarvis furrowed his brow and gazed back towards the bridge before catching some movement out from the corner of his eye.

There, down the road across the bridge, he found a man in drab leather armor shrinking into the horizon, wielding a king’s banner. And carrying him along was a beautiful chestnut war stallion.

Jarvis’s face paled.

“Sunshine!”