Cole

Cole and Rodd circled each other on the hill. Rodd massaged his fingers into the hilt of his sword. He stood in the Swiftblade’s stance. Cole stood in no stance. His body was slack.

“Draw your sword.” Rodd demanded, eager to commence.

“Why are you doing this?” Cole asked softly.

Rodd frowned. “I told you: I believe you can be convinced that the Order are the heroes Athshin needs. I did it once before. When we first met.”

Cole looked at the sheathed blade cradled in his hands. “I’m not the same person I was then.”

He let the sword fall to his feet. Rodd’s head jerked from the sword to Cole. He slid out of his stance.

"Pick that up.”

“No.”

It was easy to look at Rodd now. In fact, it was all Cole could do. He was rooted to where he stood. His arms hung stiff at his sides.

Rodd had to perform a double take. “Fine, then I will hit you easily.”

He brandished the training sword. He made flinching strikes at Cole, false swipes meant to provoke, but Cole didn’t budge.

“Tell me about Daniel.” Cole asked.

The request struck Rodd like cold water. “He was shorter than me. Curled hair like mine. Always smelled of bread.”

“You said he was gentle.”

“The gentlest. His bakery was a common stopping point for the hungry in the city. He had no qualms about feeding any who needed it, regardless of if they could pay for it.”

“He believed in people? Accepted them?”

“He accepted me before I accepted myself.” Rodd whispered. The faint shimmer of tears made his irises tremble.

“How would Daniel react to the Order of Suffering and what they’ve done?”

Rodd recoiled slowly. His sword tilted down.

“Don’t do this.” He begged as he shook his head. “Pick up your sword and duel me properly.”

“I’m not going to fight you Rodd.” Cole said. He shook his head harder than Rodd did. “If you believe my path can change then it's only fair you give yourself the same courtesy.”

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“What do you mean?”

“The Order of Suffering. It's not the path to peace you think it is. Their leaders think peace is the unprovoked slaughter of any race that people are afraid of.”

“This again.” Rodd stepped away to collect himself. “I have been with the Order far longer than you’ve been in Athshin. I can’t think of a single instance where genocide has been the proposed solution for peace.”

“If that’s true, then I think you’re too blind and deaf to be a swordsman.”

That struck a nerve. Rodd raised his voice.“They oppose the criminal, the raider, and the cultist. If you are none of those things, then you have nothing to fear!”

“I’ve come to learn that ‘criminal, raider, and cultists’ is just code for ‘minotaurs, phyrn, and diablans.’ They don’t care about any real justice. The justice that requires more than a first glance to decide.”

“Yes they do! They brought me justice. They killed the pirates that took my Daniel. I owe them everything for that.”

“That’s it then!” Now Cole was shouting back. “You owe them. That’s why you follow them, why you enforce their agenda and never question it: Because of a perceived debt. You think you owe them?”

“Yes!” Rodd exclaimed. To him, the answer was obvious.

Another cold breeze caressed the hill. Both Cole and Rodd were breathing heavily.

“You don’t owe them you’re humanity. You don’t owe them the keys your sense of right and wrong.”

Rodd’s body shook. He stepped back once more.

“You saw what they did to the diablans in Ramuff. Corralled like animals on suspicion alone. Would the Rodd Shawa who was a Swiftblade of Shish stand for that?”

Rodd said nothing. It was his turn to avert his eyes.

Cole made his final argument: “Would the Rodd Shawa Daniel married stand for that?”

A tear passed down Rodd’s face. “Daniel is dead. I forfeited my titles in Shish. Abandoned my home and all I knew for this…”

He made eye contact with Cole. His eyes were swollen and red. “The Order is all I have.”

“That’s not true. You still have your health, your skill, and that...”

Cole gestured to their left, away from the Keep.

“What’s ‘that’?” Rodd asked.

“The world.” Cole sang. “It’s huge, and there are so, so many lives you can live in it. Lives that Daniel would be proud of.”

Rodd sighed. His sword limply fell from his hand, shaking the flowers around them.

He sat on the grass and faced the horizon. His fingers threaded through his curly hair. When he spoke, it was as if Cole wasn’t there.

“Oh Rodd…How did you fool yourself for this long? To be outspoken by someone not even out of an academy.”

He laughed to stave off a stronger emotion.

Cole approached Rodd slowly. He could hear the low rumble of battle again.

“You’re right. Peace by prejudice isn’t the peace I believe in.” Rodd mused. “It will take time, but I will find a new purpose. I promise. I’m done with the Order.”

Cole gave a satisfied nod. He was content to leave Rodd on the hill and join the battle, but Rodd asked him to linger. With a snap, he undid his belt and the sheathed sword strapped to it. His pearl iron sabre.

“Take this. You’ve bested a Swiftblade in battle. As tradition states: you have claimed my sword.”

Cole hesitated, but on Rodd’s wish he took the sword. His friends needed him at his best. He bayed Rodd a final farewell before hurrying into passage, leaving Rodd alone on the hill to contemplate his future.