CHAPTER 5

The interior of the Order of Odann's hall was not exactly what Duren had been expecting. In his mind's eye he had an image of tough-looking men and women standing around, listening to people call out prices for jobs. Instead, the inside looked, well, much more organized than he had originally thought it would. As soon as he entered there were several rows of rectangular tables on either side of the entrance. At each of these several people sat chatting, or eating food, each and every one of them was wearing the clothing that seemed the uniform for the Order. Well every one of them besides him that was…

Further back in the hall was what looked to be a countertop where several people stood giving out papers and what looked like exchanging money. Figuring this was the most likely place to sign up, or at least that one of the people behind the counter could point him in the right direction he made his way up towards it. As he did so he glanced at each and every person, gauging them.

The first thing he often looked for when assessing people he had found was the weapon they carried. After all, you could tell a lot from what sort of weapon a person had, from their preferred fighting style, to even who they thought they would need a weapon to fight. For example, it made no sense to carry a rapier if one was not going to be dueling, seeing as using such a specialized sword would only make sense if you were planning to use it against fellow people, as it would be next to useless for any sort of monster. Duren did not quite hate rapiers, they were still swords after all, but he did have a real dislike for them and the honerless bastards who carried the near-useless things.

His eyes roamed, taking in swords, maces, bows and crossbows, the odd spear, halberd or two, and even a few more exotic items that he had no idea what the name of was, like the man who had two circular blades, around the size of an average plate, but that had the majority of the center cut out, leaving the items a large sharpened O shape. He was about to ask the man what they were but then his eye caught on a particular sword and the thought fled.

It was a single-handed sword with a broad flat blade that has clearly chamfered edges that run nearly parallel, a fuller that ran through the upper third, and a flat ricasso section at the base of the blade. The blade looked to be hexagonal in cross-section. The crossguard of the blade was both elegant and simple at the same time, consisting of the standard bar across to catch blades but also having a knuckle guard that swept down to protect the user's hand as well as a finger guard on the knuckle guarded side to protect the finger should the user want to place it over the guard to execute attacks that required finer control of the blade. The hilt was wrapped in leather, and the pommel was an attractive teardrop design that would be rather devastating should the sword's wielder punch down with it on which there was a design he could not make out at this distance. The scabbard of the sword was strangely simple for such a fine piece, and though the leather matched the color of the leather on the hilt it had neither locket nor chape, just plain leather, leading him to believe it was not the original sheath. He could see all of this at a glance as the person who owned the sword was sitting at a table carefully oiling the blade.

Such a blade would be equally as effective at cutting and thrusting, and additional protection provided was phenomenal. This was not the blade of a simple swordsman, rather this was a blade carefully designed to provide maximum protection while still allowing full movement and offensive capability. Duren smiled as he looked from blade to owner, preparing to assess the person now that he had finished looking over their weapon. As he did so his breath caught, all thoughts in his mind grinding to a halt.

It was a woman, which was not too odd here in the Odaan's hall, and in fact, in her hands, the weapon was almost perfect, where it would have been a one-handed sword for him, it could effectively be a hand and a half sword for her what with the long pummel acting as part of the hilt. She had platinum blond hair so light it was practically silver that was pulled back in a ponytail and was tied there with a blue ribbon but some of it had escaped creating bangs that framed her face. Her tanned skin was almost the same shade as Michaeleen's perhaps a touch lighter, and her sapphire feline eyes stared at the blade with such focus as she cleaned it. On top of her head sat two adorable-looking cat ears, both of which were the same color of platinum as her hair. And from under the folds of blue fabric that formed a sort of cloak or cape he caught the twitching movement of a tail. She had long legs and as his eyes roamed up her body he got the impression of a toned and muscular body, but not to an extreme, simply fit and powerful.

As he watched people move around her giving her quite a wide berth of space, she just as studiously ignored them as she cleaned her blade. Or rather it seemed that way at first glance, but as he watched he saw her ears rotating to mark the passage of each person, even if her eyes were fixed forward.

Before he knew what he was doing he was sitting across from her, and she gave him a glance with those glowing sapphires before turning back to the blade, apparently fully intending to ignore him. Not knowing what to say, but desperately wanting to say something, anything, he fell back on a topic he was very familiar with.

"That is quite a nice looking blade, where is the point of balance, about a hands width from the crossguard?" he asked, and she glanced at him again, this time her gaze not simply passive, but purely hostile.

***

Lisika mentally cursed her bad luck, she didn't need this, not today, she had not gotten much sleep last night, how could she when Solvey was laying at death’s door? Michaeleen had finally convinced her to get out of the healer’s hall, there was nothing she could do there, and she was just getting in the way of the mender’s ministrations, and so here she had found herself, polishing her sword over and over again, and of course she had drawn another one, they always seemed to pop up when she least wanted to talk. This was not the first time some stupid male wanted to impress and flirt with her, and as such had tried to awe her with his supercilious knowledge of swords and martial combat. She chose to ignore him in the hope that he would go away.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

She went back to wiping the blade down making sure to oil it up, after all it might be the last time she got to take care of the blade, the wife of a lesser noble lord didn't own a sword, let alone use it. This blade had done her well these past two years, with it she had gone places, explored and adventured, and cut a name for herself, but now, now it would rot in some chest for the rest of her days. She had given her word, and her father, goddess curse the man for his designs on life, had held up his end of the deal, now it was time for her to hold up her own. Two years, that was what she had been granted, two years of freedom where she could go where she wanted as a member of the Order of Odann, but now...

The male was saying something, she hadn't been listening, turning her eyes back to him she decided a more direct approach was needed to send him away. "Listen," she hissed, putting as much venom into her voice as she could muster, which in her humble opinion was enough to melt through solid steel. "I don't want to talk, not now or ever for that matter," she said.

"That's fine," he said with a casual shrug, "you don't have to talk, it's nice that way, "he said it so casually that she almost missed the insult, almost.

"Oh, so you prefer me silent , do you?" if her previous statement had been cold then this one was practically molten. She sat the sword down and leaned forward.

"Well, if you're going to talk like that, yes." He didn't move, didn't even flinch at her aggressive attitude, this was not what she had come to expect, she had after all sent every man that had attempted to flirt with her away due in part to her skills with a blade, and in part to her attitude that it was off-putting to have someone not just do as she said. "My name is Duren, and yours?" He asked, a bright smile flashing on his face.

"And why would I give you my name?" She asked, leaning back. She was off-balance, she had to regain the upper hand in this situation. Her outburst and this Duren's behavior was drawing attention, she had never done well with attention, she could feel her cheeks heating as people turned to look.

"I always assumed it was the proper thing to do," and there he was, subtly insulting her again, the gall of the man! "Besides, I am joining the order, so we will likely be seeing a lot of each other," the thought of dealing with this man for the next week, what was likely her last week of real freedom was not something she was going to allow. She had felt with people like this before, she grabbed her sword, sheathed it and stood up, placing both of her hands on the table and proclaiming in a loud voice:

"No, you will not be, I challenge you to a duel, if I win you will leave and never show your face here again." Somehow that smile of his widened, and a look of excitement entered his eyes. This was also not the reaction she had been expecting, most who knew her name and reputation would back down at this point.

"And if I win?" he asked, also rising, the smile on his face now a full and rather feral-looking grin.

"Name your price," she snapped, confidant of her odds, after all, she had yet to lose a duel…

***

This was not at all how Duren had thought this would go, well to be honest he hadn't thought about this at all beforehand, he had just seen her and had somehow ended up at her table, attempting to make conversation with her. He knew his attempt had been clumsy, but in his opinion he had done quite well. The old man had always stressed how much honesty was an important quality to have, both with yourself and with others. And so when she had asked him questions he had answered honestly, and his honesty had been rewarded.

In Duren's opinion there was no way to better get to know someone than in combat, you could really see what someone was made of, who they were deep down, in light of that he was quite pleased she had shown that she wanted to get to know him better.

"Is this to be a proper duel?" He asked, after all, the old man had drilled into him that there were two types of duels that a person could take part in, the first was a real fight, where two combatants would fight with every skill and ability they had, it was often a mixture of brawling and sword fighting, and it was Duren's favorite. The other type was a proper duel, and was not really something he enjoyed as it was more of a sport than a proper fight, but he had learned all the rules and procedures.

"Fine, it shall be a proper duel," she said, her white teeth flashing in a strange smile. It looked like she was in pain or something, and she was talking with them clenched together, perhaps she was simply bad at smiling, oh well, no one was perfect." Now, what is your price?"

Hmm, that was a hard one to answer, he didn't really know what he wanted from her, sure he knew what happened between men and women, the old man hadn't left much to the imagination in his tales after all. He thought about it for a moment, looking at her, the way she held herself, the fine blade she carried, and how she took care of it, yeah, he supposed he did like her, with a nod he made up his mind. "If you want something, take it, if you can't then you don't deserve it," he said, quoting the old man, "that is the blade's own truth," he finished the saying looking at her. "You," Duren said. Her eyebrow rose? And the strange smile disappeared from her lips,

"Me?" She asked looking confused.

"Yeah," he said with a nod. "My prize, when I win shall be you." There was pure silence in the Order's hall now, every eye was turned towards the two of them, and for some reason her cheeks were darkening. She opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water a few times before she was able to speak again.

"When?" She asked, she was floundering about, and she knew it. Her mind played his words over and over again, embarrassment growing to such a level before she seized on one word; when. 'My prize, when I win shall be you.' He had said, not if, but when.

Not only did he ask for her hand in marriage, here in front of all of these people, not only had he done so without even knowing her, but he even assumed that he would win.

"I don't plan on losing," he said with a shrug, and she had to close her eyes and breathe deeply to not fly into a rage. "So," he said, that cocky grin still on his face, she didn't even need to see it, she could hear it in his voice. "When are we doing this?" Her eyes snapped open.

"Right now, in Illune's square," she hissed, pointing at the front door of the Order's hall and he simply nodded, hefting his pack from the floor where he had placed it and slinging it over his shoulder and turning to walk out. The door opened and closed behind him and silence reigned in the hall for a moment. She stood there, mind reeling for a moment before she too made her way to the door. As it opened and closed once more the hall kept its silent vigil for a few seconds before a gruff looking man stood up and raising his hand in the air loudly declared:

"25 trill says he doesn't last five minutes!" The declaration was like a spark in a powder keg, and men and women all stood up, shouting their odds and chattering in excited voices as they boiled out of the Order hall and into the square to watch...