CHAPTER 6

Michaeleen yawned and stretched his arms over his head, arching his back and feeling the satisfying loosening of his muscles. He rubbed at his eyes, bringing the world back into focus and continued on his way down the street towards the Odaan's hall. It had been a late night, but he had eventually gotten everything he had needed done. The letter to Corinth's family had been drafted and sent. Solvey was doing much better, or rather it seemed like she was doing much better seeing as they had her on some cocktail of drugs that dulled her pain and made it so that she couldn't feel it as they set and splinted her bones back in place.

According to the Healers that he had talked to, it was almost a sure thing she would make a decent recovery, though it would take some time, and the likelihood she would ever be able to do Order work again was next to none. She had been badly injured and though they had been able to straighten out the broken bones in her legs and arms, as well as wrap her ribs tight to prevent shifting she wouldn't be up and moving anytime soon.

The sun was just rising over the edge of the wall as he made his way towards Illune's square. He stopped by a stall and bought a chewets pie for breakfast, and was surprised when he rounded the corner and found that the square of Illune packed to the brim with Order members. Realizing there was a high stakes duel about to start he pushed his way forward, shoving through the decent-sized crowd until he ran into just the man he was looking for.

"Oh Loren," he called to the man standing on a wooden crate, paper ledger in his hands writing down bets and names as they were called to him. Loren was a tall man, fair-skinned and with short sandy hair, a blonde beard, and a truly massive set of feline ears on top of his head, rotating left and right as people called out to him. He turned his head to look at Michaeleen and smiled. "What is going on here?" he asked the man, fingering his coin purse and wishing for what had to be the thousandth time that he was stronger-willed. If he had been then perhaps he wouldn't have been ready to spend all the money he carried on a bet like he was about to do.

"Oy, Michaeleen, some idiot is about to duel your cousin," he said, a big grin on his face. Michaeleen shook his head, it seemed like every other week someone would challenge Lisika to a duel, and in the two years she had been in the Order of Odann she hadn't lost a single duel. You would think that by now people would see that it wasn't worth it, but inevitably there was always some idiot in the world ready to try and push his luck. "Odds are 400/1 against him," Loren smiled and Michaeleen reached his hand up wanting to get on top of the box to see this idiot that everyone was betting against.

As he got up and could see the fight the easy smile on Michaeleen's face froze. It wasn't some idiot standing there ready to get humiliated, it was Duren. As he looked, first at his cousin and then at the man who had so effortlessly slain that cyclops thoughts rushed through his mind. Normally on principal he would have cast his lot with Lisika, not simply because she was the best, which she was, but also because she was family, but now…

"1 tigg on Duren," he said, and only then realized he had said it aloud because the crowd had grown silent. Everyone in the crowd was looking at him, eyebrows raised, including Lisika. She gave him a puzzled look and all he could do was shrug in answer. "What was the wager?" he asked, leaning over to the furiously scribbling Loren, who thrust the book out to him to sign, after all the bet he had just placed down was simply an extraordinary amount. Without hesitation Michaeleen took the quill and signed.

"If she wins he is to leave the Order hall and never return," Michaeleen nodded his head, it was a common enough tactic she used. Likely Duren had gone to talk to her and she had been annoyed by him, he had seen all of that before.

"And when he wins?" he asked, Loren's ears pricked up at the when, not the if that he had used.

"Her hand in marriage," Loren said, and Michaeleen choked on the bite of pie he had been eating, "all bets are final," Loren quickly said as he thumped Michaeleen on the back to help clear the airways.

"Yeah, yeah, that's fine." Michaeleen waved him off straightening back up. "I was just surprised is all, my bet still stands." He saw Lisika's ears twitch at that, she had always had ridiculously good hearing, and there was no doubt in Michaeleen's mind that she had heard what he had just said. She looked at him, an incredulous look on her face, and all he could do was simply shrug at her.

Duren sat the pack down at the base of the statue of Illune, next to a chip in a square rock under the goddess’ left foot,leaving it there as he walked over to the open area. There were a lot more people here to watch it than he had thought would show up, not only the people from the Order's hall but also people simply walking by that had simply seen the commotion and wanted to find out exactly what was going on.

The goddess Illune didn't have temples, apparently she had always thought that such things were confining to her children, instead her followers had squares set up in each major city where legal matters could be handled. Illune's priests would also travel the countryside, in fact there were quite a few of them, and they had some talent to be where they were most needed. As a priest or priestess of Illune they acted as judges, mediators, and very rarely executioners. They also kept judicious track of everything, meaning that to make a duel official and legally binding beyond one's own moral choice to follow the agreement meant you needed a priest of Illune to record the wager and the results.

Duren had not intended for this to happen, he had planned on staying true to the letter and spirit of the agreement, but he couldn't hold it against her if she didn't know that. After all, how would she know if he was an honorable man? She had just met him.

"Please state your name here in front of the goddess and in front of man," the priestess was a middle-aged woman, who had somehow not only retained her beauty through age but had also augmented it with a look of proud wisdom.

"Lisika of Khydalaa, she said, her head held high and proud, she looked at him, almost like she was waiting for something, he didn't know what, but she had a slightly dejected look when he didn't react.

"It's a very pretty name," he said, thinking that perhaps she was upset at him not complimenting her or something, the old man had always said women liked to be complimented. Her cheeks darkened and her eyes narrowed at his words, but she did not smile.

"And your name?" the priestess asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Oh, sorry, I am Duren of the Wilderlands," the old man had told him of this convention, apparently only nobility had proper last names, and everyone else would simply state their place of birth, or if they were practitioners of a craft or trade they would use that as their last name. The priestess nodded and wrote in her book, before coming close to him and saying in a voice only he could hear;

"And what Duren of the Wilderlands do you wager before the goddess?" she asked, the wager was always kept between the two duelists until the victor was declared, it was a matter of both practicality as well as honor, if for example one man claimed another had cheated him out of money with an underhanded business deal then declaring such out loud could taint the reputation of the man before the duel even began. Theoretically this kept it between the goddess and the contestant, thus making it the goddess's choice as to who would win and therefore making them the favored in her eyes, in practice however most situations were like this one, where everyone knew what the wager was, still traditions had to be kept.

"I wager my presence," Duren said, "should I lose then under the goddess Illune's ever-watchful gaze I will depart, never to return," he said, making sure to follow the procedure and to speak his intentions clearly and concisely for the records. The priestess nodded and wrote his words down in the ledger, thereby formalizing them both legally to man as well as to Illune. No matter the outcome now he was bound by it before goddess and man now. The priestess walked over to Lisika and likely repeated the same question to her, Duren couldn't really tell, seeing as just as she had spoken with him, the priestess kept her voice low as she spoke with her.

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"It is done, and it is recorded," the priestess said as she stepped back and out of the way of the two of them. "Before man and goddess, you may begin." Lisika drew her sword, holding it low at her side and waiting for him to draw his.

"Before we begin I will need to borrow a comparable sword," he said, patting the greatsword at his side lovingly. "All I have is this and it would not be a fair fight."

"It matters not," she said, a soft breeze causing her silvery hair to move in an elegant dance. Now that he could see her properly in the sunlight her beauty was all the more enticing, it also allowed him to judge her age a little better; she was right around his, perhaps a year or two older.

"It matters not?" he asked, a note of incredulity in his voice. "It matters a great deal, one should not underestimate the reach of another's blade-"

"Those that do estimate no more," she finished the old man's saying and took a step closer, "it matters not, skill can overcome shortcomings."

"Well yes, if two are of equivalent skill then technique with the blade will make up the difference, but allowing me to have such an advantage would just compound your disadvantage," he said, and watched as her cheeks darkened, she did that a lot, it was odd, and for some reason people in the crowd started coughing.

"Draw your sword," she hissed, and with a shrug Duren did so, making sure to do a proper courtly bow at his opponent, after all, that was one of the procedures that had been drilled into him by the old man.

Lisika paused as he bowed to her, warning signs going off in her head, she curtsied back at him. From his elegant movement when drawing that massive sword and how he had automatically bowed like he had done this thousands of times before she was getting a touch worried, add that to the fact that her cousin had bet against her and-

She put it out of her mind, focusing instead on the man in front of her. She looked at him, really looked at him for the first time. He was taller than her by a head, perhaps a head and a half, not that such was anything odd when it came to men, and he had long red hair that he held back in a queue with a leather thong. His emerald green eyes sized her up, and she got the distinct impression that there was nothing sexual about the look, simply a man sizing up his target and assessing where to best strike. He moved either like a trained dancer or a skilled fighter, his center of gravity lowered as he moved almost like it was second nature for him.

As he stalked right, holding the blade in a low guard, one hand under the crossguard, the other on the pummel to give himself the most leverage possible and to make the blade as agile as possible. Lisika darted in, intent on using her speed to get around him, she cut low and right aiming for his forward leading leg, his low guard made it easy for him to block the blow as all he had to do was shift the blade over to protect himself, but as he did so she angled her own blade so that instead of her blade striking and stopping dead against his own the force of her blow would cause it to slide up his blade, allowing her to more easily redirect the cut.

Or at least that had been what she intended, instead of blocking like she had been expecting he simply stepped back. Her blade came into contact with neither another blade nor his leg and the momentum of the swing threw herself off balance slightly, which was exactly when he pressed forward. He brought his sword up, point directed at her throat and stepped forward again. She brought her own sword up in time to parry the thrust pushing the blade to the right side of her neck just barely.

She got the distinct impression that he was holding back, the thrust while not slow, had been well within his own ability to pull, which made sense, seeing as her being dead would have been no good to him. She danced back out of reach from his blade and started circling right, in response he was circling left, blade in a relaxed middle guard.

In the two exchanges they had she had learned a lot, and none of it was comforting. He was quick, and his movements were quick, controlled, and calculated. She looked him in the eye and once again saw nothing there, it was as though he was a blank slate, no intentions to read, simply a force of nature, like he was as inevitable as a storm.

He closed in, sword still held in middle guard, and she moved as well. This time it was a quick false edge cut, and she brought her sword up to meet it, the sound of metal on metal ringing out loudly and clearly, he used the force of their blades connecting to divert the path of his cut bringing the rising blade back down in an opposite angle, and she was hard-pressed to parry this one as well.

This was not how she was used to fighting, here the heavier longer reach of his blade added to his strength and height cause each blow she was forced to block to shake her arms and strain her muscles, she was wearing down and she knew it, and she was getting a distinct impression that he wasn't even trying. It was something in the infuriatingly casual way he was pressing her. Every time they engaged she knew she had several openings that he could have exploited but he never did, and just when she thought her arms would go numb from the blows he would pull back.

Duels for her had always been quick, a parry or two and she would have her swordpoint somewhere lethal or debilitating and she would be the winner, but here, no matter where she cut, no matter how she attacked he was never there, he was always twisting out of the way, moving ever so slightly, and the look on his face…

He looked bored…

It pissed her off, and that anger and the anger she had built over the last few months towards her father and his wants that to him mattered more than her own, and and-

She heard the sound of someone screaming, and it took her a moment to realize it was a scream coming from her own throat, all the pent up anger, all the pent up rage at the injustice of a world that seemed to want to force her into a role that she herself didn't wish just broke free and loose. She pressed the attack, her anger giving her new speed and strength as well as clearing her mind.

Duren's eyes lit up as Lisika’s attack pushed forward, he knew that look, knew it all too well as he had made it himself many many times when he was fighting the old man. This fire that burned in her was not anger, not even rage, as both of those would have wiped her mind clean of all thinking and rational, this, inner fire as it was, instead sharpened oneself, pushed them to new limits. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, he had been getting bored with the fight, now however…

He decided to actually put forth a bit of effort, wanting to see how far she could hold up, he stepped forward, She thrust low, and he slid to the side, allowing the blade to pass under his arm and right beside his ribs. She attempted to sweep the blade up and into his armpit area but he had already danced to the side, letting go of his blade for the briefest of moments to slip past her sword. He didn't attack, simply parried or dodged, waiting for the right moment when.

Liska thrust the blade at his throat, putting all her strength and sped she had left in one last strike, he answered with a quick twist of his blade, bringing it up and rolling it, the force of her thrust diverted down towards the ground, and as she stumbled forward, she felt a sharp pain, like the sting of a bee on her collarbone, and looking down she saw that the tip of his blade was resting there at the base of her throat, it had barely broken the skin, and the smallest rivulet of blood ran down her chest and between her breasts. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply before standing up straight and bowing to him.

"It is my defeat," she said as she straightened up, and he bowed back at her.

"It was well fought," he said a smile on his face. She didn't want to, but she found herself smiling back at him, what was worse was the realization that she might even be able to like him, after all it took dedication and hard work to master the blade, which meant it was something they had in common, which already made him a damn sight better than the average noble.

"How old are you?" She asked.

"Seventeen," he said, "and you?"

"Nineteen, and I haven't lost a duel before today, not since I started dueling in earnest,"

"Really?" He asked, eyebrows raised, "I lose all the damn time," it had the ring of a statement of simple fact, but Lisika felt her mouth open and close several times before she was able to respond.

"What?" She croaked out, it was one thing to learn she was not as good as she thought, but it was another thing entirely to learn the man that had so effortlessly beaten her was himself beaten frequently.

"Yeah," he sighed, "the old man wins more than half the time," he shook his head with a look of dejection on his face. She was about to ask who this old man was but before she could the priestess stepped forward and spoke in a loud voice.

"Before man and goddess, Duren of the Wilderlands has calmed righteous victory, are there any who protest this claim?" None could, and none did. "Then it is so," and with that the full weight of the fact that she was now betrothed to this Duren finally hit Lisika square in the gut.