Bereft of his kill, his plan shattered, Dast’s mind raced as he considered backup options. He knew Ryker wouldn’t go for the truth he wanted to share, that he had to fight in the tournament so that he could make Khrom look a fool and win Ava’s heart–even in his own mind it seemed a tad grandiose. He had learned from repetition that his uncle’s answer to any altercation was to walk Dast through the options he had available other than fighting, and the truth was he didn’t want that. He was sick of all of the years of talking, which hadn’t resolved anything. Khrom still treated him like trash. He was the one walking away from the group, just as it had always been.
A small voice in the back of his mind warned him that he wasn’t being fair, that he enjoyed his life, loved his uncle, and was generally happy. But in his anger, he pushed it aside.
No, he couldn’t simply talk through this with his uncle, and he didn’t want to. Bypassing his street, he continued deeper into the town, barely noticing the looks people gave his bedraggled appearance. Within 10 minutes, he approached the town hall. Fearing he would lose his nerve, he stared directly ahead of himself and marched through the doors, pulling up short when he saw the twenty-man line waiting in front of him.
Apparently everyone is waiting til the last day to sign up, figures. He lamented.
Ignoring the disgusted looks at his blood-spattered clothing, he stubbornly waited the long minutes, doing his best to keep his head up and remain determined. It was a lesson in stubbornness, as the exuberant voice and joking banter from the man behind the counterAfter a half-span, it was finally his turn.
Graf, the town recorder who was more jolly and possessed a larger paunch than anyone else in the township, called him forward without looking up from whatever he was scribbling down on the document in front of him. “Next!”
“Hi Graf,” he began, his voice serious, “I have come to sign up for the Summertide Festival Tournament.”
A large finger was held up, instructing him to silence. After a few seconds of wondering why he had been called forward when he still had to wait, the heavily bearded face looked up and brown, twinkling eyes found his own.
“Dast, my boy! It is good to see you!” Graf bellowed joyfully, his voice pitching lower as Dast’s full appearance was taken in “Are you doing ok, lad? You look a bit worse for the ware.”
“Yeah, I’m fine…” Dast said, hoping to end the line of questioning.
“...I took a spill while carrying a buck home today. This is its blood, not mine.” He continued after a few painful moments meeting Graf’s patient gaze which made it clear he wouldn’t be signing up for anything without a decent explanation.
“And you decided to come to sign up before you went home and cleaned up?”
“I just didn’t want to miss the deadline.” Dast said, pleased that he had come up with something that sounded natural.
“Er, right. Well, at any rate, I am glad you're ok and I’m happy that someone from your household is signing up. You have no idea how many times I’ve told Ryker to join–an ox like him should be able to hold his own even if he is as uncoordinated as he claims.” He said while spanning his arms out to illustrate the blacksmith’s girth.
“Yeah, he is really only good at hammering things.” Dast said, his usual response to people mentioning Ryker’s reticence to compete.
Dast, had to hold back a chuckle. It was an ongoing joke between him and Ryker–always the type of guardian to lead by example, Ryker had been telling people for years that he wasn’t good with a blade so he wouldn’t be dragged into local tournaments. This worked for him; being that he was half-again as thick as most men, no one overly pressured him about it.
“Well, I hope to see that those genes haven’t found their way to you.” Graf said goodnaturedly. “I’ll put you down for a spot. Just be sure not to get hurt or else we may have to see what Ryker is capable of.”
Dast urged his face not to change at the mention of Ryker’s anger, which he would be facing sometime in the next week.
“Thanks, Graf.” he managed to say without sounding suspicious.
“It’s my job.” he smiled before lowering his voice yet again, “Now go get cleaned up before your appearance ruins all your future prospects in this town.”
Feeling relieved to have crossed the first hurdle, Dast exited the building as Graf loudly called for the next person in line.
As he walked home, he thought about how, when, and what he would tell his uncle. He had never gone behind his back like this before–sure, he had made mistakes and lied on occasion, as everyone did, but this felt different. He knew Ryker didn’t want him to compete and he was going behind his back and competing anyways. It felt like a betrayal, and he considered backing out of the tournament. However, thoughts of Ava and Khrom immediately made him dismiss that idea–at this point, a withdrawal would look cowardly in a way that was unrecoverable. That didn’t mean he didn’t consider it multiple times though.
At length, he simply decided to wait a few days before he told Ryker anything. Maybe if he did enough around the house, his uncle would be understanding.
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Ryker made his way through town, a heavy bundle of platemail for the captain of the guard wrapped and yoked across his shoulders. He barely felt its weight as he looked around at the decorations for the festival which was only two days away. This was always one of his favorite parts of the year because of the memories he and Dast would make. He felt a bit of nostalgia as he thought back on everything they had shared together and realized that those days would soon be coming to an end. At nearly 15, Dast was almost a man. The thought seemed absurd, but in both Somir and Crimea, he would be tried as an adult in court in just over a year.
He was unsure what the right thing to do was. He didn’t like his odds of facing off against 6 other blades and winning the prince the kingdom, but it seemed cowardly and wrong to keep living in hiding. At some point, he would have to tell Dast everything, and he worried what that would do to their relationship. A relationship which had been very rewarding of late–Dast had been especially helpful over the last few days and it felt like he was reaping the rewards of good parenting.
His thoughts were interrupted by a loud shout, “Ryker, you overworked dog! It’s good to see you out of the forge this early in the day!”
A grin split his face as he replied, “I could say the same for you, Graf, you pudgy cave bear. The way you sit in the town hall writing, you may as well be hibernating.”
“Hah! And this from the man who has lived here for over a decade, and yet has never joined us at the tavern for a drink.”
“Well, it’s hard to be watching out for Dast if I am out late and hungover. I want the boy to have a good example–the example his father would have set for him.” He said honestly.
“You’re a good man, Ryker, and you’ve done well with the boy. I don’t know what his father was like, but seems to me that you have filled that role as well as anyone could’ve.” Never one to let somberness linger, Graf ribbed him with a fat arm and chuckle, “Soon though you won’t have an excuse–he’ll be a man and you’ll have to join us.”
“Ohh, you have me there!” Ryker laughed.
They talked for a few minutes longer, before making their excuses and continuing on with their business. As Ryker stooped to retrieve the cargo he had set down, Graf’s parting words made his blood run cold.
“Oh, and I am proud of you for letting Dast enter the tournament. I know some of the other village boys were starting to talk, and since you’re not fond of the blade, it is especially impressive that you are hearing what he wants and enabling him. It is very progressive of you.”
“What…? Dast isn’t in the tournament, what do you mean?” He asked sharply.
Not catching the change in mood, Graf waved a hand as he walked away “Don’t try to pull a fast one on me Ryker, he came and signed up days ago.”
Sadness and hurt welled up inside of Ryker, but more than anything, a burning anger unlike anything he had felt in recent years ignited within him. Still carrying the platemail, he turned and rushed home.
“I don’t care if he is the prince, I’ll tan his hide.” he growled under his breath.
The quarter-span walk was completed in record time as his thoughts raced. At some point, however, experience won out. Dast was too old to be belted, and besides, that had never been Ryker’s way of parenting. No, he would do as he always had. He would ask questions, listen, keep and even temper, and help guide Dast down the right path.
The door slamming behind him was the first indication that his emotions weren’t completely in control though, and he hated the small flare of satisfaction he felt when Dast jumped at the loud noise. Taking a deep breath to center himself, he simply stared at the prince, watching as confusion turned to realization which turned to horror on the boy’s face. When it became clear they were both thinking about the same topic, he began.
“So, I ran into Graph near market street today.”
“Oh, you did?”
“Yes, and he told me something very interesting, Dast. Care to hazard a guess what that was?”
Eyes downcast, the boy replied, “I am sorry, Uncle, I was going to tell you–”
A pulse of fury broke through the surface of his forcefully created calm and he cut the explanation off, “Oh, when were you thinking of doing that? The day of the tournament? Right before entering the ring? I thought I had made myself very clear–you are not entering the tournament.”
He knew a mistake had been made as soon as he gave into the emotion, but it was confirmed as he watched Dast’s angry face mirror his own.
“Why not? I’m almost a man now and can make my own decisions. Don’t I do enough around here? Don’t I always listen to you? Why is this your decision?” Dast said, the volume of his voice rising with each sentence until he was nearly screaming.
“We’ve been over this, Dast.” Ryker sighed in frustration, doing his best to calm down. “It is too dangerous. Why risk getting hurt in a local tournament?”
“Yeah, we have been over this. And maybe you feel that way, but I don’t. I’m not scared. I want to compete. Besides, at this point, I can’t back out.”
“What do you mean?”
Over the next couple of minutes, Dast told him about his run-in with Khrom and Ava. Both worried him. Khrom was a conniving fool–the product of feeling big in a small town. He knew that there had been some small fight between them as children, but thought it would have ended at that. Ava was a different problem that he didn’t know how to deal with. Dast wasn’t in a position to fall for a village girl. His betrothal aside, he needed someone by his side that could help share the load of running a kingdom.
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“And now that I have signed up, I would not only look like a coward in front of Khrom and Ava, but also the whole town.” Dast concluded.
Neither of them said anything for a few minutes. Ryker noticed the way Dast was breathing rapidly as an indicator of the emotions he felt. He almost caved, but thoughts of King Angar stopped him. Yes, he was a foster-father to Dast, but first and foremost, he was his guardian and protector. He wasn’t willing to risk it for the Summertide Festival.
One thing had become clear in the last couple of minutes, they needed to leave. They had stayed here long enough and events were pushing them forward. He didn’t know those events were being driven by destiny or not, and it didn’t really matter because the outcome was the same. He hoped, however, that they had a few years still ahead of them before Dast had to know his lineage.
Breathing in deeply through his nose and out through his mouth, he restored calmness so he could better break the news.
“I’m sorry Dast, but you can't compete.” He began to respond, cutting off the prince when he tried to cut in, “No, listen. I understand that you want to, but as your guardian, I am forbidding it. As for looking like a coward, I have a way out. Tomorrow morning we are leaving to visit your aunt and grandma in Cremea. It has been seven years since they visited us and it is high time we went their way. We are going to stay for a while, so bring everything you think you’ll be wanting for the next few months.”
Dast’s face, which had been softening in the moments where he had explained himself, showed outrage at the situation. “That’s the plan? You always tell me I need to face problems head on, but now we are just running away with our tail between our legs like licked dogs? Well, I hate that plan and I am not going.”
“You’ll go, even if I have to tie you to the back of the cart.” Ryker replied, his voice even and brooking absolutely no argument. He hated feeling like he was threatening Dast, and he had never had to do it in the past, but in his anger and his desire to protect him, he meant every word.
Outrage was replaced by hurt. Without speaking another word, Dast stormed past him and out of the house, the door slamming behind him in a mimicry of Ryker’s entrance, which the Blade Bearer didn’t fail to notice. He simply stared after him, his massive shoulders slumping slightly as his emotions and thoughts raced.
In all of their years together, this was the biggest argument they had ever been in, and it was the first time that Dast had so blatantly lied and shown disrespect. Not, that he himself had been much better–he, who was supposed to set an example, had let anger get in the way of rational thought. After brief but careful consideration, he decided to let the prince burn off some of his anger and hurt before they talked again.
“I’ll go find him in an hour.” he said to the empty kitchen.
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Dast wandered in a haze, his brain trying to comprehend everything that had happened: the fight with his uncle, the impending travel–far further than he had ever gone, running away from Khrom. The implications were vast, and his emotions were more poignant than he fad felt in a long time, causing his eyes to water slightly.
Suppressing what felt like a child-like and unmanly reaction, he chose to simply process each thing by itself, trying to understand why he felt so hurt and angry. Surprising to himself was the fact that the majority of the pain came from the lack of understanding Ryker had shown and the gulf that suddenly seemed to separate them. His crush on Ava felt paltry in comparison.
Still, she should at least know the truth of the matter. I need to tell her why I am leaving and that I am not simply running away. With a clear path forward, he felt the remaining dregs of anger fade away and he made his way to her house in a slow, reluctant walk. Even if he felt good about this course of action, it didn’t make it any easier. He just hoped she would understand.
All too soon, he stood before her door, and he raised his hand to knock, only to find himself hesitating.
“Well, are you going to knock or not?” a voice asked sweetly from behind him.
Turning to the sound, he saw Ava standing a few feet away. In the early evening light, her honey-gold hair seemed to glow, framing her face like a divine being. Her green dress accentuated her eyes and the gentle curve of her soft lips left him speechless. She always had this effect on him, but knowing that he would be leaving and not knowing what would transpire before he returned only heightened his awareness of her beauty and his longing for her.
“Uh, Dast, heh. You are staring.” she said, breaking partially into the stupor her presence had induced as she blushed and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
“You’re beautiful.” He said, in a surprisingly steady voice, the words not fully registering to himself for a few rapid heartbeats. His heart shuddered in exultation and embarrassment at his boldness, unsure where it had come from. Exultation won out when her blush deepened and she smiled shily.
“Why thank you, Dast. That is especially nice to hear from you.” His chest nearly exploded at the words and he felt chills tickle the back of his neck and ears.
Unsure what to say or do in this completely uncharted territory, and not wanting the moment to end, he racked his brain for what he should do next as he continued to look into her eyes. Always better at navigating social interactions, she came to his rescue.
“So, you were coming to see me?” The slight huskiness in her voice intrigued him and made the simple question feel worthy of a ballad. But then in preparing his response, he remembered why he had come and the energy of the moment seemed to dim
“Uh.. yeah. I wanted to tell you in person, so that you didn’t think I was a coward.” he said, his anxiety of what he was about to say returning all at once.
“Tell me what, Dast? I would never think of you as a coward.” She said as she stepped closer to him, her eyes laced with concern. Her words and nearness encouraged him and restored some of the momentum that he had lost.
Something about her always pulled more information from him than he initially planned, and he found himself telling her the full truth. “My uncle has forbidden me to enter the tournament. He says it is too dangerous. In order to ensure that I don’t compete, he is taking me away for a few months.”
His voice picked up speed as he rushed to tell her everything before he lost courage. “I am sorry that I won’t be able to–”
Suddenly her face raced up to his and he felt her hand on the back of his neck as she pulled his lips to hers. For a few brief heartbeats his entire existence was concentrated solely in the soft feel of her lips and the gentle pressure of her hand on his neck.
“What was that for?” He asked breathlessly as she pulled away, the need to know outweighing his longing for the experience to continue
“For trusting me with the truth. That’s what I love about you, Dast. You see me for more than just my beauty and ability to bear children. When you look at me, I feel valued.”
“Then you aren’t mad at me?” He asked, though the real focus of his mind was on the use of the word ‘Love’. Was that how she felt about him?
“Nope.” She said sweetly, “If anything I think more of you for listening to your uncle.”
“Well, now you’ve done it, Runt. You’ve reached above your station and I’ll be forced to teach you a lesson.” A sneering voice said from behind the still close pair, shattering the magic of the moment that had somehow been created from their two hearts.
“I’m not yours, Khrom, and I never will be.” Ava said coolly.
Khrom’s eyes narrowed briefly at her before turning to Dast. “Need a woman to talk for you, brat? Or are you going to explain what you are doing with my woman?”
Dast eyed the three armed men standing a few feet away from him and decided to tell the truth. “I’m leaving Khrom. My uncle is taking me away and I won’t be able to be at the tournament.”
“Hah, couldn’t stand to face me, could you, coward? Well, unfortunately, you’re not getting out of this that easily. But don’t worry, after your uncle takes what’s left of you away, I’ll make sure to take good care of Ava.”
“No, Khrom, don’t. Please!” Ava begged as she pushed in front of Dast, shielding his body with her own as the bigger man approached.
Dast hated that she was trying to protect him, but markedly different from a few days prior, he didn’t resent the protection, realizing where it came from. Despite understanding, he couldn’t allow her to fight his battles.
Taking her gently by the shoulders, he moved her aside and stepped forward. “I don’t want to fight you, Khrom.” He stated, meaning every word. He wasn’t scared, but fighting wouldn’t solve anything and Ryker’s recent warning of fighting was fresh in his mind.
“Too bad, because I want to fight you.” Khrom said as he drew his sword. Dast noticed out of the corner of his eye that even his two cronies seemed uncomfortable with the situation.
“Is it to be a duel then?” Dast asked, realizing he stood no chance against Khrom without a weapon of his own and looking for a way out. A duel was more official and highly discouraged and might help cool the situation down. And if not, hopefully after the first few clashes Khrom would realize a duel wasn’t what he wanted, it wasn’t like either of them had any experience fighting to maim or kill with real swords afterall.
“Hah. I was going to just cut you up a bit, but this way I can do some real damage without risking punishment.” Khrom agreed. “Geralf, throw him your sword.”
When the named oaf hesitated, Khrom angrily turned and pulled the sword from the man's belt. “Next time, listen to me.” He hissed as he turned back towards Dast.
Something in Khrom’s eye warned Dast that something was coming, and he had already pushed Ava back with one hand when Khrom tossed the sword gruffly towards Dast in what could barely be considered hilt first. He was close behind the blade, his sword already coming down.
Instinct took over and as Dast’s fingers closed around the handle and he moved out of position of the incoming blade, a small part of his mind registered that all of those times Ryker had tossed the training sword to him had had a purpose.
His underhanded tactic failing, Khrom’s face contorted in anger and he followed up with a bellow and two uncontrolled, powerful swings. Ryker would sometimes use these types of attacks to create distance and put Dast on his backfoot when sparring, but it was always only a feint and a real strike would always come shortly after. Dast expected Khrom to follow this same pattern, so the fact that his strikes were actually just brash and uncontrolled served as a hindrance to Dast’s ability to dodge, and he barely got out of the way in time. Although, a burning pain in his offhanded bicep let him know that he hadn’t remained unscathed.
The sight of his own blood served to cool his mind. This was a real fight. He wasn’t sparring. He couldn’t rely on patterns. With the change in mindset, the next five attacks, which had glaring openings that Dast purposefully avoided, were easily dodged, and Khrom yelled in frustration.
“Quit being so slippery, brat! Fight me like a man!”
Still reluctant to actually fight, and not wanting to hurt Khrom despite hating the man, he didn’t reward him with a reply. Instead, he raised his sword into Dragon Defends the Mountain and waited.
“Aaargh” Khrom screamed as he charged in, lashing out ungracefully with his sword like a chicken battering its wings, as he sought to land a hit. But try as he might, he was unable to draw further blood.
After a few minutes of constant exertion, the mayor’s son could barely lift his sword and Dast stepped back, giving them space. The hate he saw reflected in his opponent’s face let him know that had once been a childhood rivalry had become unadulterated hatred. He would have to watch out for Khrom for the rest of his life. Still, thoughts of Ryker filled his mind, and wanting to find a peaceful resolution, he lowered his sword.
“Let’s call the duel here, Khrom. You have drawn blood,” he said proffering his arm, “and we can declare you the victor.”
Khrom spat at his feet, but lowered his sword as well. Relief flooded him at having traversed such a tight situation and he turned to Ava, giving her a smile, which she returned.After only an instant, her smiling eyes changed to horror. Once again trusting his instinct, Dast turned, raising his sword into a proper guard stance.
A heavy resistance and a smattering of wetness across his face, were the first sensations he noticed, as his eyes took in Khrom’s failed attack. An instant later, he saw his assailant, his sword was held over his head in a two-handed swing, his eyes were fixed in fury, and a blade pierced his throat. My blade. He mentally corrected as the bully who had tormented him his entire life gurgled hoarsely and crumpled to the ground.
He faintly heard Ava screaming as he stared at the bloodied sword in his hand, but then the bile building in his throat took precedence, and he crouched down and began retching next to Khrom’s lifeless body.
After only a few moments, a steady, vice-like grip pulled his shoulder back and he saw Ryker’s face. He felt no surprise at his uncle’s presence in the moment, he was always there when he was needed, and Dast allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.
“Go home and tell your father everything, Ava.” Ryker commanded as he guided Dast back towards their house.
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How could I have let him out of my sight in this condition? Ryker mentally berated himself as he pulled Dast’s mildly delirious body through the streets. He knew the words weren’t totally fair, that the worry he felt upon seeing Dast’s blood covered body for the second time in a week was fueling his self loathing.
On top of that, he felt for what Dast was going through. He was too young to be experiencing his first kill and the pain and confusion it caused in most men. He knew soldiers who had never been the same after taking a life and were reduced to shells of their former selves. There wasn’t anything he could do but be there for him once the shock wore all.
He was confident that Dast hadn’t started the fight, although after their earlier conversation, he wasn’t positive that he hadn’t been a willing participant. But for the present moment, he paid that no mind. His largest concern was that Mayor Orville was a vengeful man who wouldn’t take kindly to his son being killed. Their plans to leave had just been moved up.
A few minutes later he ushered the prince into their house. “Go to your room and get two pairs of clothes, a pair of boots and then meet me back here.”
Not waiting to see if his orders were being carried out, he hastened to the kitchen and began stowing as much food as he could into a couple of burlap sacks. He had a few wax covered storage bags behind the forge that he had kept stocked and ready for emergencies, but those were full of hard rations that were optimized for shelf-life rather than taste and this fresher food would be a nice addition to their diet in the hard days to come.
With the food collected, he made his way to his room and grabbed a spare change of clothes before making his way back to the kitchen. As he strode through the room and towards the forge, he stopped at the secret compartment, pulling the Katana of Speed from where it rested for years. A feeling like he had woken from a long dream surged through him as he felt his physical capabilities heighten and the blade’s strains filled his mind. It was a heady feeling that had once been his constant companion that he had been bereft of for over a decade and he paused to relish it.
“What’s that?” Dast’s voice asked in wonder, breaking him from his reverie.