Stormkeep’s Dueling Grounds

I’m not Von the Great Swordsman, he thought, but I am also not Von the Lazy Lord. It was impossible to be the same person when everyone started treating you differently. And a lot of things change in five years, even if your mind doesn’t. He could recall five years before to the exact day—it really felt as though it had only been a few weeks before. Yet his body had changed in that time. His muscles had grown, despite some obvious muscle loss as he recovered from his injuries. At some point in time, he must have trained so hard as to dismantle his old body entirely and built it anew.

Sometimes it even felt hard to sleep now. So plentiful was his energy that he needed to burn it somehow lest he be kept awake by a body that desired stimulation, like a voracious mind in need of a book. Once upon a time, my safe place would have been the library. It still was, in a lot of ways. He still loved reading above almost all else. Yet, after speaking to Talla, after feeling his nerves heighten, he had come here - why?

It was a closed room near the hot springs. Tall ceilings despite the underground nature of the place, illuminated by a set of bright Fairstones hanging from the wall and shading the room in its green hue. A gentle breeze came in from the staircase and kept it at an even temperature. Planted on every corner of the room was a set of swords of different sizes and handles.

Von stood at the center, feeling a sense of deep disquiet. “What do I even do here to relax?” he muttered. “Do I just…grab a sword and slash at the air?”

“Footwork first, kid,” a new voice said, “always footwork first!” The man who entered was tall with broad shoulders and thick arms; a slender build unlike most in Stormhelm. White had started to touch his for-now-still-brown slicked back hair, but something about his movement made it feel as though he were still nearly as agile as he had been in his youth. But what made him stand out the most were his eyes: they glowed white. They reminded Von of those little glowing crystals found in the depths below Stormhelm.

Yet, it was his demeanor that caught Von's attention, more so than his appearance. He had a sort of carefree attitude about him, a smirk as if he was in on a joke nobody else quite knew, yet a sort of recentness in his eyes as if he was ready to suddenly leap forward and chastise Von for something.

Though he did not remember the man, something deep in his body told him to stand up straight and bow respectfully. “I was wondering how many more weeks it would be before you showed up here,” the man grunted. At Von’s blank stare, he added, “I’m Cycle—your coach. Master if you will insist. Ready to start over?”

“I—I don’t know.” Von’s eyes continued to widen, but before he could mount an objection Master Cycle had walked past him and was grabbing a sword. I have to say something before he keeps—I don’t even know what he’s doing! “I don’t remember anything,” he told the older man. “I’m…I’m sorry, master. I have heard much about how much you have done for me. But I’m afraid I don’t remember anything.”

Master Cycle appeared unconcerned. He sifted through the pile of swords attempting to find one to his liking and frowned at every attempt. “So? That’s fine. You did it once. Can do it again.” He turned around suddenly. “What about your reflexes?”

“I—I think they are gone too, Master.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes?”

A sword flew in the air and Von was thankful it went over his head, for he did not dodge it in time. He glanced at the fallen weapon, then back at his master, and upon meeting a stern gaze went to grab it. “Hold it by the handle,” Master Cycle said. “Hm. Yes…looks like your body forgot how to use that sword.”

It was a thrusting sword with very little of a cutting edge so to speak. Quick, surprisingly good at parries, but hardly efficient at cutting. And Von was holding the handle wrong. “It’s like a handshake,” Master Cycle said. “You want to be pinching the grip between your index finger—going underneath the grip, there you go—and your thumb—going over the grip, just like that—how does it feel?”

Von focused, trying to recall any sort of hidden familiarity, a lost feeling that had suddenly reemerged. He found nothing and shook his head. But…I do enjoy holding a sword. Even if it’s a new feeling.

“That’s fine. You don’t need to remember anything else. Just start over. Step by step. Sounds good?”

“I…Master Cycle!” Von called out suddenly. “I don’t even know if this is what I want to do. It doesn’t feel like something I would ever have done before.”

The older man studied his disciple for a moment and nodded slowly. “Von, sit here with me for a moment. Let’s talk.”

“I cannot waste your time like that, Master. I might not be committed to swordsmanship, but if you are here to teach me, I must—“

“Will you get your head out of your ass for a moment?” Master Cycle grunted. “A coa—Master’s job is more than to teach how to win. It’s to teach you how to grow.” He sat down on the floor, leaning his back against a wall, and gestured at Von to sit beside him. “Come on, kid. What are you thinking? You can be vague about it.”

Von hesitated for just a moment before taking a seat beside his master. It can’t hurt, surely. “I just…don’t know what to do.” It was hard to admit it. Since speaking to Talla, he had wanted to say he would duel for her—not because she needed the help, but because it was his duty as Lord of Stormkeep. Yet he dared not say it. “I just don’t know what to do, Master. There are so many expectations on me…and I don’t think I can live up to a single one of them. What am I supposed to do?”

Silence reigned for a moment, but the master swordsman did not allow its tyranny to go by for long. “More,” he muttered.

Von looked at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“More,” Master Cycle repeated. “Whenever you don’t know what you need to do, consider this—will doing nothing solve your feelings? If no…then more. Whatever it is, do more. Until your heart feels at ease.”

“That…does not sound like a perfect answer,” Von replied, picking his words carefully.

“It is not,” his master replied, smiling kindly at him. “But it is my answer.” He put his hand on Von’s head and ruffled his hair. “I look forward to hearing what yours is, kid.”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

For a moment, Von felt at peace. A sort of reassurance he hadn’t felt since waking up from his injury overcame him. A moment later, he shook his head and protested, “I’m not a kid! I’m twenty and three, Master!”

“Aye. But you feel no older than eighteen, do you?”Master Cycle’s voice was stern, but kind. “Do not force yourself to behave as you feel that you should. Do not give me the answers you think I want either. Your coa—Master’s job isn’t just to teach you everything I know.” At Von’s curious glance, he added, “It is to teach you enough that you will arrive at your own answers. Not my answers. Place pressure on your shoulders if you wish, kid. That comes with growing up. But do not let anyone else place that weight on you for as long as you live, hear me? Because that is what really separates the boys from the men.”

“Thank you,” Von said, sincerely. He looked his master in the eye. “I do not remember anything about swords. I do not remember you at all, master. But…I can tell from this conversation that you helped me a lot in the past as well. Even if I can’t remember it, I will forever be grateful.” Suddenly a concerning thought came to him. “I—I heard I was…not the most polite man not too long ago. If I ever offended you, Master—“

Master Cycle laughed heartily at this. “You were a shithead, that’s for sure,” he said. Then, upon noticing Von’s horrified expression, smiled and added, “But you were and always will be my precious student.”

Redgrave’s Glory

The trophy room was dark and quiet when I arrived. In front of me was a huge wooden cabinet that contained the trophies of House Redgrave's champions over the past two centuries. On each pedestal sat various awards, ranging from simple medals for winning a single tournament to enormous crystal pillars that represented multiple wins across numerous tournaments. They all gleamed brightly under the soft lamplight, making the room appear almost magical. “I can't believe that I won some of those trophies,” Von thought aloud, staring down at them curiously.

He couldn't remember any of these moments; he barely knew the names of most of the other swordsmen in the tournaments, and most certainly didn't remember competing for, much less earning those trophies. But they were proof that he had been there before, that he really had been one of the country's greatest swordsmen. It was hard to imagine himself standing proudly on one of those pedestals, holding aloft a large crystal pillar with his name engraved upon it. Yet Von was a Champion, once.

A knock at the open entrance interrupted whatever thoughts ran through his mind. "Come in," he called.

His mother walked inside silently, shutting the doors quietly behind her as she entered the dimly lit chamber. Her footsteps echoed through the vast room, and as she neared he could see how thin she looked.

Her face was gaunt, with sunken cheeks, hollow temples, and a weak chin that hinted at what might have once been a prominent jawline. Dark circles ringed her tired eyes, and she held herself like a broken doll, leaning against the wall with both hands as she tried to catch her breath.

Von hurried forward to embrace his mother, pulling back quickly to take a better look at her. "Are you okay?" he whispered. I had not noticed…she wasn’t fine while I was unconscious. There’s no way she can recover this quickly. Trying to keep the noble house running while Vance was gone cannot have been easy—especially not while her son was near death. He knew it would take longer for her to recover than it would for him.

"Oh yes, dear," she replied softly, smiling faintly as tears welled in her eyes. "I'm so glad you're back. That you're alive. Oh, Von, I thought you would never wake up! I prayed to the Chain and the Fire every day."

He smiled at her. "I would never leave you alone, Mother." Von gestured at the trophies and smirked. "It appears as though I did not shame our noble house in the end. Won quite a few tournaments, it seems. Even if I cannot remember much of it."

"Every time you came home with a new trophy, I felt proud of having raised you." His mother reached out towards the trophy case and stroked the glass with a pale, trembling hand. "I was always worried about you, Von. About how you were going to live once your father and I were gone. But you showed what you could do. And you've grown into such a strong man since those days. You've made us—you've made the House of Redgrave proud."

“I have made House of Redgrave proud, have I?” he asked thoughtfully. “That makes things difficult.”

His mother looked at him with gentle eyes. “What is difficult, my son?”

“There…there is something I feel like I must do. Running away from it would stain the reputation of our noble house—I’ll fill you in on the details later—but I lack the strength to protect it.” He looked over at her. “What should I do?”

She smiled at him. “Is it something you feel obligated to do? Because of the noble house?”

“No,” he replied, surprising even himself. “That is not it.”

His mother did not relent. “Is it because you feel that the man you forgot you were would have done it?”

“No,” he replied, again surprising even himself. “That is not why.”

“Then why?”

“Because I feel like it is the honorable thing to do. The me...” Von struggled to find the words. “The me of right now feels like it is what he should do. But if I were to lose, and dishonor the house—the things I accomplished so far, they all—”

His mother held a hand to silence his concerns. Even now, sickly as she appeared, she still held the power only parents could wield, the mighty ability to smile and reassure one of all their deepest fears.

“Then, my son,” she started gently, “do you recall our house words?”

“My memory isn’t that bad,” Von replied, smiling.

His mother smiled back at him. “Then go, my son. Go with the winds, and become the storm.”

Talla—Four Days Later

He was still not there.

The day of the duel had arrived and she felt more disconcerted about Von’s whereabouts than the duel proper. It would be a massacre for her to fight against Ardente, the baker’s son who took offense to her existence. The difficulty would be in not wounding him too much and causing others to seek retribution after the match.

“You needn’t duel me,” Ardente said. “You can still leave us alone.”

“Von of Redgrave hasn’t banished me and my business here is hardly concluded. Do you not understand our difference in rankings? Surely you understand this won’t go well for you, no?”

Ardente appeared to smirk slightly at this and his hand fell on his sword hilt. “My ranking would be higher if I could travel for more tournaments. It is not representative of my skill. Von is just lucky that the truly most talented human in Stormhelm had to actually work every day with his father instead of being a pampered lord.” He stepped forward and glared at her—he was nearly a foot taller, but Talla did not feel intimidated. “My little brother got sick because of you.”

“He was out in the snow for too long, it’s a miracle he didn’t die because of your stupidity,” she snapped back. “Forgive me, imbecile, is blaming elves for the Deathless Curse not enough for you? Do you now also blame elves for your incompetency?”

He took one more step toward her, attempting to make her retreat. She did not. “Take it back,” he demanded.

Talla tilted her head sideways. “Good sir, that is why we are here. You demand satisfaction or exile through steel—and so this matter shall be settled with steel.” She glared at him for a moment, then smiled. “Alas, it appears that your duel shall not be with me.”

“What do you—“

She spoke as if he hadn’t opened his mouth. “You’re late,” she said, “Von.”

Von of Redgrave walked into the town square wearing clothes that ill-suited him now. Though his muscles were far larger now than five years prior, his dueling attire appeared slightly too large for his shoulders now. But he wore it well regardless, and his face showed a scar he did not have just a few days ago.

“Talla of Bosque claims guestright—and Stormkeep answers!” Von thundered. “I will duel you, Ardente.”

End of Chapter 3, Become the Storm