“You see, my lord?” Dalain Thiery snorted. “LaMogre has only arisen so far in the tournament because of lucky pairings in the matches but against a half competent opponent, he crumbles.”

“He has one shield left.” Sir Alaykin remarked.

“He will forfeit, mark my…” Dalain’s words were interrupted as the crowd cheered and he leaned over the edge of the balcony to see Judd LaMogre standing to his feet and going to his corner, his third and final shield strapped on and a surprising look of grim determination in his eyes.

“You were saying?”

Dalain ground his teeth together. “He’ll fall, my lord. I promise you that. He will fall.”

“Judd LaMogre, are you ready?”

His sword cracked against his shield.

“Royce Colton, are you ready?”

The responding sound rang out.

“Fight!”

Judd charged Royce without hesitation. Royce faltered for a second, surprised at the aggressive nature of his belittled opponent then returned the charge. Judd faked left then dove to the right, the unexpected motion causing Royce’s heavy weight to stumble. Judd spun around and struck Royce’s shield from behind, splintering the wood.

The spectators screamed their approval. Royce got up from his stumble, tossing the debris of his shield aside, striding past Judd.

“Lucky shot.”

Judd returned to his corner, still only with one shield as Royce picked up his second.

“You can do this, lad.” Oster said quietly. “Keep him on his toes. He can’t move like you.”

“Reel him in.” Judd cracked his shield and darted into the ring.

Caste had thrown restraint and embarrassment aside and was leaning against the edge of the balcony, watching the match without blinking. Thankfully everyone in the balcony was doing the same so his uncharacteristic desire to watch primitive violence was forgotten.

Judd had been broken, he was sure of it, cowering against the rope of the ring. There seemed to be no way he could recover from the battering of Royce Colton. And yet, he had arisen, pulled his gauntlet back on and taken up his third and final shield. And now, astonishingly, Judd was not only holding his own, but he had also broken one of Royce’s shields.

There was a shout from the spectators and Caste inhaled sharply. “Two shields down…one to go.”

“They are now on equal footing.” Sir Alaykin remarked.

Caste noted that Dalain did not dare contradict Alaykin’s assessment. He gave the sword master of Fort Bastil a furtive glance and trembled at the fury in his expression.

“Judd LaMogre, are you ready! Royce Colton, are you ready?”

Caste found himself holding his breath, watching as Judd strode into the middle of the ring, Royce Colton hesitating, possibly for the first time in his life. Caste’s knuckles whitened and he was as still as a statue as the final round began.

Judd stopped walking and stood still in the centre of the fighting ring, his eyes fixed on Royce who looked uncertain. Previously, Judd had charged him and broken his two shields. Now he was just standing there. Royce could hear the jeers of the crowd, once directed at LaMogre but now his name was the one being mocked. His anger ignited and he threw himself at Judd, putting everything he had into his attack. He swung his axe right then left then right, bringing it down, slicing it sideways…

…but Judd LaMogre was never standing where Royce thought he ought to be. He ducked and dashed, wove and ducked again, avoiding every single blow Royce levelled at him. Royce, knowing only one way to do things, became angrier and angrier, his axe swinging recklessly over and over again until Royce’s arm refused to lift it anymore. He looked up at Judd who stood back from him, calmly watching.

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So Royce ran at him, his shield up, sure his brute force would win out. Judd simply sidestepped, his foot out, tripping Royce up to crash heavily on his shield, snapping it in two.

There were a few seconds of silence as the spectators and even the steward tried to comprehend what had just happened…

…then the shout that echoed from the upper bailey could be heard all the way across the land belonging to Fort Bastil.

Judd breathed out, feeling his muscles sag in relief. His shielded arm was grasped as the steward held his arm up.

“I give you Fort Bastil’s champion! Let’s hear it for Judd…”

And then, slapping the sand of the ring at Judd’s feet, was a gauntlet. Its sudden and unexpected presence silenced the crowd in the upper bailey in a heartbeat. All eyes turned to it and then they lifted to see Dalain Thiery glaring at Judd.

“I challenge Judd LaMogre to a duel,” Dalain snarled, “for the right to be named Fort Bastil’s champion!”

Sir Alaykin stood and raised his hands as the crowd murmured into a sea of conjecture. “Judd LaMogre, do you accept this challenge?”

Judd’s shoulders couldn’t visibly sag because of his armour but his soul slumped inside of him. “If there is no other way…”

“Then in one hour we reconvene.”

Judd turned and walked to his corner of the ring as the steward hastened to try to work out the logistics of the unexpected duel and the punters all began to place even heavier bets than they had before. Judd sat on the hay bale, Oster Agress clambering into the ring.

“Well, you were right,” Judd sighed, “he couldn’t just let it go.”

“He received his position by making others appear unworthy, not because he necessarily possessed the qualifications himself.” Oster explained. “Dalain would always wonder, if only subconsciously, whether he truly has what it takes to be sword master of Fort Bastil. Any threat to his position is made more serious in the insecurity he feels.”

“The problem is, while he mightn’t deserve the position of sword master, he’s no slouch when it comes to fighting.”

“That’s why you must,” Oster put his hand on Judd’s shoulder, “must stick to the strategy we devised.”

“I know.” Judd shuddered, pulling his helm off, sweat trickling down his face, plastering his brown curls against his skin.

“By the way, bloody good show at defeating Colton.”

“I almost feel bad for him,” Judd paused, “almost.”

“How’s your wrist? I was sure he must have broken it after your second shield shattered.”

“It’s…it wasn’t as bad as it looked.” Judd frowned, wondering just what it had been that he’d seen when cowering on the ground. “Is…Aalis here?”

“I can’t see anyone or anything in this crowd.” Oster shook his head. “Besides, not only did she not approve of this fight, but she would also risk becoming a target should someone take a dislike to her.”

“True.” Judd flexed his muscles, accepting more watered wine.

The steward re-entered the ring and approached them. “The duel will be fought in the same manner as you just did with Colton. Three shields each, of course you will be provided with new ones and the winner will be crowned champion.”

“I thought I already was.”

The steward was apologetic. “You have the better part of an hour to prepare.”

“After fighting two matches already and Dalain is fresh from the balcony?”

“Actually, I’m somewhat relieved.” Judd admitted. “If the match had been tomorrow or even hours later, I’d have more time to panic. I know what to do. I just need to do it.”

Oster nodded and held a towel to Judd to mop up the sweat. Judd remained in the ring. He didn’t like being the centre of attention but at least being where he was meant the crowds couldn’t surround and consume him again. He looked at his left arm, still in its gauntlet and flexed his fingers inside, watching the metal glove wiggle. There was no pain, no ache after two bone crushing blows from Royce’s axe. It was nothing less than astonishing.

“Aalis…” He murmured quietly, looking around at the spectators, seeking her hooded visage amongst the crowd yet unable to see her at all.

Before an hour was over, Dalain Thiery made his appearance in the upper bailey, striding out of the keep, clad in his custom armour that had been polished so that Judd’s dust coated armour appeared shabby in comparison. Dalain leapt into the ring, taking his sword out and warming up his muscles, inciting the crowds to cheer and shout his name.

Judd swallowed and somehow, Oster was able to feel his tremble as he checked over the ties on his armour.

“Remember, Judd LaMogre, you cannot beat him.” Oster said firmly.

“I know.” Judd nodded. “I know…”

Three new shields were placed at Judd’s feet and Oster strapped the first one on his arm. Dalain did the same in his corner, cracking his neck, his nimble sword shining brightly in the sunlight.

“Ladies and gentlemen, spectators of the tournament of Fort Bastil,” Sir Alaykin announced and they all turned their eyes upwards, “you will bear witness to the duel challenge between Fort Bastil’s own sword master, Dalain Thiery and tournament champion, Judd LaMogre of Astaril.” He gestured to the steward who bowed and took over the ceremonies.

“Judd LaMogre and Dalain Thiery, approach.”

Judd stood up and walked to the steward. Dalain did the same, his eyes fixed on Judd with a menacing glare that was attempting to undo any elation Judd felt at winning the tournament.

“You both understand the way in which this duel will be fought? Three shields each. The winner will be the one without a shield.”

“I understand.” Judd said.

“Naturally.” Dalain replied.

“Acknowledge each other.”

Judd held out his hand and Dalain grabbed it, almost pulling Judd close into an intimidating embrace before releasing him.

“Return to your corners.” Judd did so, his heart hitting his ribs it was beating so hard.

“I cannot beat him. I cannot beat him.” He repeated over and over. “I cannot…”

“Judd LaMogre, are you ready?”

Judd struck his shield firmly.

“Dalain Thiery, are you ready?”

Dalain smiled sinisterly at Judd as he clashed his shield.

“Fight!”