Caste could not be torn from the edge of the balcony by anything less than the second coming of Sir Andigre and his Four Spire Knights. And even then, he might have asked the spectre of the knight of old to possibly halt his restoration of Terramaul for a moment so that he could watch the match between Judd and Dalain. Although, after five minutes, Caste started to wonder if the second coming would put an end to the humiliation.

Judd was getting thrashed. Dalain was faster, stronger and Judd simply didn’t have the natural instincts that came with experience to compete against the sword master.

He held his own for three minutes before his first shield was torn to shreds.

Dalain had held his arms aloft, his name chanted by the spectators.

Judd had returned to his corner and picked up his second shield.

That one didn’t even last a minute.

For a moment, as Judd caught his breath while half collapsed on the ground, Caste thought Dalain might have said something to him. Judd’s eyes moved away from Dalain’s face and he trudged back to his corner to pick up his third shield.

“Against Royce Colton, Judd LaMogre had the slimmest chance of success which he widened into victory,” Bede shook his head, “but Dalain does not lose.”

Caste was becoming less concerned about Judd losing than he was at Judd being killed during the match. He found himself biting his nails, which was a bad habit he had forced himself to stop doing years ago yet returned in his heightened state of anxiety.

Perhaps it was a good thing Judd only had one shield left.

Caste’s nails would become bloody stumps if the match lasted much longer.

Judd took some of the watered wine and gulped a mouthful as Oster strapped his final shield on.

The crowd cheered and he saw Dalain doing a victory pose for them.

“Confident much?” Judd lamented. “He has reason to be.”

“Hey,” Oster looked at Judd, “seventeen times…you remember that. Whatever happens, you got up seventeen times against a bully.”

“Didn’t stop him though.”

“That’s just because you didn’t know how.” Oster rapped him on the helm. “Brace yourself. He won’t hold back.”

“I know.”

“Judd LaMogre, are you ready?”

Judd smacked his shield and strode into the ring and the moment Dalain did the same, the final round was on. Dalain was as fast as one of Verne’s arrows and it was all Judd could do to keep out of reach of his sword. He felt it scrape across his armour several times, sparks flying before Judd could put distance between himself and the sword master.

“Are you a coward that you refuse to face me?” Dalain taunted.

Judd tried to keep his eyes on Dalain and not on his sword that danced about like a rapier. He threw himself sideways, rolled and clambered to his feet, on the far side of the ring.

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“Stop delaying the inevitable!”

“Stop making excuses for why you can’t hit me!” Judd retorted and Dalain roared as the spectators laughed. He rushed Judd as fast as he could and Judd’s fake dodge only just saved him from being struck, Dalain’s sword skimming the edge of his shield which was braced with a thin circle of metal. Judd yanked it back, becoming off balance as he tried to protect his shield rather than it protecting him and fell to one knee.

Dalain charged at him and Judd, with nowhere else to go, put his shield up.

Dalain’s sword came down on it like a hammer…

…and in the pause afterwards he stared at the shield for it had not broken.

Dalain grunted and brought his sword down again but the shield remained intact.

Small jeers from the crowd began to rile him into a rage. Dalain began to strike the shield over and over and over again but he could not cause it to break. Finally he flung his shield from his left arm, grabbed the hilt of his sword with both hands and went mad, hammering Judd’s shield, bellowing all his rage into a final, devastating blow.

His sword finally ripped through the shield, the two battered halves falling away but Dalain was thrown backwards, his sword striking, not the curve of a gauntlet that would have deflected the blow, but the unyielding edge of a much heavier sword. There was the sound of metal splintering and a shard of Dalain’s sword flew through the air, striking the balcony, the bulk of the sword’s blade hitting the sand of the ring, skittering to a halt and all that was left in Dalain’s hand was the broken hilt.

His shoulder, arm and wrist jarred badly and the shock of his sword breaking caused him to pause.

In that moment, Judd drew his sword out from where he had braced it, running along the length of his gauntlet, strengthening his shield tenfold and held it out at arm’s length so that the tip danced above Dalain’s throat.

The silence was deafening.

Judd’s chest heaved mightily.

Dalain might have forgotten how to breathe, so stunned was he.

The steward looked between the two of them, the crowd waiting for a determination yet he could give none. Helplessly, he turned to the balcony where Sir Alaykin stood, his expression, unreadable.

“Well now,” he said in a steely voice, “this is an interesting turn of events. Who shall I name champion?”

Judd willed his arm to remain strong and Dalain could not, dared not, move.

But his mouth still worked.

“My lord, LaMogre has no shields left! By the rules of the match, I am the winner!”

Judd said nothing.

Sir Alaykin tilted his head. “Judd LaMogre may have no shield…but he still has his sword and could land a fatal blow. You, Dalain Thiery, have neither sword nor shield for while you possess three, you wield none.” Dalain gulped for air and Judd held firm. “You tell me then, sword master Dalain, whom should I call champion?”

Dalain’s eyes faltered and he trembled.

Sir Alaykin studied them both for a moment.

“While the rules define Dalain Thiery as the victor, the match was in the spirit of a duel challenge and by that right, Judd LaMogre has, indeed, won,” Sir Alaykin lifted his chin, “unless you wish the duel to continue, Dalain?”

Dalain’s eyes darted to where his shields were, far behind him and his broken sword wasn’t even worth looking for. Then he looked at Judd. Perhaps if he had known him even a little, Dalain would have realised that Judd was not nor was he ever out for revenge. But Dalain only saw himself as he saw others and had their roles been reversed, Dalain would not have hesitated to cut him down. Naturally, Dalain could not comprehend that Judd LaMogre would not do the same.

With broken pride, Dalain dropped the hilt of his sword. “I yield…”

Judd stepped back, his sword tip dropping to the sand.

“Judd LaMogre,” he lifted his eyes, the only part of his body he had the strength left to raise, to the balcony where Sir Alaykin gazed down at him, “you are not only Fort Bastil’s combat tournament champion, but you have held your own against a stronger, faster and more experienced opponent. I am pleased to offer you the prize of victory, a horse from my own stable.” He stopped and studied LaMogre. “In the past I have invited worthy champions into my employ in lieu of this prize…but given your quest for knighthood, I doubt such an offer would be of interest to you.”

“It is an honour,” Judd admitted, “but my journey cannot end here.”

“Then I bid you well, Judd LaMogre,” Sir Alaykin bowed, “may your journey end in victory.” His eyes shifted to look at Judd’s corner of the ring where Oster stood, waiting. “Well played, Oster Agress…well played indeed.”

Judd nodded then felt his arms grabbed by the steward.

“Fort Bastil, I give you, your champion, Judd LaMogre!”