Hearth Bay had plenty of gardens, and yet the duel was scheduled the next day in a cobblestone plaza. There was a perfectly reasonable explanation, it was easier to erect seating in the plaza than tearing up a garden or a park. People poured onto balconies to catch a glimpse, and to top it off, they were before the high cathedral. Acheliah had a palanquin laid up, overflowing with rugs and cushions from which she was laid out to watch, along with some girl to pour her wine. Hers was more luxurious than King Arandall’s.
It all left Lucius with jitters, echoes of his myriad experiences in arenas. He couldn’t hear anyone putting down bets, but the merchants of the city leaned towards one another and whispered and exchanged shakes and so on. He knew it was impossible they weren’t wagering, because even if the fight itself hardly mattered, it would change the political weight behind the war factions.
He arrived first, fitting his lower standing, and found himself pacing. The rules of the duel had been forced on him after the announcement, such that they should have favored the prince. Despite being the challenger, he had invoked ancient standards. No armor for either of them. They each were allowed to bring a weapon, and the temple would provide one as well. After a coin flip, from Acheliah’s divine hand, the choosing of weapons would occur.
After losing his sword fighting the sea monster, Lucius had not been able to rearm himself yet.
“Are you going to be okay?” Aisha asked. She stood in his corner, holding a pitcher of water for him, which he had half drank.
“Of course.”
“That girl still hasn’t shown up…”
Lucius bent over and scooped a loose stone off the road. He tossed it up and snatched it. “Worst case scenario, I present this, right?”
Aisha’s look couldn’t have been more incredulous. “You’ll be laughed at.”
“And when I win?”
She sighed. “You’ll make more enemies than friends.”
He frowned at the fist sized rock. “Maybe you’re right,” he said, and just then, at last, Felicia vi Raymi came running through the crowd. Servants and decorum abandoned, she charged over so fast she nearly twisted an ankle.
“I’m here, I’m here,” she said, panting to catch her breath as she clutched a ruddy bundle. Then she abruptly stood straight, stuck up her nose and snapped back to composure. “Here.” She shoved the package into Lucius’ chest.
“Was this hard to get?” he asked, undoing some of the strings.
She scowled. “I’m here as the princesses' guest. You think I have a sword for myself? I have guards to protect me.”
“You could have given me one of their swords, or spears. I can fight with a spear too.”
Felicia jabbed him with a finger. “That would disgrace my name. I had to go to the treasury and get my grandfather’s weapon, because of you. How dare you force this on me like this? You rude bastard.”
“My apologies, my lady. I’ll make it up to you after I win,” Lucius said, and at last unraveled the weapon. Her grandfather’s weapon was enormous, to fit his legendary status. He had been a giant, and won his honor fighting the mountain tribes to the south. Helmbreaker Raymi they had called him. A dull witted fellow if you ask me.
“You had better win. This sword is legendary, you know? It won three wars and took the head of kings. He had it gilded by master artisans from Jumeaux to shine with the radiance of the sun god. The only reason it is here in the royal treasury is because my father prefers to command from the back instead of leading the charge. You got into this duel to grab onto my skirt tails talking about my honor, so if you lose, you will pay–”
Lucius took the grip in one hand, the scabbard in the other, golden crossguard before him, and drew the sword. The blade snapped in half, rust shards tumbling across the ground between them.
Felicia stared, mouth agape. “How?”
Aisha snapped a hand over her mouth to smother her laughter as Lucius upended the scabbard and shook out the rest of the once-blade. “Must have left blood on it, maybe for good luck? I bet the last person he killed with it was someone important, but after decades… not much of a sword, my lady.”
Felicia fell to her knees, picking up pieces of metal with trembling hands as her cheeks colored red. “I’ll… I’ll go get another weapon at once. From the guards, yes, I will get one of their spears and if I give it to you then–”
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“No need,” Lucius said, brushing off the rust on the hem of his tunic. Then he handed the scabbard to Aisha as he pulled his top off. No armor of course meant no clothing. After a full night of feasting, he no longer looked like a wet vagabond fetched from the sea, but a proper war hero. Muscles and scars, and his enormous stigmata drawn across his chest. Of course, I had added a few marks with ink, no need to let the angel read his ability for free.
When Aisha handed the wooden sheathe back to him, he hefted it and grinned. “This will be enough.”
Aisha offered the stunned Felicia a hand up, and asked, “Are you trying to humiliate him?”
Lucius chuckled. He could see some commotion across the plaza. Gabriel had arrived at last. “I’m trying to avoid killing him. Let’s see how well I remember how to do this…”
The crowd mumbled in confusion as he stepped out. Some laughed. It wasn’t unheard of to bring a bad weapon and bank on winning the coin toss. In fact, it typically meant you thought you would lose. It put a snarl on Gabriel’s face as he walked out across from Lucius. The two of them strutted like peacocks for the crowd. The prince had brought a slender sword, more elegantly crafted than the typical infantry blade. A proper dueling blade, fit for flashy parries and ripostes. It was the kind of sword that could turn a fight into a game. Had he tied a ribbon to the hilt, it would have been perfect for the spectacle he wanted.
“Until honor is sated,” he said, voice loud and arms outstretched.
“Or death,” Lucius said. He gave the scabbard a twirl, acquainting his arm with the heft.
The prince laughed. “Yours perhaps.”
Lucius laughed back at him. “Try to have some dignity when you bow down and apologize to Felicia for me.”
“That won’t happen,” Gabriel said. “I’ve been trained by the greatest swordmasters in the kingdom, and bested most of them. You’re nothing but a poor southerner.”
“Well, I was taught by barbarians.”
“Is that why you brought a club instead of a sword?”
Lucius laughed and held up his weapon. “This? This was gifted to me for this duel by Felicia vi Raymi. She thinks this is all I’ll need to best you.”
Gabriel shook his head. “She’s an idiot. That’s why her and my sister get along so well.”
“We’ll see about that. I did just get back from a war. What have you gotten back from? A brothel?”
Acheliah stopped their goading with a clap of her hands. “Bring out the third weapon,” she ordered. The third weapon was the part of the custom that was supposed to insure the duel would have dignity, to discourage people from bringing disgraceful weapons and forcing them on their opponent in a cruel sense of fairness. The tradition worked rather well when it wasn’t Acheliah overseeing the duel, because she cared only about her own amusement.
The third option to fight with had to be carried out by three men working together. The box carrying it nearly cracked open from the weight of the weapon inside. She clapped again and the lid was popped off like a sarcophagus. “I present my weapon as the third. I used to call it Steelbreaker in the old war. I’m sure whoever gets it will have quite the advantage.” She laughed as the two of them looked at the three hundred pound blade presented to them. The blade was longer than either of them were tall. It was a thing fit for slaying dragons and godlings.
The prince was quick to be diplomatic. “What a pleasure to see one of the temple's ancient artifacts,” he said, giving the angel a bow as she sat down on the lip of her palanquin with her goblet of wine and the coin.
“You wouldn’t need to swing that twice for the duel to be over,” Lucius added, getting chuckles from everyone in attendance who could actually fight, Gabriel included.
“Well then,” the angel said, elevating her voice throughout the plaza. Replicating the effect of the [Roar] stigmata was trivial for her. “I was witness to the offense which caused this duel, and now I will be witness to the duel itself. As they say, boys will be boys, so at least try to entertain us as the two of you roll in the dirt, yes?”
Gabriel kept his smile. “If you would toss the coin?”
The angel smiled and held it between her fingers, first one side then the other: crown and sword. She tossed it in the air with a flick of her thumb.
“Crown,” the prince announced, and Lucius shrugged.
Acheliah snatched it from the air and slapped it onto the back of her wrist. She grinned, drumming her fingers for a moment and letting the suspense build. “Crown,” she said. “Prince Gabriel may choose his weapon first.”
The crowd sucked in breath and jeered Lucius for losing the coin toss. “I’ll use my own sword,” he said, taking the only good weapon available.
Lucius nodded, unperturbed in the least. “I shall use the weapon Miss Raymi gave me,” he said, tapping the wooden scabbard.
Someone from the crowd shouted, “Serves you right!”
Acheliah pouted. “Neither of you want Steelbreaker? What a shame. It’s been so long since she’s gotten to play…”
“My apologies,” Lucius said, giving her a dramatic bow. “I’m not nearly as strong as you. Besides, If this is but a fight between boys, I think it’s more appropriate I should have a mere stick.”
“I’ll keep my stick made of steel,” Gabriel said as the temple servants carried Steelbreaker off.
“I wouldn’t be so confident if I were you, my lord.”
“And why is that?” the prince asked, squatting down and taking a slanted guard, his offhand poised dramatically.
Lucius pointed his club back at Gabriel haphazardly. “Mine’s bigger.” Even without the handle, the sheath that had contained Helmbreaker was nearly long enough to be a polearm itself. He had a full hand span’s length more than Gabriel’s sword.
Acheliah giggled and added, “Oh, and Lucius, here.” Then she tossed something down to him. It was small, the size of the coin.
He frowned and snatched it from the air, but it wasn’t cool gold that landed in his palm. It was warm, wet, and rubbery. She had tossed him his own severed eye, plucked from the waves of the sea.
“Do put on a good show for me,” the angel said, grinning down at him. “I can’t wait to see what your stigmata can do.”