“The duel at last,” Duke Feugard said, his gaze seeking the return of Prince Gabriel. He had reclined heavily in his chair, the wine weighing against his sense of dignity.
Duke Ashe hadn’t taken his troubled gaze off of Lucius as the boy stood there speaking. As Lucius wetted his throat, the older man said, “Couldn’t you have challenged him yourself? What was the point of sending so many to their deaths?”
“Showmanship, before and after,” Lucius said. Then, he gestured to the crowd filling the feast hall. “My lord, how many people in this hall right now are here because of the glory they won for themselves? It’s a coveted thing, and I for one believe it is best to have a way of relieving the pressure of ambition or else it’s like lighting a fire in a tent. If there’s no chimney, you’ll choke on it. Not one of those men were forced to fight. Some even retreated at the last moment. What I did was make it clear that they all had the opportunity and that I wasn’t using them for my own gain. Of course, it was a foregone conclusion that the paladin would die there. The question was simply how.”
“Except the deserters,” Duke Ashe said.
“I’m sorry?”
“The deserters,” the king said. “You may have had the right to kill them, but it seems a little cruel what you did. Maybe you should omit that from future retellings, hmm?”
The boy bowed. “Duly noted.”
“Lu,” Acheliah said, her voice as sweet as honey. She beckoned over with her slender arm as she leaned to him, but when her fingers closed around the scruff of his shirt, she almost yanked him off his feet as she pulled him over. Their noses nearly touched as she searched his eyes. “Who taught you how that magic works?”
Struggling to suppress his instincts to fight, the boy kept himself so close their breaths were passing over one another. “What do you mean? How could I not?”
“Explain.”
“You’re asking me to reveal something that could get me killed.”
“I am your angel, the emissary to your god, am I not? You will tell me. I know the wizard has met with you. Do not play dumb. You are nothing but a good looking asset and I can be very fickle.”
Lucius had the audacity to crack a smile. “My healing rate varies. In part it’s based on how injured I am, but it’s also based on how much blood has been spilled. The scorpion that took my foot for a time, it took ages to restore because they were peaceful. But the melees in the desert? I took mortal wounds without even noticing. I merely found the stains in my linens afterward. If I was to use my stigmata to its utmost, I had to fertilize the ground. I didn’t think I would need it much, but from that… well the power of Rodrick’s stigmata has to come from somewhere as well.”
Acheliah shoved him away, crossing her arms once more. “Continue, or maybe I should grab the bard girl and make her tell the tale.”
“If you’d wish so, but…” Lucius made a subtle gesture to the cadre of courtiers that had begun mingling near the table, eying the king for an opportunity to intrude themselves.
King Arandall groaned. “Acheliah, please. Let the boy finish. He’s almost done.”
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The duel was to be unfair, and that did not satisfy Lucius. Of course, Rodrick had been fatigued and injured by so many other duels, but the paladin still had a proper shield. The boy could have brought one himself, either a skirmisher’s buckler or a full body shield from the front line, but that would have been an uninspiring fight. Simply hiding himself behind the shield and overwhelming the paladin with force, by bashing and shoving, by cutting at knees and ankles to force him back through the mud. No, that would have done nothing but prove that Lucius was younger and fitter, that he had thrown away the lives of his men to secure himself an easy victory.
He gave Rodrick time to compose himself, to quench his thirst, and to face him properly. He even gave the man leave to say prayers, to invoke the protection of his god or the angels. “Didn’t you hear?” Rodrick said as he tossed the waterskin aside and picked up his shield. “I was excommunicated the day I took supplies and an army, the day I challenged Vassish imperialism. The gods will offer me no salvation here. I only have what I can claim for myself.”
Lucius asked, “Have the gods ever answered your prayers?”
Rodrick gave a wry smile. “Why would I expect a dead god to answer my prayers in the first place? Does your goddess answer yours?”
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“I don’t think I’ve ever given an earnest prayer in my life.”
“And why would you? When all the secrets of the world can be found in the wizard’s mind? Every problem can be solved by listening to him, no?”
“No,” Lucius said, grip firm upon his blade. “I’m the one who solves my problems.”
“Is that so?”
Lucius turned his back to his foe, and addressed his army. “Let me make this clear to all of you,” he roared, enough to clear his voice not just through the barrier but through the many ranks of soldiers. “This is the last duel. If I lose, you are not to avenge me. You are to let him go, or I will claw my way back from the Shepherd’s embrace and turn my sword upon all of you.”
The paladin shook his head. “Empty words. We both know you can’t lose.”
“And yet you hold your blade.”
“I’ll die with dignity,” the paladin said, and both warriors lifted steel at one another.
Their first clash rang like bells, steel slamming against steel. Blows turned aside blows. The edges of their blades struck against plate and against shield, bludgeoning the men as they darting in and out across the mud. Lucius struck with machine-like focus, swinging his sword gripped with both hands he hacked at Rodrick’s shield until the wood cracked and splintered. He snapped planks from the reinforcement and hammered until Rodrick’s arm was numb.
And for his effort, the paladin took first blood. With his grip on his sword reversed, he stabbed out like a pickaxe. Blindly he thrust the tip out while holding up his shield and his steel found flesh. The paladin’s sword opened Lucius’ throat and from that red smile blood spewed across both of them.
The boy fell to a knee as his brain blackened and the paladin redoubled. Bringing his blade around, he cleaved for Lucius’ neck, but met only his upraised arm. Bone snapped, but the sword caught up in the ragged flesh. In return, Lucius shanked his sword up, driving it between the seams of the plates across Rodrick’s chest, biting him in the breast.
Rodrick leapt back reflexively, new blood spilling into his linens as Lucius spat blood and stood up. Their first exchange ended as Lucius’ arm knit itself back into one and his bleeding throat closed with scar tissue.
“Are you insulting me?” Rodrick demanded, and cast aside his shield. He took his sword with both hands to face Lucius in an even fight. The paladin’s sword had several inches more length than the stout infantry blade the boy fought with, a difference born from status and symbology rather than the realities of dueling. While blades such as rapiers exist today, even now they are still oddities and quite expensive. Certainly unfit for military application. The shape of Rodrick’s cruciform blade was nothing more than for visual symbology, so that when he stood shoulder to shoulder with lower ranking knights and they each thrust their tip to the ground and stood at attention, the height of their crossguards would denote rank.
But in this case, the extra steel gave a firm advantage to the older, injured man.
Again, Lucius could have gone the way of a berserker. The story could have been that he became overwhelmed with rage at the abduction of his future wife and achieved berserker strength. He could have marched through the mud, striking with every step until he beat through Rodrick’s defenses and cleaved through flesh.
But that was not the victory Lucius wanted.
The two of them engaged in parries and feints. Their swords danced like territorial serpents seeking one another’s throats. Every few exchanges one took a chance with a cleave or a cut, meeting naught but air as the other retreated. They circled through the mud, their fight like rams locking horns until one or the other had to scramble and leap over a corpse while the army cheered.
Outside the barrier, hundreds of onlookers pressed up to the barrier, the very image of arena gamblers watching a gladiatorial bout. This was the very reason that Lucius refused to use his youth and vigor. Every exchange was a touch upon the hearts of his men. An absolute masterpiece of manipulation that I’m truly sad I couldn’t be there to witness. For all the years I trained Lucius, this was his greatest triumph of showmanship.
As proof, I offer the fact that it even brought tears to the eyes of his opponent.
After exchanging wounds, a cut to the cheek on the paladin and a stab through the thigh in Lucius, both men stared at each other with their pallid faces, each struggling for lack of blood. Of course, the ultimate advantage would be the boy’s, but that did not still the paladin’s heart.
“For all the blessings the gods could bestow upon you, for you to walk this path of blood is the greatest tragedy I can imagine.”
Lucius stopped, teeth bared. “The gods? What did they ever do for me? I’ve met gods. I have nothing but what I’ve taken for myself.”
“What you’ve taken from others, you mean! That’s not even your face, nor your name. You are a fraud.”
The boy laughed. “And where’d you hear that rumor?” But, he knew.
Rodrick knew his time was fading. He no longer had the strength to insult the boy and he couldn’t imagine how it would help him. “A word of warning,” he said, even his voice weakening. “You don’t have to face a man with steel in your hand to beat him. You’re convincing the whole world that you can’t be beaten that way, but… that just means they’ll attack you another way.”
“Like going after the mother of my child?”
Rodrick nodded. “Yes, like that. The political dark arts as they say.”
“Says the paladin of the light.”
The fallen paladin grimaced and lifted his sword once more. The next exchange was their final. There would be no catching up to the rebel army now, so there was no point in prolonging his own pain. Taking a high guard, he braced himself with ragged breaths then drew out the last of his strength and cleaved downward.
Lucius, finally exerting his youth, cut him down first.