"Gentlemen," The fencing instructor's voice rang across the courtyard where
the students had gathered for their evening class.
"Monsieur Dupre, Monsieur Javert; take your places!"
Two young men stepped forward, bowed to one another, and paced to the edge of the arena. Each stared for a moment at his opponent. One was a burly boy with pale skin and cropped straw-coloured hair. His dark blue fencing vest rivaled his bright eyes. As he waited for the signal from his instructor, a smirk crept across his face. The other seemed to be his perfect negative. He was quite tall and had a tightly bound ponytail that ran down his back. His dark skin contrasted with his pale grey eyes.
"You may begin." The instructor called out.
The two advanced upon each other, circling and waiting for the first attack. They exchanged a quiet conversation as they circled.
"Phillipe, why are placing yourself under this humiliation, walk away now, and save some of your pride. You can't win."
"Is that so? I recall you being beaten once before."
The boy's eyes flashed. "That doesn't concern you. And as long as you have been here, I have not been defeated."
"Well, let us put an end to that, Marc. Are you willing? Of course.If my presence frightens you." Phillipe smiled and raised an eyebrow.
"I fear no opponent, you least of all. En Garde!"
With that, he thrust his rapier forward and the fight began. They wove around each other, parrying and thrusting, the blades whistling an eerie tune.
Marc soon began to pant, his pale hair falling into his eyes. He gave an angry growl and lunged again Phillipe's chest, catching him off guard. The tall boy turned quickly, and the blade grazed his shoulder instead.
Marc spat a curse as Phillipe shrugged slightly. "Such is life,"
As they whirled, Marc began to sneer. "No, life is a competition with a man."
Phillipe laughed. "And what am I, your dear mademoiselle?"
"Hardly. You' re a gypsy" The last word was hissed, as if it were to foul to pronounce aloud.
Phillipe pale eyes went cold "You'll regret you were ever so bold"
Anger and shame fueling him, Phillipe began to attack. His rapier moved in rapid swings and thrusts, sending Marc toward the courtyard's wall. As Phillipe advanced, his eyes glittering, Marc's smirk melted away. It took his every skill to keep himself inches from his opponent's flashing blade. Perhaps he had underestimated the newcomer. Lost in thought, Marc didn't notice the change in the sword's pattern. Phillipe brought his rapier down in a Crescent Swing, sweeping over Marc's head to hit him full force with the flat of the blade. The impact to his shoulder was jarring, and Marc dropped his sword and fell to his knees. Phillipe began to bring the blade around again, aiming for the fallen boy's chest. Overcome by his anger, he failed to hear his instructor calling to stop the fight. One of the students, Antoine Gautier, grabbed Phillipe's wrist in one hand, wrapped his other arm around the thin boy's chest. Grunting, his pulled him away from Marc, who was staring, wide-eyed, the colour long gone from his face. He was shaking and his breath came in spurts. He allowed himself to be helped up, his eyes never leaving his opponent, who was now struggling against Antoine and two other students.
The Instructor arrived and cast a glance at the two fencers. "Well," he began weakly. "I must say.we have a new.champion" He cast a curious glance Phillipe, whose behavior shocked him as much as did Marc.
"Antoine, Luc, Louis. Let the boy go."
"Of course Monsieur Dagbovie. The only problem with that is, well.."
"Yes?"
"If we let him go, he's likely to tear into Marc again, blade or not"
Dagbovie strode up to Phillipe, who had stopped fighting his captors. The young man was at least a head taller than his instructor, causing Dagbovie to act a bit cautious as he approached.
"These gentlemen here say that you are going to 'tear into' Dupre. I should hope not. I'll leave the two of you here to settle your dispute. You will then return to your dormitories for the night." The instructor turned to leave, when he seemed to change his mind.
"By the way Javert, answer this for me? What caused your changed in pace?"
Phillipe's eyes burned with anger again, and he put his head down to avoid any notice. "He.I.I must have just gotten a second wind. That is all, Monsieur."
Dagbovie threw a skeptical glance, and walked away.
Phillipe and Marc were left alone as the class scurried toward the Academy's main building.
Two young men stepped forward, bowed to one another, and paced to the edge of the arena. Each stared for a moment at his opponent. One was a burly boy with pale skin and cropped straw-coloured hair. His dark blue fencing vest rivaled his bright eyes. As he waited for the signal from his instructor, a smirk crept across his face. The other seemed to be his perfect negative. He was quite tall and had a tightly bound ponytail that ran down his back. His dark skin contrasted with his pale grey eyes.
"You may begin." The instructor called out.
The two advanced upon each other, circling and waiting for the first attack. They exchanged a quiet conversation as they circled.
"Phillipe, why are placing yourself under this humiliation, walk away now, and save some of your pride. You can't win."
"Is that so? I recall you being beaten once before."
The boy's eyes flashed. "That doesn't concern you. And as long as you have been here, I have not been defeated."
"Well, let us put an end to that, Marc. Are you willing? Of course.If my presence frightens you." Phillipe smiled and raised an eyebrow.
"I fear no opponent, you least of all. En Garde!"
With that, he thrust his rapier forward and the fight began. They wove around each other, parrying and thrusting, the blades whistling an eerie tune.
Marc soon began to pant, his pale hair falling into his eyes. He gave an angry growl and lunged again Phillipe's chest, catching him off guard. The tall boy turned quickly, and the blade grazed his shoulder instead.
Marc spat a curse as Phillipe shrugged slightly. "Such is life,"
As they whirled, Marc began to sneer. "No, life is a competition with a man."
Phillipe laughed. "And what am I, your dear mademoiselle?"
"Hardly. You' re a gypsy" The last word was hissed, as if it were to foul to pronounce aloud.
Phillipe pale eyes went cold "You'll regret you were ever so bold"
Anger and shame fueling him, Phillipe began to attack. His rapier moved in rapid swings and thrusts, sending Marc toward the courtyard's wall. As Phillipe advanced, his eyes glittering, Marc's smirk melted away. It took his every skill to keep himself inches from his opponent's flashing blade. Perhaps he had underestimated the newcomer. Lost in thought, Marc didn't notice the change in the sword's pattern. Phillipe brought his rapier down in a Crescent Swing, sweeping over Marc's head to hit him full force with the flat of the blade. The impact to his shoulder was jarring, and Marc dropped his sword and fell to his knees. Phillipe began to bring the blade around again, aiming for the fallen boy's chest. Overcome by his anger, he failed to hear his instructor calling to stop the fight. One of the students, Antoine Gautier, grabbed Phillipe's wrist in one hand, wrapped his other arm around the thin boy's chest. Grunting, his pulled him away from Marc, who was staring, wide-eyed, the colour long gone from his face. He was shaking and his breath came in spurts. He allowed himself to be helped up, his eyes never leaving his opponent, who was now struggling against Antoine and two other students.
The Instructor arrived and cast a glance at the two fencers. "Well," he began weakly. "I must say.we have a new.champion" He cast a curious glance Phillipe, whose behavior shocked him as much as did Marc.
"Antoine, Luc, Louis. Let the boy go."
"Of course Monsieur Dagbovie. The only problem with that is, well.."
"Yes?"
"If we let him go, he's likely to tear into Marc again, blade or not"
Dagbovie strode up to Phillipe, who had stopped fighting his captors. The young man was at least a head taller than his instructor, causing Dagbovie to act a bit cautious as he approached.
"These gentlemen here say that you are going to 'tear into' Dupre. I should hope not. I'll leave the two of you here to settle your dispute. You will then return to your dormitories for the night." The instructor turned to leave, when he seemed to change his mind.
"By the way Javert, answer this for me? What caused your changed in pace?"
Phillipe's eyes burned with anger again, and he put his head down to avoid any notice. "He.I.I must have just gotten a second wind. That is all, Monsieur."
Dagbovie threw a skeptical glance, and walked away.
Phillipe and Marc were left alone as the class scurried toward the Academy's main building.