Our story begins in Serkonos, during the annual Blade Verbena, where we meet one of our protagonists for the first time.
Chapter 1
The Tournament
"Ladies and Gentlemen, natives and foreigners! Serkonos greets you all. Welcome to the Blade Verbena, the annual dueling festival! Once again, another year has come and gone, and we now prepare ourselves for a spectacular event filled with dozens of swordfighters each coming to claim the title of champion! And now, allow me to introduce our venerable Duke Theonadis Abele, and wish good luck to all!"
The crowd roared, as the announcer stepped away from the microphone, making way for Duke Abele, who stepped out of his well-shaded seat and into the spotlight. The morning sun shone especially bright as he exposed himself to the mass of people prepared for the annual entertainment. Duke Theodanis Abele was indeed quite lordly, and couldn't have been mistaken for anything else besides one. He dressed in a fine traditional Serkonan silk, the brown texture rippling in the sunlight, matching his graying brown hair. Covering his left arm and trailing behind his back was a cloak the color of sand, and the Serkonos noble house embroidered elegantly on it, expressing his rank and status. As Duke Abele reached the edge of the noble's box, which was positioned above the arena, he gave a warm, wide grin, showing the crowd a pair of glowing white teeth.
Inhaling deeply, he began. "Ahh, it is beautiful to see such a crowd gathered here today. Truly, it warms my aging heart." He gave a chuckle. "The Blade Verbena, our special festival has been a tradition in Serkonos since our formation. It was put together to weave out the best duelists, and to…"
The Duke's words faded out of the young boy's mind. He sat, staring straight ahead with a sword laying across his lap. He didn't even notice the slight shaking of his hands. At last, the Duke finished his speech, stepping back and returning to his seat among the other Serkonan nobles. But the boy didn't pay any attention. All his willpower was focused on listening for the loud, screeching bell, which would indicate the beginning.
The beginning or the end. Whichever fate chose. A single strand of thick brown hair fell out of place and covered his eye. Instantly, without a second thought, he pushed it back, sticking it into the crude ponytail he had formed just moments before. His grooming was interrupted by the bell he was supposed to be paying attention to. The suddenness of it snapped him out of his daze, and he almost jumped out of his seat. The young boy took a long glance at his surroundings, as if he was peering at it for the first time. He was seated on a thin wooden bench, but not alone. All around him were dozens of other fighters and combatants, inexperienced and veterans, each hoping to gain their own bit of fame that winning the Blade Verbena brought. Some had brought their own swords and equipment, masterfully crafted and exquisitely stylish. Others, like the boy, had to rely on the crude tournament gear, ranging from dented swords to armor with holes the size of cotton balls. But as long as there was a good and entertaining fight, the crowd could care less about the condition of said equipment.
"Ey, boy!" A harsh voice wrenched him back to reality. He looked up to meet the eyes of one of the tournament guards who stood in front of him. "What are ya doin still sitting down? You're up first, get yer ass off the bench!"
He got up in an instant, his hand comfortably grabbing the irregular hilt of his short sword. The boy released a breath, steeling himself, then followed the guard towards the entrance of the arena. As they got closer and closer, he could hear the booming voice of the announcer over the loudspeaker, addressing the eager mob. Although he couldn't make out the words, the boy knew the wait would soon be over. On the other end of the arena, opposite to him, stood another guard, and behind him the boy's contender. All of a sudden the loudspeaker went quiet, replaced by frantic cheering. The guard signaled to the boy, motioning him into the arena. Heart pounding, he donned a look of determination, hoping it would hide any trace of fear on his face. As the boy cleared the entrance and stood in the arena, he took a quick moment to study the field. It was rather basic, as far as most arenas go. Shaped like a sphere, completely walled and surrounded by people. But of course, being a national festival, the arena was decorated with all sorts of festive attire, be it flags or other colorful items meant to catch the eye. The ground was covered in concrete instead of dirt, which was strange. Yet the biggest surprise of all was his opponent. Built like a bull, the man appeared to stand at almost seven feet, completely towering over him. The slits in his helmet exposed dark eyes, hardened with years of fighting, or killing. His arms were painted with various scars, each telling a different story. In his hand, the mountain of a warrior held a magnificent longsword, about the length of the boy himself, its hilt and pommel intricately formed, showing the work of a master weapons forger. The man stared ahead, with obvious means to intimidate the small boy. But the young boy met the man's gaze, holding his small dented sword firmly, feet planted on the ground. All around them the crowd yelled and cried, but the boy heard nothing. Nothing existed in the world, except him and his opponent. A second, more prominent bell rang, and both fighters jumped into motion.
The large man moved with incredible speed, slashing his sword in a brutal downward strike aimed to split the boy in half. Yet the blade swooshed harmlessly through the air, the boy sidestepping the strike with almost inhuman agility. Altering his body position without sacrificing speed, the mountain of meat struck again, swinging his sword behind him without looking, attempting to catch the boy by surprise. Just as before, the boy danced out of harm's way, refusing to make an offensive move.
The crowd yelled energetically, laughing and clapping as the two danced the dance of death. The man, panting heavily after multiple unsuccessful strikes, roared with anger at the humiliation the little boy was causing him. He threw a series of swings, each more fervent than the last. And the boy held his own, using a combination of pirouettes and sidesteps to avoid the blows. The man stood breathing heavily in the center of the arena, struggling to lift the heavy longsword. As he brought it up to renew his attacks, the boy struck, quick as lighting. The first cut met with flesh as the blade hit the large man's right thigh. The man cursed, eyes widening as he felt at his leg. The boy stood calm, casting his penetrating gaze at the wounded warrior. Cursing once more, the man pushed on, a combination of shock and anger fueling his every move.
He swung once more, trying to drive home a horizontal strike from the hip. But his newly acquired injury and exhaustion slowed him down, allowing the boy to drop to the ground, narrowly avoiding the deadly blade. Instead of stepping back, the boy attacked once more. His blade slashed the man across the chest, spraying blood on the boy's face. He quickly stepped back, avoiding a possible counter-attack, then moved in once more. The young boy's sword was almost invisible, ripping through the armored target like paper. His opponent flew back, losing his grip on his sword. Breathing heavily and grasping at his wounds, he peered up at the boy who had just beat him. Wheezing, he conjured enough energy to hold both hands above his head, signaling his defeat. Immediately, the crowd shot off like a cannon, cheering and yelling, a mass of noise and flailing arms. But the man kept his gaze on the young boy. He still stood in the center of the arena, sword in hand, unmoved from his last strike. Once again, only one thought came to mind. –Who the hell was this kid?-
-Who is this young boy? - Duke Theodanis Abele mused, staring intently at the winner of the Blade Verbena. He didn't appear like anything special. The child was rather skinny, probably from malnutrition, yet rather well built. His skin, like most Serkonans was an olive color, from being constantly exposed by the hot southern sun. The boy grew his hair long, unlike most other street kids, keeping the unruly brown mass in a sloppy ponytail. His eyes though, were a different story. In his many years of ruling as Duke of Serkonos, Theodanis Abele had seen many faces, peered into many eyes. Yet even he was not prepared for the harshness that appeared before him. The boy's gaze pierced his own, bearing into his very soul, two brown spheres reflecting pain and suffering. But they were not without mercy. The Duke had witnessed that firsthand, as this street-rat had bested every competitor put before him at the tournament. Master swordsmen, seasoned fighters who before this day had gone unchallenged. But this boy danced around each and every one of them, whirling around until they made a mistake, and were struck by the all-too precise blows of the boy's sword. Blows directed to maim, not kill. Yet he could have easily killed all of them.
Duke Abele broke his gaze from the young boy, and looked up at the Captain of the City Guard.
"They boy, milord. As you ordered." The Captain spat out, motioning to the child held in the grip of two guardsmen standing behind him.
"I see that. Thank you Captain, your men can release the boy. You and your men are dismissed, for now." The Duke responded.
The Captain hesitated for a moment, casting an uneasy look at the young boy, then gestured for the guards to release him.
"If you have need of us, milord, we shall be right outside the door."
The Duke only nodded, focusing his attention to the outsider, the unnamed champion of the Blade Verbena. When the guards walked out, shutting the door to the study, Duke Abele addressed the boy for the first time.
"You surprised everyone today, you realize that right? Including myself." The Duke rose from his comfortable padded chair, moving with ease around his study. "You are quite the mystery young rat, but I must say, you have made me quite curious."
The boy stood unmoving from where the guards left him, not uttering a word.
"That curiosity has led to many unanswered questions. Such as, where did a young boy, a beggar boy, learn to fight like that? Who taught said boy?" The Duke paused, contemplating. "But you are obviously not going to answer such questions, judging from your outgoing nature. And I'm fine with that. I respect your silence, no matter what reason drives you to keep it."
He stopped at the wall of his studio, where a masterful sword hung in display. Carefully, the Duke removed it, holding the blade between both hands. He turned to look the boy in the eyes.
"But there is one question I will get an answer to. One whose answer I will not wait for." He grasped the hilt in his hand, feeling the perfect weight and balance only achieved by a few swords. He pointed the tip of the sword in the boy's direction.
"What is your name?"
The boy's silence shocked Abele. Feeling his anger and impatience rising, he spoke.
"I will not be mocked, not in my own home. I asked you a question, little street-rat. If you refuse to answer or even acknowledge my presence, with one word I will make sure the guards throw you back onto the streets and send you crawling back to whatever shit-hole you've claimed as a home."
For a moment, the boy's eyes widened. Whether it was out of fear or just surprise, the Duke could not tell. Yet there was still no response.
The Duke shrugged his shoulders in indifference, lowering the sword. He opened his mouth to call the Captain back, when he was abruptly interrupted by a soft voice.
"Corvo."
The young boy's voice had been so quiet and so unexpected, Duke Abele stood stunned.
"Excuse me?"
The boy licked his dried and cracked lips. "My name is Corvo."
The Duke held in a smile of triumph.
"Corvo who?"
"Attano." The boy spat out.
Duke Theodanis Abele walked back and carefully placed the sword back on the display case.
"Well, Corvo Attano. I have a proposition for you. One that you would be wise not to refuse. I am not a patient man, and grow more ill-tempered in my old age." Turning to face the young Corvo, he spoke.
"Your fighting today at the tournament impressed me. I would like to present to you a position in the Grand Serkonan Guard. You will be given quarters and equipment, and judging from the way you handle yourself, should be able to rise to at least an officer give a few years' time." He stopped, letting his proposal sink in.
Corvo answered almost immediately, giving it no thought. "I accept your proposition."
The Duke allowed himself a rare smile.
"Excellent. I will begin the arrangements for your transfer soon. I have a good feeling about you, Corvo Attano. In fact, I'm almost sure you will end up proving more than useful."
Corvo bowed his head, then headed out the door, changing the course of his life forever.
End of Chapter One
