A Life or Death Decision
"En Garde!" he growled, his voice dripping malice and overconfidence, as he strode to greet my blade with a numbing jar that shot pain up my right side. I parried and thrust my sword towards his breast, grimacing as my shoulder screamed in protest. He easily blocked my strike, then hacked down at my head. I fell back, lunged, then feigned to the right, bringing up my blade in a lethal strike. He pivoted on his heel and I swore as my sword grazed his arm—leaving nothing but a shallow nick.
I hastily retreated to look for an opening in his carefully placed defenses. It was obvious that he was the superior: in weight, in strength, in skill. But I doggedly continued to observe him as he strategically turned so that the sun's mighty rays would blind me. I pretended to play his game, only to give me more time as I calculated my chances for survival. His muscles rippled and I had seconds notice as he lunged in towards my arms. I fervently thanked my squire that he insisted I ware my greaves for this patrol, and then brought my shield up in a hasty defense. Using my shield I twined my arm in his and yanked. His sword went flying and I smiled triumphantly.
He grinned too, stretching his gaunt face into an ugly grimace that did nothing to improve his homely appearance, and then kicked my stomach once, twice. I doubled over groaning and gasping—fighting for breath. While I struggled to breath, he nimbly ran over and retrieved his sword. I swore and cursed the man with every plague I new; that only made breathing harder. I watched through tearing eyes as he slowly advanced on me. I threw up my sword to block his first strike, but was too slow to defend myself against his second. His blade slashed down toward my left arm—thankfully not my sword arm—and I cried out in pain as his blade tore through flesh and muscle. Bright spots crowded my vision and I shook my head to fight for consciousness. I unsheathed my dagger and thrust it towards his belly. He jumped back, but not before I could open a satisfying gash in his chest.
I hastily wiped the sweat from my eyes and then feigned a thrust towards his eyes, changed directions, and brought the blade down towards his sword arm. Just as I lunged in for the blow, I slipped in the accumulating blood. Flailing my arms to keep from falling, I twisted and turned my torso to keep my enemy in sight at all times. He came at me again, and this time went for my right arm. Remembering the now dull pain in my left arm, I brought my sword up to fend off his blow. Again and again he hacked down at me, and I knew if I didn't change to the offensive soon, I would be finished. No one ever won while defending himself.
With satisfaction, I acknowledged his less forceful blows, and his ragged breaths that showed he was slowly tiring. I ardently thanked my overlord for the hours he made me run errands around the castle building up my stamina. It was obvious this man would tire before me. I saw desperation reflect in his eyes, and I knew he reached the same conclusion. He tried to kick me again, but I was ready. I easily blocked the swipe and firmly sliced towards his shoulder blades. He lunged at me, and I let his force carry me down. I rolled and was up in an instant, but my opponent was not so lucky. He sprawled in an awkward heap and I jumped towards him—my sword extended towards his throat. I pressed down, drawing a line of blood across his throat to show that I was serious and willing to kill him.
"Yield!" I gasped, wiping sweat from my brow, "Yield to the crown!"
"Never!" he snarled, determination set in every line on his scarred face.
I growled and raised my sword to kill this treasonous garbage as the Code dictated. I would try to make it as painless as possible, but even so, I needed a minute to get my emotions under my carefully shaped indifferent mask that I learned from my knight master during my years as squire, before I killed this defenseless man. The sane part of my mind screamed at me to do it now and not prolong the inevitable. After all, he was a treasonous heap of garbage that wasn't worth the air he breathed—for god's sake. So why couldn't I do it?
The insane part of my mind protested that this was not what I had imagined when I envisioned myself as a knight. I thought knighthood would bring me glory, riches, and honor. It was clear that that was not so. Was this what chivalry really intended? Did our elite knighthood slip so low as to kill commoners whose only crime was to speak their mind against our king. I tried telling myself over and over that he deserved death—but I couldn't bring myself to strike the killing blow. It was one thing to kill in battle—another to kill for sport or entertainment. Only now did I numbly hear the mumbling of the crowd that gathered to watch the spectacle. Some watched disapprovingly as I hesitated from killing the man. Others refused to meet my pleading gaze. I looked out into the crowd and saw a young woman weeping. His wife, I thought dimly. A teenage girl clung onto a scruffy toddler and tried reassuring the woman while gently shaking an infant up and down. I took another look at the man before me and realized for the first time what honor meant. It was people like this man who really deserved to live.
We have precious few years to achieve our goals and accomplish what we want in life. Was it fair for me to rob him of the years he had left? That would make me no better than the rogues that populate the southern border of our land. I looked into the man's eyes and realized that he is who I want to be. Not some murdering knight, but an honest woman devoted to husband and children. My mind was made up even before I realized what I was doing. I understood the consequences perfectly: I would be thrown out of the knighthood, stripped of both land and honor. But I knew it was the right choice. I closed my eyes and made the hardest decision of my entire life.
Keladry of Mindelan choice to spare the man's life.