Chapter 1: Burning Heart
"You're up." said one of the veteran soldiers. The boy to whom he referred looked far too young to be sharing the barracks with his fellow knights. He was on one knee with his hands and head leaning on the pommel of his sword, likely offering words in prayer to the Mana Goddess. At being called forth, the boy stood, giving one long sigh. He looked toward the veteran knight and could see the corridor past him illuminated by sunlight pouring in from the arena. He had already passed this corridor several times within the day, yet now it truly beckoned to him. He sheathed the sword to his hip and raised his shield in his left hand. "You fight in your father's name," said the veteran knight as the young man approached the corridor. "Heaven only knows you could not have come this far otherwise." The young boy hid a smirk that was forming at the side of his mouth. "Fight well." And with that the young boy entered the golden passage.
"Citizens of Valsena," King Richard began, "Today we hold ceremony as we have countless times in the past- with song, with cheer, with drink and with a burning fire in our hearts. I am reminded of our country's last melee some years ago, in which- as some of you may unfortunately recall- I was shamelessly thrashed about the arena by our late Knight of Gold." The enchanted crowd laughed jovially. "Time can grant us such cherished memories that can only grow sweeter in remembrance and time can bring about countless ceremonies for the years to come, but as we all know, it can also give to us grief and sorrow." He continued in a solemn tone. "It has been many years now since Golden Knight Loki was lost in the Dragon War and not a day passes that I do not miss him." A few heads in the crowd bowed in quiet mourning. "His dedication and service to this country as well as his skill and reckless charm go unmatched to this day. Yet, my good countrymen and women, today I am once again reminded of the gifts that swim and grow within time. And so, I am honored to present to you the day's final match." The Kings voice began to rise and the cheer was forming on the faces of the crowd once more. "You have followed him as a child and watched him grow into the young image of his father. You have seen him today do battle with the best of soldiers and come out victorious. He has fought his way to the final match despite his youth and inexperience." King Richard gestured toward the east of the arena and all eyes looked on with anticipation. "Citizens of Valsena! I present to you, Duran, mercenary of Valsena and son of Golden Knight Loki!"
The crowd went wild as they beheld the young man entering the arena. He was a handsome fellow who wore the look of one stern and dedicated, but also youthful and even innocent. He tossed his red ponytail to his back, raised his shield and bowed his head to his fellow country-folk and they roared in response. It wasn't due to him being the offspring of one of their cherished heroes, though that does account for the lot of it. To them, the boy was the representation of a new generation. A generation that was full of life, ambition, hope, pride and strength. The generation born from the hardship and loss sustained during the Dragon War. To all of those at the tournament, Duran was the very meaning of their sacrifice.
"And to the west, I present a man who has had his share of clashing steel on the battlefields. He has quickly gained an outstanding reputation amongst his peers as an exceptional fighter and has risen through the rankings to become the leader of the Silver Horsemen. I present to you, General Christophe!" The crowd went equally hysterical as a huge man in full silver armor stepped out from the hall into the arena. He was an impressive sight, glistening in his silver and standing at six feet, seven inches. He raised his two handed sword and hollered the cry of the Golden Knights - 'sai calael' - which meant 'to heaven' in an ancient Elven dialect.
"Warriors of Valsena!" the king roared. His visage had changed from one of merriment to one of commanding intensity. Duran and Christophe immediately faced him at attention. "You two fight on behalf of your honor, your country, and in memory of those who came before you." His steel face quickly melted into a chivalrous smile. "Do not disappoint them." And with a quick blessing from the Priests of the Mana Goddess and with a rich tune from the trumpets, the battle began with earnest applaud.
Duran readied his sword, taking cover behind his shield in a defensive stance. Christophe reticently approached him with his two handed sword out before him. As he neared, Duran lunged forward with a thrust, still keeping his face hidden behind the wooden shield. Christophe easily parried it and maintained his poise. Duran regained his balance and began circling Christophe.
"You should not be so eager to capture you father's name." Christophe jeered in a hard voice. Duran remained silent and continued circling him. "It is not too late to retire, boy. Why don't you continue your training with the other knights and come back to me when you are more prepared?" He was not so much taunting as he was honestly consoling him. However, If Loki's boy needed a good knock to the head to understand the discipline within Valsena's knights, Christophe would not hesitate to deliver. In fact, he would be honored.
"Stay your tongue, knight, and fight me." Duran sneered.
"Don't be foolish. This will be no simple sparring match as with the other knights. Unlike those who would show you leniency on behalf of your heritage, I withhold nothing."
"Of course! How could I expect such restraint from a man who refers to himself as 'Bruiser' on the battlefields?" Christophe chuckled. It was a title he had earned from his closest brothers-in-arms when, after a hard week of training and a few too many drinks at the pub, he had beaten several men after they commented on his large stature being a result of 'inadequate manhood'. Yet he was becoming more annoyed with Duran's brash attitude and more eager to beat it out of him. For a man of his repute, he was not one to waste too much time on talk.
"Very well, boy." He raised his weapon over his head slowly, as if he was lifting something well over his own weight. "Have it your way." His sword smashed into Duran's shield with a blinding speed. Splinters shot forth as Duran toppled over and tried to regain his composure. Meanwhile, Christophe was back in his stance with his sword before him. Duran tried to look unimpressed but he felt the power of the blow still trembling through his arms and down to his legs.
"Alright then, I see from where you get your name. But I assure you," Duran poised as if to lunge at Christophe. "It will not be enough to take me down." Duran charged at him attempting to bash him with his shield and throw him off balance, but Christophe stepped into him as he moved forward. Christophe was almost double his size, and Duran crashed into the fully armored knight and took a blow to the head from the pommel of his sword. Duran stumbled to his side, his head spinning. The audience groaned as they heard the crack against Duran's iron helmet. Duran fell to one knee and took a moment to gather himself. Shouts from the audience pleaded for him to rise. Christophe remained at ease, allowing Duran time to recover.
"Hmph. What was that you said, boy? Not enough to take you down? Well I certainly hope I did not over do it." Christophe scoffed. Duran embedded his sword into the gravel and used it to pull himself up. "Stay down, I beg. I do not wish to make this any harder on you." Christophe implored, but Duran had a fire in his heart unlike any other and he would not see himself defeated by one blow in the final match. He got to his feet and took cover behind his fractured shield.
"Begging for an easy victory?" Duran said, his voice slightly quivering. "It is unfortunate that I'll not be granting you one this evening." Though he could never admit it, Christophe admired the confidence in Duran. It reminded him much of Loki. But Duran was far from his father's image in that his father had the skill to follow through with his word. Years of praise and pampering had made Duran arrogant and his head full of pride and glory, so Christophe believed, and the knight meant to set things into perspective.
He pulled Duran toward him by his shield and tossed him to the side. Duran stumbled, but regained his footing. He turned his head just in time to see a glint of light shooting towards him. Hoisting his shield with his left hand, he parried Christophe's sword with all his might. The sword crashed into the gravel and embedded itself firmly within. Duran saw his opportunity and he swung his blunted steel into the back of Christophe's right leg. The towering man fell to his knee and Duran swung his shield around into the behemoth's silver helmet, sending it flying to the ground. Christophe was anything but stunned and he retracted his head giving Duran a grisly smile. He reached towards the young mercenary and grabbed onto his sword arm with a fist like the maws of a lion. Duran's first reaction to pull away proved fruitless, so he instead tried to smash Christophe's arm with his shield. Yet as the shield plummeted, Christophe released Duran's sword arm and retracted his own, causing the shield to swing passed its intended target. The shield zipped by with such force that Duran spun around in a half-circle, exposing his back to his opponent. Christophe reached for the collar of Duran's tunic and yanked him to the floor. He hit the ground with a thud that made the crowd buzz. Christophe seized the moment and quickly planted one knee on Duran's chest and the other on his sword arm. With the wind already beaten out of him, the added weight of the silver titan made it much more difficult for him to suck in air.
"I'll not shame Loki's blood and beat you like a child from this vantage, but I demand that you swallow your pride and resign from this fight."
Duran was now under Christophe's control, but the young man would not yield. He tried to attack Christophe once more with his shield but the knee on his chest made extending his left shoulder difficult. The knight caught his shield and stripped it from his grip. Duran tried to squirm free from the pinning knee but was unable to. He twisted and thrust his hips and shoulders in every way, but the knight was just too large. The crowd became very anxious and began to holler and yell in disapproval.
"Listen to them." Christophe urged. "Do you not hear their disappointment?" Duran had finally ceased struggling to break free. He breathed heavily, eyes closed to shield them from the sun. "Contrary to what you might believe, I take no pleasure in this." Christophe shifted his hips to make himself more comfortable upon the now motionless Duran. "I respected your father very much and I would not have his only son making a fool of himself in a fight that he cannot win. Resign with dignity and I will continue to train you and shape you into something more." He looked at Duran sternly. "I have given you more chances that I should have. Speak!" The boy would not respond. The large knight sighed. "Arrogance, pride...they come at a price, my young friend."
Christophe reached for his two handed sword still embedded in the gravel. Duran glanced downward at the knight's hips and saw Christophe's silver helmet resting near his foot. Christophe was taking a moment to withdraw his sword from the ground and this granted Duran just enough time to take action. Duran hooked his foot into the helmet and thrust his legs upward. The sudden force shoved Christophe to his side which lifted the knee on Duran's chest. Duran reached towards the silver helmet with his free hand, unhooked it from his foot and clutched onto it. He then smashed the helmet across Christophe's face twice. Christophe glared at Duran with an expression of blistering surprise at the first blow. The second blow sent the knight crumbling to floor.
Duran squirmed free from under the knight and scrambled to his feet. He stood panting for a moment, not completely understanding what had just occurred. The silver knight lay motionless on the ground beside his heavy weapon, still pierced within the gravel. 'Is it over?' the young man thought with fool hope, 'Have I won?' The cries of the audience slowly filled his ears, and it was then that he realized what had just come to pass as he heard them chanting his name. He let out a cry of his own and began pacing around the arena with the silver helmet in the air as it if were the severed head of a villain. He was in disbelief, basking in the glory of the moment and grinning at how quick the match had ended. He was almost sure that, given the vulnerable position he was in, Christophe would have battered him without effort. He was praying that Christophe would underestimate him and it seemed to him as if the knight had done just that. By a fleeting chance he seized the moment at which Christophe's guard was low and bested the veteran knight. He would be remembered as the youngest champion in the Valsena melee and will walk proudly as the son of Loki!
The cries of the audience soon became sounds of awe and then ferocious clapping and hooting. This sudden burst of enthusiasm from the crowd struck Duran as odd and he had the uneasy feeling that this match was far from over. He anxiously turned to his opponent, hoping to see him sprawled out and unconscious, only to see that Christophe was on his knees, the gleaming steel of his sword gripped at the ready. The silver knight peered at Duran with a smirk on his face.
"Did you really think it would be that simple?" Christophe slowly got to his feet. "I did not inherit a name like 'Bruiser' without taking a few beatings myself." Duran quickly got into his stance behind his shield, only he was not holding his shield- he was covering behind the silver helmet of Christophe. The knight chuckled at Duran's awkward stance. He pointed the rounded tip of his two-handed sword towards Duran, gave a nod of acknowledgment and poised himself in a combat stance once more.
Duran shot towards Christophe and threw the silver helmet at him. Christophe parried the helmet and launched himself at the approaching target. The knight swung his weapon and it met with Duran's. It humored him to see that Duran managed to stop the power behind his two handed weapon, even though it required a large amount of strength behind Duran, who was digging his heels into the gravel for support against Christophe's attack. The knight then unleashed a flurry of attacks, his arms pumping like the legs of a horse. Duran was locked in the defensive position, desperately trying to keep his balance against the might of his opponent. The two warriors circled the arena with weapons clashing and scraping against each other as the audience roared with excitement.
Christophe broke from the attack to regain his strength. Duran could barely lift his arms as his shoulders throbbed mercilessly. The warriors did not exchange words as they were well within the heat of battle, where words served little purpose and the body was driven by pure instinct. Each began reading the other in an attempt to determine the next course of action.
It was Duran who made the first mistake. While circling the arena, he came across his discarded shield. He knelt over to take the shield into his hand and was struck in the ribs with the flat of Christophe's sword. Even through his armor, Duran could feel the burning sting as if it were on his bare skin. He keeled over to his side and struck the ground, grinding his teeth together trying to hold back a scream. Christophe stood over him and shook his head. He made no attempt at allowing Duran a chance of reprieve this time. As far as he was concerned, he was done reasoning with him.
Duran tried to lift himself on one arm but Christophe kicked it from under him. The young warrior fell back and tried to crawl away but Christophe pursued him. The towering knight raised his sword over his head and it came down hard. Duran whirled around in time to avoid the shot. He tried to scramble to his feet but was knocked down just as his sword intercepted a second strike from Christophe.
It was here that Christophe made the second and gravest mistake- for reasons that even he could not understand, he allowed Duran to get back up.
The boy was in pain, but furious. All this time he had been on the defensive, secretly afraid of the power behind the knight, thus causing him to tense up and anticipate every oncoming blow. What he was more afraid of now was shame. It was the crushing of his pride, he realized, that would hurt more than any of Christophe's ferocity. He buried his fears in anger and decided that he would go on the offensive until there was no strength left in his body to carry him. He figured that since he was faring poorly as it was, he had little to lose.
For the first time in the match, Duran swung his weapon with the intent to win. Christophe did not anticipate the sudden burst of strength coming from the weary mercenary. He tried to parry the attack, but the force behind the steel broke through Christophe's defensive maneuver and struck him in the side. It was immediately followed by a second strike in which the knight was set to defend against. The weapons met with a radiant flash of light that danced on the faces in the crowd, who were nearly pouring onto the arena in their frenzy. Even King Richard was on his feet, a wide smiling revealing itself through his heavy, white beard.
The two fighters were locked together, sword hilt to sword hilt, each driving their weight into the other. Duran gave a massive heave that forced Christophe back a few steps. Christophe grunted and shoved back. The knight would have sent Duran crashing to the ground for a third time, but, for all the faults of his youth, Duran was a fast learner and was always willing to apply the knowledge he gained. As the knight thrust his weight forward, the young warrior retracted his guard and whirled around Christophe in an instant which caused the knight to stumble passed Duran. He seized the moment and swung his weapon in a wide arc. The blow connected with Christophe's side. The knight was amazed at how much pain Duran was able to inflict, but the veteran was fast to recover. He countered quickly, hoping to catch the mercenary off guard, but Duran was filled with burning adrenaline and he ducked under Christophe's sword and struck again.
Christophe felt the air shoot up from his gut and out between his lips. Hues of gray began swimming into his vision and for a moment he felt as if he would black out. He plummeted against the young warrior who quickly pulled away. The knight began his descent to the ground feeling as if time had slowed down. He could hear the shouts of the audience becoming distant. This was not an uncommon experience for him- years ago, he was knocked unconscious by the tail of a wyvern while fighting in the Dragon War in the northern lands of ice. Never in his life would he have expected to encounter that same devastating strength- for the dragons have long been extinct- yet against all of his presumptions, he was crippled by one heavy blow from a boy not but a few steps into manhood. 'It was unwise of me to assume that he would not be so bold' he thought to himself as his face connected with the gravel.
Duran distanced himself from his fallen opponent. He maintained his stance, being sure not to repeat the same mistake as before by lowering his guard. The crowd had been reduced to anxious murmurs as they beheld the lifeless body of Christophe, knowing that Duran would be the victor if the knight does not stand. King Richard was leaning against the edge of his balcony patiently and unassuming, for he knows his knights well and he understands that Christophe would be on his feet soon enough.
The crowd erupted into another wave of ovation as Christophe raised himself for one final bout. Duran was not surprised this time. The knight nodded to the young Valsenan mercenary, and the youth nodded back, speaking without words in the tongue of those who have shed blood with one another in battle. They were completely focused. They ignored the pain that was screaming in their aching arms. Images of glory, victory and celebration were pushed from their minds. And just as the cheer from the audience transformed into a distant vibration and all they could hear was the beating of their own hearts, they charged.
Their weapons connected with ear-shattering 'cracks'. The combat was fast and brutal, each warrior exchanging blows without more than a wince. Christophe clearly had the advantage of power and experience as shown through his technique but Duran was quick and constantly adapting to Christophe's form making him unpredictable. Just when one appeared to have the upper hand, the other would counter attack in a way that took even King Richard by surprise. The pandemonium of the crowd surged as each warrior fought with their truest hearts.
Christophe began to tire and he quickly realized that Duran was still flowing with vitality, despite the youth's quaking muscles. He wondered if the gap between years would ultimately decide the outcome of the match. Regardless of the wisdom that battle experience granted him, age was beginning to slow him down. Nevertheless, he knew that he would either have to end the fight quickly or yield to the youth before him. And so he found an opening between Duran's attacks and drew back. He clutched his heavy sword to his hip and took one final swing.
The crowd went ballistic with cheer. Christophe lay on the ground panting and glaring at Duran with a pale and sweaty face. Duran only returned the gaze, standing on hunched legs holding the knight's two handed sword. Once again, the crowd began chanting the young warrior's name and the king began to laugh with delight. However, Duran could not hear the cheers- he was busy trying to recall what had just transpired. It was the second time during the match that he had reacted too quickly to understand what he had done. But, sure enough, it came to him.
Christophe unleashed a massive strike with such force that it ripped Duran's weapon from his grip. There was no time for panic. Just as instantly as his sword had come free, did he bolt toward the hilt of the knight's heavy weapon. He stripped the two handed sword from the knight, pushing out hard with his hips and spun around, throwing all of his weight into the one wild swing that that would earn him victory.
The knight did not anticipate this outcome, but he was not angry or disappointed. The young warrior before him proved that the coddling he has endured as the son of their countries late hero did not spoil or blind him; that it did not fool him into believing power, honor and respect were things owed to him. No, Duran proved that he is willing to fight, and fight hard, if not a little foolhardy.
"I yield to you, boy." said Christophe through his teeth. Duran's eyes grew wide. Christophe chuckled and wearily lifted himself. He approached Duran who was till apprehensive. "I yield, son of Loki. Now cease pointing that weapon at me." Duran's nerves began to cool but he was still in momentary state of shock. Perhaps there had been an error- some violation of the rules or some term that he had overlooked that would demand he continue to fight, perhaps another round or more. Or maybe the knight was jesting and he'd continue the match once the weapon was returned to him. All of his doubts were erased when Christophe reached for the youth's free hand and raised it into the air.
"Son of Loki," Christophe hollered to wide-eyed faces of the audience. "Sai calael!" And they broke into applause, hollers, cheers and shouted words of endearment. Warmth slowly filled Duran's chest and face as his victory became true to him. He leaped into the air and cried the name of his father, his mother, the aunt that had raised him and of his younger sister to whom he had promised a victory.
King Richard made his way from the balcony towards the arena to congratulate the boy. It was the king's duty to officially declare the victor. Christophe took his place by the king's side as they headed towards the center of the arena towards Duran. King Richard took Duran by the shoulders and nodded.
"You have made your father and your kingdom proud." The king raised Duran's hand a second time, officially declaring Duran the winner of the grand melee and the people and trumpets erupted with a sound that shook the castle walls.
"How do you feel, my boy?" King Richard asked as he walked down the halls with Christophe and the young melee champion.
"Honestly, I cannot tell you how it is I remain standing." King Richard laughed. It was a deep, rich and contagious sound that always put a smile on the faces of those who heard it.
"About your victory, dear boy." Duran shook his head.
"I cannot believe it, my lord. For years I have dreamt of this moment, and now I am living it, victory in my name! It's…incredible." The King nodded, smiling.
"Did you anticipate Christophe as your final opponent?"
"When I heard that I would have to face him, I became curious as to why the Goddess needed me in heaven so suddenly!" The king's laughter echoed through the hall- the same golden hall Duran had crossed multiple times throughout the day that lead from the barracks to the arena. "I tell you now that Christophe is no man but a dwarven made golem." Christophe smiled. It may have been a handsome one in the years before his countless injuries, but it was now an awkward, crooked thing.
"So it is said by many, but you persevered and you conquered." King Richard gave Duran a heavy pat on the back. "You have certainly impressed us all, my boy. I know you will make a fine knight for Valsena when you come to age. And who can say?" He gave Duran a firm look. "Mayhap you will be crossing the fields in a suit of gold in the years to come."
"Aye. Someday, my lord." Duran nodded. There was not much more he could say as a ball of pride was swelling in his throat.
A crowd of young faces had made it to the recovery room before Duran, anxiously waiting for the chance to congratulate their new idol. When they saw him come into view, they flew to him.
"Duran, you were amazing!" screamed one of youngest in the group.
"I didn't think you could do it, but you proved me wrong!" blurted another. They all clamored at once, hopping up and down and hooting at him, congratulating in their own rambunctious way. Duran stopped in his place and put on a scowl.
"All of you come scampering towards me, hollering your little lungs out and not one of you greets your king?" The boisterous crowd shushed and frowned with heads lowered.
"Sooorry." They turned to their king and made exaggerated bowing gestures. "Greetings Kiiing Richaaard." They elongated the words, as children often do.
"Greetings, children." replied King Richard. They lifted their heads, each with a wide-eyed, forlorn expression.
"Ah, much better." Duran chuckled as he watched their performance.
"So, young ones…what say you of our new champion?" Richard said while gesturing toward Duran. The children immediately returned to their chanting and shouting, swarming him. Duran gave his king a whimsical look. "I apologize, my lord." King Richard only chortled.
"No need to apologize, my boy. This day is yours. Enjoy it." Duran nodded. King bowed to him and the children and was off.
"Very well. Everyone! Do continue showering me with praise!"
"How did you manage to beat that giant, Duran?" said one of the boys with red curls hanging around his face.
"I hit him with my sword, didn't you see?"
"No, you hit him with HIS OWN sword!" cracked one of the older.
"Aye, so I did!"
"You knocked him right on his butt!" piped the youngest. A wave of giggles burst amongst the crowd and the smaller kids began to hop with excitement. Duran laughed and waved his arms signaling to calm their commotion.
"Alright, you pack of rabites, I need to get myself into the recovery room before you all start chewing my legs off." As he shuffled through the crowd of adoring fans, he caught Christophe who had not departed with the king, but had stood just behind him. He noticed that the knight was walking towards him with a limp and he recalled when he had struck the back of his leg with his blunted sword.
"Duran." The knight called. The crowd of children silenced at once and backed away nervously.
"Christophe," Duran nodded to him, "not here for a second bout, are you?" The knight shook his head.
"Not at all. I've had all I could handle for one day." He stood before Duran with his right hand out. Duran took his hand and smiled, meeting the eyes of the veteran warrior. "You've proved me wrong, boy." He said. "Those flimsy arms do deceive." Duran laughed. He was actually well built for his age and he took Christophe's banter with a light heart.
"Thank you, sir knight. Will you be needing a cane to assist that injured leg of yours?"
"Oh, no worries. I'll have this boot kicking your rear again by next week's practice." The knight made his way to the recovery room. "As for a cane, I'd much rather have one of these fine maidens assist me to my quarters." The large man entered the recovery room with open arms, beckoning the assistance of the nurses, for he claimed he would fall at any moment should they not be at his side to support him. Duran shook his head and followed behind the knight, leaving the wild children to their games as they imitated the final match amongst one another.
"Duran!" An older woman dressed in the uniform gown of the nurses rushed over to the young man. "Duran, you had us all worried sick! Are you alright, my dear?" She cried.
"Aye, nothing that time cannot heal, nanna." She slapped her hand against her forehead and groaned.
"Oh, you took ten years off of my life, so you did, you silly boy! I'd be the world's most terrible nanny need I return you to your aunt wrapped in bandages, head to toe." Duran chuckled.
"No need for that, I am well enough."
His nanny hurriedly unbuckled his armor and tugged at his tunic. Revealing the firm skin of his stomach and chest, she anxiously searched for wounds and expected the worst.
"Nanna, please." Duran griped. He was too exhausted to resist his nanny's examination- that was until he spotted the younger female assistants in the recovery room giggling and batting their eyes at him.
"Nanna!" He snapped. "Must you expose me so in front of these other women?"
"Oh nonsense, I've been your nanny since you were a babe! No red-faced temptress is going to stop me from doing my duty now." One of the younger girls approached them. She had a lean and pretty face with a tipped nose and long dark hair. She wore a devilish smile as she caught Duran's gaze.
"Need you any help with the strong, young man, Lady Claudia?" she said.
"She just wants a peek at his goods." piped another, round-faced girl who was placing folded sheets in a closet. Claudia barked back.
"I'll have none of that talk from either of you, hear me? Go make yourselves busy sorting the supplies in the back!"
"Yes, Lady Claudia." they replied in unison, the pretty faced one looking sincerely disappointed as she made her way to the storage closet in the back of the recovery room.
"Oh, by the Goddess!" Lady Claudia gasped as she eyed the darkening blotch at Duran's side where he had taken the impact of Christophe's sword.
"Oh," Duran replied, "yes, well, I'd have a few of those of course."
"Oh dearest, you may have broken a rib!" His nanny clasped her hand over the bruise, feeling for anything unusual. The pain was sharp and the injury throbbed.
"Ow! Nothing is broken, nanna, not unless you insist on it!" Duran grunted. "You do know that it was I that beat the other man, right?"
"I know you had taken a beating! Heavens, where else are you hurt?"
"Well..." Duran thought, "In fear of you stripping me naked where I stand, let us just say that it is nothing serious, just bumps and bruises. I'm just a little worn, I swear to it." Claudia sighed. She had ceased coddling him since he had started his training some many years back, but seeing him injured always summoned the mother from within and Duran would once again be that crying toddler with the skinned knees. Yet she knew that he had just undergone somewhat of a rite of passage and so decided it best to concede and allow him the dignity and independence of an adult, despite her personal sentiments.
"Alright. I trust that you wouldn't do anything to drive your old nanna through the walls of this place." She patted his chest, her eyes still fixed on the welt at his side. "You wash up, get something warm in your stomach and take a long needed rest tonight."
"Not tonight nanna. I still have to keep watch along the parapet." He teased her with a smile. He knew how riled up she would get when he mentioned that he still had guard duty. But before she could assault him with a tirade of scolding, he reassured that there would be plenty of guards keeping watch along with himself and how nothing eventful ever happened during his shifts. Regardless of what he said, Claudia just shook her head.
"You amaze me, boy." She said evenly.
"I do my best" After long, stern look Claudia smiled, deep wrinkles spreading at the edges of her mouth. The boy reminded her so much of his father.
"However," Duran began as he unbuckled his boots, and gauntlets. "since you have always been so good to me, nanna, I will rest here until my shift begins. That way you can be sure I don't do anything foolish till then."
"Finally," said Claudia, "you speak sense!" His old nanny motioned to one of the empty beds near the corner of the recovery room closest to the entrance, nearest to her sights. "I'll fix you up something to eat while you are here." Duran groaned as he eased his body into the bed.
"Sounds great, nanna." he yawned. Now that his body had the chance to settle, the aches began to radiate throughout his muscles and in his bones. He shut his eyes and attempted to review the battle with the Silver Knight. Studying the motions in his head, he measured the many different methods in which he could have avoided certain strikes from the knight or attacked more efficiently. This was something he did after every sparring match, whether it was with the soldiers or with the kids near his age when he was younger. However, he had not fared so poorly in those fights. This time, he knew, even the simple task of rising from bed for his night shift would be a chore.
"Duran!" A familiar, high pitched squeal broke his meditation. He turned to see his child sister sprinting towards him, her brown, wavy hair bouncing with each of her swift steps.
"Wendy!" he called with surprise. She zoomed across the room, showing no hint of slowing down. Duran knew what to expect and braced for impact.
Pain surged through Duran's body as his sister crashed into him, burying her face into his chest. He held himself well, being sure not to show any signs of discomfort. This was something he would never allow his younger sister to see. It was a promise he made to himself years ago.
"What are you doing here, little lady?" He questioned playfully as he hugged her.
"Congratulating you!" her words were muffled as her head was still at his chest.
"You did not have to wait for me here, Wendy. What if I entered through the doors without any arms or legs?"
"You can't lose your arms! Those swords aren't even sharp." She giggled.
"Aye, very observant of you, little lady."
"Besides, I saw you win!"
"You were watching my match?"
"Yep."
"Is that so? And how did you get in? You know children are not allowed to view the tournaments"
"Here!" She cut him off, pulled back and revealed to him something she was holding in her hand. It was a small wooden sword no longer than her forearm. "It's a gift." He took the toy word in his hands.
"Wow, you took it upon yourself to present me a gift? Thank you, dear." She was wearing an expression he knew too well. Her lips were tightly pursed and she squinted, turning her bright green eyes into little shining slits- she had a secret. "Ah!" He said aloud. "I know that look!" He peered into her face. "What are you hiding!" she was doing all she could to bite back her laughter. "Come ooon." he persuaded. She did not falter, but he knew how to make her yield.
He lifted his hand with his index finger poised in the air. She shook her head violently but kept her lips remained shut. With a clever eyebrow raised, he moved his finger in closer. She wined and tried to retreat but he caught her. The tip of his raised finger went right to her belly and he tickled her until she exploded with a wild laughter.
After a round of tickling, she still remained silent, her face red and trembling with residual giggles.
"Still not going to tell me?" Duran asked. He caught her eye glancing at the wooden sword in his other hand. He looked at the sword and then back at her. "Hmmm, it's about the sword, isn't it?" She nodded. The toy sword in his hand looked familiar, but he thought that was due to most boys in the village having one. He figured his aunt has given her the money to purchase the toy for him as a gift. Yet his sister's reaction meant it must have been more than that.
Duran studied the toy for a moment, but yielded nothing. It looked like a common wooden sword- that was until he spied a familiar scratch on the cross-guard. Wendy could see the realization blossoming on her brother's face.
"Is this..." he trailed off, examining the sword with greater enthusiasm. "Was this my sword?" Wendy nodded. "But I thought this was long ago discarded?" She bobbed her head from side to side which was her way of saying 'maybe it was, maybe it wasn't'. "How is that so?" said Duran with wonder in his voice.
Wendy finally opened her mouth to speak.
"I kept it for you." She said as she rested her head on his arm. Duran was tracing his eyes all along the edges of the sword. When he was very young, he had been playing with another group of children, sparring and wrestling with their own make-shift weapons, when he had accidentally snapped the blade of his sword in two. He was so upset that he had tossed the pieces aside and returned home in a quiet fury. Wendy was with him on that day, being just a small toddler. Could it be that she had retrieved the pieces of the blade and kept it hidden?
She could see the questions on her brothers face and so she answered.
"The day you broke your sword, you were so hurt that I wanted to fix it for you. I took the pieces with me and left them in a chest in our room, but forgot they were there until a few days ago." She poked the tip of the sword. "Auntie helped me with crafting a new blade so I can give it to you when you won."
"And you knew I'd win?" Duran asked with a smile.
"I knew you wouldn't break your promise to me." she said slyly.
"Smart lady." He ruffled her hair, still amazed at his refurbished toy weapon. "This is truly a very special gift, Wendy. Thank you very much."
She jumped up, gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and set off running towards the recovery room front door.
"Lady? Where are you going?" he questioned.
"Auntie doesn't know I left!"
"What! You were to be with auntie?"
"I'll see you later!" She yelled as she flew through the door.
"Very well." he whispered to himself, lightly shaking his head.
Once Wendy had left, Duran once more made himself comfortable. He gave his sword one last appreciative look and set it on the table at his side. Without needing to resist any longer, he was more than happy to welcome a heavy sleep.
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