Quentin- Duel
My instruction had to be postponed because of the noise. Men called out to their friends and separated into groups to chat, while others unloaded equipment and headed to find something to eat. Link motioned toward the latter and said, "Let's follow them and get something to eat." We stood up from our perches on the simple beds and followed the weary guards.
The kitchens were just a short walk through a small courtyard. A long room, like the barracks, was filled to the brim with long wooden tables, plain benches flanking either side. The room was already crowded, filled with delicious smells and the din of hundreds talking, but Link apparently always had an open spot waiting for him. He seemed to know everyone, and was able to spare a word for each friend he met. It was easy to see that he was well liked and sought after to share stories with. Serving women circulated the room dropping off food and picking up used eating utensils. We didn't need to wait long for our turn and we set upon the food with vigor.
In between bites of stew, I took the time to glance around the room, observing the men around me. No one seemed to mind me being there. Men of all ages, from my own age to upwards of 50 filled the ranks. Loud laughter reverberated around the room in a cacophony of voices. I shifted in my seat to find a more comfortable spot on the bench and had to move my sword out of the way. This brought on the attention of a guard sitting nearby.
"Pretty nice sword you have there!" he said peering down, "are you any good?" Unthinking, I jerked my hand away from the blade, and looked at the man speaking. The guard had friends sitting with him and their attention was also on me. Expectant faces and polite smiles met my eyes as they waited to hear a reply. Link intervened for me, saying,
"He just got here Alan and already you're trying to start a duel?"
The guard-Alan's friends laughed uproariously at the obvious inside joke. Alan jerked his head to look over at Link and then turned back to me.
"Hey, I may be off duty, but I'm always up for a fight." he bragged. I shrugged trying to match his bravado, standing up from my empty bowl. "Practice swords right?" I asked, trying to sound brave.
"Yeah of course, but really if you don't feel like it...it's fine." I smiled, "No I'm able… but I'm a little rusty." I gave what I hoped was a self-deprecating smile and not a look of arrogance, "So go easy on me." Link laid a hand on my shoulder, "good luck!"
Most of the guards followed us outside, not wanting to lose a chance at free entertainment. My opponent and I were given a wide berth and practice swords. The wooden blades were made very well, with a two handed grip, and a perfect balance. Giving it a few test swings gave me a feel for the weight. A ring was established and the signal to start was given.
We began circling each other, feeling for openings. Sweat began to run down my face. I had a sword, so surely I knew how to use it right? But I couldn't remember any sword forms. I was going to look like a fool in front of a whole company of soldiers. I needed to…Alan took my pause of panic rightly for hesitation, and struck, eager to make the first move. He charged in and, with a yell, made a double-handed overhead downswing. Eyes wide with surprise at Alan's speed, I considered turning and fleeing, when a curious sensation swept over me. Time seemed to slow down and I felt a pulse from behind where Link was standing with my real blade. Without further thought, my left arm whipped up and abruptly stopped my opponent's downswing. Alan grunted, immediately launching into another form. He brought his blade back around, to slice across my stomach. I quickly bent forward to avoid the edge and was fully swept up in our mock battle. We danced from form to form, me always on the defensive, unbelieving my good luck so far. I was turning away blow after blow and Alan's face had gone from confident to frustration to fury as his blows were seemingly easily blocked by the soft city boy I appeared to be. He had friends to impress and was working harder and harder to break through my guard. Alan lunged and almost caught me in the ribs with the jab but my body moved out of the way and sent an elbow rocketing out from the side toward his face. Alan narrowly avoided having his face smashed dodging just in time.
My body was alive with the thrill. I had liquid fire blazing through my veins. Sights and sound came faster than usual lending an ease to movement and sight. As we fought, I could see extraordinary detail. I had never been more aware. But nothing was clearer than the sword held in Link's arms. My whole existence focused on that one object. It blazed like the sun to a man kept in the dark. It called to me.
A fresh wave of sweat broke out on my face, running down into unblinking eyes. The strain of ignoring the sword was like a man addicted to poppy seeing a vast supply just for him.
Again and again we clashed our wooden swords together, dancing back and forth in the ring of spectators. The crowd that had once been cheering, now was completely silent in awe as we hacked and slashed at each other. We were both drenched in sweat and finally, the battle concluded. I stumbled and fell to one knee, exhaustion overcoming me. Triumph bloomed on Alan's face as he prepared to point his sword at my throat to signal victory. I panicked, sure that the guard was going to seriously injure me by clubbing me over the head. My own practice sword had fallen from my hand when I fell and I reached out for it, eyes wide in fear, unable to break the gaze of my foe. I noticed too late that a practice blade was not the one I reached out for …
The wickedly sharp blade streaked out from its scabbard across the room into my hand. As soon as it hit my palm, I could feel its glee at being released. The transition from Link's hands to mine had taken only seconds, Alan had yet to lower his arm. My arm swung up inexorably and sliced through his sword so near his hand that I myself let out a cry of alarm. The steel blade whistled through the wood with hardly a pause, as if cutting the air. Alan cursed, jumping back and dropping the ruined stick. He rubbed his hand panting.
"What the hell?" he demanded, looking down at me on the ground. He received no answer, for I was already unconscious.
Link- Guilt
Quentin awoke suddenly in the bed he had been sitting on earlier. He groaned as the earlier episode must have swept over him. A reaction quite natural, as he had almost taken Alan's hand off. He sat up placing a hand to either side of his head, shaking slightly. Link had been nearby, reading as he waited for Quentin to awaken.
"Go easy there." He said concerned, "You've had a rough day. How are you feeling?"
"Horrible!" Quentin groaned, "Mostly from feeling like I've been ran over, but also for almost killing that soldier."
Link snorted, "Well don't worry, you didn't. He'll forgive you." He lied, "besides, it's easy to go from a practice match to a real one. That's the reason why we use blunt, wooden swords and not real ones." He came over and clapped Quentin on the shoulder. "Don't worry, you're not in trouble…but," he paused, looking at Quentin's sword laying on the table, "that is an interesting weapon you have. I was able to sheathe it after the battle, but when the others started talking about locking it up... well…I've never seen a bonded sword before."
"What?" Quentin asked, dread tinging is voice, "Well...it wouldn't let us touch it..." Link stated softly. "What?!" "How could you not pick up a sword?" Link spread his hands and shrugged.
"It burned us." he said simply, "its one of the protections on a blade like that."
"Oh I'm so sorry!" Quentin gasped. Link shrugged, as if it all was no big deal and said, "You were unconscious. Besides, I'm not the one who was burned." Quentin regarded Link strangely. Here was a mock fight gone horribly wrong put together with a magic sword that has a mind of its own, and to top it off, it burns those who try to touch it and he was just shrugging it off. "Well," Link said, "time for bed. We will try to get in to see the Queen tomorrow like I promised."
