The courtyard was not meant for nocturnal use, with naught but the moonlight illuminating the sharply trimmed grass with a silvery light. Ironically, it was one of Joshua's favorite nighttime haunts, a place where he could escape the tiresome servants and crowds of the castle. The ground was warm and the air cool—that was, as cool as the came in such a fierce desert climate. Joshua never realized how difficult it was to keep the courtyard maintained; his mother hadn't told him that it required its own maintenance team! Resource draining and time-consuming, if Joshua weren't so fond of the place, he would have discontinued its use long ago.
Clear as the night was, swordplay was a sport of precision, and it wouldn't do to rely entirely on the natural light. To remedy this, Joshua had sent Miles to recruit a half score of servants to assist with the illumination. While the servants scoured the castle for extra lamps and lanterns, Joshua paid a brief visit to his private quarters. Hidden there, deep in an unused closet, was the curved Killing Edge he had used during the majority of the War of the Stones. He preferred Audhulma, of course, but it was stuck in a shrine somewhere deep in the palace, and obtaining at the moment would be more trouble than it was worth. The Killing Edge was lighter besides, and for this duel Joshua knew he would need his speed.
By the time Joshua had returned to the courtyard, sword in hand, Gerik, along with the half score of servants, were in waiting. The preparations were nearly complete, and Joshua took a moment to stretch and take a few practice swings. Gerik simply watched Joshua with his sword at his side—mentally critiquing his routine, perhaps, having already warmed up himself. As the final servant raised her torch, Joshua concluded with several quick strides in place. He then took several steps toward Gerik and spread his legs and straightened his arms in a battle ready position as Gerik did the same. A light desert breeze played through the courtyard as the two comrades waited for each other to make the initial blow.
Joshua lost patience first, throwing his body forward and reaching Gerik in four rapid strides. He feigned a high vertical strike, then swept his blade in a diagonal motion, aiming for the chest. Gerik had raised his Steel Blade to intercept the fake, but caught on quick enough to avoid the real blow with a quick backward lurch. Before his opponent could regain his lost ground, Joshua was on the attack again, delivering a torrent of blurred slashes, each of which were countered with steadfast blocks and parries. After nearly a dozen avoided blows, Gerik leaped a low, sweeping stroke, finally freeing up his sword. With a grunt, he brought the blade down hard and fast.
With a split second to decide whether to dodge or block, Joshua thrust his Killing Edge in the path of Gerik's blade before it gained too much momentum. After the blow held fast, he then wrenched it along the edge of the opposing weapon, taking a vicious hack down at Gerik's chest. The tip of Joshua's curved blade came with half an inch of grazing his comrade as Gerik shifted quickly backward. For a lengthy two seconds that seemed to freeze time for Joshua, his back was completely exposed to his partner; fortunately, Gerik was too busy avoiding the follow through of Joshua's assail, and did not capitalize on the opening. Hurriedly, Joshua drew his blade back defensively as Gerik righted his position.
"You've been practicing," Gerik said gruffly, raising his blade.
"Naturally," Joshua responded with a smug grin. "I'd hate to lose my touch, you know?"
Gerik sniffed. "I doubt that's even possible, but…"
"Enough talking."
Joshua lunged again, locking his Killing Edge into a strict series of maneuvers, swinging air-ripping stroke after air-ripping stroke at his comrade. Despite the lethal complexity of his partner's blows, Gerik stayed even, dodging and intercepting the assaults without yielding even an inch of ground. For several lengthy minutes Joshua kept on the attack, his curved blade raining down on Gerik like a furious hailstorm. As time passed, Joshua grew more and more frustrated at not landing a hit, and his attacks became progressively harsher and more vicious. Yet still, somehow, Gerik held on, proving his unshakable longevity by avoiding each and every stroke.
Issuing a violent hiss as his most polished series of blows was defended without flaw, Joshua took a step back, his breathing heavy and ragged. Gerik looked no better. Defending Joshua's peerless strikes had taken a toll that was both mental and physical—there was still one thought on his mind, however, and that was to deliver an attack of his own while his comrade was still recovering. Utilizing every ounce of strength that remained pumping in his flesh, he sprang forward with a roar, laying down a single, bone-shattering vertical swing with his Steal Blade.
It was not a slow assault, but Joshua saw it coming. With his entire body wheezing in protest, Joshua stumbled back—it was all he could do —to avoid Gerik's steel. Pushing his physical limits, to Joshua's horror, Gerik continued his charge, righting his blade and swinging again. Joshua had no choice but to retreat once again, his footing more uneven still. Adrenaline pushing the aches of Gerik's body aside, he pursued Joshua with a brutal determination, rising and bringing his blade down one last time. With a small shout, Joshua lurched back a final time, his time losing his footing completely. As his backside hit the grass, Gerik's Steel Blade sailed over him.
With a flourish, both duelists thrust forward their blades; Joshua's ended up pointing at Gerik's lower chest, while the thick Steel Blade hovered just above King Jehanna's throat. The two comrades stilled in this position for a long moment, their chests rising and lowering deeply as they sucked heavily for air. A thick silence filled the desert night, only to be broken seconds later by a light applause issuing from a trio of spectators that had arrived mid-duel. Gerik and Joshua finally broke their statue-like positions to identify the source of the noise.
The first of the three spectators—standing several strides away from the other two and ending his applause first—was Sir Miles. He struggled to appear impressed by the spectacular swordplay, but was clearly fooling no one. The second was a slim, violet-haired woman clad in mercenary garb—Marisa, the Crimson Flash. She had enjoyed the show, it appeared, but she seemed slightly dejected; Joshua reasoned it was because she felt left out. This was natural enough for her, as Joshua knew that fighting was her only real passion. To her right stood Tethys, scantly-clad and stunning, her hands resting on her hips in a leisurely manor. As soon as the two noticed their comrades had become unfrozen, they strode quickly over to join them.
"Your Highness," Miles began, "these two—"
"I know them," Joshua cut in, sheathing his blade and allowing Marisa to pull him to his feet. "You're excused."
"By your leave," Miles said, bowing hastily and departing.
Joshua rolled his eyes, then returned them to Gerik, who was on the receiving end of very warm hug from Tethys.
"Who was that?"
Startled, Joshua realized that it was Marisa who had addressed him—surprising, as she very rarely started conversations of any sort. He eyed Marisa for a moment before responding, noticing how suddenly interested she was at the state of the ground.
He shook his head. "The scruffy idiot who was giving you a hard time?"
"Yes."
"That's Miles. King's advisor—that is, my advisor. Useless cur. You remember Carlyle, right?"
It took a Marisa a few seconds, then: "The man who betrayed your mother."
"That's him. Miles is a relative."
"Problematic."
"Potentially," Joshua agreed, casting Marisa another glance; her eyes were still glued to the grass. "Something interesting you see there on the ground?"
Marisa's eyes whipped upward, her face reddening slightly. Joshua raised an eyebrow—from Marisa, this was certainly odd behavior.
"You all right?"
"Yes."
Joshua grinned. "You're sure?"
"Yes!"
The grin widened. "Marisa, you're flustered. This isn't like you."
"I am not flustered."
"I think you are."
"I think you're wrong!"
Joshua took a step back, raising his hands in surrender; Marisa's shout had caught the attention of the others.
"Is there a problem?" Gerik asked, clearly perplexed.
"I'm fine," Marisa spat, whirling about face and stomping moodily away.
"I suppose we should follow her…" Tethys said slowly, watching her depart.
"Joshua, you say something to her?" Gerik questioned.
Joshua shrugged. "Just teased her a bit."
"Odd," Gerik said, stroking his beard. "Mood swings aren't normal for Marisa—I'll have a talk with her later. As for you…"
"We tied at very best," Joshua supplied. "You owe me nothing."
"True enough," Gerik said, "but you may find that I'm useful guy to have around. For your trouble… I think one free job would be adequate compromise?"
"Generous," Joshua replied. "Now, I don't know about you, but I'm feeling a little on the tired side. I don't suppose I could offer you a room?"
"No, no," Gerik declined. "We should be getting back. Marisa's probably on her way already."
"Suit yourself," Joshua relented. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you shortly, at any rate. Ah, but well met, Tethys—sorry we didn't get a chance to talk."
"Quite fine," Tethys said with a wink, taking Gerik's hand and pulling him lightly toward the palace.
"Good speaking with you again, Joshua," Gerik managed, offering him a meek wave as he was yanked away. "Don't hesitate to give me a call—it may be in your best interest to do it swiftly, too; God only knows how many requests we get these days."
"I'll do that," Joshua promised, returning the wave. "Sleep well."
Before Gerik could respond, he and Tethys were out of sight. Joshua lowered his hand, stumbling back slightly in the process; he had worked his body to the bone. He was about to depart as well when he noticed that the light-bearing servants still dotted the courtyard.
"Oh, Gods, I'm sorry," he said hastily, nearly tripping over his own feet as he jolted to a halt. "You're all excused, certainly. Do as you will."