Read and Review. What d'you think should happen? (Only so I can make sure
it doesn't ) *evil cackle*
WHAT'S THIS?!?!? Only one review for my last chapter. Wow.musta sucked BIG
TIME I will strive for perfection *deep bow*
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The rest of that day, and the next went by in a blur for Lera. She kept to herself and trained with Stu, learning a few last minute tricks from him. All the while, he lectured her for accepting his challenge. Lera ignored that. Stu yelled at her for a while that night, the night before her fight. She would be a knight in a few short months and she was putting her life and future on the line for this little bastard.
When the singing and dancing began the next day, everyone gathered in the indoor fencing court to watch a short theatrical presentation done by two Copper Island Jesters. As the play ended and the actors took a bow to the clapping and laughing audience, Saban walked to the center of the court.
The play had been funny, but Lera was too high strung at the moment to laugh at all. She was stretching behind the crudely mad audience bleachers. Stu was pacing nearby, casting worried glances at Lera. She halted, straining to hear what Saban was saying. She only caught fragments of what he was saying, which was odd because it was so silent you could hear a pin drop.
"Will Leralinda-Quirana of Sharta please step forth and meet this challenge?" Lera heard the king call out. She could tell by his voice that he didn't like Saban any more than she did, and he thought that there were no solid grounds for this Death Match, but he knew the laws, no challenge could be denied unless it was by the person challenged. Lera would say no. Everyone in the room knew this.
It took Lera a moment to realise that he was calling her. She hadn't been called Leralinda for several years. In fact, she doubted people even knew her name was Leralinda. Except maybe Carlyn. Taking a deep breath, Lera walked out to the center of the court and bowed to the king and queen, sitting elegantly next to their enemy, even on equally tall thrones. Then she bowed to the audience, flicking her eyes through it for familiar faces. She spotted David, who waved to her and gave her the thumbs up. At least on friend was encouraging.
As she stood back up from being bent in half in bow, Lera spotted Joel. She wished she hadn't. He looked about four weeks dead. He was pale as death itself and was rubbing his temples, looking really stressed out. She felt her shoulders tense unwontedly. Damnit. He caught her eye as she bowed as shortly as custom would permit to Saban. He tried to smile reassuringly, but he looked almost more afraid than she did.
Lera shook her arms and legs and picked up her sword, offered to her by a first year page, who shot her dirty looks and smiled to Saban. She longed to smack his in the face. They would never be able to convince everyone that women were equals.
Rolling her shoulders and dipping the tip of her sword in salute Lera wondered which breath would be her last, what he last thought would be, what her dying words would be. She wondered what her last wish would be.
Circling slowly upon the flagged start by the page-boy, Lera contracted and loosened her leg muscles, hoping for the opening she would need. She forgot about the left left right rule when she made to cross over with her right foot the second time. She fumbled slightly. (The left left right rule and a strategy of footing for fencing that was commonly used in medieval times.)
Saban lunged in, his sword hissing through the air, reminding Lera of the snake he was. He swished his blade skilfully sideways then snaked it back lunging forth in a figure eight form, making it nearly impossible to block. Since she couldn't block, Lera leapt back, dropped to her knees and rolled away.
Saban snorted with laughter as she stood up a few meters away.
"Well done, Squire." He said with distaste. "But that was the most un orthodox thing I've ever seen. Only a weakling couldn't defend that attack." He hissed at her. He hit her button.
She hated him. More than ever. She wasn't weak. She just wasn't. He was the weak one. His beliefs were weak. His morals were weak. She hated him. He should die. Lera twisted out the way as his blade nipped forwards, slicing neatly though the muscle in her left thigh. In the corner of her eye, as she fell, Lera saw Joel drop his hand to his own wounded thigh, which had yet to had just had it's stitches removed.
Blood gushed from the wound. Lera felt nauseous. Despite all of her instincts and medical training, she didn't pinch the wound. She stood up, keeping her weight off of the leg. The cut was an inch, give or take, deep and it throbbed like nothing she had felt before. This was no match to her emotional pain. She could hear the sounds of people screaming for her to kill the bastard, but they were muffled. She could see Stu hovering outside of the ring. It was a death match. He couldn't help her.
Swinging sloppily in, Lera caught Saban off guard. He was busy looking at her surprised by her determination. She cut a scant centimetre into his shoulder before he leapt away, furious for being proved the fool, if only momentarily. She would have to do better if she wanted to live.
A few more encounters like the first left Lera out of breath, sweating through her breast band and shirt, and bleeding too quickly for health. She winched as she stepped onto her left leg to pivot and swing in. Saban took a chance, assuming she was faking and lifted his blade to block an over swing. A swing she feigned then switched out of at the last minute and hacked up and under his arm. He screamed as he fell to the ground, half of his shoulder hacked in half from the armpit up.
He grappled at his semi-severed limb and wailed like a baby. As his scream slowed and his broke into a feverish sweat, Saban pulled himself upright, picking up his sword with his other hand. He had been trained to handle pain. He was breathing heavily and tears were rolling down his cheeks from the pain.
He lashed at her, angrily with his left hand. His moves we jerky from the pain and disorientation of his left hand. Lera blocked them easily, but felt herself slipping as more blood collected on the ground at her feet. Glancing down for a second to re-establish her footing, Lera let her gaze drop from Saban. He slashed in a circle and Lera barely had time to clank her sword against his before she tripped in her own blood at went down on the flat of her back.
Breathing hard and knowing certain death was upon her, Lera lay still, panting as silence filled the auditorium. She could feel the sticky sweetness of her own blood soaking through her shirt onto her back. Her leg hurt worse than ever.
Saban stepped over her, leering at her from above, blocking out the light of the sun spilling through the only window above.
"You always were weak. This is the end." He whispered, his voice as cold as the fingers of death.
Lera chocked a little as blood was brought up into her mouth. Sunlight glinted off of Saban's sword as he raised it for the final strike.
(I was going to leave it here, I honestly was, but then I realised that I would loose inspiration if I did this, and things might not go as planned.)
Lera could hear the sound of people breathing. Things seemed to be moving in slow motion. She could see Stu grab the railing hard, his knuckles white and his face pale. She could see Joel stand up quickly, wincing for her pain and his own. She could see sweat trickling from Saban's face, above hers.
She thought of all the things she'd left unsaid. Un done. She hadn't made it. Her journey had failed. She had never shown her mother, or the world that she could do it. She could make it. She was weak. Just as Saban said. Lera felt one tear. Only one trickle down her cheek. Slow motion. Time was hers.
This couldn't be how it ended.
Lera felt the steel of her blade his her fingers as Saban through himself into the final blow. He was falling towards her. Without thinking much, and knowing her stunt probably would work and that it was much to cliché to look good, Lera brought her blade up, just as Saban made to strike.
She kicked out with one sprawling foot, her wounded one and knocked him off of his feet. Saban fell forwards, pierced through with her sword. He coughed blood up all over her shoulder. His eyes were open and staring at her, still blinking.
"Look who is weak now." She whispered, shoving Saban's body off of her.
Time rushed in around her as the pressure of days lifted from her shoulders. She stretched her neck out and cried., She curled in a ball, the wound on her leg un bearable. She sobbed.
Stu was at her side in seconds, shooting dirty looks at Joel as he limped over, followed by Carlyn, who looked ecstatic.
"Whoo!!!! Lera!!! You kick ASS!" He cursed, dropping to her side, and patting her on the back.
She smiled weakly, and nodded to him her eyes dropping. Someone lifted her up and carried her from the ring.
"Wait." She whispered, struggling. She was set down on the ground. She half walked, half dragged herself over to Saban's eagle spread body. No one had touched him yet. Kneeling by him Lera grabbed his head with her hands and peered into his still open eyes. His perfectly chisled face had lost the lines of coldness, and for the first time Lera wondered what it must have been like for him. In his family. She wondered.
"This is not my end. Nor yours. It is the beginning of something new though." She whispered, almost forgivingly tucking a strand of his fine blond hair behind his young ears. "The beginning." She whispered, more to herself this time.
Inky black tendrils blotted her vision as she passed out next to her forgiven nemesis. All was forgiven.for now.
The rest of that day, and the next went by in a blur for Lera. She kept to herself and trained with Stu, learning a few last minute tricks from him. All the while, he lectured her for accepting his challenge. Lera ignored that. Stu yelled at her for a while that night, the night before her fight. She would be a knight in a few short months and she was putting her life and future on the line for this little bastard.
When the singing and dancing began the next day, everyone gathered in the indoor fencing court to watch a short theatrical presentation done by two Copper Island Jesters. As the play ended and the actors took a bow to the clapping and laughing audience, Saban walked to the center of the court.
The play had been funny, but Lera was too high strung at the moment to laugh at all. She was stretching behind the crudely mad audience bleachers. Stu was pacing nearby, casting worried glances at Lera. She halted, straining to hear what Saban was saying. She only caught fragments of what he was saying, which was odd because it was so silent you could hear a pin drop.
"Will Leralinda-Quirana of Sharta please step forth and meet this challenge?" Lera heard the king call out. She could tell by his voice that he didn't like Saban any more than she did, and he thought that there were no solid grounds for this Death Match, but he knew the laws, no challenge could be denied unless it was by the person challenged. Lera would say no. Everyone in the room knew this.
It took Lera a moment to realise that he was calling her. She hadn't been called Leralinda for several years. In fact, she doubted people even knew her name was Leralinda. Except maybe Carlyn. Taking a deep breath, Lera walked out to the center of the court and bowed to the king and queen, sitting elegantly next to their enemy, even on equally tall thrones. Then she bowed to the audience, flicking her eyes through it for familiar faces. She spotted David, who waved to her and gave her the thumbs up. At least on friend was encouraging.
As she stood back up from being bent in half in bow, Lera spotted Joel. She wished she hadn't. He looked about four weeks dead. He was pale as death itself and was rubbing his temples, looking really stressed out. She felt her shoulders tense unwontedly. Damnit. He caught her eye as she bowed as shortly as custom would permit to Saban. He tried to smile reassuringly, but he looked almost more afraid than she did.
Lera shook her arms and legs and picked up her sword, offered to her by a first year page, who shot her dirty looks and smiled to Saban. She longed to smack his in the face. They would never be able to convince everyone that women were equals.
Rolling her shoulders and dipping the tip of her sword in salute Lera wondered which breath would be her last, what he last thought would be, what her dying words would be. She wondered what her last wish would be.
Circling slowly upon the flagged start by the page-boy, Lera contracted and loosened her leg muscles, hoping for the opening she would need. She forgot about the left left right rule when she made to cross over with her right foot the second time. She fumbled slightly. (The left left right rule and a strategy of footing for fencing that was commonly used in medieval times.)
Saban lunged in, his sword hissing through the air, reminding Lera of the snake he was. He swished his blade skilfully sideways then snaked it back lunging forth in a figure eight form, making it nearly impossible to block. Since she couldn't block, Lera leapt back, dropped to her knees and rolled away.
Saban snorted with laughter as she stood up a few meters away.
"Well done, Squire." He said with distaste. "But that was the most un orthodox thing I've ever seen. Only a weakling couldn't defend that attack." He hissed at her. He hit her button.
She hated him. More than ever. She wasn't weak. She just wasn't. He was the weak one. His beliefs were weak. His morals were weak. She hated him. He should die. Lera twisted out the way as his blade nipped forwards, slicing neatly though the muscle in her left thigh. In the corner of her eye, as she fell, Lera saw Joel drop his hand to his own wounded thigh, which had yet to had just had it's stitches removed.
Blood gushed from the wound. Lera felt nauseous. Despite all of her instincts and medical training, she didn't pinch the wound. She stood up, keeping her weight off of the leg. The cut was an inch, give or take, deep and it throbbed like nothing she had felt before. This was no match to her emotional pain. She could hear the sounds of people screaming for her to kill the bastard, but they were muffled. She could see Stu hovering outside of the ring. It was a death match. He couldn't help her.
Swinging sloppily in, Lera caught Saban off guard. He was busy looking at her surprised by her determination. She cut a scant centimetre into his shoulder before he leapt away, furious for being proved the fool, if only momentarily. She would have to do better if she wanted to live.
A few more encounters like the first left Lera out of breath, sweating through her breast band and shirt, and bleeding too quickly for health. She winched as she stepped onto her left leg to pivot and swing in. Saban took a chance, assuming she was faking and lifted his blade to block an over swing. A swing she feigned then switched out of at the last minute and hacked up and under his arm. He screamed as he fell to the ground, half of his shoulder hacked in half from the armpit up.
He grappled at his semi-severed limb and wailed like a baby. As his scream slowed and his broke into a feverish sweat, Saban pulled himself upright, picking up his sword with his other hand. He had been trained to handle pain. He was breathing heavily and tears were rolling down his cheeks from the pain.
He lashed at her, angrily with his left hand. His moves we jerky from the pain and disorientation of his left hand. Lera blocked them easily, but felt herself slipping as more blood collected on the ground at her feet. Glancing down for a second to re-establish her footing, Lera let her gaze drop from Saban. He slashed in a circle and Lera barely had time to clank her sword against his before she tripped in her own blood at went down on the flat of her back.
Breathing hard and knowing certain death was upon her, Lera lay still, panting as silence filled the auditorium. She could feel the sticky sweetness of her own blood soaking through her shirt onto her back. Her leg hurt worse than ever.
Saban stepped over her, leering at her from above, blocking out the light of the sun spilling through the only window above.
"You always were weak. This is the end." He whispered, his voice as cold as the fingers of death.
Lera chocked a little as blood was brought up into her mouth. Sunlight glinted off of Saban's sword as he raised it for the final strike.
(I was going to leave it here, I honestly was, but then I realised that I would loose inspiration if I did this, and things might not go as planned.)
Lera could hear the sound of people breathing. Things seemed to be moving in slow motion. She could see Stu grab the railing hard, his knuckles white and his face pale. She could see Joel stand up quickly, wincing for her pain and his own. She could see sweat trickling from Saban's face, above hers.
She thought of all the things she'd left unsaid. Un done. She hadn't made it. Her journey had failed. She had never shown her mother, or the world that she could do it. She could make it. She was weak. Just as Saban said. Lera felt one tear. Only one trickle down her cheek. Slow motion. Time was hers.
This couldn't be how it ended.
Lera felt the steel of her blade his her fingers as Saban through himself into the final blow. He was falling towards her. Without thinking much, and knowing her stunt probably would work and that it was much to cliché to look good, Lera brought her blade up, just as Saban made to strike.
She kicked out with one sprawling foot, her wounded one and knocked him off of his feet. Saban fell forwards, pierced through with her sword. He coughed blood up all over her shoulder. His eyes were open and staring at her, still blinking.
"Look who is weak now." She whispered, shoving Saban's body off of her.
Time rushed in around her as the pressure of days lifted from her shoulders. She stretched her neck out and cried., She curled in a ball, the wound on her leg un bearable. She sobbed.
Stu was at her side in seconds, shooting dirty looks at Joel as he limped over, followed by Carlyn, who looked ecstatic.
"Whoo!!!! Lera!!! You kick ASS!" He cursed, dropping to her side, and patting her on the back.
She smiled weakly, and nodded to him her eyes dropping. Someone lifted her up and carried her from the ring.
"Wait." She whispered, struggling. She was set down on the ground. She half walked, half dragged herself over to Saban's eagle spread body. No one had touched him yet. Kneeling by him Lera grabbed his head with her hands and peered into his still open eyes. His perfectly chisled face had lost the lines of coldness, and for the first time Lera wondered what it must have been like for him. In his family. She wondered.
"This is not my end. Nor yours. It is the beginning of something new though." She whispered, almost forgivingly tucking a strand of his fine blond hair behind his young ears. "The beginning." She whispered, more to herself this time.
Inky black tendrils blotted her vision as she passed out next to her forgiven nemesis. All was forgiven.for now.
