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Thanks much for reviewing 2sidez! In fact, I plan to keep this up at least until I get through (most of) the basic classes (I don't think I'll write one for Calculator or Mime, though.).
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The Knight
Sir. Sir, Sir, Sir. She was a Sir now, because of her damn first name. You would think that a female knight would get a different title, wouldn't you? One couldn't help but think that after four major engagements with the Hokuten, and a full knighthood within the Nanten, they would give her a Lady. But no, someone messed up with the papers, so she was stuck with Sir.
It was too bad, really. Now she was known as Sir Samantha Irile, and it didn't help that her nickname was Sam. She really should head up to the capital some day and get the damn lawyers up there to change her name. Sir Sam. She sounded like a theatre character, rather than a knight of the noble line of Irile. It didn't help that her watchmate, Sir Guberre, reminded her of this little fact every second he could to make the time pass. They did not get along well, even if they both worked under the great Sir Orlandu. There had already been a couple fights that needed to be broken up, one involving a fork being thrown near Guberre's jugular.
Arvad had seen both of these happen, though he was always too smart to get involved. Archers were always more sensitive to danger than knights were. It came from being far away from combat firing arrows, rather than in the middle of it, swinging swords.
"So whater'yoo lukin' at fer the dinner table tonight, Sammie?"
"Why don't you bring a book or something, instead of pestering me with your childish antics? My name is not Sammie. To my friends, yes, but to YOU it's Sir Irile, a name that goes farther than yours ever will."
"Sir, is it? Damn, an' here I thought I saw a pair of breasts beaten into that cuirass o' yours. Yeh should'a stayed a squire, or gone into that priestly stuff so's yeh at least git tah wear a dress."
Still not turning around to stare his pimpled mug eye to eye, Sam stared out over the parapet of Zeltennia Castle. She knew that if she chose to see that glimmer of humor in that ghoulish mask she wouldn't be able to control herself. It was only her that he bothered, and only when they were sitting in these rather comfortable chairs on top of this wall.
"The priests wear a robe, Sir Guberre, and at least I can show respect to the kind soul who has the skill and blessing of the lord to patch me up after a long battle."
"That god stuff isa load've hogwash, that is. You know it, and I know it aswell. They don't get their magic from none other than the same source that is the fire-flingers' either."
Arvad inhaled sharply. Guberre had not only just committed heresy and blasphemy, he had also touched on one of Sam's most volatile feelings. Sam's mother had been a member of the Nanten Life, a corp of units dedicated to keeping the army on its legs through the bandage and the prayer. Sam gritted her teeth, trying to keep her hand from going to her sword as her neck stayed rigidly still.
"I don't think I managed to grasp your grammar, Sir Guberre. It sounded to me like you just said that God wasn't on my mother's side, on the side of the same group that kept your dad alive for ten years after your sorry hide was born."
"There AIN'T no GOD, Sammie. Bitch you may be, an' probably a dyke at that, bein' called sir, but I think yeh could've figured THAT one out. I dun' give two damns about my father, Yer mum can go suck sugared meat in hell, and I SPIT in the direction of you, as a girly knight."
That DID it. This imbecile had just besmirched her honor a total of three times in the past hour. Not only that, but he'd committed one of the worst forms of heresy and damned her mother in the process, just to get a rise out of her so he could pass the time with a sword fight, the bastard. He didn't deserve to live any longer, to ruin both her family's and his family's name for sport.
Sir Samantha Irile stood up, and turned precisely ninety degrees to her right. There was a form to be observed, even in the execution of a duty such as this. Her right hand crossed her chest below rib-line, gripping the hilt of her sword in it's scabbard. A quick motion, from left to right, and the sword was pointed directly at the lanky man in plate mail who lounged in the padded chair ten feet away.
"Arvad, will you serve for a witness to the words that this heretic has said, that he has called blatantly for his own death?"
"I will, Sir Samantha."
"Then draw, heretic, and let the church's justice be called forth, in this duel."
He stood, seeming to slouch even in that worked metal case and bucket masquerading as armor. It would be his claymore against her longsword, and neither of them used shields. Not an even match, not by far.
"Oh, come on, princess. You can't let my jab get so far up your tush as that. Really, our watch is over in two minutes, I was just havin' atcha. No, I tell a lie, there. It'd be a really good feelin', for me the see yer head up here on the end o' my sword."
"Have at thee!"
But Guberre swung first, catching Sam by surprise as it grazed her ear and clanged off the stonework. As she swung her own blade, however, Guberre ducked just low enough that her edge skipped across the open-faced steel helm. It was all she could do, to bank the upswinging edge of his claymore off the flat of her hastily-pulled-back blade, but his hand disengaged and pushed against her left shoulder to make her stumble backwards and give him some breathing room. Or at least, that's what she thought at first.
It wasn't until she swung again, missing because of the range difference after stumbling back, that she noticedhe'd stuck a dagger into her arm socket. That's when she felt the pain. She didn't scream even thoughit was horrendous, but she didn't dare pull it out, because he'd seize the opportunity to cut her down. Her right hand never leaving her sword, she let the other dangle at her side. There was definitely some poison on that blade, and it was fast acting, judging by the way she was already feeling very intoxicated. Then again, it could have just been because it was so close to her heart.
"You... that was dirty..."
"Oh come on, like you've never had a prick before, SI-"
It was a mad jab with her good arm from the right side, aimed right at his chest. It was almost too good to be true that he couldn't talk and guard at the same time. Sam's edge pierced steel, linen, quilted cloth, then flesh, bone, spirit and soul. It was her last action before she lost consciousness entirely, to withdraw the blade. As she did, Arvad's voice sounded very close, and very welcome.
"Don't worry, Sir Samantha. We'll get a healer up here, and we'll add black market dealing as well as poisoning to his list of crimes."