by Eric Vall
My heart pounded a bruising tattoo against my breastbone.
Tick… I heard deep within that well of me where the time-trance slept.
Everything slowed in the way it usually did, but this time I could see the metal of my blade glowing that same blue it did when it was first melded with Shay’s stone.
A deep resonant vibration shook me deep inside like a pack of wild mustangs, and an overwhelming feeling of Righteous Anger washed through me.
My heart beat strong and solid and became inseparable from the constant ticking.
Ren’s momentum froze for just a fraction, and it was just long enough for me to see how twisted and ugly his face was when he fixed that expression of hatred on his target.
In this instance, I was the target of his utter loathing, but what struck me was how often I’d seen this loathing directed at people like Zoie, Mec, and especially Shay. Until now, I felt like I was only seeing a small part of the man’s true colors, but with the exposing blue light of my herald blade, I could see the state of his soul as it rotted away from him in festering clumps.
I sensed a tugging inside my gut, and somehow I knew on an instinctual level the sword was asking me to make a Judgement. There was an undercurrent of excitement to the suggestion as if the forged magical steel couldn’t wait to spill some well-deserved blood, but above that was a sense of solidarity behind any decision I made regardless.
I didn’t know how a piece of equipment could be respectful, but it was just another one of those things about Aventoll I’d accepted as the norm.
Tick.
The beating inside my head was fading, and I knew I was almost at my limit with the time-trance.
Tick.
With all of the injustices he’d done against the people I love, as well as countless innocents most likely, my decision wasn’t a hard one.
Boom.
Time snapped back into its rightful place at the same time as a burst of energy built up and exploded from my herald blade.
Ren screamed at his cutlass shattered like glass, and he was propelled backward in a shower of raining metal shards. A green smog rose from the debris and left behind the smell of something like hot sewage, which caused several of the onlooking riders to gag with the stench.
“Bala Ren’s blade was enchanted?” someone murmured from nearby, and it set off a cascade of whispers through the riders.
I only paid attention with half an ear, however, because I was on the fucking warpath like some avenging archangel with a mission to spread wrath, and I stalked toward the sniveling brown-crested parasite.
“You!” Ren screeched as he scrambled backward on the stone platform until he had nowhere left to go except over the edge. “How did you get a herald sword with such power? You are nothing but a foreigner, a low-life, and I am a rank-four Duelist!”
“Because, Bala, I have more conviction in what is righteous and just in my little toe than you do in your whole fucking body,” I said, and without further ado, I swung my blade and sliced clean through his neck.
I didn’t even spare him and his stupid ponytail a second glance as his head hit the paving stones, and I turned around as I wiped off my weapon.
The blue triangular etching on the base of my blade morphed into a circle for some reason, but it still looked as blue as could be. The sword hummed and sang in my grip, and I sheathed it with a grateful pat on its pommel.
“Our Champion has staked his claim of Duelist Rite, and he has proved victorious!” Mec bellowed as he raised my arm to the sky.
Suddenly, as if waiting for her cue, Shay’s canterfly Victory soared at us on top of the platform, and on the steed’s back were two of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen in my life.
“Alex!” Shay called out as she brought Victory to land, and I saw Zoie clutch the other woman’s waist as the canterfly jerked at the rough landing.
Then they both slid off Victory’s back at the same time, and we all met in the middle in a passionate embrace.
“As Asher Lord of Nata Isle, it is my pleasure to recognize this union as viable, if it so pleases you, and now proclaim you as a fourth-rank Duelist,” the ram-lord said in his rolling thunder voice, and I whipped my head around to him. “You now own your dead opponent’s assets, including: property, businesses, slaves, and wives. May your blessed fortune ever increase.”
“Thank you, Asher Mec,” I said. I’d almost forgotten the horned-man was there for a second. The overwhelming sensation of relief consumed me, and the only thoughts in my head were of somewhere safe and private with a nice bed and a bath, hopefully with all three of us involved in some way.
“Remember, call me Gavlain,” the Asher Lord said and smiled down at all three of us. “I know you are weary, but it is a tradition for the Champion of the Icarian Races to stay in the palace as honored guests. I wish to hold a feast in celebration.”
“That is very kind, and of course the three of us will totally accept your invitation,” I said as I wrapped my arms even tighter around both of my wives.
“Excellent!” the Asher Lord boomed jovially. Then he raised his hand, and the floor plate the giant brazier was on slid aside like a man-hole cover and revealed a series of steps that led to a door. “Please take the spire lift. It will take you directly to the natural hot springs under the palace. Rest assured that everything will be taken care of for you.”
He clapped me one more time on the back and ushered me to the lift where servants were ready to open and close the doors for us.
When the three of us were alone and the lift was moving us ever downward, I suddenly felt the energy drain out of me like water through a sieve, and I sagged between the two women until we were all forced to sit entangled on the elevator floor together.
“It’s over,” Shay said in a wondrous voice as she brushed the sweaty bangs out of my eyes.
Zoie curled up next to me and breathed into the side of my neck.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there before the race,” she said and then drew back so she could look at me.
“Where were you?” I asked dreamily and lowered my cheek to rest on the top of Shay’s crimson head.
“She came and found me so I wouldn’t be alone,” Shay said and linked her fingers with Zoie’s across my lap.
“Yes, but I also went somewhere before that,” the cat-woman added, and her tone was partially guilty even though her smile was excited.
“Where?” Shay asked.
“I placed a bet on Alex to win with the gold we got from the Ruins.” The cat-woman smirked coyly.
“How much of the gold did you put in?” I cocked my head at her as a slow but exhausted smile spread over my face.
“All of it, of course,” she said with a nonchalant sniff.
“But what if I didn’t win?” I said in a flabbergasted voice. I had a feeling she’d gone all in, but the reality of it was still kind of shocking.
“Was there really any question?” Shay answered and then softly kissed my lips.
I chuckled, but my bones felt weary. I’d just violently decapitated a man using a supernatural force I barely had any idea about, and of course, I was stranded in an alien world surrounded by Machiavellian political plots and demon creatures and wolf-monsters, and yet…
There was nowhere I would rather be than right here. With these two gorgeous women who were now both my wives.
“So… ” I grinned. “Now that I own all of Bala Ren’s stuff, and Zoie just doubled our gold… How rich are we?”
“Rich enough to start investing in some businesses,” Zoie purred as she traced her fingers down my chest. “And rich enough in rank for two more wives. We will have to start scouting for a pair that will increase your status.”
“But…” Shay whispered as she leaned in to lick my earlobe. “I shall need to have my womb claimed by your seed first. Then we can talk about all our business and expansion plans.”
“Well, then…” I groaned as her tongue against my ear caused a shiver to g
o all the way down to my toes. “I’m eager to get started on that part.”
“So am I,” Shay moaned into my ear.
End of Book 1
End Notes
Thank you for reading The Duelist! I’ll start writing The Duelist 2 once this book hits 100 reviews, so leave your review right here!
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by Eric Vall
