by Sam Ferguson
“The rules are simple,” Orres shouted for all to hear. “If an apprentice falls on his back, or his stomach, he has lost. If an apprentice drops his sword and it touches the ground, he has lost. If an apprentice yields, then he has lost. Also, you must stay inside the box, outlined in white chalk in the grass. Are these rules clear?”
Both of the boys nodded.
“There are two more rules,” Orres added. “A swing at the head is acceptable, but do not thrust your sword at your opponent’s face. The last rule is that, by order of Master Lepkin, if Erik loses or yields a duel, he will continue the challenge until he has dueled all ninety-seven Apprentices of the Sword, except in the case of severe injury. If Erik is hurt, then Master Lepkin will decide whether Erik can continue the challenge.”
Erik turned back to Lepkin. He was both surprised and frightened by the prospect that he would finish all ninety-seven duels even if he was beaten every time. He questioned whether a broken bone would even persuade Lepkin to stop the duels. Just then, as Erik contemplated how he would live through the day, Master Lepkin knelt beside him and whispered three things.
“Keep your eyes open, listen to understand your surroundings, and fight honorably.” Then Lepkin stood up and backed away.
Master Orres stood between the two boys.
Erik quickly studied the boundaries drawn on the grass. As Master Lepkin had taught him, he calculated the space of the box. He knew exactly how many steps he could take in each direction before crossing the boundaries. Next he concentrated on his opponent. He saw the boy’s brown eyes. They were wide and frightened. Then he heard the boy’s breathing. It was fast and shallow. Erik knew that his opponent was as afraid as he was, perhaps even more so.
Erik knew that this first fight would be pivotal. This duel would set the pace for the rest of the challenge. Erik prepared himself. He was going to lay into this opponent like a bull. He watched as Master Orres lifted his arm, signaling the boys to get ready. Erik narrowed his eyes on his opponent and gripped his sword.
Then he heard something. At first Erik wasn’t sure if it was a wheeze or cough. All he knew was that his opponent made a weird sound. Then it dawned on him. His opponent was Hal Sarmt. Erik knew that Hal suffered from asthma, and that his asthma was much worse when exercising or excited. He had often heard the others tease Hal because of his weakness. Master Orres dropped his hand to start the duel. Erik wasn’t sure what to do. He knew he’d be teased if he yielded, but he couldn’t bring himself to take advantage of Hal. Before Erik could decide how to act he was whacked across the chest by Hal’s sword.
Erik blocked a second blow and then took a knee on the field. “I yield,” Erik shouted. The crowd jeered and laughed at him, but all he heard was Hal trying to catch his breath. Erik ignored the teasing and watched Hal. Hal took off his helmet and nodded to Erik. The asthmatic apprentice was still wheezing, but Erik was sure that he would recover in a minute or two.
“If that is the best you can do, this is going to be a long day for you, apprentice,” Master Orres chided.
Erik shrugged off Master Orres’ comment and got back into his ready position. The next apprentice, Gergu Smuld, charged furiously as soon as Orres started the duel. Gergu attacked with wild, uncontrolled swings, but Erik deflected them.
Suddenly Erik’s helmet spun over his face and his ears rang like church bells. Gergu had landed a hard blow straight to his right temple. Another stinging blow smacked him across his belly.
Erik listened closely and heard panting to his left. With all his might he lashed out with a cross strike. He felt solid resistance against his sword and heard the two wasters clack together. Erik leaned into his sword, not allowing his foe to launch a counter-strike. Erik kicked his left foot out and planted it solidly on the ground on a spot that he hoped would be behind Gergu’s leg. A moment afterward Erik felt movement at the back of his left ankle. Using all of his strength, Erik pushed forward with his right leg, driving his shoulders right into his foe’s chest. A second later Erik heard a loud thud on the ground, followed by some cheering from the crowd. Erik removed his helmet and discovered that Gergu was flat on his back.
“Well fought,” Erik said as he helped the other apprentice up.
“You’ll have to show me how you did that,” Gergu said.
“Perhaps next week,” Erik replied.
“Alright,” Master Orres cut in. “Off with you lad, there are still plenty of others waiting their turns.”
Gergu scurried off the field and another one took his place. Erik took a moment to readjust his helmet before getting back into position.
The next challenger, Jared Highborn, swung his sword fiercely at the air in front of him and got into place. Master Orres gave the signal and Jared rushed forward. Erik deftly blocked Jared’s over handed strike. The wasters smacked together again and again as the two danced in a circle.
Erik swept his sword low, catching his opponent just above the left ankle. Jared’s feet flew out from under him, but Erik wasn’t done. He didn’t want to risk his opponent correcting himself so Erik came in hard and fast with an overhead chop to Jared’s chest. The blow sent him straight down to land on his back.
The crowd fell silent in shock and Master Orres rushed over to the duelers. He knelt down beside Jared, who was still lying flat on his back, and removed the boy’s helmet.
“Can you speak boy?” Master Orres asked, slapping Jared’s cheeks. Jared groaned, and then he rolled over and pushed up to his knees. Erik offered a hand to him and helped him to his feet.
“Well fought,” Erik offered. Jared nodded, but said nothing.
“Let’s get on with it,” Master Orres shouted. He yanked the loser’s free arm and shoved him toward the waiting Apprentices of the Hand. “Send out the next duelist.”
Erik quietly got back into place and watched as Haddus Makh, a short, portly boy, waddled out onto the grass. Erik readied his sword, but before Master Orres could give the signal Haddus tossed his sword to the ground.
“I yield,” Haddus shouted.
“You can’t yield, the duel hasn’t even started yet,” Master Orres growled.
Erik could see the anger clearly written on Orres’ face, but it did nothing to stop the pudgy boy from waddling back to the crowd. Three more apprentices came out to the designated dueling area and promptly threw down their swords as well. With each surrender Master Orres’ face grew redder and redder.
“Is there any apprentice that is not afraid to fight?” Orres shouted as he kicked the abandoned swords away.
“I’ll fight ‘im,” someone yelled.
A very tall apprentice strode forward with his waster resting over his shoulder. The new opponent stood head and shoulders above Erik. Erik knew the apprentice by sight. It was Timon Cedreau. He was a tall third-year apprentice, and though he was not yet as broad-shouldered as most of the fourth-years, he was a strong young man with a reputation for being mean.
“Ready yourselves,” Orres instructed. Erik gripped his sword tightly and waited for the signal. Timon kept his sword resting on his shoulder and let out a belly-laugh.
Orres gave the signal.
Timon rushed forward and swung his sword at Erik’s side. Erik dropped his sword to deflect the attack, but Timon was too strong. Timon drove into Erik’s side, despite the block, pushing him a few feet to the right.
“That’s it Timon, squish him like a bug!” someone shouted from the crowd. This time, only a few in the crowd laughed. Most of the spectators remained silent as they watched.
Erik defended against an onslaught of heavy attacks. He made sure that he not only parried with his sword, but also stepped out of the way. He couldn’t afford to take any more heavy shots to the body this early on.
Timon bore down on Erik, pressing the attack. Erik dodged each swing and thrust of Timon’s sword, ever watching for an opening to exploit. He struck out twice, but Timon knocked his sword away both times.
“You are not good enough to chall
enge me,” Timon yelled. “You aren’t a true-blood like me. You’re just the cast-away son of a poor beggar woman, adopted by an impotent lord.”
Something in Erik snapped at the insult of his birth mother and adoptive father. His eyes narrowed, his cheeks grew hot, and a well of rage sprang from within him too strong to control. Erik ducked under Timon’s sword and unleashed a savage swing to Timon’s left knee. The blow was enough to knock Timon off balance, but not enough to topple the tall third-year apprentice. Erik jumped up and landed a strike on Timon’s head. Timon back-pedaled and tried to straighten his helmet, but Erik was all over him. Erik scored three heavy hits on Timon’s ribs, then he struck Timon’s knee again. His next strike slammed right into Timon’s sword-hand.
Timon winced and turned away. Erik came down hard on the back of his opponent’s head. The entire crowd gasped in unison as Timon fell flat on his face.
Erik didn’t bother moving to help Timon back to his feet. He was too blinded by his rage. Before Erik could say anything, Master Orres was there.
“Healers,” Orres shouted in his thunderous voice. Orres removed Timon’s helmet, but made sure not to disturb him too much. Erik watched Master Orres remove Timon’s leather glove. Erik was stunned when he saw the hand was purple and red. It was already swollen to twice its normal size.
Master Lepkin approached Erik and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You are not an animal, you must be able to control your emotions at all times.” Lepkin pointed to the trio of healers kneeling around Timon. “Imagine what would have happened if you had attacked Hal the same way.”
“I’m sorry,” Erik offered. In his rage he had wanted to make Timon pay for his words, but now he felt guilty. He did not revel or delight in Timon’s injury, in fact he was ashamed. “I’m sorry,” Erik repeated. “I’ll do better.”
The crowd cheered as the healers helped Timon back to his feet. Timon, still not firm on his legs, glared at Erik. “You’ll pay for this, cast-away,” Timon snarled.
Orres signaled for the healers to take Timon away, and then he whirled on Erik. “What’s wrong with you, boy?” Master Orres growled at Erik.
Erik felt his insides quiver at Orres’ voice. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Orres closed the distance between them in two strides and grabbed Erik by the neck-hole of his chest pad.
“I asked you a question!” Orres shouted. “You split his head open with that stunt of yours.”
“That’s enough,” Lepkin said.
Orres looked up at Lepkin, but instead of reverence, Erik saw only rage and anger in Orres’ eyes. Lepkin slipped a foot between Erik and Orres, and then he wedged between them and took Orres by the wrist.
“Let me go, Lepkin,” Orres growled.
The crowd took a collective step back.
“Release my apprentice,” Lepkin demanded.
“Your dog injured my nephew,” Orres countered. “I will not let him get away with this.”
“Your nephew knew the rules. Perhaps the other masters should have prepared Timon better.”
“How dare you say that,” Orres roared, Master Orres released Erik and took three steps back. Orres’ hand hovered dangerously near the pommel of his sword. The crowd backed away further still.
“Master Orres, your nephew is seventeen, and Erik is only fourteen. This duel was even, if not tipped in your nephew’s favor.” Lepkin gently pushed Erik back and then stood to face Master Orres, with his hands relaxed at his sides.
“This has gone far enough,” a woman shouted. Erik turned to see a tall, slender woman with black hair emerge from the crowd. She seemed to almost float as she approached the center of the courtyard. Her sky-blue eyes fixed themselves on Master Orres, and her left hand was poised with the palm facing out. Even if she hadn’t been wearing her dark blue gown, embroidered with a golden crescent-moon on the front, Erik would have recognized the master sorceress by the missing thumb on her left hand.
It was said that Lady Dimwater’s thumb had been devoured by a dragon’s flame in a duel that saved an entire cluster of villages on Kelboa Island. Whenever apprentices asked her about it, she was quick to answer that her thumb was a small sacrifice that she was proud of giving to save so many lives.
Erik had heard stranger rumors about her that were not as nice or heroic. Some apprentices said that Lady Dimwater had sold her soul to demons, or that she was born of devils. Other rumors proclaimed that she gained her power by stealing the lives of other wizards. Erik paid little heed to most of the rumors, but seeing her now gave him the distinct impression that there was definitely more to her than he had thought before.
Erik closely watched Orres and Lepkin as Dimwater stood between them. Lepkin stood still, but he fidgeted with his right hand. Erik had not seen Master Lepkin fidget before, ever. Orres, on the other hand, seemed to get angrier. His whole face turned red, he clenched his jaw and his hands curled into fists. Erik was almost certain that Orres was going to explode, but as Orres stared into Lady Dimwater’s face, all of the rage left him.
“You always were able to cast a spell over me,” Orres said.
“And you were always quick to anger,” Dimwater replied. “Your nephew will be fine,” she stated.
Everyone then looked over to the healers. Timon’s head wound had already vanished thanks to the healers’ magic, and his hand was beginning to regain its natural complexion.
“He’ll be just fine after a night’s rest, Master Orres,” confirmed a tall Apprentice of the Hand that Erik didn’t recognize.
“Very well,” Orres replied. There was an awkward silence then as Orres scratched the back of his neck and shied away from Lepkin’s unwavering stare. Erik expected Orres to apologize for his behavior, but it was Lepkin who spoke next.
“Forgive me, Headmaster Orres,” Lepkin said. “I forgot my place.”
Orres searched Lepkin’s face with his eyes. Then he looked to Lady Dimwater and sighed. “There is nothing to forgive,” Orres told Lepkin.
Lady Dimwater bowed graciously to Orres and helped the healers escort Timon out of the courtyard. Erik noticed that both Orres and Lepkin watched her leave.
“Shall we resume the duels?” Lepkin asked after Dimwater had gone.
“I think not,” Orres replied. Murmurs swept through the crowd. Orres raised his hand to silence them. “Today’s challenge was to prove the value of a knight’s word. All Apprentices of the Sword must understand that they must follow through with their words, for they will be expected to do so as Knights of the Order of Kelteshteg. Erik has shown his merit by following through on his challenge, and I have no doubt that he would continue to duel each remaining apprentice. He has done more than anyone could ask of a first-year apprentice.” Orres turned to address the remaining apprentices that had yet to duel. “As Headmaster, I believe that it is unnecessary to risk further injury to any apprentices. Erik has proved himself enough.”
Some of the remaining apprentices were obviously disappointed. They whispered among themselves and some of them shot Erik contemptuous glances. Erik felt a stab of fear as he realized that his brutal victory over Timon had earned him only contempt from the older apprentices.
Lepkin then stepped up beside Orres and addressed the apprentices.
“The Headmaster has spoken,” Lepkin said.
“Everyone is dismissed. Go back to your regular studies,” Orres instructed.
If not for Lepkin, some of the apprentices may have thrown out parting insults Erik’s way, but the crowd dissolved peacefully as students returned to their classes. Lepkin walked back to Erik and began to help him remove the training pads while everyone else filtered out of the courtyard. Erik noticed that Master Orres left without even looking at him or Master Lepkin.
“There is an old fire between us,” Lepkin said. He must have noticed Erik watching Master Orres.
“Is it about Lady Dimwater?” Erik asked.
Lepkin sighed. “It was a long time ago.”
“Before your battl
e at Gelleirt monastery?” Erik pressed.
“Many years before that,” Lepkin replied.
Erik slipped out of his chest pad and feather-mail. “If it was so long ago, then why does it still bother Master Orres?”
“Wounds of the heart are not easily healed, and more difficult still to forget,” Lepkin replied. Master Lepkin looked off in the direction that Dimwater had gone. Erik realized then that it still bothered Lepkin as well.
“I’m sorry,” Erik offered.
Lepkin gathered all of the training armor without another word about Dimwater while Erik stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to say or do. After everything was ready the two of them walked back to the hall.
Erik took three steps and sluggishly swung his sword. Lepkin stopped abruptly and put a hand on Erik’s shoulder. Erik looked up at his master with a puzzled look.
“Do you think you fought well?” Lepkin asked.
“I think so,” Erik replied. “But I didn’t realize it would be so hard.”
“What was the hardest about it?” Lepkin asked.
“I think the hardest thing was watching the healers work on Timon while you and Master Orres argued.”
“I see,” Lepkin said. “Well, a knight must understand that the wounds he inflicts touch more than one life. A man always has a mother, father, an uncle, or a friend that care about him. When you hurt or kill someone, you must realize that other, unforeseen consequences may arise from it.”
“It would have been awful if Master Orres had drawn swords against you, Master Lepkin,” Erik said.
“Was your duel with Hal difficult?” Lepkin asked, directing the subject elsewhere.
Erik thought for a moment. “Only a little,” Erik said. “I wanted to win, but I didn’t want Hal to have one of his asthma attacks.”
“Your forfeiture in that duel was actually an honorable victory for you,” Lepkin said. A hint of a smile appeared on his face. “It would seem that you are listening, and learning your lessons well. We shall have to harness your temper a bit, but I’ll make a legendary hero out of you yet, Erik Lokton. Come let us return to your studies.”
