for mercy from the lord. A third guard behind the man raised his sword high into the air. The lord, still grim faced, raised his arm, and held out his hand flat. The crowd fell silent, the mob of people on the hillsides hushed their murmuring and watched the fate of the poor man. The guard behind him, sword still raised high, swiftly brought it down at the man’s arm.
The sword stopped an inch over the quivering skin. Slowly, the guard dropped the sword the rest of the way and nicked the man’s arm, wounding it to the bone. The man screamed and the gash spurted blood onto the ground. The guards released him, and the swell of people on the hillsides burst into a rapturous cheer and applause, tumultuously voicing their praise to the lord of the city. The man, now covered in his own blood, rose to his feet and, still quaking in pain and fear, bowed low to the lord of the city, thanking him and proclaiming his lord’s grace and mercy. The healer rushed over to the man and assisted him with his injury, wrapping the wound and touching his head to heal him. The scene apparently over, Aeden looked over at his friend. Priam clutched the edge of the bench, knuckles white, and trembled, an evil look covering his face.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. Priam jumped, startled out of his thoughts, and looked at Aeden as he released the bench from his iron grip.
“Oh. Nothing. I just felt sorry for the poor man. I mean, he didn’t mean to cut the guy’s arm off. Accidents happen.”
“Yeah. But imagine if it happened to you. I’m sure you’d want the other guy’s arm off too,” Aeden retorted.
“Sure I would. But it wouldn’t happen because I’m technically a commoner too. And if I was that poor man,” he paused, looking at the still-celebrating commoner, “I would not have dropped to my knees and begged for mercy, and my arm would be there on the ground right now. If that man was a noble, nothing would have happened to him at all.”
Aeden fell silent, not wishing an argument, and focused his attention on a duel that had just resumed. Priam continued, “Sorry. I just felt bad for the poor guy. Ok?”
“Ok. Hey look. They’re starting again.” Aeden changed the subject, pointing to the ring in front of them.
Twenty more minutes passed before Priam jumped to his feet. “I’ve got to go. Wish me luck.”
“Good luck, Priam!” the Rossams all called out to the boy as he ran down the steps towards his ring. He paused by the judges’ table, conversing with his opponent as they waited for the current match to end. The crowd cheered, and the boys looked up from their conversation to see a girl stand tall and strong over her fallen opponent, who, face bleeding, clutched his arm as well, the girl having lightly cut it moments before. Two wounds now received, the match was hers, and she ran around the ring pumping her fist into the air, drawing ecstatic cheers from the crowd.
The judges looked at the boys, one of them saying, “Ready.” The two duelists walked to the center of the ring. They shook hands, bowed to each other, and drew their swords. They circled slowly for a moment or so, and then the other boy charged Priam, who deftly swiped the sword aside and tripped the other with his foot, twisting around to give him a boot to the pants as he stumbled past. A laugh went up from the crowd as the boy regained his footing.
“He’s a real crowd pleaser, your friend is.” Lord Rossam leaned over to his son.
“I taught him everything he knows.”
In just another minute, it was over, Priam taking just one blow to the shoulder (“He scratched my armor!” yelled Aeden) before he went into a flurry and landed five scoring hits to his opponent in rapid succession, ending the round. The two rounds that followed were equally swift, and Priam managed to make the other boy trip once again, eliciting yet more laughter and applause from the crowd. Red in the face, the boy stood before Priam and bowed. Priam mirrored him,
The sword stopped an inch over the quivering skin. Slowly, the guard dropped the sword the rest of the way and nicked the man’s arm, wounding it to the bone. The man screamed and the gash spurted blood onto the ground. The guards released him, and the swell of people on the hillsides burst into a rapturous cheer and applause, tumultuously voicing their praise to the lord of the city. The man, now covered in his own blood, rose to his feet and, still quaking in pain and fear, bowed low to the lord of the city, thanking him and proclaiming his lord’s grace and mercy. The healer rushed over to the man and assisted him with his injury, wrapping the wound and touching his head to heal him. The scene apparently over, Aeden looked over at his friend. Priam clutched the edge of the bench, knuckles white, and trembled, an evil look covering his face.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. Priam jumped, startled out of his thoughts, and looked at Aeden as he released the bench from his iron grip.
“Oh. Nothing. I just felt sorry for the poor man. I mean, he didn’t mean to cut the guy’s arm off. Accidents happen.”
“Yeah. But imagine if it happened to you. I’m sure you’d want the other guy’s arm off too,” Aeden retorted.
“Sure I would. But it wouldn’t happen because I’m technically a commoner too. And if I was that poor man,” he paused, looking at the still-celebrating commoner, “I would not have dropped to my knees and begged for mercy, and my arm would be there on the ground right now. If that man was a noble, nothing would have happened to him at all.”
Aeden fell silent, not wishing an argument, and focused his attention on a duel that had just resumed. Priam continued, “Sorry. I just felt bad for the poor guy. Ok?”
“Ok. Hey look. They’re starting again.” Aeden changed the subject, pointing to the ring in front of them.
Twenty more minutes passed before Priam jumped to his feet. “I’ve got to go. Wish me luck.”
“Good luck, Priam!” the Rossams all called out to the boy as he ran down the steps towards his ring. He paused by the judges’ table, conversing with his opponent as they waited for the current match to end. The crowd cheered, and the boys looked up from their conversation to see a girl stand tall and strong over her fallen opponent, who, face bleeding, clutched his arm as well, the girl having lightly cut it moments before. Two wounds now received, the match was hers, and she ran around the ring pumping her fist into the air, drawing ecstatic cheers from the crowd.
The judges looked at the boys, one of them saying, “Ready.” The two duelists walked to the center of the ring. They shook hands, bowed to each other, and drew their swords. They circled slowly for a moment or so, and then the other boy charged Priam, who deftly swiped the sword aside and tripped the other with his foot, twisting around to give him a boot to the pants as he stumbled past. A laugh went up from the crowd as the boy regained his footing.
“He’s a real crowd pleaser, your friend is.” Lord Rossam leaned over to his son.
“I taught him everything he knows.”
In just another minute, it was over, Priam taking just one blow to the shoulder (“He scratched my armor!” yelled Aeden) before he went into a flurry and landed five scoring hits to his opponent in rapid succession, ending the round. The two rounds that followed were equally swift, and Priam managed to make the other boy trip once again, eliciting yet more laughter and applause from the crowd. Red in the face, the boy stood before Priam and bowed. Priam mirrored him,
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