and grabbed the defeated boy’s hand and shook it vigorously. The two then turned and bowed to the lord of the city, and the crowd cheered. Priam ran back up the stands and collapsed next to Aeden.
“Phew! I’m beat! What’s to eat?” Without waiting for a response, Priam began to devour the food the elder Rossam had purchased for the boy. The man laughed and slapped Priam on the back.
Lady Rossam leaned over to Aeden, “Don’t you think you should get down there?” she asked. He nodded, grabbed his helmet and got to his feet, walking confidently down to the judges’ table. There, he saw his opponent, who he recognized as John Hillrest from the previous day.
“Hello. I’m Aeden.” He said, holding out his hand to the young man, who grasped it, replying,
“I’m John. You’re a little young …” the man said, looking him up and down, “… sorry, I don’t mean to offend, you actually look very fit—muscular, even. Just … young.”
“I am. I was permitted to join the higher division.” He yawned, “Something about my superior skills with a blade … or something like that. They weren’t too clear, really.”
The man laughed, “And you’ve got sass. I like it. But don’t be offended when you only get half a minute of dueling time against me.”
“These aren’t timed. We’ll have far longer than that.”
“No you won’t. It’ll be over very soon.” The two continued their good-natured banter for several more minutes before the previous match finished up, and the two approached the center. They shook each other’s hands, and bowed low to the other. “Good luck.” John said.
“You too,” Aeden answered, and drew his sword. The man instantly lunged, and Aeden skillfully knocked the blade away. John charged once more, and again, Aeden parried the blows, getting in two scores before the round had even reached a minute. The crowd cheered him on. He circled his opponent, who circled as well, and Aeden dashed forward, slicing his way through the man’s defenses. John’s sword knocked against his shoulder, and Aeden swatted it away, spinning in towards the man as he knocked the sword out of his opponent’s grip, elbowing the him in the stomach. John stumbled backward, the wind knocked out of him. The crowd went wild, and Aeden finished off the round swiftly, his opponent unable to defend himself.
The next two rounds followed just as quickly, ending in victory for John the second round, with Aeden claiming the final round. The pair shook hands, John looking clearly disappointed. “Congratulations, Aeden. You are truly skilled,” he said. They bowed to each other, then turned and bowed to the lord. Aeden sheathed his sword and bounded up the steps to his family and Priam. His mother pulled him in close and hugged him. His sister cheered, and his father firmly shook his hand.
“Good fight, Aeden, good fight.” Priam declared, slapping his shoulder armor.
The noon hour approached, and Lady Rossam left, returning with roasted turkey legs for the family. The afternoon dragged on, Aeden and Priam each winning two more matches. According to the boards standing next to the judges’ table, each of them had made it into the top four of their respective divisions. The section around the Rossams had taken the two boys as their mascots and gave them a hero’s welcome whenever one of them returned from a successful duel, rapping them on the shoulders, cheering as they bounded past, reaching out to mess up their hair. The two boys ate it up and grinned broadly, basking in their newfound fame and glory.
Priam’s next match, however, ended in disappointment. In his first round, he tripped, falling backward, and though his opponent stood by respectfully to allow him to stand, the stumble rattled him and he lost the round. During the second round he eked out a narrow victory, five to four, but the final round ended when he sustained two wounds on his arms. The crowd near the Rossams moaned before
“Phew! I’m beat! What’s to eat?” Without waiting for a response, Priam began to devour the food the elder Rossam had purchased for the boy. The man laughed and slapped Priam on the back.
Lady Rossam leaned over to Aeden, “Don’t you think you should get down there?” she asked. He nodded, grabbed his helmet and got to his feet, walking confidently down to the judges’ table. There, he saw his opponent, who he recognized as John Hillrest from the previous day.
“Hello. I’m Aeden.” He said, holding out his hand to the young man, who grasped it, replying,
“I’m John. You’re a little young …” the man said, looking him up and down, “… sorry, I don’t mean to offend, you actually look very fit—muscular, even. Just … young.”
“I am. I was permitted to join the higher division.” He yawned, “Something about my superior skills with a blade … or something like that. They weren’t too clear, really.”
The man laughed, “And you’ve got sass. I like it. But don’t be offended when you only get half a minute of dueling time against me.”
“These aren’t timed. We’ll have far longer than that.”
“No you won’t. It’ll be over very soon.” The two continued their good-natured banter for several more minutes before the previous match finished up, and the two approached the center. They shook each other’s hands, and bowed low to the other. “Good luck.” John said.
“You too,” Aeden answered, and drew his sword. The man instantly lunged, and Aeden skillfully knocked the blade away. John charged once more, and again, Aeden parried the blows, getting in two scores before the round had even reached a minute. The crowd cheered him on. He circled his opponent, who circled as well, and Aeden dashed forward, slicing his way through the man’s defenses. John’s sword knocked against his shoulder, and Aeden swatted it away, spinning in towards the man as he knocked the sword out of his opponent’s grip, elbowing the him in the stomach. John stumbled backward, the wind knocked out of him. The crowd went wild, and Aeden finished off the round swiftly, his opponent unable to defend himself.
The next two rounds followed just as quickly, ending in victory for John the second round, with Aeden claiming the final round. The pair shook hands, John looking clearly disappointed. “Congratulations, Aeden. You are truly skilled,” he said. They bowed to each other, then turned and bowed to the lord. Aeden sheathed his sword and bounded up the steps to his family and Priam. His mother pulled him in close and hugged him. His sister cheered, and his father firmly shook his hand.
“Good fight, Aeden, good fight.” Priam declared, slapping his shoulder armor.
The noon hour approached, and Lady Rossam left, returning with roasted turkey legs for the family. The afternoon dragged on, Aeden and Priam each winning two more matches. According to the boards standing next to the judges’ table, each of them had made it into the top four of their respective divisions. The section around the Rossams had taken the two boys as their mascots and gave them a hero’s welcome whenever one of them returned from a successful duel, rapping them on the shoulders, cheering as they bounded past, reaching out to mess up their hair. The two boys ate it up and grinned broadly, basking in their newfound fame and glory.
Priam’s next match, however, ended in disappointment. In his first round, he tripped, falling backward, and though his opponent stood by respectfully to allow him to stand, the stumble rattled him and he lost the round. During the second round he eked out a narrow victory, five to four, but the final round ended when he sustained two wounds on his arms. The crowd near the Rossams moaned before
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