David Dalglish - Dawn of Swords

When the time came for the fencing competition, the sun had nearly disappeared behind the glittering spires of Palace Thyne. The contenders lined up to be introduced, dulled iron sabers hanging limp at their sides. With each name called, the participant removed his or her helm and offered a bow to the crowd. Aully cheered vigorously for each one. Fencing was a favorite pastime in Stonewood, and she recognized many of the competitors. There were J’obeth and Kara, Lucius and Demarti, Crabtree and Shomor. Ceredon again joined in, appearing just as obnoxiously confident as he had during the pole toss.

Halfway through the procession, her clapping stopped. She stared, dumbfounded, at the light-skinned human with white hair and dark, haunting eyes who had just removed his helm. He was introduced to a stunned crowd as Joseph Crestwell of Neldar. The human seemed unaffected by the lack of support. He took a step forward, like all the other combatants, and raised a lightly armored hand in salute. There had been tension between elves and humans for as long as humans had existed. The elves were sharing a land that had once been theirs and their alone, and after their rulers had refused Celestia’s request for them to act as wardens to the new species, they had lost their homeland forever. It had neither been forgotten nor forgiven. But if this man were bothered by the silence, he didn’t show it.

Aully hadn’t met many humans over the short span of her life, and other than her sister’s love, Jacob, those she had seen were the dark-skinned ones who were constantly pilfering from Stonewood Forest-including the giant Bardiya, who seemed nice enough the only time she had met him but whom her father disliked more than anyone. This Joseph was tall and thickly built, his skin as pale as her own, but there was something dangerous beneath his calm gaze. He was more a bull than a gazelle, and according to her nursemaid, bulls couldn’t go anywhere without breaking a few things.

Before the competition could begin, Joseph Crestwell stepped away from the introduction line and marched straight for her platform. Both she and Kindren leaned over the rail to see him better. The human stood below them and bowed low in respect. When finished, he lifted his hand to her, which she hastily grasped in her confusion over proper etiquette.

“I come to fight in your honor,” the man said, his voice kind despite his hardened appearance. “But I do not wish to cause a disturbance. If the prince and princess of Dezerea so desire, I will withdraw from the competition.”

He kissed the back of her hand, and then shook Kindren’s. Aully stood and curtseyed.

“If it pleases the kind sir to fight in our tournament, then it pleases me to watch,” Aully said. “It is not my place to judge.”

The crowd murmured.

“It is not our place to judge!” shouted Kindren, offering the man a bow. With those words, the crowd resumed their cheering, louder than before. A wide grin spread across Aully’s face, growing even wider when a stolen glance behind her showed that all three of the imperial families were nodding their approval. Neyvar Ruven even stepped up to the rail and shook the human’s hand. A shrewd look passed between the Neyvar and the human, one that made Aully wonder what was afoot.

Soon after, the Barker announced the first pairing, and the competition began. The sound of clanging steel echoed through the crowd as the opponents lunged and parried. It was a complex dance, feet tapping forward and back, shoulders held straight, sabers acting as extensions of the combatants’ arms. One pair after another entered the packed dirt arena and fought until someone yielded. The early matches lasted less than five minutes, until the last pairing of the opening round was announced.

It was Ceredon, son of Ruven, squaring off against the human, Joseph Crestwell.

Aully’s hand found Kindren’s, and their fingers interlocked as they watched the two fighters circle each another. Ceredon was graceful, seemingly floating over the ground. His chin was high, and he held his saber out like a lance, twirling it in circles, baiting his opponent. His movements were confident, but Aully noticed a somewhat lackadaisical look in his eyes, as if the prince were bored.

Joseph Crestwell plodded on heavy feet. He appeared unsteady, and held his saber at an odd angle-diagonally upward and turned to the side, with his offhand set close to the pommel as if for balance. And yet there was a permanent grin on his face, seeping excitement, as if he knew something his opponent did not.

Ceredon grew impatient, his feet moving faster as he danced his circular dance. The Quellan made the first move, striding forward, thrusting his blade forward when the tip was at its lowest point, aiming for a gut shot.

Joseph’s cocked arm plunged down in a stroke that smashed into Ceredon’s blade. The tip jabbed past the human’s padded surcoat. Ceredon stumbled to the side, off balance, dropping his sword hand to the dirt for support. Crestwell swung his arm in the other direction, looping the sword over his head so that he could clutch it with both hands. Down came the rounded blade in a powerful, two-handed blow. Ceredon barely got his own blade up in time to block the human’s blow. Aully gasped as she watched, her fingers tightening around Kindren’s. The human had aimed for Ceredon’s head, which was generally frowned upon in open competition.

Ceredon must have realized it as well, for his eyes were wide as he scrambled to his feet.

The elf’s movements were still nimble, but there was an urgency to them now, a nervous energy that made him slip more than once. Aully found his strategy odd: he was on the defensive, utilizing only a handful of well-known techniques, while the human steadily advanced on him each time they circled. Ceredon lunged, hoping for a lucky poke, but his jab was easily batted away. The young elf no longer seemed regal and overconfident. He was breathing heavily, his eyes darting side to side, and his expression mirrored Kindren’s during the archery contest.

During one of the elf’s rasping inhales, the human went on the offensive. His slogging footfalls brought him forward as he chopped sideways, again with both hands. Ceredon tried to parry, but his sword was knocked into the bridge of his helm by his adversary’s more powerful assault. He performed a slight pirouette to keep from falling-an astonishing feat in and of itself-and jabbed his saber into the dirt again for balance.

Joseph swung low for the elf’s leg, this time from the other side. For some reason his attack looked slow, almost overly patient. In a flash Ceredon leapt over the blade, barely avoiding having his knees smashed. Aully stood in awe of the power the human possessed, but she found it strange that his attacks were so sluggish. Suspicion crept into her breast. Was he holding back on purpose?

Ceredon twirled away from the next attack, a diagonal downward hew, and Aully saw panic in his eyes. He was rushing around like a chicken trying to evade the butcher’s knife, and she could tell that he was beginning to tire. He went on the offensive over and over again, trying to outwit the human with his speed, but Joseph appeared to be ready for every hit. The slightest shifting of his feet, the subtlest twisting of his sword, and Ceredon’s swings would parry to the side. The elf’s feet dragged and his back arched. When the human resumed his assault, there was little Ceredon could do but offer a weak block, falling to his knees from the force of the blow.

The human stood over him, and for a brief moment Aullienna thought the fight was over. This was where Joseph should have waited for his opponent’s surrender, but neither combatant appeared ready to yield. Joseph brought his saber to the side, then swung it for Ceredon’s throat as if he were trying to lop off his head. It appeared that he was putting everything he had into the attack, though his movements were still oddly unhurried.