Michael Ploof - Whill of Agora

Whill made his way back to his seat as the first challenger now stood reluctantly in the ring.

“Well, that was fun,” he said as he sat next to Abram.

He gave Whill an amused look. “You just watch and see why others fail.”

The knight’s entrance opened as the first challenger readied himself. Out strode a knight in full armor minus his shield. The crowd cheered as the two fighters began to circle each other, waiting for the other to attack. It was the challenger who moved first, with a lunging strike at the knight’s chest. The knight easily blocked the attack and spun around the man, kicking him in the backside. The crowd roared with laughter as the man turned furiously toward the knight and charged. His advance was short-lived as the knight moved to the side, tripping the attacker. This comedy went on for several minutes until finally the knight disarmed the man and put his sword to his throat, ending the dual.

“He didn’t stand a chance,” Whill said. Abram nodded in agreement, too bent with laughter to speak.

None of the other fighters were a match for the knights’ skill or speed. One after another they went against the knights but were quickly outdone by them. As the last of the men lost to the knights, Whill stood, ready to enter the arena. Abram grabbed his arm.

“Remember, Whill, while you enter this fight unsure of its outcome, the opponent thinks he will win. Use this to your advantage. An underestimated foe can hold the biggest surprises.”

Whill nodded and descended the steps to the ring. Thousands of eyes were upon him; never before had he known such attention. His throat became dry and he began to sweat, though it was cool in the coliseum. He looked around at the crowd, which seemed to him like a venomous mob. They stood in the aisles or upon their seats screaming like demons. Whill suddenly felt lightheaded. He knew he must look ridiculous to them now, a silly young man with a sword, ready to challenge a knight. He tried to remember why he had agreed to this. What had he been thinking? He wanted nothing more than to be far away, out of the city, with no more eyes watching him.

The gate opened and a knight walked out. With large strides he entered the ring and then stopped and removed his helmet. He seemed about Abram’s age, with long brown hair and handsome features, but for the burn scar which covered the right side of his neck and cheek. Before the crowd could chant his name Whill realized who his opponent was: Rhunis the Dragonslayer. A powerful dread came over him. How could Abram have done this to him? He searched for his mentor but could not spot him in the frenzy. The crowd began their chant for Rhunis. The name which had earlier rolled so enthusiastically from Whill’s own tongue now filled him with anxiety. Rhunis put his helmet on once again and slowly walked towards him. He stood frozen, as if his feet had fused to the sand beneath him. Still Rhunis advanced until he was not five feet away. He stopped and drew his sword offering a challenge. Whill instinctively withdrew his own sword and took up a defensive stance. Rhunis began to circle him. Whill simply moved in circles, holding his ground. You can do this, you can do this, he is only a man , Whill thought, but quickly doubted his own advice. Finally Rhunis lunged with a powerful overhead strike, almost knocking Whill to the ground as he blocked it. Before Whill could think of a counterattack Rhunis was swinging again, this time at his side. Whill blocked the attack as Rhunis stepped back. The crowd was wild; the chant for Rhunis became unbearably loud. Again he attacked, and Whill parried every blow. Around they went, Rhunis attacking and Whill blocking until it seemed the fight would never end.

He’s playing with me , Whill realized. He thinks he has me. He played along for a moment, pretending to barely block the blows, acting tired and weary. Then with all his might he blocked a side attack and began his own. Blade gleaming, he swung at Rhunis again and again, unrelenting as the knight blocked his blows. Rhunis backed a step and gave Whill a nod.

“Do you wish to have my best fight?” he asked.

“That I do, sir.”

With that the dual escalated to a point that none had seen yet that night. Rhunis showed no sign of tiring, nor did Whill. The crowd was on its feet, as were Lord Rogus and King Mathus. Cheers filled the coliseum and fists pumped as the crowd chanted for the Dragonslayer. Whill, however, was oblivious to the crowd. It was as if he and Rhunis were suspended in the sky upon the sand, and nothing existed but the ring and his opponent. Rhunis made an overhead attack and Whill quickly blocked it, bringing them together in a struggle. Swords pointed at the sky they circled, hands upon each other’s wrists. Rhunis quickly moved to the side and smashed the side of his helmet against Whill’s face. Whill was thrown back, their swords still tangled. Rhunis thrust the hilt of his sword at Whill’s face, sending blood spraying from his nose. Whill fell back onto the sand. Tears welled in his eyes as he fumbled to get up. Rhunis was upon him and kicked him back to the ground. Then he stepped on Whill’s hand, pinning his arm and his sword within it as he brought his blade around to end the match.

With his free hand Whill grabbed the leg that held him down and simultaneously brought his leg up and around Rhunis’s midsection. With all his might he pushed with his leg and managed to send Rhunis falling on his back. Whill jumped to his feet. With nose bleeding profusely and eyes still blurry, he lunged at Rhunis, who had also gotten to his feet. Whill attacked with the fury of a caged beast, sending Rhunis stumbling backwards under the relentless attack. He now noticed that the sound of the crowd had changed. They had taken up a new chant, faint at first but growing louder.

“Whill! Whill! Whill!” they cried, as steady as a drumbeat. Rhunis seemed to weaken, but Whill felt stronger than he ever had. With powerful thrusts he came down on Rhunis, who was backing from the attack. Whill realized that now he was the one playing with Rhunis-he was winning. Victory was his; all he needed to do was decide when to claim it. With this revelation he left an intentional opening for Rhunis. When the knight attacked, he blocked. In one motion he brought their swords around in circles, and with a great thrust he sent Rhunis’s sword flying. Whill quickly brought the tip of his sword to Rhunis’s neck as the flying sword stuck into the sand with a wobble. The crowd was into frenzy. The chant for Whill now sounded throughout the arena.

Rhunis slowly lifted his arms to his helmet and removed it. Whill lowered his sword. Rhunis looked upon him sternly, but then his face broke into a smile.

“That, my friend, was my best fight, but it seems yours was better. I hope you are never an enemy to Eldalon, for you would be a dangerous foe.” He gave a small bow.

“Thank you,” Whill panted. “But I will never be an enemy to your great kingdom I will remain ever its ally.”

“Then maybe one day we will draw swords together.” Rhunis retrieved his sword and returned it to its sheath. With another small bow he made his way to the knights’ quarters. Whill stood on the sand, roses showering him as the crowd cheered. He looked up to the royal booth and saw the king looking at him. He nodded at Whill, and Whill nodded back.

Whill raised his hand and waved to the crowd. In return they cheered loudly, fists pumping in the air, as the chant for Whill grew louder still. Among the cheering fighters he saw Abram, a large smile spread across his face. Whill gave a bow and walked to the fighters’ section. He was greeted with many congratulations and pats on the back as he ascended the steps to his seat. He stopped before Abram, who extended his hand and shook Whill’s heartily.