Sir Fenric Galante smiled as he gazed out from the castle ramparts over the land of Southsward. The sun, sinking beyond the Western horizon, bathed the land in a warm orange glow. Far below, the windows in the town began to light up as the townsbeasts lit lanterns for the night. He shook his head. He still couldn't believe the events of the day.
"Please, Fen," Leahna entreated, "Go in and talk to my father. He is thinking about betrothing me to Count Captic. I could never marry him." She shuddered. "He'll listen to you; he trusts you. You did save his life once!"
"But, Leana, who am I to council the King? What would I tell him?"
She winked at him. "I'm sure you'll figure it out. Tell him I'll marry who I choose, and no one else."
For a brief moment, sorrow flashed across his face. "And who would that be?" he assayed.
"Well, it would have to be someone that I trust, who's a wonderful person, who treats me like a real person, not just like a method to the throne..." She reached out and took his paw. "Someone like... You, perhaps."
"Me?" he asked incredulously.
"Yes, you." She laughed. "Now, go and talk to my father. I command it."
He smiled and bowed. "As you wish, Your Highness. What can I do but obey your command?"
And, for some unfathomable reason, King Ayorn II had listened to him. A counselor to the King, a confidant (and perhaps more) to the Princess... And here he was, on guard duty, patrolling the battlements.
He'd never understand life, he decided. It was too full of contradictions.
"Count? Sir might I come in?" Captic who was reclining on a puffy sofa in his private quarters opened his eyes. He recognized the voice easily enough, his faithful Sir Belvonal a knight of the house of Flint. A loyal and dutiful creature Belvonal was the only one Captic confided in and trusted unconditionally. Grunting slightly Captic sat up straightening his tunic.
"Enter," Belvonal entered looking decidedly grave. He bobbed his head in a quick bow before approaching Captic.
"Sir I come bearing grave news."
"What!" Captic said in a unexpected temper. "Is it those bloody peasants revolting again? By the great bell I gave them more then enough leeway to keep their food. Surely they wouldn't be foolish enough to try my patience again?"
"No sir, it isn't that."
"Well then what is it? Did the south wall fall or something?"
"Sir the king has given his solemn promise that Princess Leana can marry whoever she pleases." Belvonal said in a rush. Captic felt a cold chill run up his spine as he stood, horror marked on his face.
"But... How? No! She will reject me? How did he. Surely he didn't."
"One of the castle knights a squirrel, Sir Fenric I believe, argued with him. Apparently he is well trusted in the castle and the king listened." Shock melted into fury as Captic jumped to his footpaws buckling on his saber.
"Belvonal I shall find this Fenric a make sure he understands what he has ruined. He had no business consulting the king on such matters. Where is he?"
"Guard duty sir." Motioning for Belvonal to follow Captic led the way down the castle. Both squirrel's had their paws on their sword hilts and their cloaks swished behind them as they moved quickly though the castle halls. After asking a few guards where Fenric was, and traversing half of the wall they spotted a squirrel standing alone, looking out over the battlements.
"Hoy sir knight, are you the squirrel that calls himself Fenric?" Captic called in a cold voice.
Fenric turned, and saw the Count. He appeared not in good humor, but that seemed a usual enough mood among Lords, and although he had never met the Count before, it seemed- and Princess Leana confirmed- that Captic was no exception. No wonder she didn't want to marry him. He stiffened himself to attention and bowed according to accepted protocol, although not very deeply, as the strung longbow slung across his back allowed little enough freedom of movement that way. "Indeed. Sir Fenric Galante, of the King's Royal Guard, at your service, m'lord." He wondered why the Count wished to see him; given the events of the day, it seemed unlikely to be for any commendation. He noted the saber at the Count's side, and his paw inched towards his sword hilt.
He had a uncomfortable feeling that the staggering events of the day were not yet over.
His paw flying to his sword hilt Captic braced himself to jump upon the knight who stood so calm. His sword was a few inches out of his sheath when a strong paw stayed his. Captic turned his head in shock to see Belvonal holding his paw down.
"Sir!" The knight hissed his eyes wide. "Sir please control yourself, please talk with me a moment." He pointed a claw at Fenric glaring at him. "Sir Fenric remain where you are, we shall return in a moment." Belvonal pushing the limits of his and Captic's friendship half dragged the furious count a short distance away whispering urgently. "Sir please forgive me, but the king will never forgive you killing one of his knights."
"He... He.... He ruined everything!" Captic spat in fury his fur standing on end, still Belvonal was right. There was no way he would get away with striking down one of the castle guards.
"Sir he insulted your honor did he not?" Belvonal insisted keeping hold of Captic's paw.
"Yes..."
"Then challenge him, humiliate him in front of the king, and the princess. Show your worth as an honorable count of Southsward." Belvonal's words made sense. Captic's eyes shone with a new light as he wrenched his paw away.
"My friend, you have shown yourself to be a truly wise creature. Come as witness." Turning Captic marched over to where Fenric stood. The red squirrel squared his shoulders and pulled off his right glove. "Sir Fenric, I challenge you to a duel of honor, for an inexcusable insult. Do you accept?" That said the count swung the glove striking Fenric in the muzzle.
Fenric's suspicions proved to be right, although he was slightly startled when the furious Count reached for his sword. Subtly shifting his stance, he dropped into a combat position and began to draw his sword, although he quickly sheathed it and returned to attention when Sir Belvonal interfered. He watched with apprehension as the knight talked to the clearly enraged Count.
"He... He.... He ruined everything!"
Fenric wrinkled his nose in distaste. Some nobles. Never thinking of anything but themselves and their ambitions. Clearly he had never thought of how he would ruin everything for the Princess had he gotten his way. Sometimes he wondered what nobles were good for...
Then felt a thrill of adrenaline as the Count walked back, eyes blazing. He tightened his grip on his shield.
The red squirrel squared his shoulders and pulled off his right glove. "Sir Fenric, I challenge you to a duel of honor, for an inexcusable insult. Do you accept?" That said the count swung the glove striking Fenric in the muzzle.
Fenric snarled, then righted his helmet. Blood boiling, he replied, "Indeed, Count Captic, I accept, and I shall see that you get all that you deserve." He bowed ironically. "I would ask what this unacceptable insult is, seeing as I have never met you as of previously, but I suppose that would be above my... station." Silently, he vowed then and there that this arrogant, self-centered lord would receive humiliation for humiliation for all that he had done to Princess Leana. "And where and when would you prefer to have this 'duel of honor'? I'm unfortunately not able to oblige you now, as I am doing my duty protecting the King. However, I believe your Lordship would be most well disposed to dueling in a private closet, as there would be no bothersome spectators. If it should favor you, I can supply you with one..." He said with mock deference.
Flexing his claws and pulling his black glove back on the count considered for a moment before shaking his head. "No, evening is upon us, dueling in the dark of night, or hidden away is the sign of a coward. One can flee and lay claim to falsehoods. I would not think you a coward Sir Fenric, yet your recent actions may state otherwise. Continue your duties to the king, tomorrow at sun high we shall fight with the full court as witness. Swords, wit, and strength our only weapons." Turning Captic strutted away calling over his shoulder as he went. "Sir Fenric, I shall make sure the king is well informed, you needn't worry about telling him. I shall have everything set and ready. All you must do is find your way to the court yard, evening."
Even as Captic marched away to speak with the king he felt the anger wash away. Behind him Belvonal followed but Captic hardly noticed the knight. Tomorrow he would defeat the Fenric and take pleasure in defeating the squirrel who ruined his plans. Mayhap he wouldn't even kill him, only force him to yield, and perhaps once the princess saw his fighting prowess and mercy she would be won over.
She would choose him herself. Victory would be absolute.
OOC: Time skip to duel?
OOC: Sure. I'll just double post to give Fenric a response.
BIC: Fenric grimaced, rolled his eyes, and turned back to his patrol. Choleric, arrogant, and dumb. The perfect storm. he was triply grateful to Leana for saving him from such a king. Not only had the Count missed the veiled intimation that he was a coward, but he thought that he, Fenric, was a coward.
The fool would get what was coming to him on the morrow. In the meanwhile, he had his duty to perform.
Morning light lighted upon the cobblestones of Castle Floret's court yard. Several rows of benches had been laid out along with a raised dais where the king, two of his guard, and princess Leana sat. Everybeast looked uncomfortable, and as more courtiers, knights, and castle staff filled the benches they grew even more uneasy.
Even Captic looked less then pleased, his red fur clean and glossy. He wore a chainmail shirt with a blue tunic over it. His sword lay next to him gleaming in the early morning light. After having informed the king of the impending battle, he and Belvonal had spent the remaining evening hours learning all they could about Fenric. What they learned had been less then pleasing.
Keeping a forced smile on his face Captic attempted several times to strike up a conversation with Leana but was downright ignored. Finally irritated at being made to wait Captic hopped from his seat sword in paw down into the space marked out for the fight looking around in mock confusion.
"Where are you Sir Fenric? Have you forfeited your honor by refusing to reveal yourself?" Having said those words Captic felt his confidence slowly returning. Perhaps he would win without having to even raise his sword.
Armor gleaming, Fenric strode into the arena. He was clad in his own chain-and-plate armor, a gift from the King upon his appointment to the Royal Guard, with a simple surcoat of quartered blue and white, the heraldic colors he had chosen upon his knighting. His sword hung on its worn swordbelt. Overnight, his anger had cooled, and he felt mostly contempt and pity for the Count. The beast was so wrapped up in himself that he failed to see what was right in front of his eyes. Fenric determined that he would be fair with him, enough to show the world what the Count actually was, and to prove that the nobles did not have a monopoly on nobility.
Carrying his helmet under his right arm, he ignored Count Captic and strode up to the royal box. He bowed before the King. "Your Highness, I hope you will pardon me for having disturbed you with our quarrel."
The old king nodded. "I understand this was a matter of honor; I will always support the honor of my knights and lords."
He turned and bowed to the Princess. "Indeed I am sorry for spoiling a morning almost as beautiful as yourself with the clash of swords, Your Highness. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me." A ghost of a smile appeared on his face.
She smiled sweetly back at him. "I really don't think I will, Sir Knight." Then, turning serious, she bent over towards him and removed a red silk handkerchief from her sleeve. "Please, Fen, be careful." She tied it tightly around his left arm. "Captic is a dangerous creature. I really never would forgive you if he hurt you."
He bowed deeply and said with mock courtliness, "Fear not, fair lady, thy champion shall return unharmed."
He turned, carefully placed his helmet on his head, and marched towards the Count. "Count Captic Flint, you are hereby conjured to duel over a matter of honor! Step forward to exercise your right, or forever hold your peace."
Snapping his mouth closed Captic adjusted his stance to look more stately. How could the princess be so drawn to such a lowly creature. Sure Fenric looked rather dashing in full armor, yet still a commoner held no place in a royal court. Swallowing a sharp retort Captic stepped forward feeling he was outmatched in the protection department.
His own simple chainmail tunic descended past his knees, however he had no head or arm protection. And the back of his neck also felt decidedly unprotected. A short cough sounded behind him and he turned his head to see Belvonal.
"Sir, your helm?" Captic felt a sense of gratitude to the squirrel nodding towards his friend. The knight summoned a Page dressed in the Count's colors who hurriedly presented Captic with a helmet. Recognizing it to be Belvonal's Captic let a small smile flicker to his lips before tucking it under his elbow.
"Is the count fully dressed? Or should we hold this battle of honor until he is prepared?" Leana said sweetly looking down on him from the dais. Bowing Captic smiled back once again wondering how she could prefer a commoner.
"I am ready my lady. It is for your honor that I fight today. Perhaps you do not know Sir Fenric as well as you think." Turning away from her Captic strode across to where Fenric stood fitting the helmet onto his head. Holding out his paw to grasp his opponents Captic couldn't resist a quick jab.
"What is thy secret Sir Fenric? The princess seems truly attached to your good looks, or mayhap it is thy uncontested flare. Perhaps once they are changed after today she will come to her senses. No?" Speaking in a louder voice Captic called out so the whole court could hear.
"I am here to exercise my right as a noble of Southsward to protect my honor, for an inexcusable insult Sir Fenric Gallante instigated. As chivalry demands we must battle until the other yields, or falls. I give you Fenric one chance to apologize now to save yourself from injury or worse. Do so and I shall never bring up the question of your honor, for it will be shown you have none. Do you accept Sir Fenric?"
Sternly, Sir Fenric Galante stepped forward. "I recognize no such insult, Count Flint; insults are below my dignity. Nor do I need to prove my honor, it is recognized by all and the most eminent personage here. However, there remains another whose honor I will defend, and it is in their name that I accept this duel. Therefore, Count Captic Flint, I, Sir Fenric Galante, Knight of the Realm, do hereby accept your duel according to the strictures of chivalry. He who is most honorable, let him win."
Sir Galante stepped back one pace, sharply drew his sword, and placed it in the accepted stance for the start of a duel.
"Have you no shame? It is more insulting that you will not accept what you did is an insult. Perhaps this could have been avoided if you hadn't meddled in affairs that did not concern you. I had no wish to harm you knight, and even now I wish to end this quickly and shed as little of your blood as possible. It does not become creatures like us to be battling each other, however this is now unavoidable. So if you are ready, let us begin." Captic replied his voice cold as he raised his drawn sword. Aligning himself to Fenric the count mirrored the salute before lowering the tip so the it clinked softly with Fenric's.
Captic waited, he knew Fenric was skilled with the sword, and that battling him would require a level head and patience. Keeping his body loose, and his jaw set the squirrel waited for the knight to make the first move.
*Cough*
Fenric tapped the Count's sword to start the duel, then settled into his dueling stance. He probed the counts defenses for a bit, feinting left, feinting right, keeping low and centered. Exposing oneself at the beginning of a duel is a beginners mistake. He took a quick jab at the Count, which was met by a strong parry.
Fenric nodded. The Count was a reasonably capable swordsman, although Flint hadn't the experience in battle that he did. The Count was also better trained in individual dueling, because nobles rarely fought battles themselves.
Suddenly, he straightened himself up, and took a short, powerful slash at the count in octave, hoping to catch him by surprise and perhaps overwhelm his defenses.
Sliding his footpaws across the ground Captic forced himself to retreat avoiding the heavy slice. The sword tip whistled past his nose making the count wince. Bracing himself Captic pulled his sword back and preformed a counter repost towards his opponent's wrist.
A click sounded as his saber blade bounced off Fenric's guard, he had recovered his defensive stance swiftly, taking advantage of Captic's small hesitation. Faster then Captic could respond the knight's sword shot out in an attack slicing though a small bit of fabric. Hopping backwards Captic recovered running a paw across the scratched chainmail. No damage done.
Licking his lips Captic kept up a steady retreat slowly moving away from Fenric. His opponent was fast, and accurate with the sword. If he wanted to win he would have to strike from a distance. For a moment Captic's eyes flickered towards Fenric's bushy tail. A squirrel's tail was always a viable target. Unarmored, and an easy shot. But do so in a duel of honor would be scorned. Even Captic couldn't swoop that low.
Changing tactics and hoping to throw Fenric off the count suddenly stopped his retreat and flunged forward, feinting towards the head before swiping once again at Fenric's wrist.
Fenric didn't take the bait. A quick flick of the wrist, and Captic's blade clicked off his sword's crossguard. Fenric silently reevaluated his opponent. Captic was no pushover; he meant what he said. "Come now, Count, can't do any better than that?" he said, hoping to incite Captic to anger. The Count had a tremendous temper, as he had seen previously. Anger causes beasts make mistakes. If Captic ever wanted to do well in battle, he'd better learn to cool it.
Going with his new strategy, Fenric eschewed great blows, simply flickering in, out, and around Captic's guard, attempting small pricks here and there just to rouse the Count's blood. Most were skillfully rebuffed, but he got in a couple scores near the edges of the Count's guard.
His shoulder stinging from a recent score from Fenric the count ground his teeth together, frustrated at his lack of success. The combined pressure of both the insult and the attacks brought his self control to breaking point. Snarling he leapt forward in a wild swing leaving himself wide open. Unhesitant Fenric took the easy opening bringing his blade forward smashing it against Captic's helm before twisting away to parry the oncoming saber.
His ears ringing, and his ego destroyed Captic made an ungainly retreat, only just clinging to his sword. Once he was a safe distance away he straightened up breathing hard. "Well fought, sir." He puffed slipping a paw into his helm he dabbed at the fresh bruise that was forming. "Perhaps his Majesty could hire you as a rug beater, your swings are phenomenal. And you have little need for honor."
Captic walked slowly to the sidelines taking a wet rag from Belvonal and wiping the sweat from his eyes. He turned to face Fenric throwing the rag over his shoulder. "Shall we continue sir? Or would you like to yield yet?"
Fenric bowed deeply to the Count. "Whenever you are ready, milord." He turned towards the Royal Box and doffed his helm towards the King and Princess. Leana winked at him. Surprised, he smiled and lowered his visor.
Turning back to the Count he said, "Indeed, I have no doubt that my common blood makes me ineligible for honor. And yet, I think, were we to test the claim," he looked pointedly at Captic's shoulder, "We should find your blood no bluer than mine."
Captic saw the wink as well and his gut twitched involuntarily. He simply couldn't understand how such a beautiful and smart squirrel like Leana could be so infatuated with a commoner. A knight, and skilled fighter for sure, but there wasn't a drop of noble blood in his body. By all rights any squirrel maid would fall for him, his handsome looks, and position guaranteed it. So what did Leana see that Captic was missing?
Setting his teeth he readied his saber advancing towards Fenric, steadfastly determined not to let his temper control him again. "I don't doubt your capability knight, but you will never understand something you will never have, nor you've ever possessed."
Having decided not to compete with Fenric's speed or strength Captic decided to outthink the knight, by throwing himself forward in a seemingly wild attack. Hoping to push the knight back he pressed on until they were a few mere paw steps away from the edge. Tail streaming behind him the count came in low and fast slashing his blade long ways towards Fenric's footpaws designed to force his opponent back over the marked edge causing him to become trapped by the press of spectators.
Taken aback, Fenric backpedaled towards the edge of the arena as he parried and countered the strong assault. However, he guessed Captic's intention to drive him into the spectators, and started to circle off the the left, around the Count's guard. Before he cover any real ground, however, the Count slashed low. Not deigning to parry the blow, he hopped over the blade and swung left, recovering his guard and putting Captic closer to the edge. Parrying a blow, he thrust sharply towards the Count's waist.
Shying away from Fenric's sword Captic discovered he could only avoid so much of the blade. A metallic click sounded and the sword broke through armor and flesh. A few small blood specks spattered across the cobblestones, however the count hardly noticed the small wound. Keeping his eyes on Fenric he tried to work away around the problem he now found himself in.
Pure ferocity had drained his energy reserves leaving his back to the spectators, and his front to a knight who seemed to have no end to his strength. Captic was stuck in a horrible situation. He could not match Fenric in speed, or skill, and savage attacks seemed to have little affect.
Fear starting to creep into his mind Captic readied himself. Desperate times called for desperate measures.
"Please yield." He whispered just loud enough for Fenric to hear. "I don't want to do this."
Fenric grunted as their swords locked together. The duel had taken its toll on him; he was beginning to tire- but he suspected the Count was worse off.
"Please yield." He whispered just loud enough for Fenric to hear. "I don't want to do this."
"Never," he growled, his face just inches away from Captic's as they struggled with crossed blades. "This duel of honor will be finished, one way or the other." He shoved Captic and jumped back, settling deeper into his guard. He began prowling to the left, circling around Count Flint's swordpaw. From the corner of his eye, he saw the Princess watching anxiously, and the Count's friend, Belvonal, looking more anxious yet. Momentarily distracted, his guard dropped slightly and he came off bleeding from a vicious scratch on his off arm.
Regaining his focus, he leapt towards the Count and, with a quick feint towards the face, slashed at his upper legs.
Not falling for the feint Captic's sword flashed in a desperate parry only just knocking away the seeking blade. Grinding his teeth together the squirrel held his ground putting every ounce of speed and strength into his blows. "I was afraid you would say that." He snarled, every movement sent small speckles of blood onto the cobblestones, he had to hurry before he lost too much blood. "So lets finish this then."
Even in Captic's mind desperate acts were foolish, yet he had no other choice. Yelling the war cry of Southsward he suddenly launched forward grabbing hold of Fenric's sword paw. He felt the blade smash against his helmet, but with nowhere near the force required to do serious damage. Struggling to keep Fenric's sword out of play Captic swung his own sword, trying to slam the pommel into Fenric's head, while kneeing his opponent in the stomach.
Taken aback, Fenric grunted in surprise. With his off paw, he swept away Captic's sword and grabbed his wrist- but not before gashing his paw on the blade. The Count's knee drove into his stomach, and he felt his breath being driven from him. Still, he held tight to Captic's wrist, not daring for an instant to loosen his grip. Gasping for breath, he straightened up and brought his full strength to bear on the Count.
They both struggled futilely in close quarters, neither strong enough to overpower the other and pressed too close to make any effective moves. "Now would be a good time for a break, milord," he managed, as he attempted to wrestle his sword out of the Count's grip. "Of course," he grunted as he blocked Captic's knee again with one of his own, "I'll continue as long as you will."
Determined to ride out his advantage Captic struggled in vain, his arms locked in a rash attempted to overpower Fenric. They grunted and strained neither was able to deliver a blow that carried any real damage behind it. Clenching his jaw the count jerked his head hardly able to see past the lines of sweat the clouded his vision. There was no victory to be gained struggling on until one fell from exhaustion. And Captic didn't known whether his own waning strength would outlast Fenric's.
"Quarter it is then knight," He grunted dryly, they remained in their locked stance for a few seconds more. "Now, swords away." They broke off mutually and Captic took several paces back ready to fight should their duel resume. Seeing that Fenric didn't mean to continue he turned towards Belvonal his sword dragging behind him.
Fenric sheathed his sword and walked back to one of the benches. He drew a dipper of water from a bucket, then sat down, cut off a piece of his tunic with a knife and wound it around the wounds on his off arm, bandaging it tightly. He inspected himself, and, finding no other wounds to treat, drew his sword and polished it carefully, wiping away the blood and dust that had collected on his blade until it shone in the mid-morning sun. Once that was finished, he did a quick once-over on his armor, wiping the sweat from the inside of his helmet, polished the breastplate, and inspected the broken chain links on his sleeve. He thought back to something his old instructor had once told him, "Appearance is half the battle. If you look and act like you've already won, you probably have."
Besides, this was the only set of armor he had. Count Flint might be able to replace his, but this was it. It had served him well, and it always helped to have your equipment in good order.
He stood up and saluted the royal box, one royal in particular, then glanced over to see if the Count was ready yet.
The much needed rest did little to build Captic's confidence for the upcoming bout. Resting on one knee while a squire wiped sweat from his eyes, the squirrel count mulled over what had gone right over the course of their fight. Unfortunately not much had gone right. In fact, it seemed Captic's only advantage was being unpredictable, and the more they had fought the less unpredictable he had become.
Drinking lightly from a proffered dipper of water the count took his freshly polished helmet stolidly from Belvonal. The dent now embedded in the metal could not be fixed on such short notice, and neither could the torn chainmail. But the blood had been washed away, and the wounds cleaned and bandaged. Fitting the helm over his tufted ears the count sighed strongly regretting his past decisions.
"What say you Belvon? What tactic should I follow?" The loyal knight considered Count Captic Flint for a moment. Then in his matter of fact voice.
"Sir, with the utmost respect, I suggest you apologize and give up Leana as a lost cause." Drawing his sword, claws clenched tight around its hilt. Captic's knuckles growing white from the prolonged stress. He hated himself for even considering such an action, and what a blow to his prestige. The name Flint would be mocked, his son's sons would be seen as pathetic excuses for nobles. Simply because he gave in on a fight he couldn't win.
"To a commoner?"
"I too am a commoner, m'lord." Belvonal reminded Captic before the miffed Count could go on. "Do what you believe is right." Grimacing at his friend's solution, and unhelpful encouragement Captic stepped back into the ring just as Fenric was saluting the royals. Copying the knight's salute he took up the ready stance, still stuck in limbo between giving up the fight, or battling till the bitter end.
Fenric noticed his opponent's slight reticence, but misunderstood it. It looks like this will be my fight to begin, he thought. Shrugging slightly to himself, he went the easy way, still feeling the pain in his left arm: a slight tap flicking the Count's sword to the left, and they were back into the thick of it. Parrying the Count's riposte, he replied with a sharp slash, and so it went. The blood soaked through his bandage through his bandage and dripped down his arm, but he paid it no notice. Their swords flickered, first left, then right. Up, then down. But the Count's wounds were telling, and he looked haggard. Step by step, Fenric forced him back, until they were making a slow circuit of the ring.
Captic was a fool. Like all noble beasts, he thought of nothing but himself and his pretended honor. What had he ever done that was truly noble? He played a good game, struck a nice figure, commanded ably and angrily, and oppressed those he considered beneath him. Nothing compared to the northern stock Fenric's family was from. Up north, everybeast was equal, and your worth was in your work.
Suddenly, lost in his reverie of disdain, Fenric misstepped. His paw came down on a rock, and he turned his ankle hard. With a yelp, he fell to the side on one knee. A gasp went up from the spectators. Captic, who was hard pressed just a moment before, gave a fierce grin and jumped forward to press his advantage.
Well, I've done it now, he thought grimly.
He had been dueling in a halfhearted manner, constantly defending and retreating with little incentive or opportunity to strike out himself. Count Captic, fighting a lost battle as he was, resided himself to staying alive until a fatal error occurred and Fenric's blade found his heart. He had lost all motivation to strive for victory. Every movement, every pawstep, every swing of the blade only signaled closer the ever looming inevitability of death.
What have I become? He wondered, dodging away from a slash. A fool to be slain by his own stupidity? Or a coward to forsake my honor when I cannot abide the threat of death? Captic faltered, righting himself just in time to parry Fenric's sword, the last vestige of desire shattering into a thousand pieces. His fate seemed sealed.
Then, as fortune would have it Fenric stumbled, his sword disengaging and his knee striking the ground. The desperation in Captic's eyes turned to hope and he sprang forward, saber clutched in both paws, a grin on his lips, blade angled for a gap in Fenric's armor.
"NO!"
A desperate, feminine plea resounded in Captic's ears and he swerved his attack, sending his jewel adorned hilt instead of the razor blade crashing towards his opponent's helm, throwing himself off balance in the process.
The minute he felt the rock under his paw, Sir Fenric Galante knew he was only an instant away from his death. Time seemed to slow down as he felt his ankle turn, and he toppled sideways. Briefly, his thoughts flashed to Leahna. Was it only yesterday that he had been considering marriage to a princess? And now, he was defending it with his life. Really, he was defending her with his life, and this duel was a referendum on whether she had the right to break the ancient chains which bound the kingdom to its traditions. Chains which also held the peasantry and the nobility-- His knee struck the ground, and he yanked himself from his thoughts. A combat veteran, he knew the dangers of getting wrapped up in his own head.
His helmet was knocked slightly ajar by the impact, but he saw the flash of sunlight on the Count's blade as it arced towards his face. In a last, desperate measure, he gripped the hilt of his sword with both paws and lashed out towards the glinting steel with every ounce of strength he could muster. With a tremendous crash, blades collided, and dust flew up from the dry dueling ground. There was a sudden, collective intake of breath, and the spectators unconsciously held their breath as the dust began to settle. In the box, Leahna's paws gripped the edge of her seat so hard her claws dug furrows into the wood.
When they could see through the cloud, both duelers lay sprawled on the ground, blades wrenched from their paws: Fenric knocked off his knees by his tremendous parry and the resulting collision, and Count Captic jerked the opposite way by his sudden change of swing and the unexpected clash.
Fenric struggled to his paws. His left arm fur was coated in congealed and drying blood. Favoring his twisted footpaw ever so slightly, he walked over and picked up his blade. Halfheartedly, he moved his blade to ready position.
Rolling onto his front Captic rested, breathing in great gulps of air as he pounded the ground with his gloved paw. Stupid, fool, imbecile! That had been his chance to not only walk away alive, honor intact, but with the princess' paw in marriage as well. Grinding his teeth Captic looked towards the royal box, his eyes blinking the dust away as he focused on Leana's worried features.
Her cry had saved Fenric from death, and the damage it did to Captic was far greater than any destruction wrought by steel. Casting one last glance of betrayal towards Leana, the squirrel count staggered to his footpaws, his eyes confused and unfocused. He cast about locating his sword across the dueling grounds, but standing between himself and the blade was Fenric, already rearmed.
Captic took an uncertain step forward. "Here's your chance knight " He spat out the final word, spreading his arms wide to reveal a larger target, growing more brazen with each sentence. "Prove to me and her highness you truly have no honor, and end this fight. Unless you would rather continue, step aside and allow me to collect my blade. I cannot best you, but I will not yield!"
Any reluctance Sir Fenric had had was gone by the time the Count had finished speaking. He sheathed his sword elegantly and stepped to the side, having noted for the first time the fact that the Count's sword was behind him.
He spoke quietly, just loud enough for the Count to hear. "Be you warned, milord, that this is one duel I cannot lose. It is not permissible. I do not want to kill you. I have seen enough battle to know that the life of every creature is precious." He lifted his chin slightly, gesturing towards Captic. "If I wanted you dead, you would have been dead in the second bout. Even just now, you would not have been able to kill me, had you truly attempted to. But if I must, I will worst you. Too much depends on this, beyond you or I or the Princess." He leaned forward, a glint in his eye. "You have made a grave mistake, Count Flint. When you challenged me to a duel, you believed it was about you. But it has become something far larger than you are."
His piece said, he stepped back, removed his helmet, and placed it to one side of the ring. Once again he drew his sword, settled into a ready stance, and raised sword in the formal salute. Fatigue lay heavy on his limbs, but his face was as clear as starlight and calmer than a lake at midsummer. Only the fire of determination burning in his eyes shared the quiet intensity that lay in his words.
"Don't overplay your sensibilities on the matter sir knight, you can die and err as any other beast can. Had it not been for the lady's cry you would be walking at the dark forest's gates even now. This is nothing more than a duel of honor, though I do admit I underestimated your abilities at my own cost." Leveling his sword at Fenric, Count Flint advanced, knowing this could very well be walking straight towards his demise. A deep sense betrayal burned in his veins, while despair churned in his stomach waging an inner conflict. Pushing aside his feelings Captic raised his sword, preparing to strike.
"You speak as if this proves something. Perhaps you think that peasantry could be something more than the filth they are. Is that the end goal, which is larger than you and I and the princess? You are fooling yourself in that regard, this changes nothing."
Captic's blade, slow from exhaustion, swept down upon the knight like a pendulum in a last ditch effort to break Fenric's guard. The squirrel count's teeth were set and he bullied forward with the last of his strength, determined to make a last good go of it.