I made my way back to the dormitory. There was no way I was going to sleep anytime soon. In the common room, I picked one of the most comfortable chairs by the fireplace to relax and reflect on the events of the day. There were only a few people around now.
Suddenly, on one of the tables nearby, I saw a flash of familiar metal as I turned my head.
Curious, I got up and walked over. It was another silver figurine, just as neatly crafted as the last one. Picking it up, I noticed the same prickly feeling that unequivocally told me that it was solid silver.
“Sorry, is this yours?” I asked the two guys sitting at the table.
“Nope,”one of them said. “Was lying here before we came.”
“D’you mind if I take it?”
“By all means,” he said, rather bewildered.
“Thanks.”
I picked it up and went back to my seat again. It was a miniature drummer. I began turning it in my hand with my thumb and index finger. I didn’t know why, but there was something about them that fascinated me about them.
***
I must have dozed off in the chair, for when I woke up I was the only person in the common room left. Only a few glowing ashes were left of the blazing fire. The clock on the wall told me it was 3:30 a.m. I was just about to get up when the common room door opened. Who’d be coming back at this hour?
It was Lynn.
“Hi,” she said, with a rather guilty expression on her face.
It wasn’t my business where she had been. It was strange, though, because normally we told each other everything. Or almost everything. I’d kept my thoughts about Raphael to myself.
“Hi,” I said. “Been for a late night snack from the fountain?”
“Something like that,” Lynn said sheepishly.
She approached the fireplace and suddenly froze in shock. At first, I had no idea what was going on. I was still a little drowsy and not quite awake. I followed her eyes and saw that she was staring at the little silver drummer on the table.
“What’s the matter, Lynn?” I asked.
“Oh, nothing,” she said.
“Lynn, you were never a good liar. What’s up?” I said. I was concerned, but Lynn wouldn’t tell me anything.
“You kept the… the figurine, then.”
“No, it’s another one. I found it in here. Lynn, what on earth is going on?”
“I told you, Beccs, nothing.”
“Lynn, if you’re in trouble…”
“No.” she said, tears flooding her eyes. I hadn’t seen her this sad ever. “Please, Beccs, you can’t… I’m f-fine.”
“Lynn…”
“Please, leave me alone, Beccs.”
And without another word, she traipsed miserably up to our room. This was totally unlike Lynn. Now I knew something was seriously wrong. Whatever it was, I thought grimly, I was determined to get to the bottom of this.
***
After a rough night’s sleep, I got up for an early breakfast. I was burning to beat Vanessa in front of the crowd.
Finally, I found myself back in the courtyard again. This time, however, there were much fewer fighters and more spectators. Large banners supporting one person or another hung from the walls. Matches were no longer held simultaneously, but one after the other, so that the crowd would see all of them from now on. In the middle of the courtyard, there was only one designated fighting area. It was much larger than the ones we had the day before.
Two older guys I didn’t recognise were currently in the ring. It was a pretty one-sided match, but the crowd still roared and yelled as enthusiastically as ever.
“Good luck for your next match, Miss Flynn,” said a voice beside me.
I whirled around. It was Doctor Yurasov. He looked tired himself, though ablaze with a fire I hadn’t noticed before.
“Thanks, Doctor Yurasov,” I said.
“You did well yesterday. I think you could have beaten your opponent, you know. She’s had many more years of practice, of course.”
“Yeah, Sarah’s really good. She introduced me to a few Knights yesterday night.”
“Oh, did she? And did you meet Prince Raphael?”
“I – yes, I did, actually. Why d’you ask?”
My question came a little too quickly, and Doctor Yurasov looked at me through his spectacles with a piercing but not unsympathetic look.
“Well, he was very impressed by the match yesterday. He’s competing this year himself, you know. Excellent swordsman. He said he’d very much like to cross swords with you.”
My heart began pumping faster again, but I managed to hide it better this time.
“I’ll see him in the finals,” I said, grinning.
“That’s the spirit,” Doctor Yurasov said approvingly. “You had better get out there, the round is about to start.”
I moved over, rapier in hand, and waited. Then, I saw Vanessa from afar. Her entrance to the courtyard was – there was no point denying it – perfect. She had a large entourage of sycophants with her – people who fawned over her because of her aristocratic background or because they wanted to be popular. I had always thought I’d leave that behind my after finishing school, but evidently people never changed.
A small girl with brown curls was carrying her rapier, while two others were egging her on for the match, praising and motivating her. She moved through the crowds behaving like a rock star. And indeed, there was no doubt, the effect she had with her stunning blonde hair and arrogant beauty was dazzling. Her outfit in purple and black was immaculate.
I tried to pull myself out of these superficialities. This was what she had intended, to intimidate and awe me before the match. Finally, it was our turn.
We moved into the cordoned-off area without acknowledging one another. This wasn’t just rivalry. It was hatred that I saw when I looked in her eyes. She hadn’t stomached the defeat from class very well, it seemed. The referee, a retired staff member, explained the rules to us one last time. It was to be a best of 11, so the first to get seven hits would win.
We heard the drums sound with a sullen monotonous beat. The crowd, sensing the emotion in the air, was tense. Vanessa’s crew had gathered behind her, yelling insults at me and encouragement to her. The referee lifted his ancient hand. Silence. He pulled out an old pocket watch, waiting.
“Begin,” he said.
As with all previous matches, I bowed my head slightly, but that was a massive mistake. Vanessa had pretended to bow herself but then aborted half-way to rush forward and land a hard blow to my sword arm.
Many in the crowd laughed and Vanessa withdrew, evidently pleased with herself, her entourage hooting and taunting me in the background. Some were booing, however. I felt stupid. How naïve was it to expect any sort of sportsmanship from her?
The referee frowned, but I knew he couldn’t do anything. Bowing was a custom, a long-held tradition that all vampires abided by – a matter of honour. It was a sign of Vanessa’s social position that she could get away with a thing like that. Breaking the tradition might be reprehensible, but it wasn’t against the rules.
Burning with a passion for vengeance, I burst forward with a quick combination of strokes, which she only narrowly evaded, parrying the last blow. And she was evidently taken aback by the early aggression. But I was still fuming from the humiliating beginning and swung at her a little too wildly, opening my defences, and promptly got the reply in the form of a stab to the stomach. It was 0 – 3. The crowd behind her jeered and cried in triumph.
I couldn’t let it get to me. I had always hated this sort of thing in school, never being one for these sports spectacles. One of the reasons I was glad to get out. But I was right in it again. No escape. Pull yourself together, I told myself, focus on her weaknesses.
But it was easier said than done. And she was getting more confident by the minute, now smartly parrying most of my blows. After fending off a particularly complicated manoeuvre I had worked very hard at, She grazed my shoulder. To my annoyance, the referee let it count. I was now down 0 – 3, with my best combinations seemingly thwarted. I needed another strategy.
The first lesson, Miss Flynn, is that you are your worst enemy.
That’s what Doctor Yurasov had told me on our very first lesson. I was playing her game, getting riled up by her mind games. I was focussing on my own weakness instead of hers.
I went into a more defensive stance to buy time and let myself cool off a little. I wouldn’t win this with uncontrolled rage, so much was clear.
But what was her weakness? It was surely the same thing that it had been in class at the beginning of the year. She was arrogant and over-confident. It was a flaw she’d never be able to shake off. And I needed to take advantage of that.
She was expecting me to attack as before. So I’d give her what she wanted, only with a twist this time. I lunged forward in what seemed like a wild attack, though keeping an eye on my footing this time. After the initial flurry, she’d sure move in for the hit, and that would be my chance.
And sure enough, Vanessa stepped in right at the moment when I suddenly withdrew from the attack, leaving her exposed. I landed a blow, as hard as I could, on her left arm. With grim satisfaction, I saw that it hurt.
The crowd cheered and booed. It was still massively divided, with many, if not most, supporting Vanessa. But I didn’t care anymore.
“You got lucky once, Flynn, it won’t happen again,” Vanessa said, spitting into the sand on which we were standing.
Before I could respond, she lunged forward again. But this time, I was ready – I wasn’t going to fall for her tricks a second time. I diverted the blow to my side and went in for a clean counter, making it 2 – 3. I was catching up.
I continued with my strategy, trying to provoke her into attacking me in a seemingly vulnerable position. She wasn’t taking the bait, but I knew she was longing to do so. That ruthless hunger showed in her pale blue eyes.
Finally, she just couldn’t take it anymore. With vicious force, she aimed her rapier at my head – a move that drew a gasp from the crowds. I heard the referee protesting next to me, but I was too focussed. I dodged her last attack and lunged.
Desperate to avoid the hit, Vanessa moved backwards but lost her balance and fell to the ground. With any other opponent, I would have immediately refrained from attacking out of fairness. This was different. But that small moment of hesitation, that last vestige of civilised conduct lost me the milliseconds she needed. With her left hand, she had grabbed some sand and threw it into my eyes and swung the blade at my leg at the same time. I was just too late, and it connected painfully with my shin, which gave a horrible crack.
She had extended her lead to 2 – 4, but at a terrible price. She had lost the crowd. Even her entourage in the background seemed perturbed by her conduct, if only because it would reflect badly upon them. The “Go, Vanessa!” signs were held up only half-heartedly from now on. Many in the crowd were booing.
The elderly referee was muttering under his breath that he’d never seen something like this during a tournament. Above us, on the battlements where the teachers and members of the Scarlet Knights were sitting, an air of disapproval – even hostility towards my opponent – was tangible.
Outwardly, her arrogant demeanour hadn’t changed a bit, but I knew that if I played my cards right from now on, I could pull the crowd entirely on my side. But she was still dangerous, and we were about even in skill.
I edged forward, only slightly, moving my rapier in small circles, like a fly annoying a bull. I knew she couldn’t resist for long. And sure enough, her excellent three-strike combination was her answer. I moved back enough to stay out of reach, still goading her into attacking, slowly moving around the designated fighting area. Then, she lunged again, but I was faster and got her right on her shoulder pad. The crowd erupted in cheers. I was catching up, and she was rapidly losing concentration, though perhaps fiercer than ever. But my shin still hurt and impeded my usual movements.
The fight raged. In a slight miscalculation, she grazed my thigh, which was counted as a solid hit. I got the subsequent two. We were finally even, 5 – 5, though the momentum had switched to me. Nevertheless, with one hit left between victory and defeat, anything could happen. And you never knew what sort of foul trick she’d use to win.
We circled each other like tigers. My guard was low, my mind focussed, ready to react at the slightest move. But Vanessa, rattled by the way the battle had developed, also moved into a defensive stance.
“Think your fans will still love you when you lose, Vanessa?” I said.
“At least I have some after this match. You’re little streak of luck is over, Flynn.”
And with those words, she moved in for the kill. She aimed a high attack. I parried it just in time and, for a second, our blades were interlocked. Her face was screwed up in hatred, and then, she kicked at my damaged shin, hard. I yelled and there was a sharp intake of breath from the crowd
The pain was beyond belief, I was sure it was broken. Vanessa smiled venomously, drawing her hand back for a finishing blow. It was now or never. With all my remaining strength, I knocked my body into her swordarm, which was propelled backwards. With my right hand, I thrust my rapier forward, hitting her right in the stomach.
She tumbled backwards from the force of the blow, her rapier dropping to the floor as she fell to the ground. The crowd burst into a roar of applause. As I looked around me, the battlements were filled with people violently clapping their hands or raising their fists into the air in jubilation. On the other end of the courtyard, Vanessa’s entourage was stunned. They had no idea what to do. After all their abuse, the sight was satisfying to say the least.
***
Partying was part and parcel of the every year’s tournament. And today couldn’t have been a better day. I was reborn, exhilarated. The Great Hall was abuzz with laughter and wine. People were singing and chanting, retelling the fights of the day with increasing exaggeration. I hadn’t been this happy in a long time. I just wished I could have shared all this with Lynn.
I had joined Sarah’s table. Some of the Knights were there, too, as well as Steve.
“Beccs, what a fight! Vanessa was furious.”
He laughed heartily.
“Where is she anyway?” asked Sarah, who had also been following the duel with great interest.
“Oh, sulking somewhere, no doubt,” Steve said. “I heard she’s really cut up about it. You’d better watch your back, Beccs. She won’t forget that humiliation easily.”
“I hope not,” I said. “So who are you facing next, Steve?”
His handsome face twisted itself into a look of dismay.
“Jayden.”
“Really?” Sarah chipped in. “He’s really good. I think they’ve been considering him for the Knights. Don’t tell anyone I told you, though. They like to keep these things to themselves.”
“Where is Jayden, anyway?” I asked.
“Dunno,” Steve said. “He’s been acting kinda strange lately.”
“How come?”
“Getting back to the dorm at 4 o’clock in the morning. Irritable and moody. I don’t know what’s up.”
“You know, Lynn’s been a bit like that, too. I wonder what’s going on,” I said.
“Beats me,” Steve said.
We spent the rest of the evening listening retellings of fights of the day. Steve had managed to get into the next round, but only barely. I wished him to win, of course, but from what I had seen, Jayden was much better at swordfighting.
“So who are you up against next, Beccs?”
“I don’t know. I checked the tournament notice board several times. But it doesn’t say.”
“Oh, it’s probably one of the matches tomorrow morning,” Sarah said. “Hey, why don’t we all watch them together after breakfast?”
We all agreed to meet for breakfast and I went up to my room to snatch a few hours sleep. Lynn, as expected, wasn’t there. As I lay on my bed, exhausted, the images of the day flew past my mind’s eye in a whirl. The borders between passing out or falling asleep had never been this hazy.
***
The last day of the tournament promised to be even more tumultuous than the previous day. Many vampires from all around the world had come just to see the finals on the last day. Extra chairs and makeshift tables had been set up in the Great Hall to accommodate those who had arrived in time for breakfast.
After a few slices of toast and a brief chat with Steve and Sarah, I walked over to the noticeboards. I was eager to find out who I was up against. The huge poster from day 1 that had sported hundreds of names was replaced by just a normal sheet of paper with 64 names. Neat brackets at the bottom denoted the quarter and semifinals that would occur later in the day. The grand final match was to take place in the Great Hall in the evening. My first opponent of the day would be Jayden, who had had an exemplary performance during the tournament so far.
It would be a tough match.
***
At the allotted time, I was waiting for him, rapier in hand. He was late. The referee was the same old man that had refereed my match against Vanessa. He checked his old-fashioned pocket watch every few minutes, tut-tutting under his breath.
“I will have to disqualify that young gentleman if he doesn’t arrive soon.”
He smiled, his wrinkly face stretching like a mask.
“I know we shouldn’t have favourites, Miss Flynn,” he said, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “But I think skill and fair play prevailed eventually in your match against Miss Vanessa Demaine.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I’m glad you feel that way, sir.”
He checked his pocket watch again. Jayden was still nowhere to be seen. Though he was a strong opponent, I was really looking forward to fighting him.
“I am afraid I must disqualify him. Congratulations, Miss Flynn, you may enter the quarter-finals.”
I thanked him again, though I didn’t think congratulations were in order. It wasn’t really a victory at all, just a matter of the opponent not showing up. It didn’t feel deserved somehow.
I spent the early morning watching the other matches with Steve, who had lost a second time and was therefore out of the tournament.
“Want to watch it from above?” he asked, slightly mischievously.
“Yeah. Sure. From the battlements you mean?”
“From the skies, Beccs. That’s where I’ll take you some day.”
“Oh, come off it, Steve,” I said, punching him hard in the ribs.
We made our way up to the battlements. Steve was right, it had been a good idea. A little further away, right above the gatehouse in a cordoned-off area, were members of the royal family and the most esteemed guests. The King, as was to be expected, was still ill apparently, so his chair was left empty.
“You there, out of the way,” a sharp voice came from beside us.
I turned around and was just about to give a snarky answer when I noticed who it was. The Queen’s chamberlain and the Queen herself had arrived on the battlements to watch the matches. I couldn’t remember seeing her the previous two days. They were accompanied by about a dozen elite swordsmen.
“What are you dreaming about, girl? Make room for your Queen,” the chamberlain barked at me.
I shot him a venomous look but didn’t say anything. Taking my time, I stepped back. The Queen’s gaze briefly scanned me from bottom to top in a highly dismissive manner.
When they had passed and settled in their seats, Steve turned to me.
“What a b-”
“Yeah,” I said. “I hope they don’t treat all of their subjects that way. They might have revolution on their hands.”
“Pssh,” Steve said in a hushed panic. “Are you crazy talking like that? That sort of talk can land you in serious trouble.”
“What do you mean?”
“There was a plot to kill the Royal Family two years ago. They’re really sensitive about that topic, believe me.”
“Who tried to kill them? The Slayers?”
“Nobody knows for sure, but a lot of people reckon it’s the Outlaws who were behind it. I don’t think the Slayers would care, they hate all vampires.”
“Why would the Outlaws be interested in assassinating them?”
“’Well, they backed the whole peace process. And they were the driving force for banning bloodsucking. That made them unpopular everywhere.”
***
The first match was very one-sided and was over pretty quickly. Sarah was to fight in the second match and both of us waved encouragingly to her before the start. She was on top of her game, but her opponent – a wiry girl with outstanding technique – gave her a run for her money. She managed to scrape a victory at 7 – 5. The crowd cheered.
After a short break, the next match was about to begin, though there was only one person in the ring. A massive man I’d never seen in the castle before, built like a rock. He must have been over 7 feet tall. His huge arms made the sword in his hand look like a toothpick. On closer inspection, I noticed to my surprise that his weapon was not a rapier but a scimitar. Other weapons were allowed (with exceptions such as polearms and spears), though most people chose the rapier since it was such an excellent duelling weapon. The curved scimitar, however, was a cutting weapon that was not ideal for duelling, though very good for larger engagements.
“Who’s the giant?” I asked Steve, who was browsing the match list in his hand.
“Lord Rankin,” he said. “Never heard of him.”
And then, I saw Raphael enter. He was dressed all in black, sporting a quilted vest with the royal emblem – a crown with a red ruby in it. It matched his dark hair and rather dark mood. The crowd’s obvious favourite, they burst into applause as soon as he entered the courtyard. He didn’t react. He was focussed only on his opponent.
The match began with a vicious first exchange. Lord Rankin, his massive body moving with unexpected speed, was using sweeping motions to cover his body. Raphael, who seemed unperturbed by any posturing, was testing his defences. Lord Ranking was parrying Raphael’s attempts until he himself unleashed an extraordinarily powerful series of attacks of his own, his hammer blows hitting steel with deafening clangs.
But brute force couldn’t contain Raphael’s skilful mastery for long. Instead of bearing the brunt of Lord Rankin’s attacks, Raphael’s clever deflections and evasions allowed him to use his opponent’s enormous strength against him. Lord Rankin’s misses were costly, for the force behind his blows meant that he recovered far slower to meet his opponent’s counter-attacks. At the first sign of weakness, Raphael quickly took advantage by landing a dexterous blow on Lord Rankin’s massive chest. Raphael was in the lead, and the crowd erupted in enthusiastic cheers. The monarchy might be extremely unpopular, but the young Prince certainly wasn’t.
The rest of the match continued in a similar vein. Lord Rankin managed to score a points later on – a particularly painful hit to the shoulder – but was no match for Raphael. It ended 7 – 1 in the latter’s favour. They bowed and shook hands.
“I wish I could fight like that,” Steve was saying as we stepped down the stairs leading to the courtyard again. “And against Lord Rankin! What a beast.”
“Yeah,” I said, thoroughly enjoying the post-game. “He made it look easy, but just a couple of more hits from that guy and you won’t be too quick on your feet anymore.”
“Who’re you up against later?”
“I’d better check. I’ll catch you later, Steve.”
“Yeah, see you, Beccs.”
***
Due to Jayden’s mysterious absence, I had qualified for the quarter-finals. As fate usually had it, I was sure I’d pay heavily if I’d wanted to reach the next round. I was up against Sarah once again. There’d be no second chances this time. If I lost this one, I was definitely out.
The sun had bathed the courtyard in a golden shade when we walked out into to fight against each other once again. I knew she had deserved her last victory, but I was dying to prove myself, to win.
It started off as badly as the last match. Before I knew it, I was down 0 – 3. Her defensive posture as impenetrable as ever. But as tournaments went, the wear and tear of the previous days showed on all of us, and I knew that Sarah wouldn’t be an exception.
I decided to play the long game this time – no quick victories were possible. If I could lower her concentration through exhaustion, I might stand a chance.
I fell into a defensive stance myself, letting her do the work for a change. Her eagle eye was looking for openings, but I had learnt to see her attacks coming from our last match.
With extraordinary speed, she launched a series of attacks that aimed for my torso. I parried all of them, starting my own attack afterwards. We went back and forth like this for quite a while. She was an exceptional swordfighter.
I was catching up slowly, landing a hit once every few minutes, always after long engagements. She landed a few of her own, but her technique was getting less perfect. Finally we reached a tie at 5 – 5. Two more points to win.
The game had been very competitive so far. But now, it turned into something else as our will to win overshadowed the mutual friendliness. Sarah was white in the face, biting into her lip in determination. She lunged at me, a stab I deflected just in time, only for her to spin to my side and aim a blow at my shoulder. I dodged sideways and moved in, closing the gap between us. Before she could recover, I struck her right ribs with the blunt tip of my rapier. I was in the lead, for the first time.
Until then, I had been so focussed that I hadn’t heard the crowd at all. But now, as my concentration briefly slipped, I heard the eruption of applause and roars from the stands. The spectators were enjoying the show, so much was certain.
Taking advantage of my wandering mind, Sarah rushed towards me. I side-stepped her again, and lunged, though she managed to parry just in time. She was in an awkward position, so I decided to stay on the offence.
The fought like a lion. Caught on the backfoot, she dodged, parried, riposted, and lunged as if for her life. There was no getting through.
I relented, making time to think. She remained in her defensive posture now, recognising her earlier mistake. I couldn’t lose my initiative and the momentum for attack. It was time to think outside of the box.
I noticed that the blow to her ribs must have hurt quite a bit, as she was subconsciously wary of any attacks in that direction. She held the hilt of her blade unnaturally to that side.
With a burst of energy, I feinted an attack on her right rib again. Her defensive movement was overdrawn, too wide to allow for a reaction to my quick follow-up – my real attack – that was aimed at her left thigh.
She was mere milliseconds too late. My rapier made contact with her quilted vest just enough to count as a solid hit. The match was over.
Sarah dropped her guard and looked at me in a peculiar manner. I could see she hated losing. Who wouldn’t at this stage? I took her some time to process the shock of defeat, but finally she came forward.
“Well done, Beccs. Congrats.”
“Thanks, Sarah. Well fought.”
She attempted to smile, but the disappointment in her face allowed only for a brief twitch of her muscles. I knew she didn’t want it, but I felt sorry somehow. Even guilty for winning.
But as I looked around me and saw the elated crowds standing for me, clapping furiously at the match, the taste of victory felt sweet again. I beckoned to Sarah, took her hand, and held it up. The spectators roared even louder, whistling in jubilation. And Sarah’s eyes, saddened from defeat, were now watering with gratitude. They were celebrating her as much as me. We had given them a fight to remember.
And then, that was the best thing, I saw Lynn standing in the crowd. She was clapping harder than anyone, her eyes ablaze with pride for me. As the applause ebbed away, I made my way through the crowd to her. We hugged.
“You were brilliant, Beccs. What a match!”
“Thanks, Lynn. You ok?”
“Sure, sure,” she said, averting her eyes quickly. I knew she wasn’t telling the truth but I didn’t want to risk this moment for anything.
We spent the next two hours before my next match laughing and joking as if nothing had ever happened. I felt that I had regained something truly valuable, like a whisper from a long-forgotten past. Nothing could dampen my day now, or so I thought.
I had been so grateful to have Lynn back as my friend that I almost forgot about the tournament. By winning against Sarah, I had qualified for the semi-finals. I excused myself briefly and checked the notice board in the Great Hall.
I ran my finger down the paper until I found the semi-finals. In fresh black ink, it announced my opponent. It was Prince Raphael himself. My mind suddenly went numb and fuzzy.
Stupidly, I had never considered ever facing him in a match. I had been so consumed by thoughts of the match against Sarah that I hadn’t given a thought about it.
Of course, I had followed the match against Lord Rankin closely. He would be the best swordsman I’d fought so far. And a strange prickly feeling told me that I would have great difficulties in seeing him merely as an opponent.
I tried to shake it off. This wasn’t the time to think about these things. I had entered the tournament to win. And I wanted to win against Raphael.
***
The afternoon was already fading when I stepped back into the courtyard. Raphael wasn’t there yet. Up on the battlements, in the cordoned-off area Steve and I had stood next to, the Royal Family had congregated. To my surprise, King Rurik himself was present. They had placed his throne-like chair at the back of the stands. He was surrounded by grim-looking Scarlet Knights. Apparently, the rumours were true about his health. One of the knights had placed himself right at the King’s side, so that he wouldn’t keel over. The King’s skin was grey skin. His irregular, asthmatic breathing sounded like a death rattle.
Many in the crowd, it seemed, had noticed this too. There was a fair bit of whispering among. I looked back up. The Queen was at his side, though it didn’t look like she cared. In fact, she pretended as if he wasn’t there at all. That was an unhappy marriage if ever I saw one.
Suddenly, the drums announced the entrance of Prince Raphael. The crowd cheered him. His matches were always worth watching. I only hoped I could live up to it. A few paces behind him was Doctor Yurasov.
Raphael didn’t look at me at first but scanned the courtyard like a hawk. His dark hair and eyebrows clashing spectacularly with his light skin. He walked over to the fighting area. Doctor Yurasov smiled encouragingly at me.
“Are you going to be the referee, Doctor?” I asked.
“Indeed I will be, Miss Flynn,” he said.
At the sound of our voices, Raphael turned to me. His expression was unreadable, like everything about him it gave the impression of mystery and secrecy, an enigma that begged to be solved.
The crowd had gone silent in anticipation. I was nervous. Raphael looked at me with a curious expression on his face. He was one of the very few people I couldn’t read properly. It seemed to interest and warn me at the same time.
Doctor Yurasov held up his hand. It was the signal that the match would begin as soon as he lowered it.
“You know the rules. First to reach 9, by a margin of two.”
We lifted our rapiers in the traditional manner and bowed. Then, Doctor Yurasov lowered his hand. We began.
At first, we both were hesitant. I seemed to feel short of breath from the very start. We circled each other for a while, unwilling to commit to an attack.
After the previous fights that were full of immediate action, the crowd was getting restless very quickly.
“Stop being the gentleman, go for her,” a voice shouted, no doubt a friend of Raphael’s.
He grinned for the briefest of moments, as if waking from a trance, and launched his first attack on me. I was totally taken aback, quickly switching into defensive mode.
He was by far the best fighter I had ever encountered. His attacks were extremely fast, though he did not succumb to the temptation of putting too much force into his blows. His posture on the offence minimised the possibility of counter-attacks, despite his height. That made landing a blow hard even after a decent parry from me.
But I was determined to give him a run for his money.
Without opening up too much, I kept testing his defences. A poke, a lunge, a stab. But just as he remained unreadable as a person, so did his defences remain immovable. More out of frustration than anything else, I decided on a counter-attacking strategy until I could discover some of his weaknesses.
Raphael was deep in concentration. He must have been thinking along similar lines of testing me, for he was rotating attack styles and combinations constantly.
After one particularly complicated execution of an attack series, I finally saw what I had been looking for: an opening in his defences. For some reason, he favoured his left side. I feinted an attack to his right and struck him, harder than I had intended, on the left side of his waist. Unexpectedly, I was in the lead.
“Good one,” he said, as if returning from a very far away place. “It won’t happen again.”
He smiled, he was teasing me.
“A bold statement,” I said. “And if it does?”
Despite the setting sun, I was feeling a heat rising. I lunged at him, though he parried the blow with ease.
“You’ll have to do better than that, Rebecca.”
And then, he unleashed a three-fold attack that almost had my legs in knots, but I was hanging on. Then, I saw the opening again, that strange favouring of his left. I feinted a blow to his shoulder this time, and was aiming my next to his left when he got a square hit on my shoulder. He had baited me into attacking. We were now even in score.
But from that moment onwards, my luck was running short. Raphael seemed energised by my initial blow. I hadn’t seen him fight this energetically throughout the tournament. I was defending with determination, but he broke through another three times, pulling ahead by 4 – 1. I managed to land another by feinting for his left and parrying his counter, which left him exposed on his right. A tricky move at which the crowd erupted with enthusiasm.
Rubbing his side, Raphael gave me a look of intensity I hadn’t seen there before. A hunger had awakened. He wasn’t perturbed – far from it. He seemed elated by the challenge. That made him so different from Steve and all the others who threatened to crumble before adversity. Raphael thrived on it. Challenge was life.
I fought like a lion to the very end. I wouldn’t budge an inch.
We battled on for quite a while. During a short break, torches all around us were lit, bathing us in beautiful fiery glow that excited the crowd even further. I got in another hit, barely scratching his vest this time though counted nonetheless because it was right on the wrist of his swordarm. The extensive tournament rulebook dictated that a blow had to have potential for damage – and that depended greatly on the area hit. There was no nonsense about grazing the other person within milliseconds before the other did like in regular human fencing.
Raphael went on to the last offensive. His feinting tactics were extremely advanced, mindgames of a sort I hadn’t witnessed in any other contestant. He landed two more blows, making it 3 – 6 in his favour.
Now the pressure was beginning to really build on me. I could feel the stares of the crowd pierce me, you could have cut the tension in the courtyard with a knife. Raphael stepped in, trying to score an unexpected close quarters hit on me. I met his blade with my own, and for a while, we stood there, rapiers locked, our bodies inches from one another.
“Time to end the first-year menace!” Raphael said, his smile wide as he looked deep into my eyes.
“Ha! Is that what they’re calling me?”`
“Yep,” he said. “Though I prefer Rebecca myself.”
His face was very close, too close. Goosebumps were running down my spine. Slowly, I gazed up at his darkly handsome face, into his deep brown eyes. They reminded me of my grandfather’s, of a home I had long since lost. And then, a strange sensation suddenly spread through my body like a wave, engulfing me like a drowning sailor in a wild torrent of water in one instance, only to wash me safely ashore in the next.
As if in slow motion, both of us broke free from our intertwined blades at the same moment, unable to look away.
“Come and get me then,” I said quietly.
He didn’t need telling twice.
He lunged forward, but I was ready, darting to my left and aiming a blow at his shoulder. He parried just in time, swirling around with a lightning strike to my right thigh. I tried to parry, but he withdrew quickly, thrusting at my left shoulder. And this time, I was too late. The tip of his blade made contact.
I had lost. But it felt less important with Raphael somehow, though I didn’t quite know why. I had been bested, but it was one hell of a fight.
***
The final match in the Great Hall was scheduled for 10 pm. The gallery was now open to all visitors and students, so Lynn, Steve, and Sarah decided to get there early for good seats, and I promised I’d follow after a quick shower and a sandwich.
A flight of stairs led off from the entrance hall and up to a corridor that went right around the entire Great Hall. I noticed with interest that a lot of staff and specialist rooms were located up here. I’d never been to this part of the Castle before.
Just as I was passing, Doctor Yurasov came out of one of the doors.
“Oh, hello Miss Flynn. I was very impressed by your performance. Very impressed indeed. We will keep training together, I hope?”
“Absolutely, Doctor. Thank you again for all of your help, I never would have reached that far without you.”
It was perfectly true, of course, though Doctor Yurasov waved it aside. He seemed pleased nonetheless.
“It was my pleasure, Miss Flynn. It is rare to have a student as talented and, if I may say so, as charming as yourself. Something Prince Raphael noticed too, I am sure. At least, judging from, what he said during our training sessions.”
An awkward silence followed. Partly to change the subject, partly out of curiosity, I asked: You trained Raph- I mean, the Prince as well?”
“Oh, yes. For some years now. Before falling ill, King Rurik was always very particular about his son’s martial education.”
He checked his pocket watch.
“Dear me, I must be getting downstairs, the match is about to begin and I am refereeing. I look forward to our next fighting session, Miss Flynn.”
I bade him goodbye and saw him hurry down the corridor.
Feeling strangely elated, I found Lynn and the others in a box with an excellent view of the Great Hall below. The staff gallery, now left empty for the Royal Family, was almost exactly opposite ours.
“Hey guys,” I said. “Great view.”
“Only the best for our semi-finalist,” Sarah said, winking at me.
“So who’s fighting the Prince anyway?” Lynn asked keenly. “Somebody know?”
“Mr. Vox,” said Steve, trying to get a glimpse of the fighters from afar.
“What?” I said, incredulously.
“See for yourself, Beccs. There he comes.”
Steve was right. Through a side entrance, Mr. Vox had slid into the room. Despite his significant height, he looked inconspicuous, almost out of place in his long black trousers and duellist’s vest.
“I didn’t know he was a fighter,” I exclaimed.
“Yeah, he’s the best fighter on the American continent. I heard from Owen – a Knight – that Vox served during the war, in the American theatre, too,” Sarah said. “With Doctor Yurasov, I think. But he was almost court-martialled by the Council at the end.”
“How come?” I asked.
“Nobody knows officially, of course. Trials from that period are still kept top secret. But rumour has it that he... got carried away… and on more than one occasion.”
“What do you mean… carried away?” asked Steve, turning his face to her.
Sarah shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She looked around her and lowered her voice so we wouldn’t be overheard, though the Great Hall was now so abuzz with enthusiastic pre-match discussion that we could hardly hear the person next to us. Opposite, the Queen and several others I didn’t recognise – nobles no doubt – were accompanied onto the gallery by a dozen Knights. The King, however, was nowhere to be seen.
“Well – none of this is confirmed. Rumours and hearsay. Allegedly, he drank blood excessively from his enemies, against orders from his superiors. They called him the Butcher of Baltimore – that’s where he’s from originally. Many drank from their victims then, of course, but by that time the Council wanted peace – and wanted to crack down on that sort of stuff to show their goodwill towards the Slayers’ League. He was lucky, apparently several Knights intervened on his behalf. Got him off.”
Before we could discuss the matter any further, the drums sounded once more for the final match. Raphael had already entered, and both fighters were in position. Vox had taken off his robe, revealing an old-fashioned purple vest and matching black trousers with a single purple stripe on either side.
I had never really given Vox much thought, but I would have never guessed what lay behind that gaunt mask of indifferent reservedness.
Doctor Yurasov lifted his arm and briefly explained the rules for the final match. Each set was over if one side scored seven hits, by a margin of two. The first contestant to win two sets was the winner.
Whatever Vox’s reputation, I think nobody was prepared for what was to happen next, least of all Raphael.
Whereas Raphael skill was based on meticulous technique and execution, Vox was pure energy.
“How on earth…” I said.
“Maybe he saves up all year like a long-life battery,” said Steve drily.
I laughed. But there was certainly a deeper point to it. In fact, I didn’t think I had seen any fighter in the entire tournament who was this fast, though his style was undoubtedly unorthodox. His rapid darting all across the fighting area, however, made it very difficult for Raphael to take advantage of his wild technique.
As the first set unfolded, I noticed I was gripping the edge of the balustrade hard, making my knuckles go white in the process. Raphael, though getting through more and more, was behind by two points. I wanted him to win, as did apparently the entire Great Hall, for Vox was hardly popular, neither among the staff nor among the students.
I came as a great shock, then, to all of us when Vox, after a risky, almost mad manoeuvre landed a blow to Raphael shin, which gave way with a horrible crack. It was a foul stroke, but still within the ruleset, and so Doctor Yurasov had no choice but to award him the point.
“First set goes to Mr. Vox by 7 to 5,” Doctor Yurasov announced heavily.
There was polite, albeit shocked clapping in the Great Hall.
Then, everyone broke into a heated discussion during the break. I was watching Raphael from afar. I could see that he was upset, though still very composed and determined. At that moment, chance had it that he looked in my direction. Shockwaves ran over me like charges of electricity, energising me. I waved to him, and he held up his hand in response.
Perhaps she didn’t take to my enthusiasm, or perhaps she didn’t like her son fraternising with the ‘common people’, but the Queen gave me a look of pure venom that was without a doubt intended as a warning for me. I held her gaze. She then looked at Raphael again, though he had already retaken his position. The second set was about to begin.
To my great relief, it started out well this time. Raphael was learning to adapt quickly. He was waiting for Vox to make the mistakes now, though the timing was still extremely difficult. With Vox, any riposte that would have normally almost guaranteed a hit could easily turn into a parry and subsequent counter-riposte. It was as if someone had pressed a fast forward button on him.
The score was 5 – 5, and, throwing all pretence to the winds, I was now openly pumping my fist when Raphael scored a hit. Luckily, most of the hall felt the same way.
“I didn’t know you were a Royalist, Beccs,” Steve joked.
“Only on special occasions. You know, British tradition.”
He laughed, but it sounded strangely hollow.
***
As neither could gain a lead by two hits, the match continued beyond seven points. Then, Vox suddenly pulled ahead by executing a particularly difficult strike to the chest. He needed one more hit to win the match and the entire tournament. He was like a demon unleashed, stringing one stab to the next like a berserker. Raphael was on the defensive, parrying and evading blows as if he were fighting two people simultaneously. Vox was driving him towards one of the walls, trying to restrict his opponent’s options.
Raphael was almost in the corner now, but Vox, overly impatient, went in for the killing blow a little too soon. Raphael dodged just at the right time, bringing his blade down on Vox’s shoulder in a swift move. He had evened the score. He could still win.
In contrast, Vox seemed to have lost his nerve. He was still as fast as ever, but his decisions were becoming erratic. If before there had been some method to the madness, it was now truly impulsive. For Raphael, it was now more and more a matter of waiting for Vox to make a mistake. He landed two blows within a minute, and the second set ended as abruptly as the first had started. The third would establish the victor and the vanquished.
We spent the break passionately discussing the match. It all came down to whether Vox was able to sustain his speed and tremendous reflexes for long enough to win. Undoubtedly, the prolonged match favoured Raphael’s style, though the element of surprise couldn’t be underestimated in a tournament setting.
As soon as Doctor Yurasov raised and lowered his arm for the third time, Vox unleashed a furious hail of blows with a viciousness that surpassed even the first set. For a while, I was seriously worried. Éven a few minutes of swordfighting was extremely taxing to the body – even for regular humans. How could Vox have possibly gained that strength during a ten-minute break? It defied reason.
But Raphael was on top of his game this time. He mastered every lightning attack with increasing confidence and power. Soon, he was up by three.
“Two more points,” I said, more to myself than anyone else.
Vox wasn’t going down without a fight, that much was certain. He lashed out like a beast. Though they say it might be more dangerous when cornered, Vox became more erratic. Raphael landed another neat blow right in his opponent’s chest. One more point to go.
They were squaring off when Vox suddenly began to teeter, like a speed addict going cold. Raphael, foolishly perhaps, withdrew and looked at Doctor Yurasov quizzically. The latter was just about to pause the match when Vox suddenly flung himself forward as if pushed ahead by an invisible spring. It was too late to dodge, so Raphael parried the blow just in time, twisted his blade around his opponent’s in one fluid motion and struck him hard on his right ribcage. The match was over. Raphael had come through victorious.
The Great Hall, tense until the very last moment, suddenly erupted in applause like a volcano. There were standing ovations all around as Vox, totally exhausted, shook Raphael’s hand and collapsed onto a nearby chair.
Raphael, with a smile of gratitude and relief on his face, bowed first towards the Royal Box atop, then to his opponent, Doctor Yurasov, and then the rest of the room.
And then, the main doors swung open, hitting the walls with a clang. On the threshold stood none other than – but this wasn’t possible.
“It’s Doctor Wiley,” somebody shouted, and the entire hall fell silent.
Lurching into the room, his face white as a sheet, Doctor Wiley was clutching a massive silver bolt that was lodged in his chest. He was heaving horribly, his eyes bulging in a fight over life and death. He tried to speak, but collapsed instantly. Several people rushed immediately to his side, first and foremost Raphael and Doctor Yurasov, who were standing closest to him.
There were screams and yells from the gallery. People started rushing for the exits in wild panic. While Raphael was attending the wounded Wiley, Doctor Yurasov turned to the spectators.
“Everybody,” he boomed in a deep voice, “stay seated. Remain calm. You will be escorted group by group to your quarters.”
He quickly beckoned Ms. Prill, who had been sitting below in the crowd, towards him. After a quick exchange, she nodded, and began organising several helpers into pairs.
Several other staff members had rushed to Doctor Wiley, but from all that we could see, it didn’t look good. A stretcher was produced, and they hurriedly carried him off, no doubt to the hospital, while we were escorted back to our rooms.