Scales and Swords ✓

3: Tournament

Armor, sword, a wish good luck, that was all Mr. Jara imparted me before we left for a pub which was the entrance to an underground battle ground. Oh and an hour of sword practice which amounted to almost nothing because I could hardly remember what we did except for having my sword be knocked out of my hands several times. Was I ready to battle who knows what? Absolutely not. Was I going to do it anyway? Of course, if it could get me the chance to bring back my family then I'd walk through hell and back.

The waiting room was large but crowded and smelling like everything bad. The wood of the walls had begun to rot and there seemed to be some sort of black liquid leaking from the ceiling. I sat among many other awkward-armor-wearing folks,  sweating like ice under the sun in Mr. Jara's armor.

Where did the old guy get armor? Said he was a knight, don't know if I believe him; he was a sly old man—with a generous heart, of course. I couldn't thank him and Mrs. Jara enough. They were one of the few people who saw my face and didn't go sprinting up a hill. Scales aren't very attractive as you might've guessed.

Sitting in the room on what was probably a barrel, I anticipated my doom. Then, in walked a tall man in stark white armor. Everyone turned to stare and whisper amongst themselves. Wavy blonde hair framed his features and his eyes glowed sea green. Healthy and fit. He reeked of wealth. How did someone as rich as him get down here with the rest of us, was a mystery at the moment.

A girl passed him with a bucket of a dark goo and a mop. But before she could leave out the door his imperious voice caught her in place.

"Maid!!!!" He shrieked.

She turned, pale-faced. "Ye-es."

"What is this?" He pointed at his pointy shoes.

She put the bucket and mop down and walked over. "They're shoes, sir." She said meekly, not daring to meet his eye.

"They're sabatons," he grunted, irritated. "What have you done to them?"

She froze. Her face was a reflection of my own only moments ago. She bent over and wiped his sabaton with her apron. When she only smeared more of his sabatons the man struck her to the floor with the back of his hand. She was only skin and bones, crashing to the floor like a doll. He did all this in front of so many, yet no one lifted a finger, except me.

"You have no right to hurt her," I said to his turned back. The maid looked at me with so much fear I knew I'd regret what I would do immediately.

"Excuse me?" The man was almost dumbfounded as he faced me. "What did you just say?"

"I said, you have no right to hurt her," I repeated, with just as much spite as the first time.

"And what makes you say that?" He seemed amused by me.

I didn't back down. "She is as much a person as you and I. The least you could do is respect her."

"You sound like a good person." He grinned. "I'd advise you to change that about yourself. Unless you'd like to end up like the many whose bodies now litter the battle field."

"Death isn't a loss," I said before he would think I had given up. "It's a sacrifice for life. Let me fall in battle knowing I made way for a new life."

"You have pretty words, but it won't get you far." He unsheathed his sword and aimed the point of his blade between my eyes. "Show me what you can do with your sword rather than your mouth."

My fist shook. I was tempted, if I'm being honest, but before I could react the bell rang. I was saved from doing something I'd regret.

"Oii which one of you uglies is Mo?" A tough rotund ogre came yelling from the arena entrance.