Legends of Skidad: Corruption

Revenge

"You see my lord, it's crooked."

Abel looked hard at his portrait, holding his right arm across his chest and resting his chin on his left fist. He squinted and leaned in to get a closer look, but he still couldn't find anything wrong with it. "Jeremy, I don't see anything wrong," he said, smiling a little bit.

"There is, my lord," Jeremy walked up to the portrait. "As you can see, it angles at about 3 degrees." He gestured to the bottom of the frame with his hand, demonstrating how it tilted. "Here, allow me to fix it for you."Jeremy stood in front of Abel's portrait, reaching up and grabbing each side of the frame, making very slight adjustments to make it perfectly straight. Abel stared in awe. Watching his man-servant struggle over something so minute was the most entertaining thing he had seen in weeks. He pursed his lips to avoid laughing, but couldn't help chuckling.

At last, Jeremy had finished and stepped back to admire his work. Then his pride suddenly turned to horror. His eyes widened and his mouth gaped open. "No, it cannot be," he gasped. "The top is crooked now. The entire frame is flawed!" He spun around to Abel, "We must take this back to the framers at once! I will call for Dyllan." He held his hand up to his mouth and called, "Sir Dyllan, we must depart at once!"

Abel's face was red trying to contain his laughter. He pressed his hand against his mouth and looked down to hide his laughter. Abel couldn't help but admire the painting. The frame was plated in gold with an intricate vine and leaf pattern and, as far as any normal person could tell, straight. In his portrait, he was wearing his usual dark green tunic and pants with blue sleeves. His blonde hair was slicked back, which he liked, although he preferred his hair on the messy side. And he was sure that the painter added a few inches of height and extra bulk.

With his facial features sharpened, he looked like a god, and he was treated like one too. He was the most privileged man in Milan, second only to his father, the marquis. The only part of him that was accurate was his eyes, the soft blue of high noon, and perfectly rounded.

Abel heard the *clomp clomp* of boots tread down the stairs to his left. A man with graying hair walked into the room. "Is anything wrong, Jeremy?" he asked.

"Ah, Sir Dyllan! We must take his lordship's portrait back to the framers. You see, it's..."

"Never mind him, Dyllan," interrupted Abel. "It's fine, let's not trouble them any more than we need to."

"But my lord!"

"Jeremy," said Abel as he gave Jeremy an 'I'm in charge' glance.

"I must agree with Lord Abel," said Dyllan.

"Very well," Jeremy rolled his eyes. "And why do you have your sword in here?"

"It is almost time for Lord Abel's sword fighting lesson. Today he will be practicing using a broadsword."

"My favorite," said Abel sarcastically. "Does this mean I have to wear armor?"

"Yes my lord."

Abel tipped his head back and groaned.

"I see," said Jeremy "I suppose I shall prepare our mid-day meal now." He unenthusiastically turned and slogged towards the kitchen, mumbling something about never being listened to.

"Why did we hire him again?" inquired Abel.

"Jeremy is a very loyal and hardworking servant, my lord," answered Dyllan.

"I have a very particular set of skills," remarked Abel mockingly.

"Now, my lord, remember your manners."

"It's all in good will, Dyllan. Shall we go outside and begin?"

"Yes, let's."

Abel slipped on his chainmail tunic, proudly sporting the coat-of-arms of the Lenian Alliance. Blue, to symbolize the trust and peace between territories. And the sacred white eagle, sent by the Divine One to show the good people of Skidad the path to freedom. He walked through the tall, wooden double doors and squinted to avoid being blinded by the mid-day light. He walked down the cobblestone walkway surrounded by hedges to meet Dyllan, who was already waiting for him. Dyllan was standing at the edge of the grassy plateau on which the castle was built, gazing at the town. Abel walked up beside him. "Thinking about the olden days again?"asked Abel.

"Oh, forgive me for getting sentimental my lord." stammered Dyllan. Suddenly, Dyllan drew his sword and slashed at Abel's shoulder.

Abel drew his sword and blocked, pushing Dyllan backwards.

"Hey, I wasn't ready!"

"You must always be on guard, my lord."

Abel lunged and stabbed with one arm towards Dyllan, to which he nimbly dodged backwards. The weight of Abel's sword caused it to drop to the ground. Dyllan jumped at the opportunity and trapped Abel's sword under his. He then used the sword as a guide to slash towards Abel, stopping only inches from his neck. "Remember my lord," he said, "This is a broadsword, not a rapier."

"Can you not call me your lord right now? There would be no time for niceties in the heat of battle."

"The most important thing in battle is to retain your honor my lord. Now come again!"

They continued to fight. There was a slight rustle in a hedge behind them. At last, Abel parried successfully and held his sword at Dyllan's throat. "Very good my lord!" Dyllan praised "You are improving nicely." There was another rustle. Curiously, Dyllan looked past Abel's head.

"Is there something the matter?" asked Abel.

"No, I just thought I heard something. Let's continue."

Suddenly, a cloaked figure emerged and sprinted towards Abel. Dyllan lunged forward and pushed Abel to the ground and *CLANG! collided swords with the assailant. The assailant leaped back, and with one fluid motion, flipped with their body parallel to the ground and slashed again at Dyllan. Abel jumped up and threw the attacker off balance by swinging his arm at their legs. The assassin hit the ground face down with a *thud, dropping their sword. Abel rolled the figure over and sat straddling their stomach. He reached for the mask, pulled it off, and jumped back in shock. "You're a girl!" he exclaimed.

She spat in his face and bucked him off. Then rolled backwards, grabbing her sword, and jumped to her feat only to have her arms pulled behind her back by Dyllan. By using a pressure point technique to the wrist, Dyllan forced her sword to drop to the ground. She kicked and screamed, "You pig! You killed my parents! You... you..." she took a minute to catch her breath before attempting to thrash out again.

"My lord shall I take her to the dungeon?" asked Dyllan, his voice muffled by her screaming.

"Wait! I want to talk to her!" said Abel.

"But my lord she's dangerous.""All right, all right. Let her calm down."

Dyllan carried the girl inside, struggling to keep her under control. Uneasily, Abel followed.