Author Games: A Knight's Valor

Task Two: Male Entries

Lemaria Male: John Tommson

The tourney had always been John's favorite part of the tournament. It was his strong point, his greatest asset. John had been trained in the art of sword fighting since he was small. It was in his blood, and as he studied the rack of tourney swords before him, he knew he would not fail.

It was a glittering assembly. Weapons of all calibers. Maces and axes, broadswords and longswords, bows, spears—and even a few deviously dangerous objects that John could not place. The sun bore down on the hot day outside of the tent, sweltering heat already making him uncomfortably warm under the light clothes that he wore. The best and the worst time for a fight.

And oh, the fight. The first fight. The only one that mattered. John was determined to win. He took a deep breath, breathing in the smell of metal and the smoky scent of a tourney. Gods, I love this.

"My lords, my ladies, for your viewing pleasure—the next fight will be between John Tommson and Zenith Nadir!" The voice of the announcer boomed through the stadium, and John smiled. It's time. He pulled a sword from the rack, a well balanced short sword that would serve him well, and headed out into the arena.

John took a deep breath as he walked out into the sunlight; the brightness shining down on his forehead and making him sweat. The small dirt circle was fenced off from the spectators, and when the cheers of the fans reached his ears, a wry smirk all but crawled across his face. Gamblers, fans of all types, spectators and women hoping for a kiss. That's what John found surrounding him. Aside from the royal family sitting in the spectators box above the common folk, the only person John could assume would be honorable was the opponent who stood at the other end.

Zenith Nadir, a tall boy with brown hair that reflected the sun who looked rather easily knocked off balance. A good weight, John decided, not too heavy for the melee. Cadosa, John remembered. They've always been a strange bunch. He could see that Zenith's sword blunted at the tip, just as John's was, yet John knew better than anyone that a man can still be hurt just as quick with a tourney sword as real one. He better not be fast, John mused. If he's fast I'm done.

This is crazy. This is absolutely insane. But that doesn't mean I won't win this fight. John made brief eye contact with the opponent. A short, brisk nod signaling his acknowledgement

From the balcony, the willowy arm of the queen could be seen with a small handkerchief in her hands. John shifted the sword in his hands, weight sliding from foot to foot. As the scrap of fabric fell, the challenge began. Even though they were safe behind a wall of wood, the crowd still shied away at the sight. His opponent was unskilled—John knew him as the alchemist. But he knew that underneath that was a mind sharp enough to hurt. He'd have to be fast. He'd have to be smart. John knew to keep eye contact, and in the brief moments before his first move, John could see his uncertainty.

Advance, John thought to himself, advance. And his opponent did. In a clumsy first move, the other boy charged at him with his sword upheld. He swung forwards with the weapon, the back. John found himself dodging and returning the attack with ease. The weight of his block sent Zenith staggering back. Not good enough, John cursed at himself as he saw the blade still firm in his opponent's hands.

John saw his chance to strike. The arch of the tourney sword coming close enough to kiss the fabric of Zenith's shirt. Any closer and I would have hurt him.

Zenith retreated again. John slashed out. He missed the boy by a breath, watching with amusement as his blade was pushed away by his opponents. Take the offensive. Make my day. Zenith was calculating, deciding, and John saw that as another chance to take him off balance. His sword collided with the other. Blades pressed flat against each other in an attempt to disarm. Zenith jumped back, only fumbling with the blade. Damn. The sun beat down on John, his skin growing hot as the fight went on.