Merc Academy: The New Generation

Hinder

I had been cheering for the younger one, with the chest piece that was slightly too large for him, why not cheer on the underdog? Of course these hopes do not pay off very often, and this now was an example of that. The older, larger combatant swept the lad off his feet with a low, arcing hack at his legs. Small-Boy ended up with a face full of dirt as the trumpet sounded.

That round was done. The not so chivalrous winner turned his back to his fallen foe, whom still lurched around dazed in the packed dirt. He hooked a mailed thumb up under his visor and pulled it up, leering directly at me. Oh, so terrifying. This one will be my next opponent, going into the final round. Mayhaps he is actually a danger? No, no. A silly thought I would do well to push out of my mind. I gave him a few fleeting looks while I fought, whenever I had the chance. Fire is in his eyes and I am certain he has nothing but disdain for me. Well fine then, he must simply be upset I have more grace than him, surely.

One of the head officials keeping careful watch over the tournament announces the obvious winner of that last round and lets us all know in a boisterous tone that the next bout will be in twenty minutes.

"Bah, why do I have to wait so long? Let's get it over with!" Oh so Knightley Sir Frowns-Alot called out from across the pit, eyes never leaving me.

The official first looks from his colleagues to my opponent to me. A slight look of confusion strikes his face. For someone who officiates tournaments between berserkers you would think he might have known how to react to an overly zealous combatant. "If Master Hinder would like to commence the final round early as well then surely that would be probable."

All the eyes in that pit were on me now. The boy with the loose chest piece was hobbling away but he looked up at me, dents in his helm and pauldrons. It was a wonder how he got this far in the tournament. Like the rest of them, he wanted to know what my reaction was going to be.
A thought comes to me in the back of my mind. Do it, come on. Break him. He is worth just as much as the rest, and you can see how they have fallen on you, crashing like a wave on a cliff. "Give me three minutes and you will find me in the pit." Angry face must have enjoyed that, he beat his fist against his chest, metal clangs reverberating from him. Good, I hope he breaks his hand.

I make my way to my tent, calling attention to myself, my two pages attend me. These young lads surely aspired to one day be berserkers themselves, every so often while I fought I could see the lust for battle in their eyes. They must have heard the challenge from here because they were more fidgety than normal. Malcolm offered up two fresh tourney blades to me while Folc tested the straps to my armor, starting with my greaves and moving up, tugging onto the clasps on my chest piece and pulling at my pauldrons. I myself made sure my helmet was on tight. A clap on my shoulder let me know my armor was in order and I exited through the tent flap and made my way back to the pit.

He must have been waiting for me. He was knelt down, hands on the pommel of the wooden greatsword he used whose point rested in the dirt. The sun only beginning to set to my due left, as the entrances to the pit were designed to the south and north, bathing the pit and its short wooden palisade walls in a fine orange glow. The hatch was shut behind myself and the enemy by a couple helping hands. He stood. The trumpets blared. He took his blade by both hands and rush toward me, bellowing. I made my way to the left.