Democracy

selection

*i'm very proud of this chapter because I usually find it so hard to write original fight scenes and not reusing material. I think it's the longest part I've written before. It is also the start of the plot now I have my characters and setting sorted (even if there will be a big shift in the setting soon   ;] ) also massive thanks to @lanaXirwin for making my cover. Don't forget to vote and comment suggestions for improvement!*

I see my father before we even reach the stables. My heart pounds loudly once in my chest upon the sight. His shoulder touches the entrance's frame, leaning against it. Under three of his fingers his sword is held rigid and vertical. He looks as if he's been waiting for a while: his arms are crossed; a scowl contorts his features; his foot is pressed into the ground. As we enter the stables, his body turns inward towards the shadowy building.

I dismount my horse, handing my reigns over to Silo. I don't look at the boy- my father would take that to mean I like him and I don't want to torture the man any further.

"There are two men dead in the woods," I tell my father. Before he can ask why, I tell him, "they were being very disrespectful." My father sighs. He pulls his sword up from the ground catching the handle, he begins to inspect the weapon.

"I'll make sure somebody cleans them up." The man steps past me and takes a seat on the edge of an empty cart. He raises his voice in anger, "are you going to hurry up with those horses, boy or do you need whipping to make you faster as well?" I look across the stable to see Silo quickening his pace.

When I look back at my father I see four men standing over him. Their skin is in patches and their hair is falling out. One man has a maggot crawling from his eyes whereas the others are all drenched in blood making it impossible to see what creatures crawl across their bodies. The actions of the corpses are all strange and haunting. One of the carcasses is stroking his hair, his hand almost vanishing as it brushes across the large hole in the side of his head, under his breath, he is whispering the word bang over and over and over. Another is desperately clawing at his shirt his nails scraping away at the organs that have been revealed from the hole carved into his chest. The third body is circling his ear with his finger- or at least the spot where his ear used to be. The fourth has pulled his head back to face the roof and his hand scrapes across the red lines in his neck.

"Tyler," my father's voice is stern. "What is wrong with you?" Now his voice is lain with disgust. His sword is still balancing in his hands; his fingers brush across the metal that glints evilly from the few shards of light filtering into the stables. For a single moment, the man seems transfixed by his weapon. The slap of the sword against his leg awakens me from my thoughts. "Last night, you accepted a boy into the contest." He looks up from his weapon to make eye contact. "Who is he?"

"I don't know. We were chasing him and when we caught him he told us he wanted to enter." My father frowns a little.

"Fabien, it turns out, has done the same as you. He entered a man last night. Obviously, due to his common sense, he didn't pick some random weakling from the slums but rather a man trained in the way of the guard. Your brother said they had been speaking for a while after the man had impressed him at some tournament or another." Verbally, I don't question why my father is telling me all these seemingly random details but I can't help to wonder. "So, since you both have seemed to take in interest in this year's entrants, I'm changing the rules of the competition. You will both select a number of entrants whom you shall train. Whoever's entrant wins will receive a position under your command. A share of the bets could also end up in your pocket," he laughs mockingly, "if you win."

He doesn't expect me to win. That much is clear. But I saw the way that boy killed, he can fight. I may have a chance.

"Team selection is in ten minutes. There are forty people out there, twenty each." He slides his weapon back into its sheave and he gets to his feet. Reaching the stable door he turns back to me. "Why were you chasing him?"