Heir of Cinders [FADING EMBERS #1] - ON HOLD

2.1 - The Tournament

The dull sounds of cheers and galloping hooves thundered above the room, echoing through the vast underground chamber.

Daud sat down on the dirt floor with his back to a wall. The room was lit by torches, casting a dim, almost ominous lighting across the large chamber. He watched the other men in the room silently as they mulled about. The atmosphere was ripe with tension. Some of the men were stretching their limbs, while others paced around in a somewhat nervous manner. A select few, he also noted, remained perfectly in control of themselves. Just on the opposite side of the room, he could see Lord Conall Faolahn, nonchalantly leaning on the rugged walls whilst crossing his arms. His grim, brutish face betrayed no emotion, but his posture gave away the fact that he was perfectly calm about this whole ordeal. His disinterested gaze met Daud's for a few seconds.

Daud did not avert his eyes from the piercing gaze of the young, gaunt lord. Like all other Faolahns, Lord Conall's eyes were dark and feral, looking like they belonged better on a varg's head than the face of a noble lord. Fitting, however, for one of the house Faolahn: the "house of the vargs". Yet for all his savage looks, Daud knew that Lord Conall was a man of extraordinary skill. Word has it that he rode a horse as if it was a swift gust of wind. It was no wonder, Daud thought, that he appeared to be so calm. He'd often noticed that the best men had always held a firm control over their composure.

Lord Conall had been the one to break their gaze, directing his attention to Sir Verghal Burne, a young knight who served the former king Reghan prior to this day. Sir Verghal was stretching his muscles, but he looked very calm in doing so. He had deliberate control over his limbs, doing his exercise with the sole purpose of preparing himself and not to hide his anxiety as some of the other men in the room did.

It dawned on Daud that he would have to face these formidable men in the tournament. However, thinking back to all the training he'd done over the months, a strange tranquility filled his heart. He'd been working hard for this tournament, pushing himself past the limits. This would be the culmination of his efforts, the moment that would decide whether his hard work had tempered him enough to prevail in this trial.

"You are the best man with a blade I have ever known, and you've brought the family dinner more times than I can count. You're going to win!"

The memory of Faisuri's excited smile and her encouraging words brought a small smile to his own face. Bless the girl. Of all the times he could recall this memory, Daud was glad it had been then. It brought him a much-needed boost, bolstering his confidence.

He spared a glance towards Jonathan, sitting next to him with his legs crossed. His fingers were knitted together, resting on his legs. Daud could see the small, anxious fidgeting of his hands. It made him wonder what was going through his friend's mind in the silence. However, he knew that Jonathan, too, would be an adversary on the field. Although he was like a brother, Daud resolved to hold nothing back if they met on the field. To do such a thing would be a dishonor to the man.

"Nervous?" a voice asked.

Daud looked up from where he was sitting to find a golden-haired man standing over him. He was well-built in a rather stocky way, though the well-sculpted outline of his muscles showed the rigorous training he must have done throughout his life. A friendly smile was on his face. Daud allowed an amiable smile to turn up his lips as well.

"Ah- Sir Ahlonn," he addressed, nodding his head to the man. He gave a shrug in response to his question. "No, not really. On the contrary, I feel strangely... calm."

Sir Brendan Ahlonn was only two years his senior, but he was already a knight. Another skilled man in a chamber filled with great men. His father, Sir Lorcan Ahlonn, had been the previous Sword of the King. Daud could still remember the stories of how Lorcan Ahlonn fought by the king's side against the forces of Asthur years ago, in the very battle that crippled the former king Reghan. They said that Lorcan slew dozens of men with a single hand wielding a sword, while supporting the injured king with his other hand. Now, his son stood before him, a mark of his legacy.