INHERITANCE: Memorandum Of Scales

THE DUEL OF FOOLS

KING Orrin placed a hand above his eyes, blocking the wretched sun from his face. It was hot, despite wearing the light-cloth garments of the savages who lived here, he found himself sweating profusely.
His clothing was wet and sticking to him as if he had bathed fully robed a few moments earlier. He sat on a makeshift throne thrown up among the sandy land of Surda. Dunes replaced hills and dirt took the place of grass.

The ring of metal hitting metal filled his ears, and he turned his attention back on the new recruits, who were training with his Master of Arms, Kineth. His eyes were drawn to Murtagh, the sullen and dark haired youth he had liberated from Karem. The boy was fast, very well trained.
The dulled blade that he held in his hand swung about him as naturally as if it were a part of his body, and his long hair only added to his magnificence. Beside him, Nasuadon and his sister, Nasuada sat, each one wearing regal clothing that befit their positions within the Varden. They were both the children of Ajihad, a wealthy and influential beyonder king. To Orrin's chagrin, Nasuada's ample shaping was modestly covered by a tan cloak, while Nasuadon himself wore a netted tunic, the cloak of the Dusk Rangers clasped at his shoulder with an iron pin. His unusual hair was curled around his neck and snaked all the way down to his clavicles, while his ebony skull, shaven on both sides, shined in the glare of Surda's oppressive sun.

"He's good." Nasuadon commented as Murtagh disarmed fellow recruit with a swift sword blow to the man's wrist.

He then advanced on the second, who jabbed at him with a wooden spear, the tip wrapped in thick cloth. Murtagh weaved in and out and between, the shaft passing harmlessly by his face as he did so. He was suddenly upon the man, and hit him across the stomach with the broadside of his sword. The man yelped and fell over, to the disbelief of Kineth, who was red-faced and growling.

"You're all worthless!" He cried, picking up the downed man with a heavy fist. "Get up! Get up! Your King is watching!" he bellowed, and the man slowly got to his feet, while Murtagh looked on silently, his handsome face a mask hiding his true emotions.

Orrin store a glance at Nasuada, who was also focused on the dark youth. Orrin frowned to himself, and then smiled, putting on his best face.

"Nasuada, I-" He began, but once she locked eyes with Orrin, she cut him off.

"Is he the one who will be traveling with me?" She asked. Nasuada had a deep voice, beautiful and powerful at the same time. Orrin faltered slightly, repositioning his crown so that it shined in the sun.

"Well, yes, but if he isn't to your liking I can easily have him replaced-"

"He is to my liking." Nasuada said simply, and offered no more conversation. Her eyes returned to Murtagh, and Orrin noticed how well the man's hair framed his face, how his movements revealed the lean muscle underneath his tunic, drenched in sweat and dirt . . . Orrin suddenly felt very weak by comparison.

It wasn't fair, however. Murtagh only looked good because he was fighting green men, natives and third and fourth sons from the mainland who followed Orrin's promises, looking for glory. Orrin was King, and the fact that Nasuada showed this much interest in a man who was not only baseborn but more importantly less powerful than himself irritated him.

There was a cheer as Murtagh ducked out of the way from a jabbing spear, and then swirled in the dirt, his spinning blade knocking the spear out of his opponent's hand. The more seasoned warriors who watched clapped with approval.
Orrin looked at Nasuada, who had the sense not to clap but smiled.

"Squire," He called, and in moments a brown haired youth of twelve years came running to him.

"Fetch me my blade." Orrin ordered.