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

2.2 - The Tournament

The first phase of the tourney, the archery phase, went by in the blink of an eye. When Daud found that he had made it to the second, final phase of the tournament, his heart soared. Finally, he was able to show off his prowess in the one-on-one duels! It was certainly the most anticipated part of the entire tournament, both for the spectators and the combatants. The underground chamber where they awaited seemed to come alive with excitement. Men chattered as if they were women, wondering who would be chosen to fight against whom and making their own judgments about the people around them.

He'd heard that Jonathan had been the best archer during the first phase. He'd rode as swiftly as the wind, they said, and that his arrows had flawlessly met their mark despite the unpredictable movements the dummies were making. Daud felt a surging pride for his friend, though Jonathan did not look like he was particularly rejoicing or prideful over his performance. In fact, amidst the livelier atmosphere of the hypogeum, Jonathan kept his silence.

Daud overheard the people talking about Jonathan, attributing his victory to his "cur's eyes". A frown creased his eyebrows. Men could be as cruel as women with their words. He'd known the people to not look upon a bastard very kindly, especially one who was half a canid calaian. Canid calaians had quite the bad reputation on Jordarys, second only to the platinum draconic calaians- tyrannical self-proclaimed rulers of the calaians who imposed their will upon their own race with an iron fist... or claw, should they shift into their platinum dragon forms.

"Pay their words no mind," Daud finally spoke, breaking the silence between them. "They must be envious of your outstanding performance."

A smile slid onto Jonathan's face as he shook his head. "Oh, no, I am not particularly bothered by their words," he replied. "There were merely other things occupying my mind. I'm sorry for my lack of conversation."

The wait was a long and dull affair. Daud found that they probably spent more time sitting around in the hypogeum, waiting for their turn. The muffled sounds of clashing longswords resounded from above the entire time. The short moments where Daud's turn came to face off against one of the other men in the room brought him more relief than anxiety. He relished the chance each time. The adrenaline through his veins, his steel clashing against his adversary's... It was a thrill, even if each duel did not last for long.

It was in the later stage of the event when Jonathan had been chosen to face off against Lord Faolahn. The moment the two men stepped out into the arena, the men in the hypogeum was abuzz. They made bets among themselves about who they thought would prevail.

"A mongrel hoping to face off against a varg?" Lord Manus Corrain jeered, loudly. "The stray dog should've stayed to licking off scraps."

Derisive laughter rippled across the room from those who heard the lord. Daud felt an acidic taste fill his mouth. Angry, burning heat surged within his chest. It was one thing to talk of Jonathan in such a despicable manner, but to outright mock him in the face of many great men? It brought Daud to his feet. However, before he could confront Lord Corrain for his profanity, another voice spoke up.

"Do not be so unkind, Lord Corrain!" Sir Brendan Ahlonn piped up. His voice still held its usual sunny tone, though a hint of reproach was in his voice. A calm smile was on his face. "Vargs are near extinction nowadays, yet the mongrels survive and grow in numbers. You may never know- the mongrel might end up licking the scraps off the varg's bones."

Several men chuckled in amusement, watching Lord Corrain to see how he would react to Sir Brendan's quip. However, Lord Corrain merely sneered.

"Near extinction? You mean like your bloodline?" he retorted, to the laughter of other men in the chamber.