Memory #2 - And I never want to let you down
The vision appeared before her. A group of people she recognized as foreigners and people she thought she should know were before her. One group was laughing, when a man began waving his arms, laughing and sneering. The change in the atmosphere weighed on her tongue. The natives were tensed, ready to draw their swords on the man. A dark-haired man stepped forward, telling the one that spoke out something.
An older man turned to another, one that brought dread and hate into Honor’s stomach. He was similar to the man next to her, dark-haired and bright-eyed. The man nodded. A man Honor respected nodded as well, accepting the words. He was vitally important, and demanded her loyalty when she looked on him. He, too, was similar to the man next to her. She saw her hand rise, knowing she was touching something beneath her shirt, but unable to remember what it was.
A dark-eyed, broad-shouldered man next to her seemed on the edge of attacking the man who had become outspoken and cocky. She waved to another boy, around her age, who brought the man a wineglass, talking to him. The man released his sword. Honor breathed a sigh of relief.
She looked over at the blue-eyed man. He, too, had her respect. He smiled at her, an ironic smile. Her eyes widened a little bit. It would be a brilliant tactical stroke if I could pull it off… Her mind began telling her. I’m an unblooded squire in Dain’s eyes. At least, it would be a brilliant tactical stroke if I won. Her eyes immediately began analyzing the man. He was broad, bigger than her. He had strong arms, but she was willing to bet he’d been drinking, and was slightly off balance. When the man she respected gave her a nod, she handed off the jug in her hands to a boy beside her. He nearly dropped it, but she ignored that as she walked over to the group of men. She felt her heart pounding in her chest, but still, gave a polite bow and said something. The man she was beginning to suspect had some semblance of control through respect over her replied.
The man who was the center of the argument’s jaw dropped. He began protesting, pointing something out. Honor stayed calm, eyes on her opponent. Her mouth was wetting with excitement, and drying out at the prospect. He seemed so much larger up close. When her master replied to the man, he began sputtering and growing angry. He pointed at her, yelling something.
She kept her amusement inside. It was her turn to do something. She gave her master a few quick words. His reply wasn’t toward her. He told the other, older man something while shrugging. The man gave a sharp reply. Her master turned to the man wearing a crown and the woman next to him - his wife? - and gave a bow, murmuring something. After a quick glance at a man next to someone Honor assumed was related to the man with the crown (a king?) and her master, she noticed his excited look. She felt uneasy about it; as if this man shouldn’t look so excited she was fencing with this obviously physically superior man, possibly endangering her life. All the same, Honor followed the man she could only assume was a master of sorts and the snappish man out.
People began moving, responding to something. It was hard to tell what exactly prompted the movement with the silence. Her mouth began drying out as she entered the fencing room. An older man came up, yelling at her. She shrugged, replying to it in return. Another man came up and offered her a sword, a light one that she knew bigger men considered a lightweight and an unworthy weapon. She clipped it onto her leather belt. A black cat caught her attention. The purple-eyed beast was picked up and settled on her shoulder. It was still digging its claws into her shoulder when she remembered this man was talking to her.
She looked up, noticing a hand had fallen onto her shoulder. Her master was saying something to the outraged, bearded man. Her mind brought forth a memory of a city mad of black stone. The old man was quiet for a while before his protests began again. She watched him calmly, still, letting her master explain things.
Another boy came up, the one that had initiated the rebuke of her current opponent. He said something to her, explaining with a point toward someone who was his near-replica, only older and statelier. The talking became distracting.
As she ignored the people talking around her, Honor took the time to examine the man. He was stretching, talking. Her resolve hardened. She could teach this man a lesson. She handed her cat over to the bearded man and removed her shoes. Honor took the tan gloves offered to her, pulling them over her delicate hands. A merciless, reckless smile lit her face. As the stately version of her friend came over, she was doing her own stretching. He told her something, to which she looked up with an impish smile, replying something. He smiled grimly and patted her head.
She headed out onto the floor, the man called Dain following her. The king stood. They bowed, unsheathed swords pointed downward. They saluted him, and then faced one another. Immediately, they responded to an unheard call, Dain’s sword coming up to meet hers. He spoke, as they broke apart, trying to force her sword out of her hand. She said nothing, focusing on the fencing. She watched him circle her, following his movements with her eyes, ready to make a counterattack based on his attack. He swung his sword down and she made quick jab toward his chest, still controlled, and ready to pull back; he blocked. Before she could be put off-balance, she jumped back. Dain yelled something, but she ignored it. Seriousness settled into her.
They clashed over and over, and as wetness nearly slipped into her vision, she felt herself worrying that it would really go into her vision. He was breathing heavily, panting almost. He was soaked with sweat. Her mouth was drying out from the lack of water. As she lunged, she forced him backward. She waited for him to recover, taking the chance to wipe her forehead. He attacked, but instead of being able to dodge, the attack, she saw the sword go past her. It came back, and she winced. She couldn’t feel the blood coming out of her arm, but the lowering blade told her all she needed to know.
She had lost. She gripped the arm.
Instead of accepting his winning, he lunged at her, aiming for the chest. She barely managed to avoid being skewered. Dain continued, looking for an opening in her defenses. Honor shook her head at a man planning to intervene. Instead, a righteous fury swept through her. It was chillingly cold, and her mouth tasted foul with distaste.
Honor moved away. She changed hands, instead, fighting with her left. The girl’s eyes narrowed as she decided on a plan.
I’ll have to be careful and not slip in it. Honor thought in reference to the blood pooling at her feet. She attacked with renewed strength, sword flowing with practiced ease. With his crazed attacks, it didn’t take long for her to flick her sword under his guard and disarm the knight. He tried to escape, instead, stumbling to the ground. Honor pressed her sword to his neck, his eyes meeting hers. She knew they were cold and merciless.
She told him something, removing the sword from his neck, and sheathing it. She walked away from the man… having spared the man a chance to meet the Black God.
An older man turned to another, one that brought dread and hate into Honor’s stomach. He was similar to the man next to her, dark-haired and bright-eyed. The man nodded. A man Honor respected nodded as well, accepting the words. He was vitally important, and demanded her loyalty when she looked on him. He, too, was similar to the man next to her. She saw her hand rise, knowing she was touching something beneath her shirt, but unable to remember what it was.
A dark-eyed, broad-shouldered man next to her seemed on the edge of attacking the man who had become outspoken and cocky. She waved to another boy, around her age, who brought the man a wineglass, talking to him. The man released his sword. Honor breathed a sigh of relief.
She looked over at the blue-eyed man. He, too, had her respect. He smiled at her, an ironic smile. Her eyes widened a little bit. It would be a brilliant tactical stroke if I could pull it off… Her mind began telling her. I’m an unblooded squire in Dain’s eyes. At least, it would be a brilliant tactical stroke if I won. Her eyes immediately began analyzing the man. He was broad, bigger than her. He had strong arms, but she was willing to bet he’d been drinking, and was slightly off balance. When the man she respected gave her a nod, she handed off the jug in her hands to a boy beside her. He nearly dropped it, but she ignored that as she walked over to the group of men. She felt her heart pounding in her chest, but still, gave a polite bow and said something. The man she was beginning to suspect had some semblance of control through respect over her replied.
The man who was the center of the argument’s jaw dropped. He began protesting, pointing something out. Honor stayed calm, eyes on her opponent. Her mouth was wetting with excitement, and drying out at the prospect. He seemed so much larger up close. When her master replied to the man, he began sputtering and growing angry. He pointed at her, yelling something.
She kept her amusement inside. It was her turn to do something. She gave her master a few quick words. His reply wasn’t toward her. He told the other, older man something while shrugging. The man gave a sharp reply. Her master turned to the man wearing a crown and the woman next to him - his wife? - and gave a bow, murmuring something. After a quick glance at a man next to someone Honor assumed was related to the man with the crown (a king?) and her master, she noticed his excited look. She felt uneasy about it; as if this man shouldn’t look so excited she was fencing with this obviously physically superior man, possibly endangering her life. All the same, Honor followed the man she could only assume was a master of sorts and the snappish man out.
People began moving, responding to something. It was hard to tell what exactly prompted the movement with the silence. Her mouth began drying out as she entered the fencing room. An older man came up, yelling at her. She shrugged, replying to it in return. Another man came up and offered her a sword, a light one that she knew bigger men considered a lightweight and an unworthy weapon. She clipped it onto her leather belt. A black cat caught her attention. The purple-eyed beast was picked up and settled on her shoulder. It was still digging its claws into her shoulder when she remembered this man was talking to her.
She looked up, noticing a hand had fallen onto her shoulder. Her master was saying something to the outraged, bearded man. Her mind brought forth a memory of a city mad of black stone. The old man was quiet for a while before his protests began again. She watched him calmly, still, letting her master explain things.
Another boy came up, the one that had initiated the rebuke of her current opponent. He said something to her, explaining with a point toward someone who was his near-replica, only older and statelier. The talking became distracting.
As she ignored the people talking around her, Honor took the time to examine the man. He was stretching, talking. Her resolve hardened. She could teach this man a lesson. She handed her cat over to the bearded man and removed her shoes. Honor took the tan gloves offered to her, pulling them over her delicate hands. A merciless, reckless smile lit her face. As the stately version of her friend came over, she was doing her own stretching. He told her something, to which she looked up with an impish smile, replying something. He smiled grimly and patted her head.
She headed out onto the floor, the man called Dain following her. The king stood. They bowed, unsheathed swords pointed downward. They saluted him, and then faced one another. Immediately, they responded to an unheard call, Dain’s sword coming up to meet hers. He spoke, as they broke apart, trying to force her sword out of her hand. She said nothing, focusing on the fencing. She watched him circle her, following his movements with her eyes, ready to make a counterattack based on his attack. He swung his sword down and she made quick jab toward his chest, still controlled, and ready to pull back; he blocked. Before she could be put off-balance, she jumped back. Dain yelled something, but she ignored it. Seriousness settled into her.
They clashed over and over, and as wetness nearly slipped into her vision, she felt herself worrying that it would really go into her vision. He was breathing heavily, panting almost. He was soaked with sweat. Her mouth was drying out from the lack of water. As she lunged, she forced him backward. She waited for him to recover, taking the chance to wipe her forehead. He attacked, but instead of being able to dodge, the attack, she saw the sword go past her. It came back, and she winced. She couldn’t feel the blood coming out of her arm, but the lowering blade told her all she needed to know.
She had lost. She gripped the arm.
Instead of accepting his winning, he lunged at her, aiming for the chest. She barely managed to avoid being skewered. Dain continued, looking for an opening in her defenses. Honor shook her head at a man planning to intervene. Instead, a righteous fury swept through her. It was chillingly cold, and her mouth tasted foul with distaste.
Honor moved away. She changed hands, instead, fighting with her left. The girl’s eyes narrowed as she decided on a plan.
I’ll have to be careful and not slip in it. Honor thought in reference to the blood pooling at her feet. She attacked with renewed strength, sword flowing with practiced ease. With his crazed attacks, it didn’t take long for her to flick her sword under his guard and disarm the knight. He tried to escape, instead, stumbling to the ground. Honor pressed her sword to his neck, his eyes meeting hers. She knew they were cold and merciless.
She told him something, removing the sword from his neck, and sheathing it. She walked away from the man… having spared the man a chance to meet the Black God.