The Past Survives Without Us
"I have no wish to fight you," Heut said, his right hand over the pommel of his needles sword. The woman in front of him lifted her chin, sending her raven black curls swinging down her back. She laughed, looking over his body in all its finery, a Court suit of purples, greens, and blues trimmed with gold, wavy brown hair falling down to his ankles in the front, pulled into a braid just as long in the back. A blonde man too large for his age stood behind the peacock, his hand not bothering to cover the scissors engraved on his pommel. She laughed, and smirked at the young brunette.
"I don't care. You meant to bump into me. I felt your hand against my breast." She laughed again, touching her left breast to show where his fingers had allegedly caressed, though Tag had naturally done nothing of the sort.
"First blood, and we-"
"Death. We fight to the death, boy," she snarled at him, and Tag paled. He was so very sick of it, all ready.
"Fine."
She rushed and Tag drew as he dodged, catching her across her right arm in a spray of blood, twisting slightly as he moved so he could face her next pass. She brought her blade up and down, twisting it around him to try and get past his defenses. He drove to the right and then the left, short fast steps to avoid her blade, closing his eyes and feeling the movement of the duel. The woman was clumsy, but she knew the dance steps well enough - her feet fell where they should, and he let his fall in turn, countering her with the correct forms and motions, keeping his movements simple.
He began to tire of it though - it was boring, things he'd learned when he wasn't even 14. The woman was screaming at him to open his eyes and face her like a true opponent, but everyone else knew that they weren't closed from fear. He did open them, though, as he ran to her left and then around, spring boarding off a pair of steps to a small shoppe and back at her, sword flashing, and beat her down with it, his pommel striking her temple. She cursed at him even as she countered his attacks, the sound of steel against steel ringing in his ears. He spun the blade in his hands, switching from one to the other, and locked her blade as soon as he could, bringing his foot up and around to smack into the side of her head, sending her sprawling. She lost her sword and brought out a pair of knives, coming at him with those instead, and he started the dance again, hearing them whistle through the air at him. The woman was screaming with each thrust of the knives, to keep her emotions high and try to throw him off balance, but he tuned her out, listening only to the weapons.
A few more moments was all it took before his interest was drained again, and he moved to the offensive instead. He skipped around her on one foot and then the other, spinning like a top, avoiding her too slow counters against his sword, until he finally saw his moment and opened his eyes, pushing forward with his sword held across his body, sliding past her figure, catching a blade to his left arm. She looked surprised, and made choked gasping noises, knives dropping to the ground so she could hold her middle. She turned her head slightly, looking back at Heut as he brought his sword up for the finisher.
He slashed the sword down, and her head flopped back as she slumped to the ground, the light in her eyes going out in a rush. Fine droplets of blood fell down upon him like rain, and then things were quiet and still again. Tag stood over the body, closing his eyes again, then squatted and ran his hand over her face, pushing her lids down.
"How many is that, now?" Harrick asked him, setting a hand on Heut's shoulder.
"I don't know." Tag stood and looked back to Harrick, wiping down his blade with a handkerchief. He sheathed it, and sighed heavily. "What was her name?"
"Afraid I don't know her. Probably on her somewhere, if you cared to look."
"I will know when the pages tell me."
"Suit yourself. Come on, Tag. Looking at her isn't going to make you feel any better," Harrick said, frowning at his brother. Tag had been more morose than usual as of late. "It never does."
"I know."
Harrick wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulders, and hugged him close for a moment, then pulled him along with him towards a tavern for a drink. Maybe Tag didn't need one, but he did.
"I don't care. You meant to bump into me. I felt your hand against my breast." She laughed again, touching her left breast to show where his fingers had allegedly caressed, though Tag had naturally done nothing of the sort.
"First blood, and we-"
"Death. We fight to the death, boy," she snarled at him, and Tag paled. He was so very sick of it, all ready.
"Fine."
She rushed and Tag drew as he dodged, catching her across her right arm in a spray of blood, twisting slightly as he moved so he could face her next pass. She brought her blade up and down, twisting it around him to try and get past his defenses. He drove to the right and then the left, short fast steps to avoid her blade, closing his eyes and feeling the movement of the duel. The woman was clumsy, but she knew the dance steps well enough - her feet fell where they should, and he let his fall in turn, countering her with the correct forms and motions, keeping his movements simple.
He began to tire of it though - it was boring, things he'd learned when he wasn't even 14. The woman was screaming at him to open his eyes and face her like a true opponent, but everyone else knew that they weren't closed from fear. He did open them, though, as he ran to her left and then around, spring boarding off a pair of steps to a small shoppe and back at her, sword flashing, and beat her down with it, his pommel striking her temple. She cursed at him even as she countered his attacks, the sound of steel against steel ringing in his ears. He spun the blade in his hands, switching from one to the other, and locked her blade as soon as he could, bringing his foot up and around to smack into the side of her head, sending her sprawling. She lost her sword and brought out a pair of knives, coming at him with those instead, and he started the dance again, hearing them whistle through the air at him. The woman was screaming with each thrust of the knives, to keep her emotions high and try to throw him off balance, but he tuned her out, listening only to the weapons.
A few more moments was all it took before his interest was drained again, and he moved to the offensive instead. He skipped around her on one foot and then the other, spinning like a top, avoiding her too slow counters against his sword, until he finally saw his moment and opened his eyes, pushing forward with his sword held across his body, sliding past her figure, catching a blade to his left arm. She looked surprised, and made choked gasping noises, knives dropping to the ground so she could hold her middle. She turned her head slightly, looking back at Heut as he brought his sword up for the finisher.
He slashed the sword down, and her head flopped back as she slumped to the ground, the light in her eyes going out in a rush. Fine droplets of blood fell down upon him like rain, and then things were quiet and still again. Tag stood over the body, closing his eyes again, then squatted and ran his hand over her face, pushing her lids down.
"How many is that, now?" Harrick asked him, setting a hand on Heut's shoulder.
"I don't know." Tag stood and looked back to Harrick, wiping down his blade with a handkerchief. He sheathed it, and sighed heavily. "What was her name?"
"Afraid I don't know her. Probably on her somewhere, if you cared to look."
"I will know when the pages tell me."
"Suit yourself. Come on, Tag. Looking at her isn't going to make you feel any better," Harrick said, frowning at his brother. Tag had been more morose than usual as of late. "It never does."
"I know."
Harrick wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulders, and hugged him close for a moment, then pulled him along with him towards a tavern for a drink. Maybe Tag didn't need one, but he did.