Chapter: 24
The Duel

Kantanos was thoroughly exhausted, but he truly felt prepared.

The night had bled rapidly into morning as he’d swept ceaselessly through form after form, katta after katta, drill after drill. And then, beneath the scarlet canopy of sunrise, he’d run along the bank of the Monwith for seven miles and then back, to release the anxiety tightening his heart and to shed tension from all his limbs. By the fifth hour of morning, he had returned to the cottage – in time to prepare the morning meal for his master before Lovrell arose. Kantanos was unable to finish his portion due to nerves in the region of his stomach and Lovrell mercifully did not force him, although it was clear that he found his pupil’s anxiety distasteful.

At the seventh hour of the morning, master and apprentice strapped on their swords, pulled on their boots, and exited the cottage. The city was brilliantly lit with morning, full of uncommon activity. Citizens and travelers alike filled the streets with conversation and activity. Swordmasters and their pupils from all eight elven provinces would continue pouring into the city as the day progressed, all for the purpose of attaining the title of Ranger from the Elven Council on this unusually appointed day. Today, only The Duel stood between the unknown journeyman and the honor of service to the High Council.

Kantanos and Lovrell made their way through the crowded streets, not speaking or breaking stride. None detained them because the purpose in their gait and the swords on their backs made it immediately clear where they were headed. Besides, Kantanos knew few faces and fewer names – partially because there were many strangers surrounding them, but also because his training had allowed no time for social activities. His righteous task as a swordmaster’s apprentice was to embrace solitude and throw aside all distraction, giving himself fully over to the art of the blade.

With his eyes on Master Lovrell’s back, Kantanos smiled slightly, recognizing at that moment the true value of such rigorous self–discipline. Amidst the chaos in the streets, he remained at peace and stood alone. He was already a warrior in his mind.

The Preotorum was located at the southeastern end of Haldif. The edifice rose high above the cottage roofs, white marble that gleamed in the sun. It was a symbol of the power and stability of the elven government, pure despite its history of wanton violence. To the crowds of elves in the streets, it was the focal point of all order, the foundation upon which the Realm was built. It was a temple. The elves had no systematic religion other than the hero–worship of their political leaders and the rangers who served them. Faith was not tolerated because it was a sign of weakness, a rejection of common understanding and reality. The warrior lifestyle was their religion.

The stone courtyard surrounding the Preotorum was already packed with elves when Kantanos and his master reached the waist–high perimeter wall. All were armed, conversing little, and waiting for their turn to participate in The Duel. The sunshine mocked the grim cause for the gathering. A sturdy breeze from the west caused the trees flowing up through the marble pavement to tremble and quake in epileptic prophecy.

Kantanos followed Lovrell through the crowd, avoiding direct eye–contact with anyone. Now that they were so close, his hands ached to do something – to clutch his sword or play with the hem of his tunic – but Kantanos forced them into fists to avoid fidgeting. He needed to be alert and collected; distracting himself would not help him in The Duel. The nervous energy would be an invaluable tool only if he could harness it properly.

The white doors to the Preotorum were closed on the courtyard, but a yellow chart had been tacked to the right one. Lovrell briefly surveyed the parchment while Kantanos stood back, and then the old swordsman turned back to his pupil.

“Your name is fifth on the list,” Lovrell announced matter–of–factly, folding his arms as he faced his pupil. The ease of his mannerisms would suggest that this was nothing more than a common occurrence, an everyday drill. “I don’t think you need any refreshing as to what the trial will entail. You know that it can only end in death or parlay, and the latter is relatively equivocal to the former. The fight is yours, Kantanos: I cannot call out forms or strategies. The way you fight The Duel will determine your responsibilities as a Ranger. Have your wits about you, remember your forms, and you’ll exit those doors as the victor. I know you will make me proud.”

His black eyes hardened abruptly, immediately stealing the breath from Kantanos’ lungs. “Just be aware, Kantanos, that if you call parlay you may live, but you will no longer be a pupil of mine.”

The younger elf’s throat tightened. As years of training had passed, Kantanos’ and Lovrell’s practice duels had grown increasingly longer and increasingly bloodier because Kantanos had learned early that calling parlay even in practice would result in scarring humiliation. Never once had Master Lovrell descended to such disgrace: each duel, he’d beaten Kantanos mercilessly until the younger elf surrendered, and the next day would be a repeat of the same process, regardless of what injuries remained. It was the painful, tedious, methodic way to become strong. Excuses and weakness were literally beaten out of each apprentice, and they would be expected to do the same with their own pupils when the time came.

Kantanos dipped his head in a sharp, obedient bow. His stomach fluttered nervously. “Yes, Master.”

“Pairings for The Duel have been based on location, age, and fighting style in that order,” Lovrell continued, and his beard twitched as an ironic smile touched the corner of his hidden mouth. “Unsurprisingly, Malimmles was correct. Your opponent will be Brutus.”

Kantanos allowed a nervous smile to match his mentor’s but said nothing. At least it had not come as a jarring surprise. He was more than a match for Brutus in terms of swordplay, as they’d both been trained primarily in the Scy–Tha’ntis style but also with complements of Scy–Ruuk, Scy–Pla’ntis, and Scy–Reinth. They’d also been journeymen for roughly the same amount of years, serving masters of the same generation. However, Brutus was the bigger elf, the stronger body, the more ruthless fighter. He was formidable even if he was predictable, which meant that Kantanos would have to stay on his toes, using his agility and his quick thinking to his advantage.

Without warning, the massive oak doors to the Preotorum split in the center, creaking open by their own initiative. Complete silence fell over the courtyard as a master and his apprentice detached themselves from the crowd to enter beneath the archway. Once their backs had faded into the blackness beyond, the doors rumbled closed once again, swallowing them whole.

Lovrell looked back at Kantanos as mumbled conversation resumed around them, charged with nervous tension. “One down,” the swordmaster said grimly.

Time slowed to a crawl thereafter. That first fight seemed to last hours, and then the chamber doors opened solemnly once more to admit the next pair of swordsmen. The elves in the courtyard grew quieter and quieter as the next Duel ensued, and then the next. Several exited the perimeter wall to practice forms, which made Lovrell sneer, but the majority remained in the square, shifting their weight from one foot to the other and staring at the pavestones in silence.

And then, all of a sudden, the chamber doors were grinding open for the fifth time, and Kantanos felt his spirit leave his body. From above, he watched himself following Master Lovrell wordlessly across the courtyard and beneath the awning, through the doors and into the shadows beyond. The cool air inside hit Kantanos like a wall, returning him to his body instantly. He took a deep, unsteady breath of the frigid air as the doors slammed shut behind them, locking master and apprentice in the black council chamber. Their footfalls echoed ominously in the darkness.

It didn’t take long for Kantanos’ vision to adjust to the lighting. He regulated his breathing as they strode purposefully across the flagstone towards the center of the chamber.

Four stone columns formed a large square around a sand enclosure, the forthcoming epicenter of activity. All torches in the room had been doused save for those mounted on the four columns, throwing everything beyond the enclosure into pitch darkness. At the far end of the chamber was a raised platform, 30 or more feet above the floor, raised to that height by massive marble steps. There, seated in majestic, limestone thrones, Lord Dromodeas and several other reputable Lords of the elven provinces waited. Although their faces were invisible beneath the thick shadows and the distance, Kantanos could tell that all where facing them.

Master Syfo Malimmles and Brutus already stood in the sand within the columns, awaiting them. Malimmles was clearly impatient to begin, as evidenced by his stance. Brutus stood out even in the darkness, dressed in a vivid green tunic tied at the waist with a horsehair belt. His arms were folded tightly across his chest, revealing his own impatience.

The cold, booming voice of Lord Dromodeas filled the room with toneless Elvish. “Master Velias Lovrell, Student Kantanos.”

They had reached the edge of the depression. Both Kantanos and Lovrell bent to remove their boots before descending the two steps into the sand to stand beside the other elves. Once this had been accomplished, they bowed low towards the dais.

“Master Syfo Malimmles, Student Brutus.”

Malimmles and his student mimed Lovrell’s and Kantanos’ actions tensely.

“On this day, the third day of the sixth month of the 339th year of elven independence, Kantanos, pupil of Velias Lovrell, and Brutus, pupil of Syfo Malimmles, are to fight The Duel, in which it will be determined whom will be adopted into the council as protector–Ranger.”

The torches mounted in brackets on the pillars suddenly exploded to a higher intensity, illuminating the center of the room and casting the high platform into deeper shadow.

“Begin,” Dromodeas concluded, now completely invisible.

Lovrell caught Kantanos’ gaze momentarily before turning away. He mounted the steps and walked out of the circle of light, disappearing into the darkness. Malimmles muttered something to Brutus, and then he disappeared into the shadows as well, on the opposite side of the depression.

Kantanos and Brutus approached each other and met at the middle.

Brutus sneered savagely at Kantanos as he held up his right hand, palm out, to salute his opponent. “Scared?” he hissed.

Kantanos would not deign to answer, instead extending his hand to Brutus’ in silence. Their palms touched for the barest of seconds before each pulled away – quickly, as though burned. Both students drew their swords from the sheaths on their backs and saluted each other a second time.

Time seemed to slow as they stood glaring at each other, swords held en garde. Kantanos’ heart had begun trying to beat its way out of his chest, but he arranged his face into a serene mask. Inhaling deeply, he closed his eyes and wiggled his toes in the sand, forcing himself to relax.

To be a Ranger is self–control, the ability to know right from wrong, to properly discern good from evil. He opened his eyes in time to see Brutus grinning and tightened his jaw. I am good. Brutus is evil.

The torches suddenly flared to an even higher intensity, momentarily lighting the whole room: the signal to attack.

Brutus made the first move, lunging forward with a powerful downward chop, opening his lungs in a savage battle cry. His eyes were wild, fearless, bloodshot. Kantanos ducked under the strike and spun beneath Brutus’ arms, slashing at the bigger elf’s underbelly to spill his guts all over the floor –

– but Brutus had leapt when Kantanos had ducked, anticipating the Stance 9 retaliatory strike. He pushed off his toes, somersaulting over Kantanos’ blade, and landed on his feet –

And as they dropped back to circle, Kantanos glimpsed the tear in Brutus’ tunic, revealing the scarlet razor slit across the bigger elf’s chest. He felt his lips twitch in a smile but killed it instantly. He’d scored first blood.

They circled, each waiting for the other to press the attack. When Kantanos didn’t, Brutus complied; he lunged again, slashing upwards in a sloppy Stance 62, intending to open the smaller elf from groin to his left shoulder. Kantanos pivoted at the waist, twisting away from the slash, then quickly extended his right leg, sweeping Brutus’ feet out from under him. As Brutus stumbled, Kantanos chopped downwards. Sand scattered into the air because Brutus had tucked his legs to his chest and somersaulted over one shoulder. He came gracefully to his feet, prepared for Kantanos to press the attack, but the smaller elf had already dropped back, determined to be cautious.

The two began to circle once more.

Kantanos advanced this time, closing the distance between them in three rapid steps, flowing liquidly from Stance 45 to 106 to strike twice at his opponent, but Brutus intercepted both cuts with his blade before taking a slash across Kantanos’ belly. The smaller elf leapt cleanly over the arc, slashing downwards between his legs as he rose. Brutus took a quick step backward to dodge the cut, and just as the smaller elf found the sand with his toes, Brutus lashed out with a powerful sidekick, catching Kantanos cleanly below his ribs.

His back slammed into one of the pillars, stars exploded before his eyes–

– and Brutus’ blood–cry filled his ears –

Blinking to clear his vision, Kantanos instinctively propelled himself away from the pillar, darting just beneath Brutus’ right elbow. The bigger elf’s blade cut a wicked furrow into the pillar, leaving a long scar across its surface.

Kantanos was already stabbing at Brutus’ stomach when the bigger elf spun back around. Realizing that he wouldn’t get his sword up in time to knock the blow wide, Brutus spun out of the way instead and slashed one–handedly at Kantanos’ feet in a wild riposte. The smaller elf leapt away just in time, and Brutus’ blade graced the sandy floor, leaving a mark on the ground this time. Before his feet had even touched the sand again, Kantanos took a wide, one–handed cut across his body, acting on instinct. Caught off–guard and over–extended, Brutus couldn’t react, and the blow landed cleanly on his left cheek. Blood sprayed the floor, flung from Kantanos’ blade as he neatly curved the weapon away from his victim and danced back in the sand, retreating to en garde Stance 1.

His blade had opened the flesh from the corner of Brutus’ lip to the back of his jaw, extending his mouth all the way to his ear. Brutus roared, stumbling backwards in the sand and clapping a big hand over the wound. Blood seeped out between his fingers, undaunted, and began rolling thickly down his neck.

Anticipating a furious retaliatory assault, Kantanos began backing away towards the edge of the depression. Sure enough, eyes watering in pain, the big elf charged. Blood continued to stream down his face and neck, staining his tunic dark brown at the shoulder. Kantanos parried a flurry of vicious attacks, ducked one, and then bent over backwards – impossibly far – as Brutus’ katana swept through open air where he’d been standing upright seconds prior –

– and then he danced to one side as Brutus took one last wild swing that completely overbalanced him. He stumbled in the sand, windmilling his arms, and Kantanos took the opportunity to get behind him. Brutus regained his feet, spinning just as Kantanos lunged. The smaller elf struck three times with his blade – Stances 43, 20, and 109. Brutus ducked the first swing and blocked the second two with Stances 6 and 46, backing away with each successive strike.

Kantanos shifted his sword to his left hand, freeing his right. He spun inside of the Brutus’s return slash and buried his fist in the big elf’s belly, then snapped his foot up to catch Brutus’ face as he doubled over. The kick snapped the big elf’s head backwards and he hit the sand ass–first. Blood from his newly broken nose mingled with the mess of his cheek and flecked the sand with crimson as he struggled to rise.

Breathing shallowly, Kantanos took a step back, falling into Stance 1. He could have easily ended The Duel just then, stepping in and opening his opponent’s throat as the wounded elf fought to regain his feet. But his sense of honor stayed his hand – that personal morality that so contradicted everything Master Lovrell had taught him and everything for which elven society, a culture which allowed for only the strong to survive, had eternally stood.

Faster than Kantanos could have anticipated, Brutus was lunging out of a crouch. Fury came off him in waves, and it filled him with the adrenaline he needed to resume the fight. Screaming, he launched a wild assault, cutting and slashing relentlessly. Kantanos retreated, trailing his heels in the sand, meeting Brutus cut for cut. He parried a flurry of strikes, backing away constantly, allowing Brutus to press the attack.

It was obvious that the bigger elf was tiring. His wounds had sapped his strength, as had his fruitless assaults. He’d expended too much energy too quickly in The Duel instead of biding his time and conserving his strength. By inviting the attack, Kantanos could slowly drain what energy Brutus still possessed until he finally slipped and made a fatal mistake.

Kantanos side–stepped a furious hack and riposted, snagging the bigger elf’s tunic with the tip of his blade. The stab didn’t kiss flesh however, because Kantanos hadn’t really committed to the strike. He was still gauging his opponent’s remaining strength, waiting for the best venue to land a finishing strike –

Turning away from the stab, Brutus spun completely full–circle, riding the balls of his feet, with his blade fully extended in a sweeping Stance 66. Surprised, Kantanos shifted his weight to his left foot to avoid the slash, but not quickly enough. The bigger elf’s blade bit into his side, deeply enough to catch a rib. Pain exploded in his lower chest, and Kantanos stumbled away, pressing his elbow against the wound. Cursing himself, he staggered to regain his footing, keeping his blade erect in a one–handed Stance 203.

Brutus advanced steadily, grinning through the blood streaming down his face. His bloodstained molars were visible through his cheek.

Kantanos fended off a series of cuts and chops one–handedly, retreating for real this time – no longer in control of the Duel. He kept his elbow pressed firmly against his side, fearing how deep the wound was, but there was no time to check.

Brutus’ attacks continued. They were slower and less precise, but he still had the energy to continue fighting. Kantanos replaced both hands on his sword to block a powerful overhead strike, spun beneath it to counter, but caught only air as Brutus leapt away. They met each other once more in the center of the ring, traded quick blows, and then hit bladelock as they both lashed out simultaneously from Stance 90.

Brutus heaved Kantanos away, causing the smaller elf to stumble. The big elf took one slash that missed completely, then a second – more accurate – but Kantanos bent over backwards, planting his hands in the sand and back–flipped away from his opponent. As the world turned over before his eyes, he saw one of the four pillars behind him, knew that it was close enough –

– the moment his feet touched the sand again, he pushed off, hurling himself farther backwards. Brutus’ sword found no purchase on his flesh. Kantanos felt the air rushing in his ears, saw the world slow as his backwards leap carried him towards the column.

And suddenly, time froze. All at once he could see Brutus’ bloody countenance flickering from enraged to surprised, the torches dancing in their brackets, the shadowy faces of the council, the column behind him which he was about to hit –

This is all I’ve got left.

– and the soles of his feet touched icy stone. He coiled like a spring and then pushed off as hard as he could, shooting forward blade–first as the world snapped back into real time.

Brutus never knew what was coming. His eyes had barely widened as the shock registered when Kantanos’ blade plunged into his chest, through his left lung and heart, and exited through his back. The lunge nearly bowled both of them over, but Kantanos managed to stay on his feet. Brutus staggered backwards with the sword thrust out of his chest, and Kantanos backed away, unable to believe what had just happened.

Did I just –?

The bigger Elf frowned down at the sword’s pommel, blinking rapidly in confusion. Blood seeped into his mouth and spilled from his lips like molasses as he looked back up at Kantanos with something remarkably like fear in his dark eyes. And then, without the slightest change in expression, he toppled. His body hit the sand heavily and lay on one side, unmoving. His eyes glared unseeingly past Kantanos’ boots and into the darkness beyond.

Trembling, Kantanos bent and pulled his blade out of the dead elf’s chest. Trying to remain composed, he sheathed the weapon and walked to the center of the columns to face the raised platform.

I did it, he thought numbly. The pain in his side had disappeared. He did not feel blood still trickling down his belly. I did it. I won The Duel. I am a Ranger.

A volcano of mixed emotion had erupted within his chest – shock, joy, elation, exhaustion, fear, pride, guilt. He felt like laughing and weeping all at once. His mouth twitched with a smile, but he fought to keep it and the tidal wave of emotion downtrodden.

He stood with his feet shoulder–width apart and folded his hands at the small of his back, chin tucked to his chest. He spoke to the ground: “I, Student Kantanos, have prevailed. Lord Dromodeas, I am at your beck and call. I will serve you and my people to the best of my abilities.”

Brilliant white light suddenly flooded the room, as though the ceiling had suddenly been removed to let in the sun. Kantanos blinked rapidly, squinting as he raised his head to view the Council.

There, in the center throne on the platform, sat Dromodeas. Angelic blond hair covered his broad shoulders like a cape. He was dressed in a white robe, tied around the waist with a purple sash. A purple cloak was draped over one shoulder – pinned there by Dromodeas’ Family Seal – and a shortsword in a solid gold scabbard was tucked into the sash around his waist. The Lord was undeniably handsome, even for an elf, and physically powerful. His very presence commanded attention. His face was impassive as he gazed down at Kantanos, but the younger elf saw something in the hard, scrutinizing gaze.

His heart double–timed in excitement, defying the less–than–stellar opinion of Dromodeas which he’d always held. Did I impress him?

Surrounding Dromodeas in smaller thrones, all wearing identical gold robes sat eight additional Lords, the provincial governors of the subdivisions of the elven lands. Kantanos knew no names or faces, but he did know that they were second only to Dromodeas himself and were responsible for the majority of the lawmaking in the provinces.

Suddenly, Kantanos became aware of the two elves standing immediately behind him.

Arrogant and infuriated, Syfo Malimmles dipped his head to the Council in a disgraced bow before spinning angrily on his heel and leaving the chamber. He did not pause to even look at his dead pupil. The heavy oak doors slammed shut behind his exit, echoing his humiliation in the vast hall.

On Kantanos’ other side, Master Lovrell stood, aping his former pupil’s stance. He did not make eye–contact with Kantanos and his face was expressionless, revealing no emotion, but his black eyes were glassy and full of tears.

“Student Kantanos,” Dromodeas said, once the echoes of Malimmles’ exit had died away.

Kantanos straightened and touched his chin to his chest once more.

Above him, the elf Lord rose to his feet. “I hereby bestow upon you, the victor of The Duel, the title of protector–Ranger. Your victory has also earned you the honor of a surname. From this day forth, you will be known as Kantanos Zephona, meaning, ‘He has achieved’. Welcome to the Council, Kantanos Zephona. Embrace your service.”

Kantanos looked up slowly, a soft ringing in his ears. He wasn’t sure what to do: he was still combusting internally. He had achieved. He was no longer a journeyman: he was a Ranger. His responsibility was no longer to Master Lovrell – it was to the people of the Elven Realm as a whole.

Lovrell remained standing just behind Kantanos as Dromodeas and the other Lords descended the vast marble steps to stand before the pair. Dromodeas was a full head taller than Kantanos, marking him at well over seven feet. Standing on the edge of the enclosure, two steps above the sand, he towered over them.

“Your Master, Velias Lovrell, once served this Council as a great Ranger. You will now take his place.” Dromodeas’ smile was handsome but flat. He raised his hand, palm out in salute, and both Kantanos and Lovrell followed suit. “We, the Council, expect great things from you Kantanos Zephona. We are certain you will make us proud.”