Darshan’s brows rose. She was truly going to try the final round after such a blow to her leg?
The crowd murmured around him, coming to the same agreement. Each duel consisted of three bouts in which to land the first blow, not even that if the victor was lucky the first two times.
“Begin!” that same voice ordered of the two women. “Victory either side.”
Rather than rush at her opponent as she had first attempted, the injured woman opted to remain in place with her sword held low. Her red-marked rival paced back and forth in search of an opening. It seemed prudent. She had one point in her favour, same as her rival. It would take just this match to decide on who went through to the next trial.
Like operatic dancers, the pair slowly circled the arena; Blue due to her injury and Red because of her caution. Neither appeared willing to engage and risk losing. Or perhaps they both waited for that sliver of an opening in the other’s defences.
“Come on!” yelled someone in the crowd. “Get on with it!” The cry spurred others to bellow similar sentiments at the pair.
Red lunged at her opponent, feinting. Their swords met each other mid-strike with a clang.
Blue held her place, barely twitching. It was hard to tell with only her eyes visible, but she seemed to wince. Was the pain of her injury too much for her after all?
Her rival attacked in earnest, giving Blue little time to block let alone properly counter. Red kept up her onslaught, haranguing her opponent towards a corner. If Blue was bailed up there, then that would be it.
Darshan leant over the railing, trying to get a better view of the pair around the shoulders of others who did the same.
With a burst of speed, Blue’s sword slashed for her rival’s chest. Red, clearly caught off guard, jumped back with a surprised shriek. It hadn’t connected, but Red must’ve realised how close her error in misjudgement had been.
But Blue had the other woman on the defensive again and seemingly planned to make the most of it. Each of Red’s swings grew more desperate as Blue forced her back one step at a time.
Harried, Red overshot and her rival’s blade swung in a fluid countering move to knock the sword from Red’s hand. With a yell, Blue swept her injured leg under her opponent, slamming Red flat onto her back.
Blue levelled her sword point at her rival’s chest as Red went to pick herself up and gave her opponent an almost cheeky tap.
“Final strike to blue,” the man bellowed over the roar of a crowd who already knew the outcome.
Just like that, the duel was over.
The crowd’s cries were no less mixed than before, but they seemed to double in volume.
Their raucous quieted only when Red finally clambered to her feet and unwound her scarf to reveal a relatively young and pale face. Darshan hadn’t thought Queen Fiona had jested about the age of some competitors, but this woman had to be in her late teens.
It’s one less to worry about, he firmly reminded himself. The only actions he needed to be mindful of were his own.
“That was just a wee bit flashy,” said a young and vaguely familiar voice.
Darshan twisted to find Hamish’s niece and the trio of nephews standing at the railing not far from him. Their attention seemed trained on the competitors.
“And that limp is going to cause her all manner of trouble in the next trial. Would’ve been better if she’d lost,” Bruce continued saying to the others. “She’ll nae be able to dodge, never mind actually make it through the forest.”
Darshan was inclined to agree with the oldest boy. The woman would hobble off to have her injury treated, naturally. But there were no spellsters nearby that could mend the damage enough to see her fit to compete at her best. No one beyond himself, at least.
“Good,” Sorcha snapped, flicking the coils of her hair over her shoulder with a jerk of her head. “One less for Uncle Hamish to worry about. This is so unfair. I wish they’d all break their legs.”
Darshan cleared his throat. “You really should not wish ill on your people, your highness. It is rather bad form.”
The girl whirled on him, those stark green eyes widening to their fullest before she ducked her head. “I didnae mean it that way,” she mumbled.
“Uncle ‘Mish doesnae want this,” Mac said, earning him a susurration of shushes from the others.
“I know,” Darshan replied. Hopefully, the rest of the children knew better than to shout their uncle’s opinion on the contest to the world.
Darshan wandered through the crowd whilst the four children tagged along and offered up their opinion on each counter and hit. Other duels happened around them, most with little more than a few bruised egos.
How would his own duel go tomorrow? He had practised his hardest with Gordon, but the majority of these women moved with sharp precision. He couldn’t match that, not with a sword.
A shield, even an invisible one, was obviously out of the question as were a great many other tricks. And he would have to remain vigilant to keep anything vaguely magical from notice. During his training, Gordon had teased that he seemed to rely less on his physical abilities and far too much on the dazzling flare magic gifted him.
Watching these women, he was bitterly coming to terms with the reality that the man was right.
Still, Hamish had said to cheat. And maybe a brief burst of subtle magic could aid him. A gust at the right moment to blind his rival in an attack. Or even the slightly riskier approach of bolstering his strength like the time he had hauled Hamish back in through the window.
Out in the arena, another winner was decided.
Darshan
