Since we returned from the meeting room and the news of the drama has spread, people have had little else to talk about other than the upcoming fight. Some of them would prefer to fight the colony, however most of them, particularly the surviving families with the young or the elderly, will be supporting their rightful king in leaving this place to avoid the inevitable conflict.
Jaq and Orrian have kept the knowledge of my concealed blade to themselves, and so despite my arms being tied behind my back, I am comfortably within reach of the key to my escape should it come to it. Whilst sitting here I have considered freeing myself countless times, but each fantasy comes to the same conclusion of pointlessness. If I were to run, I’d never make it past the guards. Even if I did, I would only be exiling myself, the worst-case outcome as it is. Another alternative would be to cut the rope but keep up the pretence of being bound, but the risk of being discovered would only result in being tied up once more after being searched and likely having my only advantage taken from me. All these scenarios are assuming that I could free myself without drawing Horith or one of the other watcher’s eyes, an unlikely feat given their constant vigilance.
The meeting has gotten Horith particularly riled up, he seems to feel as if there is no limit to how many times he can announce his displeasure at the prospect of us leaving. His cheeks are swollen cherries and a deep purple vein on his forehead pulses angrily as projectile spittle accompanies every syllable.
Jaq’s companion, we haven’t been introduced and so I have no name to put to the face, is thankfully on Orrian’s side and is arguing loyally on his king’s behalf. Despite his much younger age, he admirably holds his ground against Horith’s rants against Orrian.
Quickly tiring of the constant back-and-forth, their disagreements blur into the background as I tune into my own thoughts.
It had come as a surprise to me when the fight had been decreed as a sole battle between Orrian and Faelyn, whilst we never had a struggle for power in Avlym, for as long as anyone can recall at least, I know that in a few of the surrounding villages champions were often chosen instead, allowing the gods to decide on the victor instead of merely physical strengths.
A couple of months ago one such fight had occurred in the neighbouring village of Tarrin. Tarrin was a much newer community than Avlym and had started after several families of my parent’s generation separated from us to setup a village of their own.
Thoren, a near seven-foot giant of muscle, had easily defeated Bohrad’s champion after Bohrad had been caught letting his people starve to gain extra personal favour with Becker. After news of the arrangement had leaked, the people had fought back in the form of Thoren, wreaking havoc on their former leader once the duel had been won. Bohrad had been forced out, after refusing to leave he had found his home one evening consumed in smoke. All his possessions turned to ash, slowly disappearing into the wind. After that there had been little resistance, Bohrad had left his days of glory and power to shamefully hitch a ride on the back of a trader’s cart in the first light of the next morning.
Of course, the colony collector had at first been furious over this loss of private income, but after seeing the new leader, had awkwardly agreed to cut his losses and settle back into the old agreement. In the following weeks however, Thoren had turned out to be severely lacking in any cunning not related to brawling, he had been a gentle and solitary mute, only taking charge because his people had urged him too. Whilst word took a while to reach Avlym through the traders, the last we heard it was that it was now a select group of advisors who organised most of the village’s happenings whilst Thoren acted only as a figurehead and fear tactic against Becker and his men.
Orrian’s people were different, however, their rules decreed that the fight should be between the two individuals alone, it was a matter of honour and worthiness. As a result, Orrian will duel Faelyn tonight, each may choose their own close quarters weapons, and there will be no champions. Whilst I pray for Orrian, there is no way of knowing who has the upper hand. Orrian is nimble and strong, yet he is still much younger and noticeably shorter than his opponent.
Both fighters have been inactive since the discussion, preparing themselves both physically and mentally for this evening. Faelyn had disappeared to his high ledge quarters whilst Orrian had vanished for some meditation and calmness.
It is with the sound of approaching footsteps as well as the shocking sudden silence from my two guards, that I look up to see the young king striding towards me. He asks to speak to me privately and as a result, after some whining from Horith, we are left sitting alone on the icy stone with my two guards positioned a few meters away. Their job is now solely to keep others away, the recent news has only increased the people’s craving for Orrian’s attention.
“Are you ok? Has Horith or anyone tried anything?” Orrian asks hurriedly, his voice low.
“Am I- am I okay?” I stutter, disbelieving that Orrian could be concerned for my safety given the circumstances. “Yeah, I mean I’m fine. More importantly how are you, are
