ETAN
He stood at the side of the ring, waiting, straight faced, but fighting a grin. Ayleth's cousin was walking stiffly, clearly still feeling the effects of his knee earlier. Though he didn't like to take cheap shots in battle, the Duke had started it by throwing the dust in his eyes.
He would show him how a true artist fought this time. And carry Summitras' honor with him. Borsche was about to have kittens, bending over backwards warning Etan about the foul and cheating moves the man might use this time. But when the Master of Ceremonies called them into the ring, Etan's confidence wasn't faked.
But as they toed the painted lines and turned to the bow to the King, then to each other, a bell tolled, it's chime echoing over the crowd as the magic used to enhance it made sure every person in the audience heard it.
Etan frowned at the podium below the King's box where the Master stood, and the umpires rested when they weren't working. The man he'd seen with Ayleth earlier was speaking into the Master's ear, and the Umpire was trotting over to join the conversation.
"Hold for one moment, please, Contenders. There is a Challenger."
The crowd gasped and murmured. Etan shot a look at Borsche who was shaking his head. He'd raised the possibility of this. Etan ground his teeth. Suddenly the Duke's very obvious discomfort took on a different light.
The three men argued silently—the same magic used to amplify the Master's voice, also used to keep their voices from being heard. Eventually the King leaned over the rail of his box, and though he couldn't be heard, it was clear he was demanding to know what caused the delay.
The Knight—a massive man, older than Etan, but clearly younger than his father—argued strongly for his point, until the others nodded—the umpire, reluctantly. Even the King waved a hand, as if irritated, but to dismiss them, to move forward.
Then the Master turned to the podium. "The Prince of Summitras has received a new Challenger from Zenithra! By the terms of the Festival, the new opponent will carry the Zenithran pride—to honor, or otherwise."
The crowd surged, some excited for the unexpected development, others clearly concerned.
"Captain Falek of the Kings Guard, please present your Challenger in the Duke's stead."
The entire arena went quiet as Falek looked to the gate that opened from the arena to reveal a man… a small but lithe man in thick fighting leathers. Etan would have been confused, might have laughed, but his face was wrapped in the scarf of a Ninchant Warrior.
Etan's stomach sank.
Ninchant Warriors hailed from an ancient culture that was once a part of Zenithra, but had been swallowed in the Great Wars two centuries earlier. They were renowned across the Continent. A group of men—and some whispered women as well—who learned the art of hand-to-hand combat exclusively.
The man was small as most of the Ninchant Warriors were, and Etan prayed his greater strength and weight would prove to his advantage.
As the Warrior strode forward, confident but without the swagger of men like the Duke—which gave Etan more pause than any amount of arrogance—everyone in the crowd, including the royal boxes, leaned in, rushing to the rails to be closer to the fight.
Etan could feel Ayleth drawing closer, but he couldn't take the time to scan the crowd for her, because this warrior approached the line, his scarf wrapped not only around his face, but up and over his forehead, which kept Etan from seeing his eyes clearly. Not that it mattered. A Ninchant Warrior had been trained not to project their moves.
This would be a formidable opponent, Etan knew.
He took a deep breath and bowed alongside his adversary, first to the King, then to the faceless man—who didn't meet his eyes in the bow, a point he appreciated. He hadn't missed the warning in the Duke's bow earlier.
Ninchant Warriors had an extreme code and could be stripped of their scarves if they showed dishonor to others. That meant no matter the outcome, this would be a fair fight.
Had Ayleth been talking her Knight into taking this approach when they disturbed that whispered conversation in the barracks? Etan had hated seeing her so comfortable, so physically close to another man, but had known this man defended her with integrity and wisdom. He'd fought the urge to shove the man away when he's stepped between them—not hiding his distrust of Etan around Ayleth. Clearly she hadn't told him. All he'd seen in Etan was an enemy fighter.
Which was for the good, Etan supposed.
But now… had she been a part of this? He may lose to this man, it was true. But if it happened honorably, he would live with it.
After the bow, they both stood, poised, but unmoving as they waited for the Umpire's call. The crowd, too, was silent, everyone holding their breath to see what would come of this encounter.
Etan swallowed hard and sent up a prayer that he wouldn't be embarrassed.
Then the Umpire's whistle pierced the silent calm and they both flowed into action.
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