The two boys stood across from each other, Laranthel had a dark blue coat over a lighter blue long-sleeved tunic. Breseis wore a black tunic and grey trousers; he was allowed to wear leather boots while Laranthel was constrained to his slippers. He hoped it wouldn’t hamper his footwork too much. They decided to have the impromptu duel in the central courtyard, which meant the boys would be fighting on the grass while the Matriarch and the rest of the family watched from the stone path beyond the small hedges that separated the grass from the walkways. Laranthel held in his hands a simple straight sword, while Breseis wielded an ornate handled saber.
Laranthel took up his usual neutral stance and studied Breseis. His stance was strong, off hand on his hip and legs bent at the knees, a smile on his face.
“I can’t wait to spill your blood,” snarled Laranthel as he looked over his opponent. Just the sight of the boy made Laranthel’s blood boil.
“Hah, you won’t lay a scratch on me you mutt,” Breseis replied.
“The fight only lasts till first blood. I’ll not have my sons kill each other,” called Malanthea from her spot on the stone path.
Laranthel’s blood burned hotter at her words. I’m not your son, he howled in his soul. If he got the opportunity to kill Breseis in the duel, he’d take it. And if he died in the process, so be it. Such was the strength of his hatred.
Malanthea called, “Begin!” and the duel began. Both boys sprang forth, lashing out at each other with their blades.
Laranthel unleashed a few probing strikes that were parried and deflected by Briseis, who unleashed a few of his own tentative swings. The Helana boy feinted a few forward steps in an attempt to make Laranthel jump, but he never took the bait. He fought defensively, trusting in his ability to skewer Briseis should he ever try to haphazardly cross the tip of his blade.
The fight quickly reached a deadlock where both boys waited for the other to strike and make a mistake. Laranthel took the initiative and began to press Briseis. He stepped forward, thrusting his longer blade at the Helana until he was forced onto the defensive. He dodged and parried Laranthel’s blade but was never able to regain any of the ground he lost and was left constantly on the backfoot.
Eventually, Briseis tried to grab Laranthel’s sword arm with his offhand but ended up being forced into a clasp. As they came together, Laranthel took his knee and drove it up into Briseis’s gut. He stumbled backwards, allowing Laranthel to lunge forward and stab Briseis in the chest. The tip of the blade passed through Briseis’s clothes, leaving a shallow wound on the boy’s right peck. The Helana boy seethed and moved backwards, his free hand covering the wound. Laranthel had drawn first blood, and so was the victor.
“Damn!” Briseis sheathed his sword and kicked at the air in frustration.
Laranthel kept his blade drawn, continuing to hold his defensive stance.
“The duel is over, and Laranthel is the victor!” called Malanthea. Mythiara and a few of the other attendants clapped, pleased with Laranthel’s victory and, more likely for most, Briseis’s loss.
Mythiara rushed over to Laranthel who had finally decided to sheath his blade. “I know you said you were good but my, my.” She grasped his arms with both hands and pulled him close. “That was exquisite! You beat him handily!”
Laranthel shrugged, “Seemed pretty even to me.”
“Even?” Mythiara looked at him incredulously. “He never got more than one opportunity to make a real attack!”
Mythiara continued to lavish praises on Laranthel. He got the feeling she was prouder of herself than him and tuned her out as she continued to speak. Finally, Malanthea approached flanked by Matthaios and a man Laranthel had never seen before. He was dressed the same way as Laranthel was, save for a tall red cap on his head.
“I must admit you did better than I expected,” said Malanthea. “I never thought Briseis would beat you though. After all, you cut down one of the veteran soldiers I sent to capture you in worse circumstances.”
Laranthel nodded his head, accepting the compliment she had given him.
“This here is John. He is a foreigner like you, a slave warrior.” Malanthea motioned towards the man standing behind her.
He had a grizzled face and steely eyes; his gaze was like that of a wolf’s. He was slightly taller than Laranthel and clearly older too. His blue face sported a white bear, red eyes peered down at Laranthel with curiosity.
“He shall be your opponent during your exhibition. He’ll also give you a taste of what the Kynotoro is like.”
The man gave Laranthel a nod which he returned. The man looks like he could eat me alive.
“Don’t look so troubled, it’s your destiny,” assured Malanthea as she studied the expression on Laranthel’s face. “He won’t kill you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I think dying is the least of my worries,” Laranthel mumbled.
Mythiara left Laranthel’s side as she noticed Merope walking over to her son, a look of disappointment on her face. “Well, well, well! Tell me sister, does bad luck ever run out?”
Merope scowled. “One day you’ll lose, sister, and the plummet will be catastrophic.”
“Well until that day comes, get comfortable groveling beneath me.” Mythiara turned her gaze to Laranthel and beckoned him over. He looked over to Malanthea for permission to leave their conversation and she gave him a nod.
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“Princess,” he asked playing up his subservience.
“Take my whip,” said Mythiara producing the wicked instrument from its place on her belt. “And strike Merope’s dog son until his back runs read. I won’t have him disrespecting my husband so freely.”
Merope’s face grew furious, and she began to protest, “This is ridiculous, you accepted the challenge! Having this murk-blooded prince whip a true noble is outrageous.”
“Not as outrageous as coveting what’s mine!” Mythiara turned to Briseis and bellowed, “Get down on your hands and knees before me. NOW, BOY NOW!”
Briseis nervously looked at his mother, then Mythiara, and finally the Matriarch. Seeing that none of the women would help him, he bowed his head and got down on all fours as Mythiara commanded.
“Laranthel, I won’t ask again. Take the whip.” Mythiara pushed the bundle of wood and leather into Laranthel’s hands.
He took it from her and rolled it around in his hands, letting himself get used to the weight of it. This was the cruel instrument Meganira had so often used to bend his back, he felt a twinge of anger roll through him as he let the whip rest in his grip.
“Go on, as my older sisters taught you,” cooed Mythiara. “Take it, raise it high and crack it over his back. Until his clothes tear open, until the skin bleeds.”
Laranthel nodded his head, raised the whip, and gave it a few swings to get a feel for the cruel weapon. It whistled through the air, cracking as it unfurled before growing slack and hanging limply. He looked down at Briseis who, for his part, remained still as Laranthel prepared to flog him. He hated the boy but torturing him this way felt wrong. It went against his culture and the values his parents had instilled in him. He paused as he prepared his first strike.
“Laranthel—,” Mythiara began. Before she could continue Laranthel brought the whip down upon Briseis’s back hard, mangling flesh and tearing through his clothes.
Laranthel brought the whip down on the other boy again and again until most of his back lay exposed, red gashes leaking crimson that began to jump each time the whip made contact with skin. Briseis let out a few pained groans and sharp breathes, but otherwise remained silent during the affair.
Laranthel continued to mangle Briseis’s back until Mythiara was satisfied, which was after at least twenty lashings. By the time Laranthel had finished savaging the boy, his back was cut open and he was unable to rise from his hands and knees. He sat there, hunched over seething in pain.
“Someone go get the healers and clean this mess up,” said Mythiara after admiring Laranthel’s handy work. “I think that will be all today sister. Put your sons up to messing with what’s mine again and I’ll kill them then and there.”
Laranthel backed away from Briseis, trying to tear his eyes from the boy’s ruined form. Mythiara walked over to him and took the whip from his hands.
“Don’t look so sad, it makes you seem weak,” she whispered as she stepped away.
He followed her advice and put on a more stoic expression, though it was probably already too late. The Halana’s had seen his reluctance, they knew he wasn’t cruel like they were. As he became lost in thought, the man Malanthea had brought over earlier approached him.
“Hahaha, not often I get to see two princes lay each other low,” he said, giving Laranthel a hard slap on the back. “How’d it feel?”
“Not as good as piercing him,” Laranthel replied evenly. He had no idea what to make of the strange man standing beside him.
“I agree with you there. The only thing better than that feeling is skewering a princess.” Laranthel looked up at the man and found a wicked grin plastered across his face. “What? You don’t think any of the kept men or the pompous women get their hands dirty killing each other, do you? That’s why they keep us around, to kill enemies Nyxa frowns upon killing, you understand?”
Laranthel did not understand, what he was saying seemed like madness. “They aren’t allowed to kill each other. Then why the hells do they brutalize each other like this?”
The man shrugged. “Just how they are, beasts. Most of our people are, save for the few that escape the Land of Night.”
“And what of those that end up coming back,” Laranthel asked.
“Oh, we’re the worst. But you’ll get to see that up close and personal in the months to come.”
The man gave Laranthel another slap on the back and strode back over to Malanthea’s side. The pair seemed more intimidating than they ever had before, and Laranthel wasn’t the only one who seemed to think so. The other Halana family members in the audience kept a cautious distance from the matriarch and her bound killer, eyeing the red capped man with a healthy amount of fear and suspicion. Only Matthaios remained near, still jabbering away in his mother’s ear.
“You have made for such wonderful entertainment since you arrived,” said Mythiara from behind Laranthel. He tore his gaze from the Matriarch and found Mythiara approaching him with a satisfied smile on her face. “You’re passable in bed, passable in manners, and exquisite with a blade! Oh, what a talented man!” Mythiara drew close and stroked Laranthel’s chest.
“Calm yourself Princess,” muttered Laranthel as Mythiara’s affections grew perverse. She ceased her ministrations and settled for a solid embrace.
“If only it were Merope down there, though I would have had to be the one to crack the whip if that were the case.” Mythiara locked eyes with Laranthel. “That other one worries me, the slave. I can’t lie, it doesn’t look good for you at all. The man is a beast, an elite fighter. My mother uses him on Priestesses and Ladies who challenge the family or the goddess’s laws. He’s ruthless.
Laranthel let out a sigh. “So, you’re saying I’ll end up like Briseis after the exhibition is over?”
“It is a distinct possibility,” answered Mythiara. “But I think my mother means to downplay your potential by having you humbled. But worry not, I’ll comfort you before and after all that comes to pass.” Mythiara reached up and planted a quick peck on Laranthel’s lips.
“How effective are your family’s healers?”
“Oh, they’re some of the best in the city of course,” Mythiara laughed.
Laranthel was glad, he was sure he’d need them after the strange man was done with him.
Malanthea watched as her daughter and Laranthel departed the courtyard, Mythiara clinging to her victorious husband. “What do you think of him,” she asked turning to John, her Cynot slave warrior.
“He’s got potential for sure, who ever trained him previously did a good job,” John replied stroking his chin in thought. “He lacks aggression in his fighting style. He missed out on multiple opportunities to end the fight earlier, and when he did it was with a defensive move.”
“That won’t stand in the Kynotoro is presume?” She looked over at John with a raised eyebrow.
“No, it will not. He needs to be a killer. Killers don’t wait around all day for an opening, they make one.”
“Well said,” Malanthea agreed. “What say you, my son?”
“I’m more interested in this latent magical ability you were talking about earlier,” answered Matthaios. “I’d very much like to train or examine the boy when the Kynotoro is done with him.”
Malanthea nodded. “That can be arranged. Depending on just how promising he is I might have to have him have a few meetings with your daughter...”
Matthaios nodded his head. “Dirce is probably already planning on prodding Laranthel herself. The mages at Trinaleth are apparently very willful.”
“Just tell her to be careful, Mythiara can’t outright kill Merope but I’m sure she’d find a way to slay Dirce if she gets caught tampering with her belongings.”
“I understand mother, I’ll tell her to use caution,” said Matthaios.
“What a happy family you keep mistress,” laughed John.
“I do my utmost,” replied Malanthea. “Now come, there are matters I must discuss with you elsewhere.”
“Of course, mistress,” said John with a nod.
The two disappeared from the courtyard to discuss Laranthel’s upcoming exhibition as well as John’s time in the Meridian. Malanthea wanted to know exactly how the country fared against their southern opponents.
