This is a rough draft of a story that is percolating inside of me. Right now it's mostly clichés and a bad use of Spanish. Still, I think that the idea that I have behind it will develop into a fun story. Enjoy...
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“I don’t want to have to do this…” his voice trailed off as the gangly young man advanced towards him with his curved sword drawn. The determined look in the boy’s face made it clear to Alain: he would have fight.
Nearly a decade had passed since the end of the war, and still many farm boys sought to make something of their lives by challenging Alain for the reward money that followed him wherever he traveled. Sadly for them, none had ever collected. He would have to do something about that reward one day, but right now Alain had some business to tend in the Southlands.
He pulled the short sword from his hip, leaving the long word on his back in its scabbard. He would only need the smaller sword for today’s work. Crouching slightly, keeping the weight over the balls of his feet, Alain waited for the boy to advance. He focused on his opponent, and shut out the crowd that gathered at a safe distance to see the fight. In a few measured breaths his training took over to handle the boy’s challenge.
The boy came in slowly, and then sped up the last few steps as he swung the sword from low back and around to attack from a high position. Alain sidestepped the blow and prepared to end the challenge quickly. Much to his surprise, the boy didn’t lose his guard by overextending his reach. Instead, the boy kept his sword up and spun around quickly to move out of the short sword’s reach.
The boy quickly moved in again, this time with some caution, and kept his guard high. The high guard, or the ‘Eagles Perch,’ was thought of as the best form in this region of the country. Many had adopted it to much success. It allowed for the fighter to slash downward with force, and block effectively without fighting the weight of the sword.
Alain was a veteran of many wars around the world, and had seen many different forms. While the ‘Eagles Perch’ had its benefits, but he could beat it – he had done so many times. The boy swung with both hands on his sword. He conserved his motion, and thus conserved energy and strength: signs of some training the veteran thought.
They parried and studied each other’s form. Alain attacked with a thrust, or a slash, and watched how the younger man parried and blocked the small attacks. After a few exchanges Alain felt that he knew the proper form to use to beat the lad, and he held no remorse in ending the fight.
Using the small opening the boy gave him, Alain forced the younger fighter off balance, and maneuvered his way to the boy’s flank. He quickly swung his short sword high with the blade pointed diagonally down and thrust with both hands in the ‘Scorpion’s Stinger.’ The boy abandoned his ruse of being off-balance and quickly spun out of the way of the strike while batting the short sword near the hilt with this own blade.
The short sword flew out of the older man’s hands, which forced the man to retreat briefly to pull the long sword from this back. He felt a fool to have regarded the boy so lightly. The boy kicked the short sword away to keep it from coming back into play and advanced again on the older man.
“I commend you,” the older man said as the younger fighter advanced, “You have skill, and you have been taught by someone with skill. I might’ve spared your life had you pled for mercy, but now you force me to deal with you harshly.”
The boy silently advanced and took up a new form to attack…the ‘Heart Attack.’ He fought with one hand instead of two, and kept his body at a maximum distance from his enemy’s weapon. He struck from his hilt starting at the center of own his own chest, and thrust with speed and accuracy to his opponent’s heart.
The older man parried and countered, edging the duo in a tight circle. The boy had taken such an offensive posture, that it left little room for the older man to mount a decent attack. He kept up his defense until he had angled himself to within 20 feet of his short sword where it lay on the street. He then knocked the boy’s sword hard and away to give him a brief moment to reach out his empty left hand towards his fallen sword.
“Venga!” He shouted.
As soon as he spoke the strange word static rippled up his arm. The boy stopped in shock as the hairs on his own arm stood on end. The short sword that lay twenty feet away jerked and leapt across the air into Alain’s outstretched hand. The boy knew now that the fight would end. He had counted on keeping only one sword in the veteran’s hand, but with two swords…with two swords the ‘Hawk and the Sparrow’ would spell his doom.
Alain advanced in a sort of dance. His knees moved high, the swords swung in a rhythmic motion that held all who watched in a horrified trance. The boy waited, his sword held straight up with both hands, the hilt at his sternum. He touched the flat of his sword to his forehead briefly and muttered a quite prayer while the older man advanced.
“Parete!” Someone called from the crowd. The voice was old, but still powerful. “No se maten.”
Alain stopped in the middle of his dance of death. He let his hands drop to his side, with the blades crossed in front of him. He could not resist the power in the ancient words spoken. The magic in those words bound him to stop…and not kill the boy.
“Who speaks to me that way?” Alain demanded.
“I am Zarten, the boy’s grandfather.” An old man replied as he stepped from the crowd.
“You put him up to this? You would sacrifice your own blood for the chance at some coin?”
“No, not that,” Zarten replied as he stood at the younger man’s side. “I heard the rumors that one who resembled Alain of Syrek had passed this way…I had to know if it was really Alain, or an imposter living on someone else’s legend.”
“You were looking for me to speak the words, and I have obliged you. What do you want, old man?” Alain demanded.
“Not many have ever heard the ancient language, and fewer still had ever had the opportunity to learn it. Alain, you and I were once allied in Kain’s army. We fought a common enemy, until Forked River. The survivors of that day pledged our honor to each other. Alain, I have need for you to fulfill that pledge.”
“Your grandson has given me dishonor in disarming me in public. Our comradeship cannot take away that insult. What will you have me do?” Alain said flatly.
The boy dropped to his knee and held his sword in front of him with his head bowed. “I beg forgiveness. I knew that I could disarm you, but I also knew that if you were Alain of Syrek, then I would die for such disrespect. I offer you my own sword to take my head.”
The Pledge of Acquiescence, known by few and spoken by fewer. It took Alain back for a moment to hear them coming from the young man. He would make the choice of killing the boy, or keeping him alive as a bondsman.
“Te perdono, hijo.” Alain answered in the ancient language as he sheathed his swords. The boy remained kneeling with his head bowed offering his sword. “I accept your pledge, stand up.”
The old man put his hands on the boy’s shoulders and pulled him to his feet. The boy looked confused. He stood awkwardly before the old veteran whom he had just fought.
“Do you understand what I said?” Alain asked the boy.
“No.” he said shaking his head.
“Forgive him, he cannot speak.” Zarten said to Alan. “He is, however, gifted in many other ways.”
“He cannot speak? He does not know the Ancient Language? But his skill…” it was Alain’s turn to be amazed.
“He was born to the metal, not the magic, Alain. He uses the sword as an extension of his own being.” Zarten explained.
Alain took a moment to look at his new young bondsman. The boy had not yet completed growing, and would fill out one day to an imposing height. His short brown hair, cut to the style of the younger generation in the Southlands, made him look younger than his years; still Alain did not judge him for more than 16 summers.
“Do you understand the vow that you have made?” Alan inquired of the boy.
The boy nodded and bowed to Alain, holding his tongue.
“We both understand that he and his entire family are now bound to you.” Zarten said, and then he too bowed to Alain.
“Then let us retire and speak of your need, Zarten.” Alain said. “Sheath your own sword and give me a name that I may call you.” Alain said to the boy.
“You may call me Xander.” The boy replied, sheathing his blade.
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