“Remove your helmet, sir knight,” the queen commanded. He reached up and undid it, pulling it off, then resuming his stance. “What is your name, sir knight?” she commanded. Shit, what was the name he had chosen. It was…was…
“Uh, Lucien, your highness.”
“Excellent, sir knight. Your fighting is quite impressive, though we have not seen you here before. Which clan do you represent?”
“I am a guest of the clan of McGregor, and this is my first event of both fighting and attendance.”
“Amazing, that you fight like such a seasoned pro,” interjected the king. He rose, and shook his hand in the medieval custom of grasping the forearm. “I am Aramis, the king of the kingdom. My queen and bride, Marianne,” he said, indicating the queen, who presented her hand, as Luke bowed and kissed it. “Your fighting has won the queen’s attention, so she wishes to present you with something.” The queen dug in a bag, and then presented a small slip of satin, with a monogram and a logo of the “kingdom” and a small crown.
“This is my favor,” she explained. “Carry it with you for luck during the tournament.”
“Thank you your highness,” Luke answered with another bow.
“Later today, we will dine together,” Aramis said. “In the meantime, good luck during the tournament.”
Luke bowed to them both, and thanked them. When he made eye contact with Marianne again, he thought he noticed a look in her eye that was at least flirtatious, if not openly desiring, but he decided to play it somewhat cool until he could get more of an idea of what would happen. But he was definitely intrigued.
Rodney was impressed by the conversation and the favor, telling him it was great to be “in with the royals.” He talked up great meals, entertainment, and all sorts of other advantages they received. The next round, however, was uneventful, as even though the competition was better, some guys were getting gassed and simply making dumb mistakes in an attempt to win quickly. When Luke’s round came, he dispatched his opponent in about 20 seconds. Though he hadn’t been keeping track, he was told this was good, as he was in the final four.
He was feeling good, and was quite keen to see if he could win, when his opponent was announced. Sir Brutus, the brutal one. He stood up, evaluating the man, who was at least 6’5″ and 240 lbs. Rodney talked rapidly, trying to give him pointers, telling him this guy was good, really, really good, but he had weaknesses, including a high center of gravity, and a propensity to go for head shots over anything.
When they began fighting, Luke couldn’t see any weaknesses. He relaxed, and let the fight come to him, using every bit of martial arts awareness he had developed over the last decade of training, but no matter how quick his strike, Brutus had a counter. Every maneuver, he saw coming. After two rounds, they had battled intensely, and he felt more exertion than he had in all of the previous fights combined.
A third round came, and dragged. Several times he thought he had an opening, but Brutus had countered, moving shockingly quick for such a large man. Finally, he had managed to put him off balance, but rather than go for the tap to the arm he had open, Luke had shoved him to the ground, intending on “spearing” his torso to end the fight. Brutus, however, pulled a move worthy of a breakdancer or an MMA expert, quickly spinning upward, and catching his leg. So now, Luke had to lift his leg and fight on only his right foot. Thinking it was over, Luke started to go back to the side at the end of the third round, but was told that since this was the final four, points would not be considered, and all matches had to end in a kill.