the offspring - chapter 2

7/29/2019 The Offspring - Chapter 2

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An Ashen Rose

A fortnight before it was held, the Grand Tournament was announced to the rest of

Anthar. From throughout the nation, knights, nobles, and glory-hunters rallied to the outskirts

of Arycia, preparing for the coming show. Although the province was hardly a center ofattention in Antharian politics, this day was one of the few in which the King himself gazed

upon these neglected lands.

Arycia was the center of the Torn province, a shining marble in an otherwise bleak

landscape. Like all cities in Anthar, Arycia was built in a circular fashion. Towering walls

enveloped it, forming a protective ring around its vulnerable innards. Further within the city

was another such ring, built to separate the aristocracy from the common folk. Within this

inner sanctum was the magnificent palace of Lord Torn. Acting as the main seat of

government in the province, the palace was teeming with life. Barbers, carpenters, gardeners,

servants and all other artisans imaginable constantly went about their jobs, navigating the

numerous passages. To any outsider, the archnoble residence was a twisting labyrinth of

endless hallways, but its inhabitants knew it by heart.

Unlike most days, the palace was unnaturally empty. Most of the servants were

preoccupied with preparations for the Grand Tournament hosted just outside Arycia's walls.

Traditionally the event was held in the palace's spacious parks and gardens, but this year lord

Torn had insisted it be outside the city. For what reason, no one knew, but this odd request

perpetuates the recent mystery around him. Many people were concerned about him. His wife

had passed away recently, while he himself fell ill soon after.

Among those who were distressed was Allard Dain, the lord's right hand man and

personal counselor. The two of them were childhood friends, albeit of quite opposite origin.

Lord Torn was of the high nobility, while Dain was an orphan taken in by the Luxist Church

of Torn. As the years rolled by Dain's fanatical piety rewarded him with the prestigious post ofPrimarch, highest in the Luxist hierarchy. Despite the tendency for religious and political

figures to dislike each other, they have been an inseparable duo ever since, a shining example,

which, nevertheless, remained unfollowed by the rest of the nation's elite.

Dain had used all his wealth and power to cure lord Torn, but to no avail. Tension was

stirring in the province, for the lord had only one heir, a boy named Darial, who was too

young to take over if his father passed. News of deals under the table for the Torn throne was

spreading to the distress of the archnoble family. It knew a knife was coming at their back, but

did not know from which direction. Trust was something they couldn't afford, placing them in

a very unfavorable position.

The only person untroubled by these problematic turn of events was Darial. The young

lad, barely sixteen, was hit hard by the recent turn of events. He had entered a deepmelancholy after his mother's death, perpetuated by his father's illness. Only the coming

tournament could soothe his troubled soul, for sword-fighting was his only love. Like most

members of the high nobility, he was trained to some extent in the magical arts, but more for

show than for actual combat. In the tournament he saw the perfect place to see how the true

masters of magic fought.

On the tourney's day, Darial was as cheerful as can be. Each morning he would get up

at the rooster's cry and practice his swordplay. He had a fencing hall all to himself, where he

would practice against a wooden dummy or train with his mentor, a war-veteran of age, who

enjoyed the occasional duel with the aspiring youth. Sir Henry Brode was the soldier's name,

a hero of the war between Anthar and Tenasis, stout and scarred from his many battles against

the invaders. He fancied telling stories of his adventures, often exaggerating them to a greatextent. He'd begin his tales while they were readying their weapons, continuing them in


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between the glancing blows. Today the old man was exceptionally vigorous right from the

start.

"Let me tell you of the war's final hours," said sir Brode while bracing his cuirass.

"Now that's an interesting story, you probably haven't heard of it. Have you, master Torn?"

"Not at all, do tell!" replied Darial with childlike fascination.

The knight smiled and raised his blade at Darial."The Tenasian hordes were beating us back at every corner. They had taken everything

west of the Capital, leaving us with a last bulwark against the invaders. We knew their

strength was in their unity, so we had to shatter it."

Sir Brode's blade burst into bright red flames and swung at Darial's head. With swift

elegance, the boy dropped to the ground, then thrust his blade forward at his mentor's face.

The knight caught the blade with his massive gauntlets and threw it aside, leaving Darial bare

handed.

"What Anthar needed was a suicide mission," said sir Brode while slowly walking

towards his defenseless opponent. "The King sent my company to infiltrate the Emperor's

citadel, a task we accepted with utmost devotion."

Darial concentrated his will onto his blade. It rose into the air, manipulated by theswirling air around it.

"Only a single, precisely-aimed shot can stop a coherent foe," continued sir Brode,

unaware of the sword flying at his back. For a moment Darial feared he would wound his

mentor, but the knight dashed effortlessly aside. The sword struck the wall behind Darial with

great force then fell on the ground in a dull thud. "For an enemy to be truly defeated, he must

be struck down when he has lost his balance, when he is disorganized."

Darial opened his palm, concentrated and his blade returned to him. With a mix of

ferocity and excitement, he leapt at his teacher, only to be parried and thrown aside by the

blast of recoil. He fell onto the ground, and crawled several steps back. From the other side of

the hall his mentor cried out: "When will you start listening to me, master Torn? You cannot

learn if you first do not heed. A duel is not a clash of anger and hatred, but a careful fight of

wits. My tactics are above your fury."

"I'm trying, sir Brode, I really am. But the blade is so intoxicating. I cannot help but

yield to its temptations," replied Darial.

"It is a feeling I have conquered long ago. You must do so as well."

"I shall," said Darial with newfound resolve.

The boy eagerly got back onto his feet, then entered the duel pose sir Brode had taught

him. He spread out his legs, extended his sword arm forward, and awaited his enemy's next

move.

"As I was saying, we were sent out to infiltrate the Emperor's citadel," said sir Brode

as he slowly stepped towards Darial. "With all due respect, your father's palace pales incomparison to the magnificence of Emperor Venerath's citadel. It was a gargantuan complex

of complex caves, winding mazes, cavernous chambers and underground rivers, topped above

by an impenetrable fortress the size of Arycia. All this on an island in the center of the

Tenasian desert; a truly perfect defensive fortification."

The knight's blade ignited again, surging with scarlet flames that lashed out towards

the ceiling like voracious serpents.

"How we managed to enter, I dare not say, but within the subterranean labyrinths we

found only cold and death. If the Lord had cast Hell out anywhere across the world, that

would be the place. For over a week we wandered through the darkness, starving and dying.

Only I reached the Emperor's throne room, a spacious, spiraling platform above a gaping

abyss. He, toying with me like a bear toys with the deer in its mouth, revealed to me the mosthorrid of secrets not made for the minds of men."


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Sir Brode came closer, ecstatic with the story he was telling. The flames swirling

around his sword got brighter and bigger as he approached the boy. In the knight Darial saw a

frantic thrill he hadn't seen before. As if in sir Brode's eyes were raging the same flames as

those around his blade. Fear chilled Darial's body as the fearsome knight approached. Just as

he was about to strike a mighty, unblockable blow, the wide doors of the hall swung open. Sir

Brode snapped out of his trance and lowered his sword, whose flames instantly vanished.Allard Dain stopped at the doorway and gazed at the knight with a steadfast look in his eyes.

"I will tell you the rest of the story when next we meet," said sir Brode.

"Darial," yelled Allard Dain from across the hall, "the tournament is soon to begin.

Would you care to join me in spectating it?"

"Certainly!" replied the boy enthusiastically.

Darial sheathed his pristine blade and made for the armor rack.

"How are you faring today, master Torn?" asked Allard Dain.

"Quite lovely, sir Brode has been quite the challenging opponent this morning. How is

father doing?"

"He is holding up. The Lord favors him, I am confident he will rejoin us soon."

"Wonderful news!""Indeed."

"I want to thank you, Patriarch, for everything you've done for us. My father is truly a

blessed man to have such a beneficent friend," said Darial.

"I fulfill the Lord's bidding as best I can, master Torn. Shall we go?"

"Of course," said Darial and the two set out.

The boy noted how empty the halls were. It was such a rare occurrence - the last time

was a year ago during the previous Grand Tournament. Occasionally the odd servant would

scurry across the corridors, but otherwise the palace was devoid of life. Darial hated being

alone, an eerie chill crept into the back of his head every time he wasn't around people. The

two left through the grand entrance and into the front court, where a chariot awaited them. A

finely-dressed servant rushed and opened the side door with a gentlemanly gesture, beckoning

them to enter.

"Thank you!" said Darial with a smile. Allard silently followed.

Once within, the chariot was a paradise of the exquisite. From soft silken seats and

curtains to the masterfully cut wooden frame, the entirety of the carriage was crafted for the

utmost comfort of those within. The four horses in front trotted forward, pulling the carriage

along the uneven road. Despite the chariot's luxury, it did little to minimize the shaking.

"Can you tell me who will be present this time, Allard?" said Darial.

"Quite many, master Torn. The archnoble family of Ashvale has come again, this time

to oversee the participation of their son, Thomas, who has recently come of age. Their

daughter, Vivian, is also here.""Vivian, I can dimly recall seeing her at the last tournament. The red-haired one?"

"That would be her, yes."

"Interesting," said Darial as he scratched his chin.

"Sir Brode will be participating this year, I don't know if he has informed you."

"He has not, but that explains why he was so vigorous today."

The Patriarch went on listing over a dozen names which barely registered in Darial's

head. He was looking out the window and gazing at the shabby buildings of the Outer City.

Occasionally he nodded to stay in the conversation, but his mind was fixated on a wholly

different subject. He had forgotten about her for merely a year, but now that Allard mentioned

her, Darial couldn't help but speculate what might come of this tourney. The last time he saw

Vivian, she had charmed him like no one had before, but he had done little but gaze at herwith desire. He was naturally shy to the point he was afraid of giving away his true emotions.


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"Pardon me for interrupting you," said Darial while the Patriarch was mentioning

some knight from the Capital, "but what are our current relations with the Ashvale realm? I

know they haven't been the warmest, but I am rarely up to date on political affairs."

"You should be, master Torn. A young man such as yourself should concern himself

with a range of topics. To say the least, our relations are abysmal. So much that lord Ashvale's

entourage here is the size of half an army.""Dear Lord, why so?" asked Darial in bewilderment.

"They are fearful. We all are. Our economy is shattered, not only here in Arycia, but

the whole of Anthar. The law is no longer a tool, but a chain which oppresses the masses. The

King is old and frail; everybody expects someone to rise up against him, but nobody knows

who will act first. Lord Ashvale is cautious of us, just as we should be of him. But fear not,

our loyalty to the King is unquestionable. If any province jumps against His Majesty, we will

dutifully fulfill our oaths."

"Indeed we will!" said Darial zealously. Allard paused, wondering if now was the

appropriate time to bring up a subject he thought to be of great importance. After a moment,

he continued apprehensively.

"I have talked with your father, master Torn, about succession.""What is there to talk about it?"

"He feels you are not prepared to take over if the worst befalls him," said Allard

hesitantly.

"But the worst will not happen, right? You said it yourself, the Lord protects him."

"Of course, your father is fearful, that is all. Regardless, he has named me steward

until you come of age."

"This is very sudden, Patriarch!" said Darial frantically. "I am soon to turn seventeen,

surely my father no longer considers me a child!"

"I'm afraid he does, master Torn. Politics is a very complicated matter; please allow

me to manage it in your stead. All I beg is for your approval. Together we can reform this

province and restore its glory!"

"I-"

"Your father is a noble man, but he is far too conservative. He is unwilling to accept

the changing times. Both he and the King still believe in the dogma of the past. He tries to

control the people in their poverty and ignorance, but that is no longer possible. They are

growing restless, master Torn! They have become aware, they have become literate! At the

turn of this century, they will be closer to our level than ever before!"

"But why is that bad, Patriarch? Shouldn't we be happy our subjects are enlightened?"

"You don't understand. Haven't you visited the countryside recently?"

"I have, it is quite beautiful," admitted Darial.

"The grasslands are beautiful, not the villages. Those people live in misery! If thepopulace was content with their lifestyle a century ago, now they are not. Soon they will

awaken from their ignorance and become disillusioned. Right now we are presented with a

choice: do we side with the people or against them?"

"With all due respect, Patriarch, what you are saying is madness! Why, we are the Torn

dynasty! We have created this province, its people are indebted to us from their birth!

Prophesizing rebellion is outrageous! Why would our own subjects try to overthrow us, when

we are responsible for the bread they eat and the water they drink?"

"Yes, master Torn, but-"

"I will hear no buts, Allard! I will respect my father's decision, but we will not be

abandoning our age-old traditions. Now let me marvel at the countryside in peace."

"As you wish, master Torn," said the Patriarch with mild disdain.


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The countryside was indeed marvelous; the wide open grasslands of Anthar spread

outward in all directions. The occasional hill broke the monotony of the scenery. Most had

been artificially made to house the tombs of former lords and were named after them. This

year's tournament was hosted beside a recently erected mound, still unnamed, but likely

reserved for Darial's father. The sight of it chilled the boy, who was going through quite the

emotional turmoil. He knew the Patriarch was a good man, but his recent actions bewilderedhim.

The dazzling glamour of the tournament was quick to cheer Darial up. Simple wooden

stands of great height were raised to house the numerous spectators arriving from throughout

the nation. They formed a towering coliseum roughly the size of Torn palace, but much less

awe-inspiring. At present, the arena was flooded with people rushing from all sides to find

places. The participating knights were likely already within, preparing for the epic battles to

come. Up ahead along the road were several other carriages as majestic as his own, carrying

the delegates of the other twelve realms.

"I presume you know where our stand is?" asked Darial.

"Of course, master Torn. Everything has been carefully planned; we have a special

stand reserved for ourselves, the Ashvale family and the Capitals representatives. I hope Ihave chosen according to your wishes?"

"You have chosen appropriately, Allard. It is always a pleasure to be close the

Ashvales. Their ladies are such a beautiful sight."

Allard hesitated, carefully weighing his next words. He had discomforted Darial quite

a bit, now wasn't the time to interject touchy topics. Nevertheless, he succumbed to his

curiosity.

"Do you fancy the Ashvale girl, master Torn?"

"Fancy? Why, I can barely remember her. I don't recall even talking to her. No, Allard,

I am merely curious of her family, not her in particular. True they are famous for their looks,

but that is only external appearance. If the province really is in such a dire situation as you

propose, then building a few friendships couldn't hurt."

"It wouldn't hurt. But you mustn't let your guard down. Their family is known for their

deceitful nature as well. If you decide to talk to her, or any one of their kin, for that matter,

please be as withheld as possible."

"Do not worry, Patriarch, my tongue is in line," said Darial as the chariot ground to a

halt.

Another servant with much shabbier clothes and equally shabby manners swung the

door open. Darial glared at him for a moment and then left the carriage, followed closely by

Allard Dain. They were escorted by four guards in bright red armor, bearing wide halberds

emblazoned with a howling grey wolf, the insignia of the Torn dynasty. Allard nodded at them

silently and they made their way through the crowd. The guards stopped at the base of theirprivate stand, while Darial and Allard began ascending the creaking flights of stairs. Once

they reached the topmost level, they left the staircase and exited onto a single platform. There

the two were greeted by a familiar figure sitting on the benches.

Lord Edwin Hoff turned around as the two came closer. Once he spotted them with his

worn eyes and single spectacle, he softly waved his frail hand to greet them. He was a short,

fatty man with a memorable moustache. He held a high position within society, acting as the

tournament's delegate from the Capital for nearly twenty years. Despite the many

controversies that surrounded him, he was a renowned diplomat known to turn even the most

adverse situations to his favor. This honed talent of his had won him the title of lord, one

rarely given to members outside the high nobility. It also made him one of the closer friends

to the Torn family, especially Darial, who was fond of the man and enjoyed his company eachyear when he came.


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"Ah, Torn junior and the Patriarch, I was wondering when you'd show up. How are

you, lad?" asked lord Hoff as he raised his massive stout body from his chair and shook

Darial's hand.

"I am quite fine, lord Hoff. It is a pleasure, as always, to see you," replied Darial

courteously.

"Allard, my dear friend!" exclaimed lord Hoff as he released Darial's hand andgrabbed the Patriarch's. "It has been long since we last met."

"Long indeed," smiled Allard Dain.

"I have heard the news of your father's illness, Darial," said lord Hoff. "I pray he gets

well soon."

"We all do," said Darial as a note of sadness crept onto his face.

"Do not worry, he will rejoin us soon" reassured Allard Dain. "I am certain you bring

news from the Capital, lord Hoff; how are the politics there?"

"Oh, quite the same as last year and the year before. Nothing new, really. All the

provinces demand greater rights and independence, while the King denies each request. It has

been the same boring stalemate for well over a decade."

"Most provinces have forgotten their duty to the Lord Almighty and our King,"interjected Allard Dain. "It's sad, really, but at least the Luxist church is here."

"You and your fellow Patriarchs are doing a mighty fine job at returning our nation to

its former glory," said lord Hoff.

"We are peacekeepers, not conquerors," insisted Allard Dain. "Do not expect a second

Ashen Empire from the Luxist church. Anthar's imperial days are over; the Lord deprived us

of that glory long ago, for our ancestors had sinned terribly."

"They did," admitted lord Hoff.

"Why does it matter what our ancestors did?" asked Darial. "They aren't us."

"What a question!" exclaimed the Patriarch. "If a blacksmith has a son, would the boy

not follow in his father's venture? If a queen bears a daughter, would she not be a princess?

You of all people should respect the importance of kinship."

"Don't be so harsh on the lad; the youth must live free of the past's burden."

"If only he were a youth," replied Allard Dain. "Sixteen years is far from childhood.

He refuses my suggestions, but I believe young men such as himself should interest

themselves with all manner of politics, arts and combat. For now all that captivates him is the

blade."

"There's nothing wrong with fine swordsman skills," said lord Hoff. "You're quite

good, aren't you, lad?"

"I can hold my own," said Darial shyly.

"I'll bet you can!" laughed the lord. "You'll be in the tournament in a couple of years, I

tell you!""Your support is most appreciated, lord Hoff," replied Darial. "Have you any idea

when the tourney starts?"

"Should be any moment, master Torn," answered Allard Dain. 'Are there any

noteworthy knights from the Capital this year?"

"None at all," said lord Hoff bitterly. "Last year's champion, sir Thomas Skulk, has

gone into mercenary service for Tenasis. This year we have only a few lads who wield little

more than their dreams for victory."

"Finally an interesting tournament!" said Allard Dain. "Sir Skulk has dominated for

the last five years, ever since his mysterious debut. You must admit, without his presence the

tourney will be eventful."

"It will be quite eventful, just not in the Capital's favor," frowned lord Hoff. "We'll seewhat surprises it brings on its first day."


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The melodic anthem of Torn marked the tourney's start. Darial turned to his left, but

the three seats meant for the Ashvales were empty. Would they show at all?

Through the roaring crowd Darial heard the march of the dozen knights from Torn as

they entered the arena. Most looked young and unconfident, spare sir Brode, who was eagerly

awaiting the melee. The anthem changed to that of the Capital and a dozen other knights,

equally unimpressive, marched in. A minute passed until the inexperienced knights arrangedbeside those from Torn. Then echoed the eerie hymn of Ashvale and upon its melody the

archnoble family arrived.

First onto the platform came lord Ashvale, a mighty man of infamous grandeur, whose

years of combat against Tenasis before claiming the title had scarred his face and bleached his

hair. Lord Hoff turned and waved his hand, to which lord Ashvale nodded in response. Allard

Dain did nothing. Next was lady Ashvale, the Autumn Lady, as she was often called. She was

an aging woman, well into her forties. Despite her years, she still retained some of her famous

beauty, though even these remnants were slowly fading. People whispered that ever since

giving birth to her only daughter, all her beauty was drained by the child. Of course, those

were only superstitious rumors, but once young Vivian stepped onto the platform, Darial

couldn't help but believe them.She was a year at most younger than him, yet she already looked a woman. Her face

was pale and white, like a rose unmarred by age and sorrow. Her dark, black eyes, deep and

enticing, were like an abyss, consuming all who dared look towards them. Lush red hair

curled down towards her womanly breasts. She was to him the manifestation of beauty, a

charming light to be embraced and rekindled in the face of the ugly, gross reality of Anthar.

The girl noticed Darial staring at her and her cheeks turned scarlet. He instantly turned

forward, ashamed at discomforting the one love of his life.

Now facing the hundred or so knights neatly arranged at the heart of the arena, Darial

couldn't help but wonder how he hadn't noticed Vivian before. He had been younger back

then, but the tournaments of the past had also been much more intriguing. His father had been

present too, often engaging him in conversation. But now that his father was sick, his mind

naturally drifted towards Vivian.

The sound of a hundred horns marked the tourney's start. The first day was always the

least interesting, for it was essentially the elimination of the faint-hearted novices by the

seasoned veterans. Occasionally an aspiring newcomer would prove himself a master

swordsman, but this year such a scenario seemed unlikely.

The first duel was between sir Wotton of Thresh and some James Harrow of Relon.

Both names meant nothing to Darial, so he ignored their match. It was indeed quite boring, for

neither combatant wielded magic. Instead of watching sir Wotton utterly annihilate his much

younger opponent, Darial was fighting his own inner battle against his inherent shyness.

There was a short break every ten duels; most were very one-sided this early in thetournament, so they'd be over soon. But what would he say to her, or, more importantly, how

would he get the chance to do so. Lord Ashvale wouldn't let him come any close. She'd have

to be alone. Perhaps if she decided to walk around in the break, but why would she do that

and would she be allowed if she tried. In his worries he didn't notice time fly. By the time he

came back to his senses the final duel of the round between sir Brode of Torn and William

Dove of Lerodar had begun.

Sir Brode didn't use any magic, he was likely asked to refrain from it beforehand to

give the kid some chance. The knight seemed to enjoy his young adversary's futile attempts to

disarm him. William was charging at sir Brode with all his combined strength and fury, much

like Darial had done that same morning, only to be cast aside by a single swing of the knight's

sword. After several failed attempts, sir Brode approached the lad to end the duel andperpetuate William's agony to the amusement of the crowd. Although he couldn't see the


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knight's face from so far away, Darial imagined sir Brode's wide grin as he brought down his

mighty broadsword onto William's back, instantly breaking it and forcing him onto the

ground. William Dove's combat days were over and the crowd went ecstatic with the

destruction of such a young and vigorous warrior.

The tourney's judge, an adept magician of great age, who was standing on the platform

on the other side of the arena, rose from his spot and touched his throat."Sir Henry Brode of Torn has defeated William Dove of Lerodar," announced the

judge with a deep, magically-enhanced voice audible throughout the arena. Darial was

startled, for he hadn't noticed the judge's powerful words up until now.

"We shall have a short break to allow our next competitors to prepare," continued the

judge. "The results of the first round of the first day are as follows:"

He then listed the ten winners and losers, most of whom Darial heard for the first time.

Unsurprisingly, most victors held the title sir, while the losers were without it. Only one

victor, Thomas Ashvale, didn't bear a title. His match had been roughly even-sided, for he had

defeated his opponent, sir Reims of Lenter, with great effort and skill.

With the corner of his eye he saw Vivian move. Through the crowd's noise he heard

her."Father, may I go on the stairs to get some fresh air," she said. "The tournament is

rather stressful."

Her voice rang like a songbird's, bringing blissful satisfaction whenever it was heard.

At this moment, Darial prayed to the Lord for Vivian's release. Oh, how enthralling she was,

to completely charm the boy to the point he forgot about his father's illness and instead prayed

for a foreign girl. His prayer was answered and lord Ashvale folded.

"Go as you please," her father said reluctantly, "but don't be late for when the combat

resumes."

The girl sprang onto her lively feet and made for the stairs. She gave Darial a

momentary glance to see if he'd react, but the boy appeared immersed in the judge's words. Of

course, he was merely pretending, but he couldn't afford to give himself away. Time rolled by,

while Darial remained in his place. His hands got sweaty, he felt warm and constricted.

Beside him Allard Dain and lord Hoff were discussing the first round and its lack of intrigue.

For a while he mustered his confidence, then he slowly rose from his chair.

"Excuse me lord Hoff, Patriarch, but the tournament has tired me," said the boy.

"Go right ahead, master Torn," said Allard Dain. Lord Hoff nodded and Darial rushed

towards the stairs.

He hurried downwards for about three flights until he saw her leaning over the railing.

She was looking west towards the green plains and her home. In her unawareness she seemed

so innocent and delightful, Darial wondered if he should even confront her. He silently

observed her, marveling at her perfection. He felt a deep satisfaction at the opportunity towatch her, but time pressured him to act.

Uncertain at first, Darial went down towards the platform on which she stood, step-by-

step so as not to alert her. Now, barely an arms length away from her, he gathered his inner

strength and spoke with a slow, clear pronunciation typical for the noble class.

"Vivian Ashvale?" he asked.

"Whom does it concern?" was the startled reply as she turned to face him.

"Darial Torn, the archnoble heir."

"Oh, dear lord! Pardon my rude manners, master Torn, I didn't realize it was you."

"It is understandable, you didn't see me. I noticed you were looking towards Ashvale.

Do you miss your home?"

"I do," she sighed and turned again towards the landscape. Darial went beside her tokeep her company. Neither looked at the other, yet they continued their chat.


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"What brings you to these lonely stairs, master Torn? You seemed quite entertained by

the tournament."

"The tournament is quite intriguing," he admitted, "but I wouldn't be able to survive it

if it weren't for the pauses. The setting is dreadful, so many people yelling and screaming, all

packed tightly together in these tiny stands. I couldn't imagine staying in them for a moment."

"Yes, the whole arena is stressful. However, I must admit, your presence here surprisedme."

"Why so?"

"Considering your father's illness, I thought you'd be at his side rather than oversee a

boring tourney."

He felt quite offended and upset, but he hid his troubled emotions behind a charming

smile. How easily he had shunned his responsibilities! Did he really appear so heartless by

leaving his father alone? Surely Allard would have told him what an image his actions would

impose.

"I would give everything for a chance to stand beside my father, but by the law a Torn

must oversee the tournament to give it his blessing," he lied.

"How unfortunate!" exclaimed Vivian compassionately. "Let us hope this event is oversoon then, for your father's sake."

"All in due time. One must not rush fate. This tournament has in fact proven quite

useful."

"Of what use is seeing men break each others backs?"

"To know how to better break an enemy's."

"Are you a fighter or magician?" asked Vivian with great interest.

"A little bit of both."

"Then why aren't you down in the arena? Surely you've seen my brother, Thomas; he

fought quite valiantly in his duel. He is a swordmage like yourself, no more than a year older."

"His magical prowess is undeniable, as are his swordsman skills. I am but an aspiring

learner, nowhere near your brother's level," Darial flattered. He knew Thomas Ashvale was in

fact much weaker than himself, but he played on the girl's emotions to great effect.

"You should participate in next year's tourney," encouraged Vivian. "Surely if my older

brother can persevere, victory is not beyond your reach."

"I can only hope to achieve such glory, but your support is most appreciated."

He was about to utter another flattering line, but the familiar echo of the judge's words

cut him off. The break was over, round two was to begin.

"We should head back, the fighting will soon resume," said Vivian.

"I would rather stay here a moment longer, but I wouldn't want to delay you."

"It was a wonderful chat we had, can we again meet here after the second round?"

"Surely.""Then farewell!" she said as she extended her thin white arm forward. As was the

custom, Darial accepted her soft palm in his own, then touched her fragile hand with his fiery

lips. He cherished every precious moment of exquisite pleasure, but didn't prolong the kiss.

Once he released her, she swiftly ascended the stairs to rejoin her family.

He decided to stay behind for several reasons. The red passions of his soul had yet to

be contained. Now that she was gone he felt his body trembling with emotion. The combined

force of love and victory were enough to shake even the strongest of characters. Also, lord

Ashvale would get far too suspicious if both returned at the same time, happy and smiling.

Perhaps if she told her father of this little chat, he'd prevent a second one, but that was

unlikely. Vivian didn't give the impression of being too talkative with her father.


10/10

After a minute Darial went back up. Vivian was already seated and enjoying the first

duel between two unimportant sirs. She had regained her pale indifference, once again

cleansed from the liveliness of the past moments.

"What took you so long, lad?" asked lord Hoff as Darial returned to his seat. "The first

battle is halfway done."

"I'm sorry, the landscape was charming!""You missed a lot for staring at grass," scolded lord Hoff. "This is the first knight from

the Capital that knows which end of a sword to use! Its been one hell of a match!"

Allard Dain sighed, irritated by the lord's religiously inappropriate comment. He stared

at Darial for a while, for he knew it was not the view that had charmed the boy, but the mighty

spell cast by Vivian's irresistible beauty. The Patriarch was naturally cautious of love, both

due to political and religious reasons. He would keep a close vigil over Darial's new

friendship.

For the time being the boy was mesmerized. The tournament became little more than

pretext for meeting with the Ashvale girl. Occasionally he'd note the especially keen strategy

of one of the combatants, but his mind was on a wholly different plane. The first day had ten

rounds, but they met only five more times before lord Ashvale caught onto their scheme.Darial learned so much about her from so few words. Her body was already becoming

that of a woman, but her childlike character remained that of a young girl. She missed her

home strongly, a trait that would likely blossom into the fierce patriotism so common for the

southern provinces. She'd describe to him with great detail the forests and gardens of Ashvale,

which was much wilder than the open grasslands of Torn he was accustomed to. She enjoyed

their little conversations perhaps more than he did, for to her they were honest confessions of

feelings, not satisfactions of fiery desires. Nevertheless, by the end of the day Darial felt more

successful than he had ever before. The day brought about the odd start for a beautiful

friendship, but the night would bring even greater surprises.

the offspring - chapter 2

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