The Cold Taste of Defeat

The roar of the masses was deafening. Only the clang of steel on steel broke through the passion of the crowds. Danielle’s sword was knocked aside by Fabian’s. Sweat dripped down her forehead into her eyes. The sweat chilled her in the cold grey air, but she was moving too quickly for it to matter.

Fabian swung his sword, aiming for the gap left by her deflected weapon. Danielle brought her shield in to take the blow and smacked it forwards, knocking the knight back.

Fabian Castel slipped in the mud of the tournament ground. His beautiful knightly tabard bore the Oak of Crann. As he fell the crest of Castel flew up for Danielle to see. A white crescent moon sprawled across the upper right, lower right and lower left quarters of the shield. A silver sword with a star on the hilt crossed the moon from the top left to lower right.

Danielle let her friend recover. It was a mistake no doubt, but she did not want to take the easy way out and put a sword to his throat so early in the fight. They had only been sparring for half an hour. She meant to make a real fight of it.

Looking at the people of Leonor city she saw energised faces. The monthly tournament got everyone worked up.

“Fabian. Fabian. Fabian!”

He was the favourite. The most eligible bachelor in the city. A hero of the siege. A handsome man and a noble one to boot.

“Come on Fabian. You can’t disappoint your fans.” She goaded him. Despite herself Danielle shivered. The sky was a pale grey. Mist formed in the air as she breathed.

Fabian stood stiffly and rolled his shoulders. He spun his sword in fancy arcs that looked good but did nothing in a fight.

Danielle moved in. He danced to her right side and swung at her hand behind the shield. The blunt tournament sword hit her arm. A shock of pain shot through her wrist. The shield lowered.

She slashed to where he was, but the man danced back out of the way too fast. His sword came in at her again with his long reach, swinging down at her right arm.

“Fuck.” She dropped her sword into the cold mud. He leapt back, expecting a counterattack. As she had, he let her retrieve her weapon. Someone was screaming her name in the stands, probably Lupita. Mostly she heard his name.

“Ready to surrender?” He smiled.

“You first.” She held her shield in front, aiming it right at him as she charged. He tried to jump aside but she slammed the metal against him as he moved. Caught on one foot her unicorn crest crashed into the Crann Oak and he coughed.

“Ready to surrender?” she asked.

“I’ve never fought anyone who leads with their shield before.” He coughed again.

“It’s how my father used to fight. He was drunk though.”

Fabian shook his head. Danielle wasn’t sure if he was disgusted that a knight would sully the tournament grounds by competing while drunk, or whether he was shaking off the effects of her attack.

“If I break your nose does that count as a victory?”

“Only if you broke it with your sword. Don’t worry Danielle. I’ve still got all of my teeth.” He smiled. She only saw the smile lines around his eyes because the rest was hidden by the helmet.

“Oh good. The women would hang me if I spoiled your looks.”

He charged forwards, slamming his shield into hers. His sword angled towards her throat for what would be the final move, but she caught it with her blade. Fabian quivered as they tested their strength together. Danielle leaned into him and made him step back. With the little space between their shields, she slammed them together, forcing him back again.

The crowd fell into a hushed murmur around them. She drove him back. She had to duck a swing of his sword towards her head. He began to grunt from the effort of holding his ground. His backwards slide had left a track in the mud.

“I’m going to win!” She could hear that he was talking as much to himself through clenched teeth.

Fabian’s shining armour caught the light of the sun through grey clouds as he feinted off to the side and slammed his blunt sword into her back. Even though her thick armour it hurt. He ducked down and delivered another heavy blow to her shin. She lifted the foot, trying to absorb some of the impact.

Turning to face him Danielle tried to cover him with her shield, but a slash reached over the safety of the unicorn painted steel and caught her across the side of the face. She fell, hard, into the dirt. Echoed gasps around her said the crowd were on the edge of their seats.

In the shock of the fall, she had dropped her shield. Fabian kicked it away. He advanced, making her crawl backwards with her sword in one hand. He stopped and waved a hand, telling her to rise. Her knees clicked as armour ground against more armour on the way up. The bruises he had given her were all singing in agony. Only her right leg was silent.

His stance was more focused, the point of his blade aimed at her face. He dropped his own shield into the mud and took a step towards her. He tested her, snapping his sword against the tip of hers.

With a shield she had been confident. Without it she was sweating from the stress.

His sword hit her cheek from nowhere. Danielle’s instincts kicked in a second too late, jerking her head back as sparks floated across her vision. People roared with approval.

“Not yet,” she said.

He tapped her sword again, batting it aside a little then hitting the chainmail across her chest almost playfully. Then his sword hit her wrist. She hadn’t even seen his wrist move.

“I have to attack.”

Danielle launched a series of stabs and slashes that put him on the back foot for a few seconds. Fabian learnt the rhythm of her moves too quickly and managed to slip beneath her blade for another swipe at her sword arm’s wrist.

She almost let go of the sword.

Her shield was just a few feet behind him.

Smacking his sword aside with all her strength she ran past him to the shield and dived for it. Brown from freezing mud, it made a wet sucking noise as she pulled it from the mess.

She’d ducked to pick up the shield. When she turned he was already on top of her. His foot kicked the shield hard, sending her onto her back. All the breath left her body as she hit the ground hard.

Fabian stood on the shield and pressed the point of his sword to her throat with both hands on the hilt. A horn sounded.

“Fuck.” She couldn’t help it. Disappointment was the first feeling that filled her as he pulled his sword away.

“SIR FABIAN CASTEL WINS!” The announcer filled the stadium with a voice enhanced by a cone he held, sitting on a high seat to see the bout.

Danielle relaxed. Taking her eyes off Fabian, who had his arms raised in celebration, she looked into the sky.

It was falling. White flakes drifted down through the air. She forgot about the loss completely. Snow? It was October. It was the end of October, but still.

A gauntleted hand waved over her face.

“You can’t just lay there Danielle,” said the victor. “There are other fights after us.” She reached up and took his offered hand. With a grunt he pulled her to her feet. She marveled that he could manage. She weighed more than him from sheer muscle alone. 

“Good fight,” she said. The disappointment could not hide in her tone.

“You should have taken your chance at the beginning when I fell.”

“Probably. I wanted them to see what I can do though. If I had beaten you so quickly people would have said it was a fluke. I held my own against you. That’s worth more to me.”

“Can you believe this?” He held up his hand, catching snowflakes.

“No. It should be autumn for weeks yet.” Danielle looked around. The brown tournament ground was turning white. The crowds were disappearing in the precipitation.

Danielle limped from the muddy snow into the throng outside the arena where competitors waited. They congratulated Fabian and patted her on the back. Both were covered in mud. A blazing brazier was a welcome comfort as Danielle found Lupita waiting for her.

“Are you alright?” asked Danielle’s girlfriend. “That was a damned nasty brawl you two put on. No serious injuries I hope?” Her brown eyes were looking more at the loser than the winner.

“Just some bruises Miss Smith. Nothing that will take longer than a week to heal.” Danielle accepted a pint of beer from a boy supplying the contestants and drank deeply. Fabian shook his head when offered likewise.

“I should get cleaned up before my next fight,” Sir Castel said. He gave both women awkward nods and wandered off. Danielle and Lupita watched him go. His entire back was caked in mud.

“Did I sleep for two months?” Lupita asked. “Why is it snowing in October?” People around them nodded and murmured. Cries from the arena said someone was getting their arse kicked.

“Help me get this stuff off.” Danielle groaned and turned her neck from side to side. The click relieved some of the discomfort.

“Gladly,” said her girlfriend in a hushed tone and winked. Danielle shook her head.

They pushed through other hopefuls in armour and then groaning losers sat dejectedly on stools or the cold city cobbles.

Danielle had to check she had her sword and shield. For a moment she thought she had left them somewhere. Her mind was shutting down. As her adrenaline wore off the pain of Fabian’s blows became louder in her mind. She needed the beer to kick in.

“You didn’t get that injured during the siege,” Lupita said, exaggerating a little.

“I wasn’t fighting Fabian back then. By the gods he’s good. Do you think he’ll win?”

“Hard to say. He’s good. He’s got youth on his side but there’s Jura Ironwill from the city guard. He’s quite something. Won his first fight with two swings.”

Before they knew it, they were at Lupita’s house. She had been granted the abandoned home by the queen for services as part of the Royal Coven. Though Danielle still lived in Fabian’s home she spent more time With Lupita when she was not on duty. For her two victories in the tournament, she had won two days off watch. She would need them to recover.

Lupita’s home was nothing special to look at on the outside. It was made of discarded blocks of granite that weren’t good enough for the city walls or the castle. The thatched roof needed maintenance. The rain cover above the chimney was falling off.

Lupita let them in with her key. The lock was the newest thing outside the house.

Inside, Danielle saw the familiar mess of notes on the table in the kitchen. Lupita had been making copies of anything interesting from Queen Malin’s collection of books about witchcraft. Runes of protection had been painted and repainted on the walls.

Sitting heavily in the nearest chair, the defeated warrior let out a heavy sigh.

“Take it all off then. I’ll have a look at your wounds and see what I can do.”

“Whatever you say, gorgeous.” Danielle turned to look at the homeowner and smith’s daughter, who was mixing herbs. “That’s not for soup, is it?”

“No. A poultice to go on your bruises. It will stop swelling and promote accelerated healing. Safer than using magic.”

Danielle groaned and lay her shield against the table. Taking off her helmet she sat it on the tabletop and looked at the fine metalwork. Though he was the one who had given it to her, she was worried Fabian had dented it. There were no visible marks in the sugarloaf helm that hadn’t been there before. In the mirrored steel surface, she saw her bruised face warped around the surface of the helm.

“For fuck’s sake!” Lupita said, looking at Danielle with her mouth open. “What a mess he made of you. It’s swollen.”

Danielle worked her jaw. The agony she felt supported her girlfriend’s testimony. Slowly she peeled off her gauntlets and vambraces. Nasty pink bruises showed where Fabian’s sword had smashed against both forearms.

“You know you were incredible,” said the dark-skinned woman, mixing herbs again.

“He was better though.” Danielle couldn’t keep the disappointment from her voice.

“He’s been training for it all his life. You’ve been at it a few months. To hold your own was amazing. You should have taken your chance when he fell.”

“I didn’t want to win like that.”

“You’re mad. He didn’t mind how he won did he? He knew he couldn’t beat you if you had a shield on your arm. That’s why he made you drop it.” Lupita’s thick curls bounced as she turned to look at the warrior. “You should have heard the crowd. They didn’t think you’d last a minute. You showed them. No one else will last long against him. Maybe Jura Ironwill or Sir Nathair.”

“Which one?” Danielle asked. There were two Nathair brothers.

“Calum. He’s the only one anyone talks about as much as Fabian. Morogh Nathair isn’t as tough as his big brother from what I’ve heard.”

“We should get back to cheer Fabian on in the last fight.” Danielle wanted to be sporting. He was her best friend after all, even if he had beaten her what would be black and blue.

“Let me tend you first, then we’ll go.”

Lupita stripped Danielle down to her skin and rubbed poultice onto all the worst of her wounds. Dressing in clothes she kept at Lupita’s, Danielle winced for the umpteenth time as fabric touched one of the pink marks from Fabian’s sword.

After a kiss which almost dispelled the disappointment from her soul, the warrior left the little bungalow. When the door was locked, they walked side by side, slowly. Miss Longbow was still limping.

The snow had stopped. It lay an inch thick on the cobbles of the city streets.

The arena was roaring when they found their way back. No one was left outside. The seats were full. Danielle could see over the competitor’s gate. Lupita couldn’t. The warrior sat the witch on her shoulders and laughed that her girlfriend weighed less than her armour and shield.

Fabian was a blur. Sir Calum Nathair was almost as fast. Their young friend danced around the veteran, swinging blurred strokes that always met with an answer.

Sir Nathair barely seemed to move. With his feet spread wide to give him firm footing in the snow the oldest of the knighted brothers parried every slash and stab. When he had to, he leaned forwards or back but barely needed to move his feet at all.

The crowd were screaming. Mostly it was incomprehensible passion. Leonor city would be without a voice the next morning Danielle presumed. Some cheered for Sir Nathair. More still screamed for Fabian. Their friend was a born duellist and had the flair that crowds loved. Between attacks his sword spun in his hands.

“Go Fabian!” Danielle shouted. Lupita followed her call.

Calum Nathair advanced, knocking aside Fabian’s sword for a savage blow to the young knight’s head. Fabian stepped back and struck out blindly, shaking his head. Nathair cut at Sir Castel’s wrist as he had to Danielle. She winced, imagining the pain her friend felt, her own was just starting to numb, thanks to Lupita’s medicine.

Sir Calum swung a leg behind Fabian’s and tripped him to the ground. Nathair kicked Sir Castel’s sword arm savagely. The sword inherited from Fabian’s legendary father flew away across the snowy ground.

With a foot on Fabian’s chest and a sword to his throat, Sir Nathair ended the duel. The horn sounded. The older knight pumped his fist into the air briefly before offering the hand to his opponent. Their friend stood, still magnificent in his armour but deflated by the loss. His shoulders sagged. He watched Calum walk to the Queen’s seat.

The crowd’s applause was deafening for several minutes.

“Sir Calum Nathair wins the tournament,” said the announcer when the crowd was quiet enough to be heard. “He is free from watch duty for the month and will receive his medal from the queen personally.”

Fabian retrieved his sword from the snow. Into his sheath the beautiful blade disappeared. His gauntleted fingers curled into fists as he seemed to scream in rage at the heavens. Sir Castel’s outpouring of emotion was lost in the hooting of the crowd and the chants.

“NATHAIR. NATHAIR. NATHAIR.”

Snowflakes fell again, whipped sideways by a southern breeze. Fabian trudged through the snow towards them, making no sign that he had seen them, even with Lupita on Danielle’s shoulders.

Fabian opened the gate. Blind to the friends in front of him he walked.

“Second place is still brilliant.” Lupita gave the words her best glow of positivity.

“My father would have won,” said the deflated hero.

“You’ll win the next one,” Danielle said, happy for the heat of her girlfriend’s thighs around her neck.

Fabian punched a timber beam holding up the pauper’s seats. He looked at the knuckles of the gauntlet.

“On that I agree. See you later, my ladies. I need to be alone.”

“Fare well, good sir,” Danielle replied, helping Lupita down off her shoulders.

They watched the armoured warrior disappear into the white nothingness of the snow to lick his wounds.