He ducked. And ducked again. He could just see the shine of the metal passing over him. With his shield he pushed forward, trying to knock his opponent over. But his foe was fast and jumped back. The man’s massive, tree trunk like arms lifted the heavy war hammer over his head, ready to deliver a bone shattering slam. But the hammer, so heavy it had to be held by 2 strong arms, was slow. Liandrich could jump out of the way in time. But the very earth beneath him shook. He tried to slash at his enemy. But he lifted his hammer up again, almost hitting Liandrich. The giant of a man swung wide and was able to hit Liandrich’s blade. Who flew away into the sand. Now, Liandrich stood before the heavily armored foe. But he wasn’t going to give up. Instead he took advantage of the opening. With his shield he pushed as hard as he could, knocking the big man over. As quick as he could he unclasped the leather holding his shield to his arm and aimed the sharp edge at the exposed throat of the man. For a second, the tension could be cut with a knife. Until both began to laugh.

“Keep fighting like that and you’ll best your old man someday.” Said a heavy, bearded voice from within the armor. Liandrich threw away his shield and helped the big giant up. “I can already best my old man. I’m quite sure of it. Or else he wouldn’t run from me all the time.” He said laughing. “It is good that you are the crown-prince. If anyone less would have said such a thing they would be hung before dawn.” The giant of man said as he removed his helmet. Revealing what everyone expected. A bald head and big, ginger beard. “You there! Wench! Bring me an ale. And not the piss that farmers drink. And make sure that it’s cold.” Bartrom, the giant, bellowed at a girl nearby. He then made his way to the tables. Leaving Liandrich alone in the sand. In a few days a great tournament would take place here. The tables and tents were placed and built. Cooks making the final preparation before making food for three days non-stop. And in the center, the arena. It would be great, all the great lords would arrive. But more importantly: all the great lords’ sons. Future lords and knights who had to prove themselves in combat. LIandrich never could wait to defeat each and every one again. Establishing his dominance as he did every year.

He walked up the weapons rack and placed the blunted sword in its place. Instead he took the scabbard of his own, trusted sword. He had watched when he was 12 how it was forged. How it was folded over and over again. How it was tempered and how the metal was slammed into shape by rows of hammers. The ringing and burning still filled his head as a happy memory.