[quote=@Odin] The situation the past days had grown rather precarious when the argument that Basim had started ended with a fight between Najla and Elif. Osman had threatened to raise a hand at Najla, and Ketill had stopped him. Hate her or not, [b]he[/b] would be the one to hurt her, not Osman. That uptight dog had less honour than even the lowliest of peasants. But Najla had not seemed pleased – much rather, she had ordered him out of the room right away, to which Ketill dutifully followed her order. He had nothing else to say, and it seemed Basim didn’t need him anymore. Whatever the purpose might’ve been for this visit – Ketill had not managed to follow half of it, after all, so the purpose was lost on him – it had obviously failed. He returned to his room, without an escort for once, and continued his daily business – which was to say, a lot of lounging about. Occasionally he’d call in Yasamin and tell her to get him food, or something of the sorts, but overall he spent his time alone – precisely how he liked it. And perhaps better for Najla too. An unchained bear of Broacien walking around the palace was likely to raise a few eyebrows left and right. This time he did not have to call Yasamin in himself, as she knocked on his door a few minutes after his arrival. [i]‘’Yes, enter,’’[/i] Ketill was quick to say, expecting a guard or Najla, or perhaps even Basim. Though to be fair, it was a stupid assumption. Najla, nor Basim, would not knock on his door, but enter at will. The door opened and closed right after her, as the freckled Broacien-Sawarim halfblood entered, standing in front of the door with her small stature while Ketill laid back, eying here up and down waiting for her to speak. [i]‘’Yes?’’[/i] [i]‘’What was it this time?’’[/i] she replied, a hint of curiosity or perhaps annoyance in her voice as she spoke. Still, she spoke soft as always, as expected of a harem girl. Gentle, like a flower. Ketill learned long ago that it was deceiving. [i]‘’You were brought to the prince’s chambers. You’re in trouble again, aren’t you?’’[/i] [i]‘’How did you even know about th-’’[/i] [i]‘’Guards like harem girls. They can’t touch us, but that doesn’t mean they don’t like talking to us. You should stop getting in trouble. You’ve already been whipped by Osman for punching him, and the Sultana can’t always protect you.’’[/i] [i]‘’I suppose I’ll be dead soon then.’’[/i] [i]‘’Ya Sawar- I mean, dear Monarch. What did you do?’’[/i] [i]‘’Not your concern, Yasamin.’’[/i] Her face formed a frown then, her unpleased nature with the answer being more than evident as she stepped closer to him in that typical womanly fashion – not the manner at which you walked if you wanted to seduce, more so the manner at which women walked if they were displeased. [i]‘’No, you’re wrong. I may be your servant, but we both know that’s not how things are. So tell me,’’[/i] she told him, with an attempt to sound more stern. She merely earned a laugh from Ketill, who couldn’t help but be amused with her failed attempt at being bossy or stern. She did not possess the same skills Najla possessed. Luckily. [i]‘’He tried to strike Najla, and I stopped him.’’[/i] [i]‘’Who, the prince? You know you’re not allowed to touch him, right?’’[/i] [i]‘’No, Osman, but I suppose that I can’t touch him either. Not that that stopped me before.’’[/i] [i]‘’That’s… no, you’re not allowed. And he’s allowed to strike her – that’s the law. But she’s a Sultana, so I don’t think it’s that easy. Even so, I think you did the right thing.’’[/i] [i]‘’I suppose. Was that all?’’[/i] Ketill seemed rather bored with her already, and this only furthered her annoyance, it seemed. She raised an eyebrow at him and waited a moment to collect herself before continuing. [i]‘’It’s been a week and some since you were granted me as a servant. Yet you’ve not bedded me. Is there something wrong with me?’’[/i] [i]‘’What is it with the Sawarim and their obsession with sex?’’[/i] [i]‘’There’s no obsession with sex, and I’m not a Sawarim, you.. you oaf!’’[/i] [i]‘’Then why are you complaining?’’[/i] [i]‘’Nor am I complaining! You just- alright, never mind! Why didn’t you just tell me you weren’t interested!’’[/i] [i]‘’You didn’t ask.’’[/i] By now, Yasamin had gone entirely red, and in an effort to speak, could only bring forth an angry noise before turning around and walking out of the room. The door slammed shut behind her when she left, the loud bang echoing through the hallways momentarily before fading away. Ketill merely leaned back some more and rested his head on his hands, folded behind his head. He shook his head in confusion before closing his eyes, mumbling something about among the lines of [i]‘’… women…’’[/i] before dozing off. [hr] The next days were uneventful entirely, and from the hushes and whispers that passed his doors he could only make out who was involved – Najla, Elif and Osman. Basim was mentioned in passing only, so it seemed he had escaped the wrath of this conflict, but Ketill did not make the mistake of assuming he wasn’t involved. It was rather obvious what had happened to cause this after all, at least to Ketill, since he had been present for it. But nobody came to bring him to his execution. And so, he could only assume that Osman had kept his mouth shut about being touched by Ketill – and instead, they had focused on the fight between Elif and Najla. He did not realize yet how spot on his assumption was, but as with all things in the Sultanate, in due time the secrets were spilled to him. Once Yasamin had cooled off, she had visited Ketill again, apologized half-heartedly for her outburst which was met with the wave of his hand. He was undoubtedly indifferent to the girl, and was remarkably at ease with indicating as much. She had spilled the secrets rather easily, too, seeing as she knew Ketill had a stake or two in Najla and her situation. Najla would likely never have told him, but Yasamin did, and she continued to tell him about it all – the meeting she had had with her parents and brothers, though she knew not the contents. She explained its’ significance, but she was honest when she said that she herself knew little of what it actually meant. She was not royalty after all, so how could she know? [i]‘’All I know is that something more is going on, the word got out and someone, somewhere, must’ve gone to the Sultan and complained. These meetings don’t happen for nothing, and the way that people have seen Najla around – she’s bothered by it, it seems. So whatever it is, it’s serious. And the court knows, and we also know that there’ll be a duel.’’[/i] Ketill had been entirely disinterested in her explanation as he could not care less what happened to Najla, as long as she survived and wasn’t hurt physically, so that none could take that right from him. But the mention of a duel did interest him. [i]‘’Between her and Elif? Women fight?’’[/i] Yasamin covered her mouth as she laughed at his remark. It was rather stupid, of course, but the way she’d said it made it sound like it. [i]‘’No, they will pick a champion. Usually a brother, or a relative of sorts. They’re volunteers, though. Usually. In theory she could force you, but…’’[/i] [i]‘’But?’’[/i] [i]‘’Well, it’d make sense to put forth one of her brothers. And we both know it won’t be prince Basim.’’[/i] Her mention of Basim was noticeably more respectful, using his title of prince, compared to Ketill, who just spewed the name like it was a commoner. Broacien habits died hard, it seemed, but it also seemed like Ketill had little care to what Basim thought of it – Basim so far had appreciated Ketill more for his foreign culture and knowledge, and not because he was particularly respectful. There was little reason to change that now. [i]‘’Why not? Basim cares enough for his sister to offer.’’[/i] [i]‘’Well, yes. Our prince is a good man like that, but he’s also smart. He knows he’s not a warrior – ya Sawarim, dear Monarch, he is anything but a warrior. It’ll be prince Harith.’’[/i] [i]‘’That’s smart. Sounds like something Harith will suggest, and Basim will support it. I’m sure whoever Osman picks will not dare to fight a prince at risk of killing him.’’[/i] [i]‘’It’s not Osman that picks. It’s Elif.’’[/i] [i]‘’It matters little, no? If you kill a prince you may win the battle, but you lose the war. Nobody will respect them anymore. Who picks them makes no difference.’’[/i] [i]‘’You… understand little of Sawarim politics, I see. I forget at times that you’ve not made any attempt to learn the culture and language.’’[/i] [i]‘’Why would I. Freedom will come. One day.’’[/i] [i]‘’One day, Ketill? You know how long I’ve been here?’’[/i] [i]‘’No. But I’m not you. I’m ‘’Daab al-Broacien.’’ We are different.’’[/i] [i]‘’Very much so. In fact, that’s probably the reason why my skin is clear as a freshborn and yours is marred with whips.’’[/i] Her reply was snide and quick, and though playful as it may have been, it was clear that there was truth in her jab. Perhaps she’d attempted to catch Ketill off guard, but she would find that this did not work. [i]‘’Good thing that I don’t have to fuck the Sultan. I just have to kill whoever I get told to kill.’’[/i] [i]‘’Hm, yes, that is much better. I suppose I should pick up a sword, then. Regardless, prince Harith will fight, that’s my prediction.’’[/i] [i]‘’I look forward to it. Harith is a good fighter – and a respectable man.’’[/i] [i]‘’I suppose so, but it’s still not sure. There are various reasons why she wouldn’t pick him. What if she intends to lose the fight? I wouldn’t wish to offend the first wife if I were the second, Sultana or not.’’[/i] [i]‘’I saw what happened that day. Najla wants to win. If she wants to lose, she’s a fool, and deserves whatever comes out of this.’’[/i] [i]‘’Very well. I’ll take my leave now. I need to mend your tunic, still.’’[/i] Ketill shrugged and let her leave, seeing her leave and, just before the door closed, spotted her bowing before someone in the hallway. Then the door fell shut, but Ketill had the slight feeling someone was coming for him. Nobody ever came through these halls otherwise – except when they were walking from one of the visitors rooms to the bathing house. And even then, someone important enough to bow for? Ketill got up, and headed for the door, and by the time the guard had knocked, he was quick enough to open it right away. But he’d quickly have to make way for the guard that came through the door, followed swiftly by the princess herself, Najla. He could’ve guessed. She was quick to parade around his room, commenting on it and taking a seat at the desk. She looked a lot more collected now, a few days after the fact, but this didn’t impress Ketill. She showed her skin proudly, which was equally unimpressive, though that was likely because Ketill did not understand why she did that. You would not see him flaunting his scars, so why would she be proud of not getting wounded. Perhaps he just didn’t understand. [i]‘’Your brother gave me it. One of the gifts I’ve been granted whose value goes beyond what you can see,’’[/i] he answered her. He obviously referred to Harith, who had granted him this room after their fight. He did not answer her remark about Yasamin, deeming it unworthy of a reply. She was quick to explain the point of her arrival in his room. She was quick to elaborate that it would not be Harith, no, but him instead that would fight for her. This was not a problem though he found it strange that he, the one she despised, would have to defend her honour. But perhaps it was for the best, because when she revealed who he’d fight, it was a bitter payment for the danger she was putting him in. [i]‘’It won’t be a problem. Osman’s line is weak. His brother will be no exception,’’[/i] Ketill merely added to her statement about Sa’aqr’s skill. Sure, the man might’ve been good. But he was no bear. Her next words, however, irked him. She was forcing him to fight someone that she didn’t want to die. But essentially, she was ordering the man’s death now. She shouldn’t complain if she was signing the man’s death now. [i]‘’Yes. It pleases me greatly knowing I will have a hand in diminishing Osman’s family. That you may win your honour back. I have many requests, but this time I will do it without. His blood will be my payment. Perhaps with my victory they will see that your god does not favour them at all. And in doing so, you’ve promised yourself to a man whose own god does not love him.’’[/i] His eyes spelled out the rest to her, and she did not need to ask to find out how he felt about it. He had no feelings towards Sa’aqr and as such, had no real feelings about killing him. He was just a man that stood in the way. Elif had made a poor choice, and that was the end of it. But he knew that wasn’t the full story. If Osman’s brother died, Osman would never forgive him – and by extent, he knew that Najla would bear the brunt of that anger. She was essentially giving herself up to be beaten again. If not outright assassinated. She would not win regardless. But that was not Ketill’s problem. She walked away, but then turned back, seeming to remember something. He listened her through, his grin growing larger as she spoke to him. At the end, all he had to say were a few simple sentences. [i]‘’How far you’ve fallen. You started as a slave, but got back your title of sultana. But in the end, all I see is that same girl. Scared shitless, no clue what’s going on, eyes always looking for some form of leverage. ‘’Saina.’’ Oh, how little control you truly have. Sa’aqr will die. And then, if the ravens command it, many more. You will receive the bruising’s you so desire in time.’’[/i] [hr] After being chosen as the champion, Ketill was granted access to the training grounds again. For some time he trained alone, falling into a repetitive state of improvement as before, like how he had always trained in Coedwin. It wasn’t long before a familiar face showed up to observe, and this time it was neither Basim nor Najla. In their stead, Harith had found his way here. He stood at the sidelines, observing as Ketill was merely lifting objects to become stronger. It took a good ten minutes before Ketill even realized the man’s presence. Once he did, he dropped the large log that he was lifting and looked over to the man, who approached him. [i]‘’I heard you’re fighting as my sisters’ champion,’’[/i] he said as he approached, before putting his hands in his side when he reached the training grounds. [i]‘’Yes, it seems that way. I expected you to fight,’’[/i] Ketill answered, not really elaborating too much, nor offering a lot of insight into what he thought. [i]‘’I offered, but eh, Najla did not wish for it. Basim thought it was a good idea, but it seems Najla wants to clean this mess up herself.’’[/i] [i]‘’You mean she wants to risk her pet bears’ life to fix it for her.’’[/i] [i]‘’Hmm… yes. That’s what I mean. But you need not worry, I can be-’’[/i] [i]‘’I never said I am worried.’’[/i] The words were quick enough to interrupt the prince, who was taken aback a bit that a slave dared speak in the middle of his sentence. Ketill’s eyes were dulled as he looked at Harith, and when he spoke again there was a lack of emotion in them. [i]‘’My prince.’’[/i] [i]‘’No. I mean, you shouldn’t be. That makes sense. Sa’aqr is a good warrior, but not good enough. He’ll never win. I think Elif knows this. Osman… Osman probably thinks Sa’aqr has a chance. But it’s idle hope – deep inside he knows. He just had to convince himself. ’’[/i] [i]‘’The implication is that if I kill him, they’ll hold a grudge, and if he kills me, Najla loses her honour. Do we really win either way.’’[/i] [i]‘’My family wins, if you win. Najla loses. Her honour is restored, but Osman would never get over the death of his brother. This is just… ehhh… it’s politics. Even something as simple as a duel, you know, two men deciding the fate of a trial, even a duel is politics. I imagine it’s the same in Broacien, no?’’[/i] [i]‘’No. We don’t duel for our women’s honour. We go to war for it.’’[/i] [i]‘’War?’’[/i] [i]‘’Years ago, long before our current king ruled, a duke’s wife was found in bed with a younger woman, who turned out to be the daughter of another duke. She had seduced the girl, and bedded her, and the duke was so insulted he demanded the head of the duchess. Of course, the other duke did not comply. So, they led armies to war to settle it.’’[/i] [i]‘’And? Who won?’’[/i] [i]‘’The king. After the war he declared them both to be unfit for rulership, and took their lands to distribute it to other men. It was a just action, but he benefitted from it too.’’[/i] [i]‘’Sounds like something the tribals would do, here, in the Sultanate,’’[/i] Harith added, seemingly unaware of the insulting nature of that statement. Not that Ketill minded, he wasn’t wrong after all. [i]‘’I think we just prefer our business to be in the open. There’s less sneaking and subterfuge. It’s more honest. Everyone knew what had happened. The dukes were lucky that the king didn’t intervene until after the fact.’’[/i] [i]‘’I… see. That’s something I can appreciate, but it’s just not how we do things here.’’[/i] [i]‘’I know. Najla has shown me that by now. This Sa’aqr, who is he precisely?’’[/i] [i]‘’Sa’aqr? Well, he’s Osman’s brother. He’s skilled and well known, and has been involved in a lot of battles. I know that minor families have paid him to represent him in duels like these before. Not that he’d acknowledge that, but it’s happened.’’[/i] [i]‘’’’[/i] [i]‘’So he’s a duelist?’’[/i] Ketill then asked, raising an eyebrow at the prospect. Duelist or not, he was going to win this fight. But it certainly gave him an insight into what to expect. But Harith carried on, putting a finger on his beard as he thought. [i]‘’No, he’s lead a few raids against the Servants. Perhaps you’ve fought him, but evidently you didn’t meet on the field, as you are both still alive. He was in charge of the heavy infantry, last I recall, but it’s been a few years since he went North to fight. Not that his skill has waned, though. But like I told my family – he won’t beat me. So he certainly won’t beat you. Just remember that it’s a fight to the death. There’s no second chances.’’[/i] [i]‘’I won’t need any.’’[/i] [hr] They were given little over a week to prepare, with the appointment of the champions taking place somewhere in between. Harith had arranged for other guards to practice with on the condition that Ketill would not destroy them. It was a promise easier made than actually fulfilled, but Ketill did not intend to break it. Never the less the guards were cautious – the mans’ reputation preceded him and it was hard to convince them to actually fight him, rather than try and find ways to surrender as early as possible. Even so, their addition was worthwhile and made the process easier – and helped him prepare better. The day before the event itself however was one that was met with some disdain as he was forced to raise out of bed early by Yasamin, before the sun had reached the horizon. As he’d be representing a princess, he was taken out to the bathhouse, to be given a proper washing. Yasamin was quick to force him into the bath, and though she acted like she did this of her own volition, Ketill was convinced that Najla had ordered her to. Or perhaps someone else. It mattered little, since this was a luxury he was normally not afforded. The illusion was soon shattered, however. [i]‘’You should hurry. They’re coming to fit your armor soon,’’[/i] Yasamin informed him, seemingly under the impression that he already knew about this. But much to her surprise, he did not. [i]‘’Armor fitting?’’[/i] he replied, looking over his shoulder at the woman, who was walking back to the hallway to let him do his thing. [i]‘’Yes, you’re fighting a nobleman, and you’re representing a princess. Did you think you could go bare chested?’’[/i] [i]‘’I wasn’t going bare chested. What armor are they giving me?’’[/i] he asked, seemingly a bit concerned about what they were going to give him. He’d never fought in anything except for clothes, or otherwise his suit of armour. However, never had he fought in a Sawarim suit of armour. Although it seemed trivial, any warrior would agree that such small matters could make the difference in any fight. This wasn’t just for looks – it was life or death. He wondered if Najla had realized that – if she had even been the one to orchestrate this. [i]‘’I don’t know, you’ll see soon,’’[/i] the woman replied, louder now as she left the bathinghouse and left to go do something else. It seemed like she was taking well to the life of a servant – compared to being a harem girl, it was easier, Ketill supposed. Especially because he didn’t require much of her. Sighing slightly, he leaned back into the pool and let the water consume him. Slowly he sank down as air bubbles left his body, until his lungs were empty and he went as low as he could. For a moment, he felt like he was without weight, and he closed his eyes. His vision went dark, the shimmering of light going through the water but this, too, fading eventually, seeping away from his vision like the breaths of a dying man. In the darkness of his mind, he heard the cawing of ravens and the clattering of shields meeting axe and sword. Were they signs of what was to come? It could not be a thought of the past, for it had been long since he’d visited the North, and the ground was white as snow. He did not recall such a battle in the snow, none of the scale that could produce these sounds. The clattering got closer then, and he began hearing voices. Slowly they came closer, and one voice in particular stood out, misplaced in the battlefield as it was soft and feminine, not warlike like the grunts around him. [i]‘’My name is not Saina. I am not a merchant’s daughter.’’[/i] Violently he shook his head, as if to deny this inevitable truth. The voice’s person was clear, but they were not within vision, and whatever wish he had to strangle the person whose voice it was, there was nothing of the sorts he could do. [i]‘’My father is Ali al-ibn Wahad, brother to the Great Sultan and a commander in the army.’’[/i] The echoes of battle faded as the voice began taking precedence, just like how the person whose voice it was had taken precedence in his life through the torture of his Gods. A cruel joke, he remembered. Yes, it must be. [i]‘’And he will part you in four, and send your members back to Broacien.’’[/i] No. Again he shook his head. That’s not what she said, he knew it. He wanted to open his mouth to yell, to vent his anger and beat this voice, but nothing happened. [i]‘’Were there ever the rumors in the South, of Najla al-ibn Wahad and her brother, Jalil?’’[/i] The voice soothingly asked, seemingly following the script of past events again, but Ketill’s heart continued to thud hard in his chest, with a mixture of adrenaline and anger. [i]‘’Then you must know who I am, and so when I kill you, it will be honourable, for you know your killer.’’[/i] But once more the voice strayed from what had been said, and his heart pounded harder, again he shook his head and tried to yell. His mouth moved slightly now but it would not part, for the burden of the darkness around him was too heavy and weighed too heavily on his lips for them to move. [i]‘’So few people knew where we were going, but the Servants of all people are not blind to the on-goings of the Sultanate. Some Sawarim here must know how great I am, my boundless power, ask them and they will confirm. They will tell you Najla and her brother disappeared over a year ago from the Sultan’s court. The reason for that was to end you.’’[/i] With those words, Ketill once again tried to yell, shaking his head more violently than before. Finally, his lips opened wide, but instead of yelling, he could only feel the water entering him. With a look of shock he opened his eyes, only to see the blurry visage of Yasamin looking over the edge of the water. Suddenly the realization that he was drowning was setting in, so he promptly pushed himself upwards towards the surface. Luckily for him, the baths weren’t deep whatsoever. As he broke the surface of the water, he gasped for air while Yasamin looked at him with a confused and concerned glance. [i]‘’What on earth were you doing?’’[/i] [i]‘’It’s… nothing, get my clothes and bring me to the armorer.’’[/i] Though Ketill did his best to seem collected, the panic caused by drowning was visible in his eyes. When Yasamin left, her face betraying her lack of understanding, he breathed heavily, looking around rather panicky. He was quick to leave the bath once she reappeared, getting dressed and promptly leaving to the armorer. The walk there was quick and silent. It seemed Yasamin did not dare bring up her questions, and Ketill had no desire to speak about it. But the panic in his eyes had now made way for anger, and his steps were filled with the very same anger once more. The armorer was checking out some chainmail when Ketill was brought in, but was quick to redirect him to the centrepiece of the room, which had been prepared days ago it seemed. It was flashy, certainly, and it was obviously of Sawarim make. The pants flared wide, and were largely uncovered by the chainmail except for the long edges on the side. Over that went a tunic, with a mail vest over it, followed by a lamellar breastplate. It was relatively simple of design – but the details were astonishing and the polish on it could reflect light so well it’d put the sun to shame. It was certainly a piece of equipment reserved for ceremonies and the like, but the crown piece was the helmet, which had a plume of horsehair on top, and a facemask that was opened at the moment. Ketill curiously walked up and inspected the armor, feeling it left and right. Sadly, he was quick to determine that while the armour looked good, it was certainly not of superior quality. The metal was weak and the openings in the armour did not close properly. Of course, there was little time to mend this now – certainly not with only the word of a slave to demand it. Without much time being spent on other things, the armorer pushed Ketill into position and started fitting the armour, adjusting where required. This turned out to be a rather big timesink, as Ketill was a fair share larger than most Sawarim men. Most straps had to be adjusted outwards and made larger to accommodate his size, to the point where the armorer began getting annoyed at the changes he’d have to make. And all that for a sub-par armour. Likely, they had just refashioned a ceremonial armour. [i]‘’Yasamin, tell him this isn’t good,’’[/i] Ketill told his servant, who was waiting at the door. The girl was quick to comply, walking closer and pointing at the breastplate. <[i]‘’He says it’s not good,’’[/i]> she said, flawlessly in a Sawarim accent. To be expected, as she’d lived here for a long time, but it was still strange to Ketill, who could still utter little more than that common insult he’d learned long ago. <[i]‘’No, it’s good, no need to change it,’’[/i]> the armorer retorted, while he grabbed a new plate of metal to attach to the lamellar to lengthen it. <[i]‘’He’ll win for sure in this armour, tell him that.’’[/i]> [i]‘’He says you’ll win for sure in this armour. And he also said it’s fine, and there’s no need to change it.’’[/i] [i]‘’He’s wrong. The plates are weak, and there’s too many gaps. This isn’t fighting armour.’’[/i] Yasmin sighed, it becoming quite evident that she was going to have to translate an entire argument. <[i]‘’He says it’s too weak, and that there’s too many holes.’’[/i]> <[i]‘’Ya Sawarim! What do you think I’m doing now? I’m getting more plates to cover the holes!’’[/i]> <[i]‘’Those plates won’t help if the metal is too weak.’’[/i]> <[i]‘’You dare insult my craftsmanship?’’[/i]> <[i]‘’No, that’s not- that’s not what I’m saying, I’m sorry. The fighter believes the metal is too weak.’’[/i]> <[i]‘’I’m sure he also believes that there are more than one God, the great Sawarim! Pfah! What does he know!’’[/i] <[i]‘’He’s fought in armour many times, he’s a Serv-’’[/i]> Yasmin said, but she was interrupted by a louder voice, the thick Sawarim accent ruling out that Ketill had spoken up himself. Instead, the doorway was filled by a taller stature, followed shortly by a slightly shorter one, though they were both taller than the average Sawarim would’ve been. Harith seemingly had found reason to come observe the process, while Basim seemed to have tagged along. However, it was not Harith’s loud voice that had rung this time, for it had been Basim that had overruled that of Yasmin. Yasmin was quick to turn her body to face the two princes, bowing her head and continuing to look down, even though the princes didn’t even address her. Instead, Harith’s eyes were focused on the armour, scanning it for weaknesses and strengths, walking closer to him while Basim stepped to the armorer. <[i]‘’He’s a Servant. He may be an infidel, but he knows his way around a sword – and a set of armour. You say the armour is strong enough?’’[/i]> Basim’s voice carried weight now, as opposed to earlier. If the armorer had not listened to him because he of his rank and stature – he would’ve because Basim seemed to carry himself with more authority than before. <[i]‘’Yes, my prince,’’[/i]> the man said, bowing his head lightly, glancing at Harith with a side-eye as he did so. <[i]‘’It was requested that I made the armour look as good as I could, to ensure that the savage looked somewhat presentable. He couldn’t fight in our Sultana’s name if he looked like an unkempt beast, after all.’’[/i]> This remark earned a small laugh and a grin from Harith, but Basim seemed less amused, merely nodding at the man in a fake agreement with the statement. <[i]‘’Very well.’’[/i]> Basim looked at Harith then, who was prodding at the lamellar and lifting the plates to see how it worked. He then looked at the armorer, and grinned more wide than before. <[i]‘’What did you use for this?’’[/i]> <[i]‘’Only the finest steel, of course! Nothing but the best for the al-ibn Wahad family!’’[/i]> <[i]‘’Good. My sister will be pleased. Ah- but, I am not.’’[/i]> Harith then answered, his eyes turning to Ketill then, who seemed confused as ever at the situation. [i]‘’Bow your head,’’[/i] Harith hissed at him, and Ketill complied, allowing Harith to pull the lamellar contraption off of his body. He stepped over to Basim, and promptly pulled the lamellar over his head, resting it on his shoulder. Basim was clearly caught off guard but adjusted quickly, looking at his brother with a confused but curious glance. <[i]‘’What’s the meaning of this?’’[/i]> the armorer asked, before adding a clearly forgotten <[i]‘’… my prince?’’[/i]> at the end. He seemed a bit more nervous now that things were actually happening. <[i]‘’Well, you said it’s only the best for the al-ibn Wahad family, but the armour was being worn by a slave. Now it’s a member of the family. So we will see if it holds true, no?’’[/i]> he explained, but remaining just vague enough for the armorer not to understand. But it was made clear when Harith pulled the dagger from his waistline – not a ceremonial one, like that of Basim, but a real one, made of cold hard steel. <[i]‘’Ah, I…’’[/i]> the armorer stumbled as he stepped closer, reaching to grab Harith’s hand but not coming close enough, while also being held back mentally at the thought of touching a prince. Harith put the dagger against the lamellar with the tip, before looking at the armorer then. The thought of a prince dying at the hand of the faulty armour seemed a bit more pressing than the death of a slave to the armorer. <[i]‘’Hm? Something wrong?’’[/i]> <[i]‘’A-ah, no, my prince, it’s just that every armour has its’ flaws… you are a brave soldier, surely you understand that there is nothing other than a soldiers skill and bravery that can protect him from death? Armour can only do so much, yes?’’[/i]> This gave Harith reason to pause, and then he nodded and lowered the dagger, before taking the lamellar off of Basim’s shoulders, who seemed relieved the heavy armour was finally removed. While Basim rubbed his shoulders, Harith turned around and faced the armorer, holding out the armor. <[i]‘’Armour makes a difference, but it is not the end solution, you are right.’’[/i]> <[i]‘’So then, if the Servant is as great a fighter as they say he is – then he should be fine, right?’’[/i]> <[i]‘’Perhaps,’’[/i]> Harith spoke, softer now, as he looked the armorer deeply in his eyes. Without a warning, the dagger shot forwards again and shot straight into the armour. It went one side in, the other side out, going through both the front and back layers of the armour. A simple dagger wasn’t meant to penetrate even one layer – so for it to penetrate two was quite miraculous. Harith’s eyes were dark then as he looked the armorer even deeper in the eyes, staring him down with the power of a lion. <[i]‘’But this will not do. It may be a slave in the arena, but it is the name of my sister he is fighting for. Look at him,’’[/i]> he said, and the armorer did as he said, and looked at Ketill, who was quite amused by the spectacle. <[i]‘’That’s not a slave anymore. That is my sister. Would you dare give her this armour?’’[/i]> The armorer dropped to his knees then, folding his hands together and putting them down in front of Harith’s feet as he begged for forgiveness. <[i]‘’No, my prince! I would not dream of it! Ya Sawarim, I would not dare!’’[/i]> <[i]‘’Then see this fixed,’’[/i]> Harith hissed, before dropping the armour in front of the man’s fists. He glanced back at Basim, who nodded at him, and then Harith turned to Ketill. [i]‘’It’s good now. It’s the finest steel, he said. It seems we will need to find new steel then.’’[/i] [i]‘’I told him it was bad,’’[/i] Ketill replied, hiding the amusement in his voice rather well, but not well enough for Harith to not notice. [i]‘’Sometimes, speaking the right language is the key,’’[/i] he replied, a smug look in his eyes before glancing back at his younger brother again. <[i]‘’Is it not, Basim?’’[/i]> Basim’s eyes found themselves on Ketill, and not Harith, however, which gave the impression that he was speaking more to Ketill than Harith. [i]‘’Yes, it is.’’[/i] The couple then turned and left, leaving Ketill and Yasamin alone with the armorer once more. [hr] The next day the duel took place – it was set to take place early in the afternoon, so that everyone could be well rested and the champions had time to prepare. The fight was set to commence the moment the sun was at its highest, and so most people had arrived slightly before, to talk among themselves and find a good place to watch. Rather than taking place in the training area, a special site had been set aside, within the confines of the palace walls, but slightly removed from the palace itself. The ‘’arena’’ itself was little more than a circle drawn in the sand, marked along the edges by stones placed along the edge of the circle. But the circle was so large, it might as well have not been there. There were then raised platforms all around, with benches placed on them in case the fight would last a long time. But, as Ketill knew from events like these, most people would stand so they could see all there was to see. At the center there was a single large platform, with a throne set on it. Most likely this was for the Sultan himself – he was, after all, meant to spectate the fight, given that not only did it involve his family, but also the need for justice and lawspeaking. But Ketill couldn’t help but feel that, besides justice, this fight was also meant for politics. And perhaps a smudge of entertainment, though that amusement would be lost on either of the involved parties, bar perhaps Elif, who even if she lost, won. Ketill was brought out about four hours into the morning, where he was helped into his armour by other servants. It seemed that, though he was nothing more than a slave, he was given access to some privileges he’d otherwise never have. Once he was lifted into his armour and the straps were all fastened, he was brought to the armoury, and allowed to select a weapon. Though most blades were curved, he managed to find a standard straight blade, meant for two handed use but capable of being used with one hand. This ‘bastard sword’ seemed the perfect fit for Ketill, who had the strength to use it with either one hand or two. He then grabbed a standard shield made of wood, imagining he’d be better off with than without, and he could always drop it. But to his surprise, he wasn’t allowed to leave yet. [i]‘’If you drop your weapon you’re allowed to take a new one from a servant. If you can reach them in time,’’[/i] one of the servants explained in rather broken Broacienien, and so Ketill selected a few other weapons. However, he didn’t quite anticipate to need them. In his mind, the battle would be settled quickly. He was then kept inside for another hour – to allow people to settle down on the stands, which were large enough to hold at least a hundred people. But, perhaps also to allow Sa’aqr time to parade around, as one of the servants made an off-hand comment about how the man was parading around like he had already won. Entertaining the crowd before a fight was a ballsy move, and one that Ketill did not entirely appreciate, but there was little they could do, because the time to fight was soon arriving. Some hour before the fight, he was finally allowed outside, and was escorted into the circle by a detachment of four guards. He held his sword by the blade, casually gripping it as he looked over the crowd. His eyes scanned for the familiar faces – Najla, Basim, Harith, Osman, Elif. His eyes also found the Sultan, who glanced at him with an air of disinterest – but what his eyes did not betray, his focused gaze did betray. There was more vested in this battle than just Najla’s honour, it seemed. His visor was still opened, but the fact that he had a facemask at all seemed to shock some of the people in the crowd. Sa’aqr was dressed in similar fashion – his armour was flashy too, and shone like a sun itself, but it did not beat Ketill’s armour, which had been retrofitted during the night to have a stronger breastplate. What happened to the armorer after that, Ketill did not know, but he knew that Harith would not be quick to forgive such a transgression if he was a wise man. There was silence on the field of the arena, but the crowd was noisy, a jarring juxtaposition between those that were about to enter a fight to the death and those that merely had to watch. But at some point the crowd went silent, and Ketill looked at them to see what happened. Now the Sultan stood up from his throne with his hands spread wide, to calm the crowd and call them to attention. He spoke words that Ketill could not understand, and the people bowed their head, and they began their prayers once again, repeating what he’d already seen at the tribe when he was forced to fight there. Sa’aqr joined them, bowing his head too and mumbling his prayers. It left Ketill with the time to observe the crowd. His weapons would not be blessed this time – there were too many – so he assumed he’d just fight as if he were Najla herself. A strange thought, and he wasn’t sure if he’d interpreted it correctly, but it was the easiest explanation. He didn’t need one to fight, so it’d do for now. His eyes befell on Najla and her family, flanked by the man he presumed to be her father. It was the same man he’d seen when he had arrived at the palace, who had welcomed her back. Momentarily he wondered if he even knew just who his daughter was. Perhaps he did, as it seemed that nobody in the Sawarim Sultanate seemed to care much for misdeeds, as long as they were carried out in name of the Sultan and their God. The chanting echoed off after their prayers, and the eyes returned to the battlefield, focusing their attention on the two combatants once again. Was this the sign to start? Sa’aqr’s eyes betrayed very little, as he pulled his blade from its sheath. He was evidently a very skilled fighter, far above the tribal peasants Ketill had kicked around not long ago. Ketill merely raised a hand to lower the visor and pull down the eerie facemask, before giving one final glance over the crowd. Their looks of amazement at the helmet betrayed how little they knew of fighting and how much they knew of indolent, cruel entertainment provided by death. Little did they know that it would not be him that died today. He readied the blade in his hand and stepped towards Sa’aqr, who waited for Ketill to approach. Once they were close, they started circling each other – it seemed repetitive, similar to what had happened before, the men sought out the weaknesses in each other’s stances but could find none. For a moment it seemed like they were equals, though Najla would know this to be false, and so would Harith. Ketill was first to strike, a warcry erupting from his mask as he swung his sword at Sa’aqr who graciously stepped away from the strike and then stepped closer again once the sword had passed, swinging his sword at Ketill in return. This dance continued back and forth – one would swing, the other would step away or block, and then they would swing and the other would block or step away. It started slow, the occasional clatter of the blades being the only sound between the warcries that Ketill gave, loud enough to pound thunder into the hearts of the spectators. But the speeds picked up, and the clattering of blades began getting quicker, as did their swings and movements. They were just testing each other now, to see what steel they were made of, how they fought, what made their movements tick. But for everyone else it already seemed impressive, bar those that had fought before. They would be able to read the movements and understand, as it was something you did not quite understand unless you had been in this position before. Finally, it seemed like Sa’aqr had seen an opening. He was quick, and with a rapid swing struck at Ketill’s head, who dodged it by ducking low, only to be caught off guard by Sa’aqr. He had reached for his dagger with his other free hand, and quickly jabbed it forwards. Ketill attempted to move his body to dodge it but wasn’t fast enough, and the blade grazed along the side of his body, luckily catching only the lamellar. The dagger cut loose one of the leather straps as it passed, and the metal plate fell down into the sand. Although the lamellar armour was stacked, it was not a good sign for Ketill. The crowd cheered at this, but quickly quieted down when Ketill responded with his own attacks, using Sa’aqr’s exposed position he caused by stepping forward to stab him by raining down blows on him. He first struck at Sa’aqr’s head with the pommel of his blade, striking him harshly and without any reservations, causing the man to rear back slightly. He then tried cut downwards into his shoulders, striking him once, twice, thrice. Sa’aqr caught the attacks with his shield, but under the pressure of the continuing attacks felt his arm shake under the pressure of Ketill’s strong arms smashing the blade into him like he was a training dummy. They were broken up when Ketill stopped swinging at him and instead stepped forward and kicked Sa’aqr in the stomach. Again, the crowd cheered, seemingly pleased with whatever manner of violence was presented to them. Sa’aqr himself seemed less pleased as he fell backwards, rolling over before managing to quickly land on his feet – it seemed he was experienced enough to know how to roll without ending up exposed. Ketill stepped back momentarily, and again circled Sa’aqr who did the same. They were like wolves, their eyes fixated on the other as they looked to see what to do next. Again Ketill was the aggressor, stepping forwards rapidly and swinging his sword low, aiming at Sa’aqr’s feet, who nimbly hopped over the sword and struck Ketill with his sword, though unluckily only hit the shield Ketill used. Again they exchanged blows, the clattering of swords overtaking the cheers of the crowd, until Ketill managed to strike Sa’aqr perfectly on his hand, cutting into his palm slightly, but more importantly knocking the blade away into the air, the sword landing in the sand beyond his reach. Now Sa’aqr was forced onto the defensive, as he raised his shield in front of him with two hands, one supporting it while the other aimed it. Ketill seemed overtaken by a fury as he struck again and again, the shield splintering every time he hit it, while Sa’aqr looked back to his servants and pages. <[i]‘’SPEAR!’’[/i]> he bellowed at them, and he was promptly thrown a spear. The moment he saw it coming towards him, he moved his hands in such a way that the shield dropped and was tossed to the side, before jumping back very quickly and catching the spear mid-air. It was very flashy, a move by someone that was confident enough in their abilities to mess around and give the people a show, but it was also a move that indicated that he was underestimating Ketill. Now that the man had a weapon again, Ketill stepped back, waiting to see what Sa’aqr would do. Rather than attack, Sa’aqr seemed content to spin the weapon around a bit, as if he were trying to impress the spectators. The blood that seeped from the cut in his palm seemed not to bother him, though the blood seeped down the wooden base of the spear. Finally he was done, and approached again, running at Ketill. Once he was close enough, Sa’aqr jumped into the air and plunged his spear forwards, forcing Ketill to step to the side, while readying a strike of his own, but Sa’aqr seemed to have had planned for this, and when he landed merely twisted his body to face Ketill and strike the men with the blunt end of the spear. His spear landed on the side of Ketill’s helmet, who stepped back in confusion and pain while trying to get his bearings again. Before he could do as much he was hit in the head again, from the side, further confusing him as the mask obstructed most of his view on the sides. The crowd cheered then, as they were glad to see Ketill receive some punishment too, but their amusement was shortlived as Ketill rushed forwards. Being unable to see what was going on, and realizing that if he didn’t get close enough the spear would be his death, he just plunged himself into Sa’aqr, losing his weapon in the process though Sa’aqr lost his spear too. The two were then on the floor, tangled in a contest of who could get control the fastest. Sa’aqr seemed to have the benefit of vision as opposed to Ketill, who could only look straight ahead. With a few nimble moves, Sa’aqr pushed himself off the ground and rolled himself on top of Ketill before using his armor-clad gauntlets to pummel him in the helmet a few times. Ketill replied in kind by ramming his fist into whatever body part he could find, before luckily managing to push a finger into the opening between Sa’aqrs helmet. He pried at it momentarily, but then got aggravated with it and just pulled at it the hardest he could. Sa’aqr was forced to come closer with his face first, before being forced backwards, lacking any control over the movement of his head at this point. He was only freed when Ketill pulled in the right direction and ripped the man’s helmet straight off of his head. Though this wasn’t a big loss, it certainly opened him up to Ketill’s next attack. While Sa’aqr had pummelled him in the face a few times, the blows were all caught by his helmet. Now Ketill merely moved his head forwards fast enough and headbutted Sa’aqr straight in the nose, and though it’d hurt all the same without a helmet, it was no big surprise that it hurt twice as bad since Ketill was wearing a metal helmet. Sa’aqr fell backwards relinquishing control of Ketill, gripping his nose with his hands. Before he could get up to get a new weapon, Ketill was upon him and pounded him with his fists, blow upon blow falling on his face while Sa’aqr desperately tried to punch Ketill back. They exchanged blows like this for a good minute, before Ketill got up and stumbled backwards. His walking was clearly not quite as straight as it had been before, but Sa’aqr was definitely worse off than he was. Ketill walked to the edge of the arena and held out his his, while barking for an axe. Once he got his two handed long axe, he dropped the shield that was still stuck to his arm and turned around to face Sa’aqr, who had crawled to his spear again and was in the process of getting up. Ketill, however, was determined to end this now, so he stumbled towards Sa’aqr, his footsteps kicking up dust as he went. The moment he was closed enough he swinged his axe upwards and sent it down towards Sa’aqr, who only barely managed to bring his spear upwards horizontally to block the attack. The sound of wood against wood was new, but the cheers were not, but it was not just once that Ketill attacked him, but again and again, until he caught the wooden pole with his axe’s head and cleaved it clean in half. This left Sa’aqr with nothing more than a wooden stick and a stick with a metal point on it, which obviously was far less useful. So when Ketill’s next swing came, headed straight for his skull, Sa’aqr could only jump to the side and hope for the best. He dodged the initial attack, perhaps, but Ketill stumbled right after him, preparing his axe for the next swing, intending to take his head. He breezed inside the helmet, which was warm and annoying but had seemingly protected him so far. Then he swung. The sound of armour shattering could be heard but it was not Sa’aqr who had been struck. Ketill could only look down as he felt the stabbing pain in his side, realizing instantly that he had been struck. Sa’aqr had quickly gotten up and stepped into Ketill’s attack, pushing the broken tip of the spear into Ketill’s body. It had gone through the armour, though luckily the armour had softened the blow. The tip wasn’t in deep, but when Sa’aqr let go, it was deep enough to stick in there. Under the facemask, it was obvious that Ketill was confused, but there was little time to think. He had to end the fight now, or he’d bleed out. Sa’aqr turned around in an attempt to request a new weapon, but Ketill’s hands gripped at him, catching him by the hair and pulling him downwards, with such force that Sa’aqr could do nothing else but yell in pain. Ketill let go as he threw the man down and walked around him, standing in front of him as Sa’aqr tried to inch backwards on his hands, forced to look up at the menacing figure that was Ketill, who overlooked him and readied his axe. As Ketill raised the axe, a familiar voice could be heard from the crowd, yelling [i]‘’[B]NO![/b]’’[/i] as Ketill brought the axe down. It was Osman’s voice, to be sure, as none other than him would’ve reacted that way. The axe caught Sa’aqr in the shoulder, which seemed to be a common place for Ketill to strike people – he had hit Thamud in exactly the same place after all. The axe went deep in the area that was uncovered by armour, and even though Ketill tried to pull it back, the axe was stuck, so he just let go. Sa’aqr fell backwards in pain, resting on his back while his hand gripped at the axe trying to remove it, but only making it worse by pulling on the weapon that was so deep inside of him. But he was given no time to rest, as Ketill gripped his hair again, pulling him upright and putting him on his knees. He forced Sa’aqr to look towards the crowd, and like he had done with Thamud, spoke to him, though he was sure that Sa’aqr did not understand. [i]‘’You are not the man I want to kill, but as you are his family… I will take joy in making his family a member smaller. You made a mistake by volunteering, knowing you could not win.’’[/i] He pulled his hair back, exposing Sa’aqr’s throat, and with no time to ask for a knife, pulled the tip of the spear that was stuck inside of him out. Some blood gushed out that had been held back by the spear, but it seemed to matter little to Ketill, who did not even wince or scream at the pain. Triumphantly, or perhaps in a dash of arrogance, Ketill put the tip of the spear in the air. For a moment, time froze, and Ketill looked into the crowd. He looked at Najla, and then at Harith, who seemed pleased, and then at Basim, who seemed taken aback by the violence. And then the Sultan, who maintained that air of indifference, and whose thoughts could not be read. On the other side of the stands, opposite Najla, there he saw Osman, whose eyes were filled with terror, whose hands clutched the woman he could only assume was his mother. Her eyes, similarly, were filled with terror, but also tears as she covered her mouth due to the sigh she was about to witness. Elif was there too, but her eyes betrayed nothing more than sadness – though, not for a loss. For the loss of her husbands brother, perhaps. He wondered if Osman’s mother was now convinced that he was a devil, a Djinn. Perhaps she was. It mattered little. With Sa’aqr’s beaten and bruised face staring at the sky, waiting for what was to come while trying to struggle against it, Ketill reading the spear. With a moments wait, he then plunged it down, deep into the mans neck, and then twisted the blade twice, before moving it to the side to cut open his entire throat. Blood spewed forth, and Ketill let go of his hair, pushing him forward. Sa’aqr fell down face first into the sand, the blood quickly spreading through the sand. Ketill looked around and though the crowd may have cheered, in that moment he could not hear whether they did or not. All he could see were the faces of Najla and her family, and on the other side, those of Osman and his family. [/quote]