The Unfortunate, стр. 48
The champion, still attempting to recover via deep breaths, was slow to retrieve his sword. At the same pace, he approached his challenger who offered a sneer, a spat of blood, and yet another curse. “Mugo arn tuv, curex.”
Awiergan then looked to the private viewing box and waited for Gildas’ modest yet perilous signal … thumbs down. Even though it existed only in his mind’s ear, he could hear the chants. KILL! KILL! KILL! KILL! KILL!
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
GILDAS
For the duration of the fights, he had never sensed that Armania’s prince was at all impressed. No part of the games, even the events that occurred regularly in the capital and its surrounding areas, had impressed Banan. Even when the crowd had reacted, the prince had remained still. But at least the people were entertained. Gildas contemplated the situation as he watched the young man. Even if there were a lack of interest toward the event, the owner of the academy acknowledged his fortune that it had been Prince Banan in power and not King Beadurof. The king would never have permitted Gildas to introduce such fighting to his people. Even if the he did not seem entertained, at least he was more accepting of new ideas.
“How did your interests in this sort of fighting originate?” The prince finally ended the silence.
Gildas concluded his thoughts to concentrate on the inquiry. He had wondered when the question would arise, and he was quick to answer, “With my appreciation for history. I have always been fascinated by those individuals of old, not just their forms of entertainment.” Upon hearing the crowd cheer, Gildas looked to the pit, but his attention quickly returned to the prince who inquired, “Any particular time?”
“Yes, I am fascinated by the way of life prior to the establishment of the Known Realms, especially the seven civil wars between the minor kingdoms that became Winnix and Yorcia.”
“You are fascinated by the lives of barbarians?”
“Call them whatever you like. Such events have provided the masters of history with enough material to keep them occupied for a lifetime.”
Banan nodded slightly and shifted to a different position. “And who are these masters of history?”
“In a way I would like to believe we all are, or at least should be. We should all serve a part to further history so it is not forgotten so we do not chance repeating the failures of those before us.”
Banan considered the advice a moment, but it was apparent he was no more impressed with historical significance than with the fights. “What of the academy? Because of your fascination with the ways of old, you one day decided to train men to fight?”
“There was more, and it was not a one-day decision,” the master of fighters replied and looked back to the prince. “It took several fortnights for me to—”
Gildas was again interrupted by the crowd’s cheers, but he did not look away this time. “It was mostly because of my personal interests,” he concluded. “But life experiences also influenced my decision.”
“What was your former profession?” Banan inquired, seemingly having understood the meaning of life experiences. “Have you any familiarity with battle? I would not expect a man of knowledge, or any man, to open a fighting academy as you called it without prior experience.”
He nodded. The prince’s observations had all been valid, and Gildas recounted his life of years past. “For over a decade, I served in Winnix’s military, and during that time, I oversaw training activities and partook in several minor battles. My loyalty earned me the respect of my superiors and comrades alike. Eventually I was promoted and awarded a lordship, and I served another eight years as one of King Wyman’s wardens.”
Banan again nodded, his interests peaked. “What ultimately persuaded you to relinquish your position? I do not know of many nobles, if any, who would do so.”
Gildas waited for the cheers of the crowd to subside before answering. “I wanted a change. I did not find diplomacy, for that is all a wardenship essentially involves, to be as fulfilling or exciting.”
“Compared to what?”
Rather than answer directly, the owner of the academy continued to reminisce. “I longed to return to the warrior’s life, to experience the unnerving yet relaxing feel of holding a sword in one hand and a shield in the other. I yearned for the unexplained rush, the feeling of invincibility, that preceded each fight and provided me with the strength to face any enemy. That is what I missed, the emotions conceived in the heat of battle.” He paused, but before he could finish, the crowd again roared with excitement.
The two fighters were on the far side of the pit. The one was Atelic, the veteran who claimed the most wins second only to Awiergan. The other man was one of the recruits who had displayed unexpected promise, but it was apparent he was beginning to tire.
In accordance with his never-ending haughtiness, Atelic proudly stalked around his weakened opponent offering occasional insults. “COME ON! YOU CALL THIS A FIGHT?”
The recruit did not reply. He instead attempted to lunge at the veteran who effortlessly scampered back to avoid the swipe of his attacker’s blade.
“COME ON!” Atelic again taunted.
Gildas heard his fighter’s jeering continue, but his attention was altered when Banan again spoke.
“I take it you were not allowed to return to the fields of battle.”
“No. King Wyman deemed I was too great an asset to risk, but to pacify me he allowed me to open my fighting academy in return for assistance with whatever, whenever he deemed it necessary.” Gildas paused and chuckled. “I guess I was able to convince him I would be more useful in the capital rather than leagues away at the border.”
“You have become like an advisor, yes?”
The master of fighters chuckled. “That would be a fair deduction.”
After having replied nonchalantly, Gildas remained silent as he recalled the numerous occasions when he had been summoned to translate letters, but that