The Unfortunate, стр. 71

Awiergan’s first reaction was to help. But who? Were it still the academy, the answer would have been simple, but this was not the Dorstor Arena or even a humble fighting pit. He was friends with Atelic and had considered him a brother many years. Since then, however, they had both sworn allegiance to Prince Banan and Armania. But before the former champion could further consider who to assist, his choice was determined by Fate.

The sworn shield rushed into the tent with sword drawn, and Awiergan’s first reaction was natural, self-defense. Sensing the knight was awed by the raging conflict, the former champion took advantage of the situation and charged—flinging all his weight against the man, knocking the sword from his grasp, and kicking the weapon out of reach. After recovering from a momentary stumble, the knight reached for his dagger, but before the weapon could be unsheathed, Awiergan clamped an arm against his challenger’s and used his other to grasp the man’s throat.

Initially the sworn shield offered only a snarl followed by a few grunts.

The former champion could hear the skirmish between his friend and the commander, and he could sense it was escalating, but he did not avert his eyes. He had his own struggle, and he relaxed his grip slightly, long enough to readjust, before resuming the constricting hold.

Grunts eventually turned to coughs, and the weakening of limbs soon followed.

Despite this the former champion remained merciless. He had to. Fate had offered him little choice.

The knight became weaker still, and his cheeks, slowly at first but then becoming more prominent, adopted a purplish hue.

As Awiergan maintained his grip, the moments became surreal, and the fighter, at least in his mind, returned to the fighting pits, and he could hear the crowd. KILL! KILL! KILL! KILL! KILL! But the thunderous chants soon diminished into nothing more than a whisper. Escape! Escape! There must be a way! Escape! Escape! There must be a way! There must be a way. Escape! Escape! Having allowed the knight’s body to fall, Awiergan dismissed his memories, for what was done could not be reversed. He no longer wanted to be in the army, no longer wanted to kill. He simply wanted to escape. But he would not abandon his friend.

Atelic and Prince Banan continued to test one another. Their bodies trembled as they attempted to match each other’s strengths. Despite the apparent stalemate, it was not difficult to see the draw would soon pass. More grunts, more curses, more effort, but eventually Atelic was able to gain an advantage. He was able to overpower his opponent and take hold of the dagger.

The young commander’s expression was a collage of anger and terror for several moments. Anger because he had been betrayed and terror because he had realized death’s cold presence.

Without hesitation Atelic forced the blade into Banan’s neck. Slowly he released his hold, and as he backed away, his features adopted the appearance of disbelief but moreover regret.

Banan stumbled and eventually fell against the overturned desk. His lips parted, and trickles of blood emerged. Initially there had been only slight gurgles, but eventually words followed. “Jenn,” he attempted, but his speech came as a mere whisper.

Slowly placing one foot behind the other, Atelic and Awiergan continued to retreat, but they did not look away from the prince whose eyes remained locked with their own.

“Forget … life, marry … love … begin anew.” The commander’s final words made little sense and were barely audible as they faded with his last breath.

The fighters, remaining calm, had almost reached the entrance, but when they heard approaching voices, they did not hesitate.

They ran.

✽ ✽ ✽

They had fled with such haste that they had not bothered to retrieve their swords, but it would have been futile and a waste of time. Both men knew it would not be long before the guards discovered what had occurred, and then they would pursue the fighters. Even if Awiergan and Atelic were armed, even with their skills obtained from years of training, they would stand little chance against the guards seeking justice, and only Fate knew how many there would be. With no other choice, they continued to run, not looking back, and they did not stop until they had reached a small, wooded area.

Having advanced to a safe distance within the forest, the men concealed themselves in a patch of underbrush, and for the longest time, they remained silent, listening for the slightest indication that their crimes had been discovered.

Awiergan finally looked at his friend and saw he was trembling. “Atelic,” he whispered.

No reply.

“Atelic.”

Still nothing, but eventually the other fighter replied, “We have been cursed.”

“No!” Awiergan refused to believe he and his friend had been cursed.

“Yes. Once again pride will be my downfall,” Atelic explained as calmly as he could. “And yours, too, it seems.” There was a brief pause before Atelic, his trembling having increased, looked to Awiergan with bulging eyes.

They both had heard a guard barking orders. A group had been sent to find them, but how many was unknown. A few? Ten? Twenty or more? The former champion nevertheless remained calm and assured, “We still maintain an advantage. The forested area is dense. It will be difficult for scores of men to navigate. We can keep moving and stay ahead of them until the arrival of night when we shall be able to escape.”

Atelic smiled meekly as if he wanted to believe Fate’s decision could be altered, but whatever flames of hope had been ignited were extinguished as quickly.

“ARCHERS!” a guard ordered.

Awiergan, still not wanting to accept all was lost, looked to his friend and smiled. “Let them waste their arrows. Stay low, and they will have little chance of hitting us.”

“RELEASE!”

Sw … sw … sw … sw … sw … swish.

the arrows as they sored through the air.

Th … du … th … du … th … du … th … du.

They impacted the trees and