Swift as a cat, Fritz reached for the gate's handle, twisted, then pushed against the iron bars. It resisted. Locked or stuck.

"You can't enter!" one drizzler yelled, pulling his baton free from its belt loop.

"Stop!" the other ordered, pushing Fritz back.

"Unlock this gate at once!" Fritz commanded, his voice echoing with the power of Dusksong.

The two guards froze for only a moment before continuing to oppose him.

The pusher made to grab and wrestle, planting his shoulder into Fritz's chest. A Bind constricted Fritz's arms and legs, but he slipped free of the invisible bonds without much effort. The other swung at him, thinking him caught, an overhead blow that would have cracked his skull if not for a quick, slithering maneuver that pulled the guard grappling Fritz into its path instead.

A thunk and grunt sounded from the collision, then he kneed the drizzler in the groin for good measure before tripping him. A clang rang out as a baton struck Fritz's breastplate. It rattled his chest, and he stepped back, avoiding another blow, then another with a simple sidestep. He timed a punch, for when the next strike would lash out.

He needn't have bothered. Quinn Cold was there in a blur, and with a deft, compact chop, laid low the still standing drizzler with the pommel of his Treasure blade.

The Scale Guard gave him a sheepish smile.

Fritz didn't have the time to return it. A scream, Elliot's scream, stabbed through the roar of the arena crowd above. He didn't dare look through the bars, lest his worst fears be realised.

Stealing a ring of keys from one of the downed drizzlers, Fritz tried each in the lock with shaking, stiff hands. He was successful on the second key; the gate slid open silently, and he almost sprinted up into the arena proper without thought. With effort, he slowed himself to a purposeful stride, finally allowing himself to look up and see the ragged state of his brother.

Elliot was kneeling. His thigh had been sliced open. The cut wasn't deep enough to see bone, but it was bleeding heavily. To Fritz's great pride, his brother still held his sword high.

The thin blade trembled slightly, though that was to be expected considering the state of his body. Impotent fury burned in his glare as he stared at his smirking opponent.

"Surrender, drop your sword, recant your support of your brother's claim, and I'll spare you," Lloyd said, his voice shaded in self-satisfaction.

"No," Elliot spat. "I'll fight you to the last."

Lloyd sighed, running one hand through his slicked-back blond hair. "Very well, suit yourself. I had intended to be merciful, since I bear no grudge against you personally. Though you are far too stubborn, a trait of your House, perhaps. That, and stupidity. Too bad your brother's a coward, he won't even be here to see your pointless death."

Elliot grit his teeth and attempted to stand, but his leg gave out and he fell. The Lord chuckled, and the arena laughed.

Fritz's fury rose higher than he thought it ever could, boiling beneath his skin; he wanted to pour it out of his throat in a bellow. With cold hands of Control, he seized the scarlet stream seeking to take over his mind, smothering the burning anger and allowing him some clarity. The fury fought him, struggling in his power's grip.

Soon, he told it, his thoughts laced with Dusksong just as his words had been. It didn't soothe him, but it did cause the rage to retreat. For the moment.

Smirking, arrogant and swaggering, Lloyd approached the wounded, crouching boy and raised his sabre. Elliot flinched, then parried hastily, expecting a strike. None came. Lloyd still held his sword high, menacing and mocking. Then he stepped close and struck.

Fritz tossed off cloak of dusk's obscurement, sped forward and deflected the chop meant for his brother's neck.

Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd.

"What is this? Get out of my way!" Lloyd shouted.

He was joined in his outrage by the duel's judge, who stormed onto the stone and called a stop with a booming voice. "Who dares interrupt this rightful duel!?"

"I, Lord Francis Hightide," Fritz declared, acting as though he had all the authority in the world to do as he pleased.

"Finally made your appearance, coward?" Lloyd taunted. "And here I thought you'd let your brother be cut into red ribbons."

Fritz ignored the remarks, instead levelling his gaze on the judge.

"How dare you begin the proceedings before I arrived. I have the right to face my accusers. By what right do you deny me!?" Fritz challenged, his tone carrying a chilling resonance that silenced the arena and halted the judge's approach.

The merfolk man's stern gaze met his own, and after a moment, flickered with uncertainty. He gazed up to the royal box, where the King sat in all his relaxed majesty.

The most minute of arrogant smiles alighted on his regal features, those storm blue eyes glittered with amusement and some small triumph. He waved a hand at the judge, bidding him explain.

The man hastened to obey, his robe flapping as he swiftly strode closer and began to speak.

Though the crowd had started to rumble, wondering what was amiss, and the judge spoke quietly, Fritz could hear him clearly.

"Were you not informed that the duels had been rescheduled?" he asked. "The first of which was to begin half an hour ago.

"I was not informed of such," Fritz stated. "When was this decided?"

"It was decided days ago, you should have received a decree from the Court," the judge said.

"Well, I did not," Fritz said.

The man looked at a loss.

Meddling, it had to be. Someone had stopped the decree from reaching both him and his advocate, yet had still somehow found its way to Elliot. Another ploy on top of the attempt to delay him with an army of drizzlers. These noblemen pricks really would stoop to any level to harm his family and humiliate him.

He had thought that he had thwarted all the plans against him. He'd dodged at least two assaults disguised as muggings in the past week, as well as made sure his team and family were on equal alert for such threats. And he had dealt with any potential poisonings by simply avoiding eating or drinking anything prepared by someone he didn't trust, as he had advised all around him to do.

It hadn't been enough. Of course, there was always another angle, another blind spot. Fritz hadn't been prepared for this bureaucratic blow, and it had almost cost his brother his life.

Anger again rose within, threatening to burst forth from his chest. Fritz clutched hard with his Control, not letting it free. It was better saved for when he faced the Lords.

A hissing stirred Fritz from his thoughts, and he stared down at his brother, who had attempted to stand again. He lowered himself to Elliot's side.

"Don't put your weight on it, wait for the Healer," Fritz warned gently, then he looked up at the judge. "You do have one, right?"

The judge nodded.

"Go get him," Fritz said, trying not to bark at the man.

"The duel," he said, hesitating. "It should be completed."

Fritz scowled, then stood. "I will take my rightful place in this duel. If not for interference, Elliot would never have to had fight in my stead."

Again, the judge looked to the King, who, after one excruciating moment, slowly nodded his assent.

"As His Majesty allows, it shall be that you will take your brother's place," the judge said.

"Preposterous!" Lloyd said. "This is a ploy. He let his brother suffer to waste my Mana and Stamina. A strategy befitting such a villain."

Fritz glared, his lip involuntarily twitching into a snarl before being smoothed away. Again, he ignored the nobleman. "The Healer?"

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

"At once, Lord," the judge said. He let out a high whistle. A man in white robes and two burly helpers came to collect Elliot. "And as for you, Lord Whiteship. It was by your own decision that you used Abilities on a leveless boy. No reimbursement or retribution will be allowed to you under such... circumstances."

He obliviously wanted to add shameful, though seemingly thought better of it.

Fritz watched the healer and his aids with some worry, but the men were professional and gentle in their treatment.

First, a pungent ointment was rubbed on his brother's wounds, then magic stitched them together, then he was swiftly set on a stretcher and lifted. It was done within a minute. Now that any further blood loss was prevented, Elliot was carried away quickly. Only then did he finally loosen his grip on his sword. Letting go caused him to faint and he didn't wake when the blade clattered on the stone.

The judge retrieved it, holding it at his side while his voice began to boom again.

Fritz barely made out the words; now that Elliot was safe, his attention had been wholly consumed by the vile Lloyd Whiteship in front of him.

"Lord Hightide, are you hale and willing to duel?"

Fritz realised he had been asked a question, but in his furious, focused state, he hadn't understood what was asked of him.

"Sorry, can you repeat that?"

"Lord Hightide, are you hale and willing to duel?" The judge repeated.

"I am," Fritz stated, drawing Quicksilver. The glossy black blade glinted in the light.

Excited murmurs rolled through the crowd.

Fritz took a moment to survey the arena, the battlefield he was about to fight upon. The circular floor of stone brick stretched out all around him and was surrounded by walls at least twice his own height. Above them was a dome of clear crystal that let in what little light the day had to offer, aided by many glowstones and lanterns hanging high above.

Closest to the arena floor, and with the best views, were the private boxes occupied by the nobility or the wealthy. The royal box was among them, in which sat the King, two men and a young woman.

Fritz's eyes slid straight to the woman. Dusksong hummed dimly. She was lovely beyond words, had raven black hair, and her scales had an opalescent gleam. It was her silver eyes that truly caught him, though. He could have got lost in them if he didn't have all his passions wrapped tight in Control's grip.

Fritz tore his gaze away. He needed to keep his mind on the duel, on his fury, and on his vengeance. He glared at his foe, assessing him and cataloguing each object that could be a Treasure.

Lloyd Whiteship was only slightly more armoured than Fritz himself. He wore a breastplate of green-tinged bronze, wielded a sabre of pristine white and bore bracers of polished wood on his forearms. Around his neck was a necklace of smooth, blue river stones, and on his fingers were many rings of assorted make and material.

How many of these items were Treasures? Fritz couldn't tell for sure, but he suspected most of them were. And those were only the ones he could see. There could be more, hidden, like Fritz himself had about his person.

"Lord Whiteship, are you hale and willing to duel?" the judge boomed.

"I am," he agreed, disgruntled that his complaints had fallen on deaf ears.

"And what terms on Treasures do you set?"

"No restrictions," Lloyd grinned.

"What is the condition for victory?"

Lloyd's grin grew more evil. "Death."

The crowd cheered at the pronouncement.

"The duellists will stand back to back!"

They strode to the centre of the arena, then turned their backs to each other.

"Nine paces!"

Fritz stepped forward, steady and sure. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine.

"You will commence when the King commands it."

Silence followed, a drop of sweat beaded on Fritz's forehead as he waited. His heart beat like a drum, and his soul howled like a hound. He wanted nothing more than to turn and tear his foe to pieces, part the lordling's scales and shear his soft flesh with the flensing edge of Quicksilver. He held himself still, waiting for the order to fight.

Fritz's hand ached from how hard he held the grip of his sword. It felt like minutes had passed, although it was only moments.

"Duel!"

Fritz spun, then swiftly slid into his stance. After training for a week with the awkward, heavy practice blade, his sword was as light as a feather in his hand. It flowed through the air easily, precisely, with no wavering, nor trembling along its length.

His foe took his own stance, it was slow, sloppy and self-satisfied. Adam would have called it indolent, inefficient and ineffective.

"Come taste the edge of my House's blade, Whiterazor," Lloyd goaded. "Your brother loved it, in fact, he loved it so much that he came back for seconds, then thirds."

Fritz didn't speak; he moved. Six strides, then a long lunge infused with the Pattern of the subtle step. Quicksilver leapt for Lloyd's throat and would have torn into him if not for the sudden glow of the bronze breastplate. His blade was drawn to the metal like it was being pulled by a powerful current.

Clang. It rang like a dull bell.

Lloyd's eyes went wide, and he swept his sabre hastily. The blade glowed with a pale light, but Fritz parried it, twisted his wrist, and the sword flew from his foe's hand before bouncing on the stone behind him. Horror washed over the man's features.

Fritz frowned. It had been too smooth, too simple and too easy.

He thrust again and was thwarted by not only the armour, but a shield of water that slithered over Lloyd's body while he retreated. A ring on the lordling's hand warped the air around it, and suddenly the pale sabre was in his hand again, like it had been conjured.

Lloyd slashed, Fritz met the sword with his own. This time when they struck, cold seeped down Quicksilver's length, covering it with frost. Still, with flawless finesse, Fritz flicked his blade, and the sabre was sent soaring. While it flew, he drew the edge of his sword over the lordling's gloved wrist and hand. It sliced through water and leather and tore into the skin, scale and sinew below.

Lloyd cried out and clutched his hand, stepping away and activating his water shield again.

Fritz didn't press forward. He waited for the shield to fade away so he could strike cleanly. Again, he found himself frowning.

Wasn't this lord meant to be skilled? Am I not meant to be struggling?

The arena was eerily quiet until a roar of familiar, barking laughter rose from somewhere in the crowd.

Fritz found the face of his tutor; there he was, with a huge smile plastered onto his face. He held a large mug of ale high in salute.

Realisation flowed over Fritz, he'd been fooled by the old, harsh bastard.

Adam had trained him hard, but he knew the duel wouldn't be nearly as perilous as he had often implied. He had lied about just how deadly these lords would be.

Fritz wanted to curse the drunk fool, but found himself sharing that smile, though his was twisted in a more vicious bent.

Turning to his opponent, who had recovered his sword, Fritz smirked. It was his turn to gloat and mock.

Before he could speak, false pain bloomed over his limbs and head. Lloyd had raised a hand, the rings upon it shone, and a torrent of water bolts and other projectiles were spat at Fritz.

He sidestepped an arrow of water, then ducked an icicle, dodged a fist-sized stone and blocked a sparking bolt with Quicksilver, which ate its energy eagerly. With Danger Sense, it could be considered child's play to predict where he'd be struck, and now, with the Inevitable Blade at Journeyman mastery, the attacks and their paths were even clearer.

Lloyd backed away further, his disbelief plain as each of his blasting Treasures was used. His necklace of stones gleamed brightly, and chains made of water flowed up and around Fritz's legs, then around his entire body. The binding was solid, but already he could feel he could break free in a few moments.

While Fritz struggled, Lloyd took the opportunity to leap forward and strike with Whiterazor. His bracers gleamed with green runes and his form moved with greater grace, speed and power, then he was wrapped in the almost invisible ripple of a barrier.

Fritz's stomach lurched, a sliver of fear touching his heart. He used Stone Pit to shift where Lloyd was to land, then he used it again, deepening the hole despite the drain on his stamina. The lordling fell right where he'd predicted and, without proper footing, he toppled to the side, sending his wailing strike wide.

Fritz parried this, now clumsy, attack, again disarming Lloyd easily. Then he riposted, which was deflected by the barrier. His foe tried to retreat, but with an activation of the grey marble ring, stone tendrils slithered around the man's buried leg, holding it in place.

Lloyd screamed with fury and fear, and summoned his sabre to his hand again. Water flowed over the blade and he swung. Fritz caught the blow with Quicksilver, willing his sword to release the bolt it had devoured. There was a bang, a flash and a burst of steam. Though his blade was nearly torn from his grip, he kept hold of it.

The same could not be said of Lloyd's sword; it spun end over end and clattered far out of reach.

He screamed again and started flailing wildly with his fists. Though they were covered in the power of Water Strike, they could do nothing to Fritz. He slid past each strike like a willow's branch in the breeze.

Then he began to cut.

It was small nicks at first, then larger slices as the man, mad with terror, fought.

Scales flew off, and skin was carved and cut. Dusksong delighted. Fritz danced to the vengeful tune, stepping this way, slashing that way, guided by the cruel music as he inflicted pain and intensified panic.

Soon, too soon, his blade's edge was at Lloyd's throat, ready to spill his life on the arena's stone.

Pleading, pleasing, eyes filled with fear met Fritz's own cold ones.

"You sought death," Fritz intoned, his voice as bleak as dusk. "And you have found it."

"I forfeit! Forgive me! Please!" Lloyd shouted. "I forfeit. Don't slay me!"

He blubbered, he wept, he clutched at his rent flesh, but there was no mercy in Fritz's heart. Not for one who had gone to such lengths to harm him and the House of Hightide.

Fritz was about to cut, one final time, when reason reasserted itself.

Killing the noble would make a sure enemy of the Minister of Law. Losing a son wasn't something he would forgive. And it wouldn't do to offend a Duke. There were also plenty of others who would take umbrage with that course of action, no matter how justified.

Fury fought him, but he wouldn't let such a short sighted passion ruin him. The Control he had inadvertently released during the duel returned to restricting his worst instincts.

Slowly, he moved his gaze to the King. This was his show in the end, and as much as it galled Fritz, his royal will would be done, or he would pay the price of disobedience.

The King was smiling softly, then, upon noticing Fritz's regard, shook his head minutely.

That was the verdict then, to spare the foolish, weak lordling.

Fritz removed Quicksilver from the man's throat.

"I accept your forfeiture," Fritz declared.

"Thank you! Oh, thank you, Lord Hightide! I'll never besmirch or oppose you or your House again," Lloyd blurted.

Fritz could hear the lies in his voice, could see the hate in the halo above his head, but there was nothing to be done; he couldn't strike him down now.

"The duel was to be to the death. Are you sure of this show of mercy?" the judge asked.

"I am," Fritz said. "Though may I claim recompense or reward for doing so?"

"That is usually how such matters are settled," the judge said.

Fritz had known as much; Mr. Worth had told him so previously, but it was good to hear a second person voice the same law.

"What do you want? Gold? A Treasure?" Lloyd asked obsequiously.

"A Treasure," Fritz said blandly.

"Of course," Lloyd said. "Which one? A ring, the bracers? The breastplate?"

"The sword," Fritz stated.

"The sword?" Lloyd gulped. "That's an old heirloom of my House. I can't give that away. Anything else. Please."

"It's the sword or your life," Fritz said simply.

It was a petty act, to take this 'heirloom', and perhaps any of the other Treasures may have been more suited to Fritz, but the fool had risked such a prized Treasure, and he could always ransom it back to House Whiteship or easily trade it away.

Lloyd attempted to hide his shame and fury, seething and seemingly thinking of an alternative path.

Fritz raised Quicksilver ever so slightly.

"Very well, you shall receive Whiterazor in lieu of my life," Lloyd said quickly.

Fritz smiled and nodded once.

"The duel has been decided!" the judge boomed.

The crowd cheered.

"Lord Francis Hightide is the victor and has decided to show mercy to his opponent."

There was more cheering, though it was less enthusiastic.

Fritz strolled over to his foe's fallen sword and lifted it. Then he returned to Lloyd, who had extricated himself from the hole and freed himself from the stone tendrils.

"It has a scabbard, I presume," Fritz stated. "They're a pair. You can hardly have one without the other."

Lloyd, now that the peril had passed, gave him an evil look, but unbuckled the scabbard at his waist and thrust it at Fritz's chest. It clunked off the moonsilver. Fritz caught its pale length, then sheathed the blade in one smooth motion. Then he admired the fine leatherwork and intricate stitching while Lloyd was taken away by the healer.

After only a minute, Lord Charles Gresper strode out onto the arena floor. In the warm glow of triumph, Fritz had almost forgotten about his second duel.

The merfolk lord was perturbed, but not wholly routed, as Fritz had assumed he would be after the thorough defeat of his ally. However, there was the gleam of a scheme in the man's eyes. Seemingly, he was confident that he could win through some trick.

Fritz had a foreboding feeling.

"Lord Hightide, are you hale and willing to duel?" the judge asked.

"I am," Fritz announced, far more surely than he had done the first time.

"Lord Gresper, are you hale and willing to duel?" the judge inquired.

"I am," he proclaimed.

"And what terms on Treasures do you set?"

"Three Treasures," Gresper stated, smiling widely, his needle-sharp teeth glittering. "And I demand the field be flooded."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.