Le Jeune Guilavene

Chapter 6:

Van wandered the amphitheater just before dawn, basking in the wonderful feeling of cleanliness and rejuvenated energy. He had had no disturbances last night and had slept soundly, waking early and dresin hin his now dry clothes. He cleaned up any mess he had made and gone out to watch the sun rise. Even now, a few die hard fight fanatics could be seen filing in and taking the choicest seats, though the tournament was not scheduled till noon.
He found a little spot and ate his breakfast of dry bread and elk jerky. Not exactly the breakfast of champions, but if he ate too much he was certain that if he got too nervous again he would vomit and that was not an appealing situation.
He watched the sun come up slowly over the pink and orange horizon, the golden ball shimmering slightly at the base. It was magnificent. In Fanelia, he had never seen a real sunrise. Sure he had seen the sun come over the trees, but the sky had lost all of its amazingly vivid shades by then.
When the sky finally lost the myriad of colors, he went to search out the register’s table. After almost half an hour’s searching, he finally found it outside the building. There was only about a dozen people waiting there, for which Van was very glad. However, when he got in line someone shoved him out of it again.
“What do you think you’re doing, little boy?” growled a large man, his bushy black beard covering the sneer Van could sense was there.
“I know what I’m doing,” he snapped back and stepped right back in line.
“This isn’t a carnival ride, kid. Run back to your mother,” the man mocked, earning a few snickers from the other men assembled.
The young swordsman’s eyes narrowed dangerously as the man moved push him again. He made quick move to the right ste stepped on the man’s foot, anchoring in to the ground and causing the bearded man to loose his balance and fall gracelessly out of line. The man gave out an indignant squawk and the entire line burst out into laughter. Van smirked and stepped over him,
taking his place in line. The rude swordsman was getting up and just about to do something rash, when a co Aus Austorian soldiers snapped at them to behave or they would be disqualified. Grumbling and spitting promises of revenge, he took his spot behind Van, glaring hatefully at the young man’s back. It did not take long for him to reach the front desk.
The man registering them, however, decided to be difficult.
“Oh, I’m sorry young man, but this tournament is for adults ONLY,” the greasy little man said in a slow arrogant tone.
“I’m AM an adult. I’m sixteen,” Van said, frowning.
“I don’t know where you are from, but in the capital city EIGHTEEN is the legal age for adulthood,” he said.
“I’m legally an adult of my province. That should count here! It counts for the marrying age!” the boy protested.
“Mm,” the registration looked unimpressed.
The boy felt a little twitch begin in the corner of his eye.
“Let him enter,” came a vaguely familiar voice.
All those assembled turned to see who it was. Van grimaced. The two men from yesterday strode up to the table, their body language full of authority and confidence. The slim blonde fighter flashed him a smile, which he did not return. The greasy registrationer had become flustered and was nervously fidgeting with his pen and getting his fingers inky.
“My liege! W-what are you doing here?” he stuttered.
“I came to participate in today’s tournament, of course,” the blue clad swordsman replied.
A murmur swept through the line that had formed behind him, and a few gentleman discreetly wandered out of line. Van caught the word ‘royalty’ and ‘prince’ scattered amongst their quick chattering voices. He looked at the slender swordsman and felt his stomach sink. Well, this was damn inconvenient.
“Oh, your Majesty! We are so honored to have you!” the little man exclaimed and quickly wrote his name down on his list.
“And he is to enter as well,” the prince said, gesturing towards the young man.
The man looked about ready to protest, but quickly thought better of it.
“Your name?” he asked the boy coldly.
“Van Equilar Guilavene,” he answered just as coldly.
The man paused and looked at him. He knew it was because of his name. It was the name of a nobleman, not some commoner’s name. The man gave him a skeptical stare and Van raised his eyebrow in just the right way, convincing the man he really was a noble by birth. The swordsman strode away from the desk in a huff, muttering a quick ‘thank you, your Highness’ to the prince as went. It earned him a smile that reminded him way too much of Folken for him to be comfortable with.
Gaddes watched with annoyance as the boy stalk away.
“Rather ungrateful, isn’t he?” he said to Allen.
“I think I make him nervous. I would not take it too personally,” the blonde said with a lazy smile and walked leisurely towards the tournament grounds.
“I think you just piss him off for some reason,” he said flatly.
Allen chuckled.
“Who knows? Perhaps today’s match with reveal something,” the prince said, offhandedly.
“You think he’ll actually last long enough to fight you?” Gaddes asked,
skeptically.
“He has the drive. We will just have to see if he has the skills.”

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Van breathed in and out slowly and evenly, concentrating on keeping his body calm and centered. He stood with the 37 other contestants down in the pit circling the ring. The stadium was about halfway full, with people littered here and there along the stands. Just above him, some obnoxious citizens were taunting him about his age and his size. That was fine, he could ignore them. But the rest… the ten thousand or so scattered around the amphitheater with their constant roaring noise and movement? He could barely stand in the pit let alone fight in the ring.
The announcer was in the center of the ring, his great booming voice silencing the crowd instantly and Van felt an immense relief. The announcer, a large man wearing military garbs, declared the rules of the tournament. Killing was strictly forbidden. That was comforting. To win a match you must either disarm your opponent, force them from the ring, or draw blood. Ok, simple.
And then the noise returned.
His head swam with it and he was glad he had not eaten much for breakfast. Over the deafg nog noise he heard the first contestants being called onto the turf. Two young men, with pretty swords that were utterly useless in a real fight climbed into ring and the noise rose even higher.
Van groaned. He could not keep this up. At this rate he would faint before his name was even called. He took another deep breath and closed his eyes.

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“Our little friend does not seem to be doing so well,” Gaddes said he looked down the long line of opponents to the sickly looking teenager.
Allen had to agree with him. It was a pity. He was curious to know what had made this young man think he stood any chance of winning this tournament, even with its rather pathetic lot of contestants. What could this woodsman possibly know?
Suddenly, his name was called and he climbed onto the platform. He waved regally to the crowd who broke out into screaming cheers and chanted his name. Behind him, Gaddes wished him luck.
As if he would need it.

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Van opened his eyes in time to see the blonde prince easily disarm his opponent with well executed maneuver. The other man’s sword flew several feet, landing dramatically with his blade buried into the dirt floor. The crowd broke out into wild cheering, but the young swordsman barely heard them, his hand merely tightening around his sword in anticipation. Through the distorted rumbling he thought he heard the name ‘Allen’ being cried, and finally learned his opponent’s name.
He watched the prince stroll confidently back to the side of the ring and join his dark-haired friend in the pit. The young man turned his attention back to the ring as his name was called, along with his opponent. They climbed into the ring and took their positions.
The crowd cheered again, but amongst it there were several confused murmurs and even a few chuckles. But Van heard none of it. Instead of the loud cries of the crowds, he heard the thundering roar of the ocean beating against rocky cliffs. It was a memory he had taken with him from his dream visit in the Strategos’ castle. In his heart he knew that was the true sound of waves and stone, he knew it the way every human knows it in the very fiber of their being. A memory from before men walked the land, that was so entrenched in the soul it would never be completely forgotten.
He heard it now.
And was at peace.
Van stared blankly at his opponent. It was that black bearded man who had harassed him before. Mentally he grinned, but outwardly he portrayed nothing. They stood about fifteen paces from one another, and bowed as tradition demanded. The announcer yelled for the fight to begin, and the young contestant fell into position.

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“I see he is feeling better,” remarked Allen, just as the boy bowed to his much larger opponent.
“Mm… And all the good it will do him,” Gaddes said, offhandedly.
Van’s first opponent could not have been worse, short of Allen himself. Mortago was actually a decent swords man, and had the strength of an gour. On top of that, he seemed to have a thing against the young man. If he knew the bastard as well as he thought he did, the oaf would make this as humiliating as possible for his little opponent.
The two friends watched adamantly as the announcer began the match. If things got out of hand, they would be quick to step in, as it was their duty to do so.
A cry rose up through the stadium, a sound like a bird of prey makes, only stronger and more terrifying coming from its human source. It sliced its way through the crowd’s cheers and the bearded man’s bellowing. And in its wake came Van, fast and deadly, covering the distance between him and his adversary before the beefy man could swing his sword.
A splash of blood.
Silence.
Van made a graceful movement backwards, avoiding Mortago’s blade as the large man fell backwards, his face smeared with blood from his broken nose. The small warrior straightened and stared at the bearded man, as if waiting for him to get up. Convinced his opponent was defeated, he wiped the blood from the sheath of his sword with his shirt and walked back to the pit amongst the deafening silence of the crowd.
He had not even unsheathed his sword.
Allen stared at him in utter disbelief, along with almost everybody else.
“Did see you that? One blow. He got him in one blow,” the blonde said.
“No, his screeching distracted me,” Gaddes said, looking rather sheepish.
“He went right under Mortago’s sword and came up from beneath him. He used the sheath to break his nose. It was beautiful,” Allen explained, snapping out of his awe induced stupor.
A grin slowly crossed his face.
“This game just got interesting.”

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After that, Van progressed quickly through the ranks. It was incredibly easy, and he could not help but feel both proud and disappointed. A little challenge would have been nice. His second match, he had forced his challenger clean out of the ring with series of fast and intimidating strikes. His third opponent had lost his nerve and surrendered, running out of the ring with the crowd’s jeers following him. Apparently, his unique battle cry scared him rather effectively.
He was not the only one who found the fights unchallenging. Allen, with his quick and silent strikes could have ended all of them in few seconds, but he liked to play with his adversaries for a little while. It was almost like he was testing them. Whatever he was looking for he did not seem to find it, and then the match ended with one or two well executed movements.
Gaddes did very well too, but when he was paired to fight the prince he surrendered. No one jeered as he left, and some even applauded, so Van assumed there was some tradition or etiquette in the matter he did not understand.
A short break was given so that the two remaining fighters could both rest for a while. A futile gesture in this case, since neither Van nor Allen had even begun to exert themselves. However, Van used the opportunity to head down to the lower levels of the stadium and away from the noise of the crowd. Again, he found his peace and quiet disturbed.
At least, he came alone this time
“Forgive me, your highness, but you seem to be making a habit of following me,” Van stated, not bothering to turn and face him.
The younger swordsman was currently putting his head under the sink facet and letting the water cool him. Noon was a horrible time to host a tournament, he decided. It was when the sun was at its worst and most inescapable position.
“Well, you are an interesting fellow and you strike my curiosity,” Allen replied, leaning against the wall next to the sink.
The boy ignored him for a moment continued his cooling ritual. Meanwhile, the prince observed him critically. The young mas uns uncouth, ill-mannered, and undisciplined, but there was potential there. The way he stood, the focus in his eyes, even in the way he simply annunciated all his words were all hinting at something greater than he currently was. Now, if only he could convince him.
“I also wanted to make you a proposition,” the prince continued.
The dark-haired swordsman looked up at him with a suspicious expression.
“I already told the last guy who propositioned me ‘no’. Don’t take it personally, but don’t ask again either,” he said in a low cautious tone.
Allen was confused for a moment and then frowned, a slight coloring entering his cheeks.
“That was not what I meant. I was going to offer a position in the Royal Guard under my command. You have displayed the most potential by far in this tournament and even in this years cadet try outs. Are you interested?”
Van looked surprised, which he was. This was the third or fourth time someone was showing interest in him in the last month, and he was wondering if it was typical or there was something about him that just attracted people’s attention.
Sighing, the weary traveler looked away and down at the sink, watching the water spiral down the drain.
“I am honored by your attention and your invitation, and if things were different I might actually take you up on it. But with my current situation, you are offering me a path I do not have the option of taking. I am sorry.”
Allen was about protest, but the sound of the roaring crowd reached them even in their underground sanctuary.
“It would seem the break is over,’ Van said, ‘We should probably go.”
The older swordsman frowned, but nodded and led the way back to the pit. The announcer was already calling their names and they only had time for a brief handshake before they entered the ring. The crowd howled with excitement at their approach.
They faced each other, crouching into their fighting stance. For several moments neither moved, simply evaluating the other’s form and possible weaknesses. It was rather difficult considering their stances were almost identical. Legs spread wide with the right leg a little in front, knees bent and supporting all their weight on the balls of their feet. There swords raised to eye-level and plotting the course for which they would sprint the distance and attack each other with a few powerful and precise movements. The only noticeable difference was Van kept his sword sheathed, despite his attack position.
Silence reigned. The audience held their collective breaths, their eyes glued to the two still warriors, knowing whatever happened next would fast and magnificent.
Above them, a bird flew by, its shadow across the two swordsmen and triggering the fight. Allen moved first, letting out a battle cry he had refrained from using up until now. Van’s eyes narrowed and he sprang forward to meet him. Before they reached each other, however, the dark child swung his sword early, sending the sheath of his sword flying towards the other fighter. Allen blocked the sheath with his blade and sent it skittering across the ring, but in doing so left his body open for attack. Van thrust forward, meaning to graze the blonde swordsman’s side. The prince leapt aside, barely dodging the strike and causing them both to loose their balance and stumble. Van rolled and sprang to his feet, turning in time to see Allen use his arms to quick push himself back into a standing position.
The crowd went hysterical. Both moves had been incredibly fast and clever, and for many it had been worth the entire morning of waiting to just see it. The young swordsmen regarded each other a second time, reevaluating the situation. If either had relied on strength alone the match would have been over in a heart beat, but they were using the same fighting style that relied almost entirely on speed, agility, and strategy. All of which each man had ample supply of.
A slow smirk crossed Van’s face. They may have been equals as swordsmen, but lets see how they faired against one another as hunters. He charged into another attack, knowing Allen would be ready for him, and just before they reached striking range he pulled back, as if to change his mind. The blonde swordsman of course followed him, slashing at him with his sword but always falling just out of reach. Van did not bother trying to block and merely dodged, running backwards as he was furiously pursued by the swordsman.
When Allen finally stopped the futile chase, the boy attacked him again with more ferocity and the prince struggled to keep up. The short chase around the ring had tired him a little, and the experienced hunter was taking advantage of that. Van retreated again, and Allen followed, but did not make the mistake of exhausting himself with futile attacks. He had learned his lesson. He pursued his dark-haired opponent towards the edge of the ring, actually forcing him closer to its edge than Van had intended.
Allen attacked, for once using his strength as well as his speed to force his less powerful adversary backwards towards the edge of the platform. The hunter, now the hunted, tried to move to either side, anywhere but backwards, but the older swordsman blocked him at every turn.
Desperation sank in and Van let out his almost inhuman battle cry and charged forward, calling upon strength and speed he only barely glimpsed in his battle with the Strategos. The sound of steel against steel rang loud as their blades collided, sparks flying from the friction as they harshly slide apart. Van jumped back and growled, crouching on all fours like an animal. When he sprang for another attack, his position gave him the extra force he needed to force Allen back towards the center of the ring.
Their battle continued, neither gaining nor losing ground with the other until…
“I surrender.”
Van leapt back as if he had just been slapped. He watched unbelieving as the proud prince sheathed his sword and bowed to him. A murmur spread through the crowd and general confusion spread.
“Why?! I don’t need your pity!” the boy snapped, unable to accept this skilled warrior’s simple withdrawal.
Allen smiled and shook his head.
“It occurred to me that for some reason it is important to you to win this tournament. To me, however, this is merely a game and nothing more. A way to pass the time. You have now won the tournament and I had a very entertaining fight. Everybody wins,” he explained.
Van narrowed his dark eyes and pointed his sword at him.
“Your charity is insulting! Draw your sword! This match isn’t over!”
But the prince was already walking off the platform. The announcer was declaring him the winner and crowd was applauding like crazy, but all Van felt was fuming anger.
“You bastard! This isn’t over yet!”

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“Uh, boss… what the hell was that?” Gaddes asked, as they walked alone down the basement corridors to the changing rooms.
The blonde threw him a knowing grin.
“It is complicated, but lets just say I’m baiting him. He turned down my offer, and while I am sure he had a good reason, I simple can not except his refusal. It would be such a waste of talent. By not finishing our fight, I know he will seek me out later.”
“Sounds like more trouble than he’s worth, if you ask me,” his best friend said.
The prince shrugged.
“There is just something about him. Can’t put my finger on it, but something is different. I want to find out exactly what it is,” he said.
“Boss, don’t take this the wrong way, but I think you have a little too much time on your hands.”
Allen chuckled and shook his head.
“Maybe you are right. Why don’t we go see our mysterious fighter to pass the time, then?” he suggested.
“Eh... well, it’s your funeral, not mine.”
“Such a wonderful best friend you are.”
“The only one crazy enough for the job.”
Allen was silent for a moment, and then...
“Marry me.”
“Only if I get to call you princess.”
“I’ll think about it.”

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While Allen and Gaddes teased each other and exchanged their friendly banter, Van was in the process of claiming his prize. And damn was he pissed.
What the hell am I suppose to do with this?!” he snapped at the greasy man who had been acting as registrator.
The oily man regarded him with that irritating superiority that made the swordsman want to scare some sense of self preservation into him.
“You’re a fencer. You figure it out.”
With that the little bastard picked up his long purple robes and strode away, his guards close at his heels. Van was left alone the amphitheater halls with his prize. He stared down at it hatefully.
It was a sword. The sheath was made from some sort of polished ivory and engraved with some demonic feline creature, and bands of pure gold wrapped around it. A very beautiful sword indeed and therefore, probably very useless. Not to mention the fact that he already had a sword, and he was not about to trade it for this one. He had been expecting cash, and his last match with the prince had left him angry and unfulfilled, and the littlest things were setting him off. He supposed he could sell the blade, but it was such an inconvenience. He did not know where to start looking for someone to sell it to, and even then he did not know how much it was worth.
His stomached growled and clenched uncomfortably and he was reminded of another reason why he did not want to go traipsing around the city looking for merchants.
“You look upset,” came a familiar voice.
Van flinched. This day just kept getting better and better. He turned his dark eyes to the prince and his tall friend.
“What do you want?”
“You should have more respect for your superiors, kid,” the brown-haired man stated, his eyes narrowing.
“Excuse me. What do you want, your highness,” the boy hissed.
The man stepped towards him, and the prince must have seen something that he had not for he was between them in a heart beat and giving his friend this strange look. The taller man backed down and let Allen continue.
“I just came to congratulate you.”
“What for? I did not accomplish anything. You just gave up, remember?” he snapped.
The memory of the sheer indignity of it made him angry all over again, and he was already storming off. The blond grabbed his arm as he passed and stopped him, his hand tight.
“Don’t brush this off as nothing. I would not have surrendered if I did not think you truly deserved to win. Whatever you may think, it took a lot of guts to get into that ring and prove all those people, including myself, that they were wrong to underestimate you,” Allen said.
Van could actually make out a little bit of anger in his voice, just underneath that cool confident tone. His anger faded a bit, leaving only mild irritation and deep desire to be alone.
“Let go,” he said without malice, and his arm was released.
“So what will you do now, young Guilavene?” the prince asked.
Van held up his sword and looked at it with the most dismal expression.
“I’m going to go find someone to buy this thing.”
Gaddes’ jaw dropped, and the prince looked like he was about to choke on air.
“Y-you are going to s-sel?” A?” Allen asked incredulously.
This was first time Van saw the prince loose his cool, and felt strange sort of privilege because he doubted many others had. He did not understand their reaction, however.
“Yes,” he said slowly, as if talking to foreigner… or an idiot.
“But… but it’s tournament prize. You don’t sell a tournament prize,” the dark man said.
The boy raised an eyebrow.
“You don’t starve if you can help it either. And right now food and lodging sound a lot better than some useless antique,” he explained, twirling the ivory sword carelessly in his fingers.
Alright, that made sense, Allen reasoned. He had to remember this boy probably owned nothing except what he was carrying and that his prize meant survival, not honor or pride. Still! The teen just did not understand the significance of his first tournament victory. He could not allow him to do something he would inevitably regret.
“How much?”
Gaddes looked at him in surprise, and the boy nearly dropped the sword. They both looked at him with their dark round eyes, and for a minute he thought they could easily be brothers. Then Van snapped out of it and looked suspicious.
“You want to buy this sword?” he asked skeptically.
“At least until you want it back.”
“You assume a lot about me, your highness.”
“Perhaps. Now how much?”
The boy looked thoughtful for a moment, and then started down at his stomach with mild annoyance. He looked back towards the prince.
“How much do you have on you?”
“Mm… about one-hundred jappas.”
“Sold!” Van exclaimed, and held out his hand to shake on their deal.
Allen smiled in amusement and shook his hand.
“So it’s a deal then? Personally, I think I am getting the better end of the bargain here,” the prince said.
The dark haired boy shrugged.
“If it gets any higher I might a hard time buying it back, now won’t I?”
The blonde chuckled and began to untie his money pouch. Van set the sword down and began to remove his gloves. If he was going to do this, he was at least going to use proper dealing etiquette and present it to him respectfully. He was not after all, as big of a jerk as he had first thought him to be. And he was royalty. Tucking his gloves in this belt, he took up the ornamental sword with both hands held it before him.
But before Allen to even touch it, the ivory sheath began to glow an eerie blue and it began to feel warm within the boy’s hands. Van tried to drop it, but his hands would not obey and instead held it motionless as began glow brighter and brighter, static crackling and shimmering around it.
A blinding flash and all three swordsmen fell back, landing on the ground heavily. They quickly jumped to their feet, unsheathing their swords- Van with the very weapon that seemed to have exploded only an instant before.
The hall, which had before only held three persons, now held four. Laying on the floor was a rather dazed looking boy, about Van’s age. It only took a moment for them to realize it was not human. T o Van, it looked sort of like Folken with his pale skin and white hair, but he quickly picked out the differences. This demon had no wings, but a steady pattern of golden strips running down his naked body, and golden finger and toe nails that looked potentially lethal.
Bright red eyes regarded his surroundings suspiciously, until they settled upon his summoner, still holding that cursed sword. He glared at the skinny boy, and spoke in a low husky accent.
“And who the hell are you?”