Friday, July 22, 4 S.E.

  Leonidas watched as Valerian Cade’s expression danced through an apoplectic combination of shock, confusion, disbelief, outrage, and finally settled onto derision. He clearly didn’t think the challenge held weight, which was shockingly idiotic for a man in his position, but only reinforced Leonidas’ suspicion that he was as much a political appointment as he was a moron.

  The two were usually hand-in-hand, anyway.

  “{This is absurd, Earl Latherian. I will not be party to—}”

  Valerian’s eyes widened when something distracted him, and Leonidas knew he was seeing the same screen that had just appeared for him, albeit with a probable difference in context.

  HONOR DUEL

  You have challenged Valerian Cade to an [Honor Duel], invoking your rights as an Earl, as the chosen champion of Aylar Eldormer and Synthra, and as an avowed [Archon].

  All necessary parameters for the [Honor Duel] have been met.

  Please stipulate your [Victory Terms].

  Please stipulate your [Second] if you desire one.

  Leonidas smiled at the prompt and spoke clearly.

  “I waive my right to a Second,” he said clearly and openly, “and I stipulate the [Victory Terms] as thus: First, Valerian Cade will resign from the Dawnguard in disgrace.”

  The first condition was met with a look of fury from the Dagger-Master, and a murmur of shock from the watching crowd, but Leonidas wasn’t anywhere close to finished. Ceruviel had informed him he could leverage as many conditions as there were insults made—which he fully intended to do. Valerian had levied five insults, and all five would be repaid.

  “Second, Valerian Cade will offer his sincere apologies to the Princess-Royal. Third, Valerian Cade will offer his sincere apologies to the Sorceress of the Everflame. Fourth, Valerian Cade will offer his sincere apologies to my own sullied honor.”

  The second, third, and fourth conditions aroused less of an overtly shocked reaction, mainly due to the commonality of their issuance: [Honor Duel]s usually involved insulted pride, so the conditional apology was hardly surprising. Behind him, his companions shifted, and Leonidas sensed shock, amusement, and pure bewilderment in equal measure.

  In addition, he sensed joint approval from Aylar and Synthra, and affection that almost made him blush.

  To avoid ruining his image, he pressed on with the fifth and final condition.

  “Fifth, Valerian Cade will reveal to me all those involved in his bold attempt to defame me, and do so in a written and signed report, including motives, goals, desired outcomes, and any inducement, promises, or favors he was offered to create this circumstance.”

  That, finally, seemed to have a real impact, and the Dawnguard Officer visibly blanched as people exploded into excited and shocked chatter around them. The Dagger-Master’s eyes shifted from outraged disbelief to an echo of real and present fear at what the condition demanded, and Leonidas suppressed a satisfied smile, maintaining his decorous mask instead.

  If Valerian outed those that he had conspired with, it would not end with just that—he’d be done in Haelfenn society; seen as a toxic piece of waste, unfit for the schemes and plots that made the Court run. Without the ability to keep secrets, or after burning people powerful enough to give him the courage for the confrontation in the first place, Valerian would have nowhere to turn—no allies, no succor, no recourse.

  Leonidas, through the final condition, was putting a sword through the heart of any hope Valerian had for future relevance within the Colony.

  Permanently.

  “What say you, Valerian Cade?” Leonidas asked in English, his voice projecting with intention as he stepped back, raised his sword, and pointed it at the Dawnguard Officer in challenge. “Will you accept my [Honor Duel], as certified valid by the System? Or will you defy it and scurry away like a verminous rodent and bear the shame of your fear of—what were your words? Ah, yes. A liar and lowly Terran.”

  Valerian went still at Leonidas’ words, and the attention of the surrounding crowd honed in on the confrontation sharply. It was impossible, Leonidas rationalized, for Valerian not to realize how many Terrans were in attendance—nor to notice how many Haelfenn were in attendance. By using the man’s own words against him, Leonidas had effectively boxed Valerian in.

  If he refused the duel, he’d be seen as a spineless coward, a man with bluster and no substance.

  If he accepted the duel, he’d be validating Leonidas as a Noble and Archon worthy of issuing the challenge.

  The question was what he believed about his chances of winning.

  “Oh, come on,” Synthra said abruptly, stepping forward and bracing her hands on her hips, while her voice washed over the area. “You aren’t scared of fighting a first-tier Terran, are you?” she asked Valerian incredulously.

  As suddenly as she spoke up, Bardulf joined in.

  “How embarrassing, for a Dawnguard Officer under the Duke of Morning to fear a mere Terran,” the Shadowblade said, loudly, while shaking his head in an exaggerated manner.

  Leonidas barely managed to restrain his laughter.

  The pair had put the nail firmly into the ‘running away’ coffin and kicked it off a cliff into the ocean.

  He saw the moment that Valerian realized his predicament, the way the man looked around furtively in an attempt to find an easy avenue of escape, and found even his Dagger of the Dawnguard observing in silent expectation. There were limits, Leonidas wagered, to how far they would go for their own—one of which was interceding in a legitimate [Honor Duel]. The martial traditions of the Haelfenn were sacred to them, in so many ways, and whether Terran or not, Leonidas was an Archon.

  That meant something to many of them, disgruntled or not.

  Finally, Valerian’s shoulders seemed to straighten with acceptance, and Leonidas saw his mind-glow flicker with a mix of trepidation, fear, and determination all at once. Good. He wasn’t going to attempt to run, nor refuse. He could have, even with the potential resultant debuff—but it would have been annoying if he’d done so. The apology was needed, but what Leonidas really wanted was the information. It was too good a chance to pass up.

  Aylar would need to know who to watch in the Court.

  “Very well, Archon,” Valerian said with commendable vitriol, and no small amount of pride. “I accept your [Honor Duel]. I shall name my second and my terms upon commencement. When shall we—”

  “Now,” Leonidas said, pressing his right as the challenger. “Immediately. Outside the gates. There’s no point in getting civilians involved, after all. Don’t you agree, Dagger-Master?”

  Valerian glared at him under his helmet, but nodded once—sharply—and turned on his heel for the gates, with the watching crowd parting like in a smooth sea of movement to provide him an unobstructed path. Leonidas saw the ripple of eagerness, curiosity, and sheer disbelief percolating across dozens of mind-glows, but ignored them all. He needed to be focused. Valerian Cade was a chode of the highest order, but he was also well into his Adept rank.

  It would be a good test of Leonidas’ Tribulated strength.

  He fell in behind the departing Dagger-Master as he marched for the gates, head held high and posture stiff. Around them, the crowd surged, held in order only by the sudden and commanding barks of Dawnguard and Royal Army soldiers both—coralling them into a state of better order. Neither force thought they could prevent people from observing the duel: tradition demanded that anyone present at the proclamation had the right to observe, if able.

  But they were not about to permit a stampede, and for that, Leonidas was grateful.

  The sound of running armored footsteps and the shouting of a Dawnguard Lance-Master washed over him as he strode after Valerian, but Leonidas paid it no heed as his companions not-so-subtly closed in around him at a short distance—creating a bubble of space within which he, and the still-disguised Aylar, walked unmolested. Shouts of “ACHILLES!” and “GLORY TO TERRA!” followed him as he made for the gate and stepped under its shadow, but Leonidas was too focused to respond.

  His [Cataclysm Core] was already at full revolution, roaring in his dantian as he coalesced its power and coaxed its might through his veins. The snap-crackles of scarlet lightning sapped at the air around him, producing the same distant crackles of thunder that had bystanders glancing at the otherwise-clear skies with mild confusion. He both enjoyed and faintly regretted the new addition to his passive arsenal. His Core’s evolution would only grow more environmentally influential, he presumed, and that meant that stealth would never be an option for him.

  Even the act of a basic pre-battle cycle was enough to light him up like an insidious Christmas decoration.

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  “{Are you certain about this?}” Aylar asked quietly at his side, while Synthra, Bardulf, and even determined Parnym kept their eyes on the crowd warily. “{I see your strategy, Leonidas, and I understand its value—but we were supposed to leave absent fanfare. I am not certain how plausible it is for me to remain hidden, the longer this continues.}”

  “{No one will be looking at you,}” Leonidas replied in an equally quiet voice, thankful for the noise of the watching crowd and the already-deafening shouts of those making bets on the outcome. Thank God for sapient greed. “{Remain between our companions, and do not be tempted to reveal yourself. Word will reach Ceruviel quickly enough. I have no doubt she and Uriel will be here long before this is concluded.}”

  “{And then?}” Aylar asked, showing implicit trust in his initial assessment.

  “{Then we gallavant off to win you a Crown,}” he said wryly, and earned a soft laugh from the Princess in the act.

  Leonidas tried not to think about the way his spine tingled when he heard it.

  “{These people won’t be content just to watch if this goes poorly for you, Achilles,}” Synthra said as she, Bardulf, and Parnym closed the distance a moment later, forced in tighter by the surrounding people as the five of them marched after Valerian’s golden figure. “{You may be inciting a riot if you don’t beat him.}”

  “{Are you doubting I can?}” Leonidas asked the Sorceress with a raised eyebrow.

  “{No,}” Synthra said with a huff. “{But I am not sure it will be easy. Every tier, as you know, is multiplicatively superior to the one before it. You may have thrashed our peers in the Slayer trial as a Novice, but an Initiate against an Adept is a whole different realm of challenge.}”

  Her eyes turned from Leonidas to Valerian, and she continued.

  “{He isn’t a low-intelligence Hydra, Achilles, and you don’t have the advantage of smaller size. He’s faster, stronger, and a veteran. He may be a fool of a Haelfar, but he’s still a Dawnguard Officer. You don’t become a Dagger-Master without some skill to show for it.}”

  “{I know,}” Leonidas said without arrogance, eyes narrowing faintly. “{I have faced similar situations in the past. I am not expecting an easy victory, but neither am I expecting this to be overly complex. Valerian, for all that he fears me, hates that he fears me—I can sense it. He still, in his core, believes I am inferior to him in every aspect that matters. He will underestimate me, because he can afford to underestimate a Terran.}”

  Leonidas looked back at his companions, meeting their eyes, and grinned.

  “{And that is the curated noose by which he shall hang himself.}”

  Bardulf sighed and swung an arm around Parnym, who started at the contact, and sighed under the Shadowblade’s enthusiastic friendship.

  “{You still should have elected a second,}” Bardulf said in amusement. “{Even if you win, my friend, you may have to face his second immediately afterward, if they decide to challenge for the right.}”

  “{It would be a reproachable act,}” Aylar said quietly. “{A second is traditionally only there to ensure the terms are met. Challenging after the defeat is seen as cowardice.}”

  “{The Blues are not precisely renowned for their cultural sensitivity, Your H—my lady,}” Parnym said, catching himself at the last moment. “{Forgive me my temerity, but I think Ea—Achilles may not be afforded that much respect by them.}”

  “{Can’t we just blow them up if they try?}” Synthra grumbled.

  “{Not if you want to preserve Achilles’ reputation,}” Aylar said wryly.

  “{Bigheaded idiot…}” Synthra muttered, earning a soft laugh from Aylar.

  “{How will you deal with it if they decide to challenge you?}” Bardulf asked curiously. “{I presume you have some mad idea in that head of yours.}”

  Leonidas smirked at the question and the glances from his companions.

  “{That depends, Bardulf.}”

  “{On what?}” the Shadowblade asked curiously.

  “{On when I win.}”

  The five of them strode almost a hundred meters clear of the gates before they halted, matching position opposite to where Valerian was standing upon a relatively flat stretch of grass, flourishing thanks to the System’s Aether infusion across the planet. The Dagger-Master had drawn his Alteran longsword, planted it tip-down in the earth, and was waiting for him in stony silence.

  Leonidas smiled and motioned his companions to remain where they were.

  “{Okay. This is where I go on alone.}”

  “{Good luck, Achilles!}” Parnym offered first. “{Make the Duskguard proud!}”

  “{Try not to thrash him too savagely,}” Bardulf chortled.

  “{If you die, you idiot, I’ll dance on your corpse,}” Synthra said with a grumble. “{So go and win. Bighead.}”

  “{Show them who you are, Leonidas,}” Aylar said at the last. “{Show them all.}”

  Leonidas smiled at his eclectic mix of delving companions and set down his backpack, removed his jacket, and rolled his shoulders before walking forward with casual ease. A duel started long before the first clash of blades—it started from even before the proclamation. Confidence, poise, self-assurance; Miranda and Ceruviel had both ingrained those lessons into him, for different reasons and in wildly different contexts, but with identical truths: defeating an enemy in the mind was more potent than using force alone.

  Belief, after all, was the difference between victory and defeat, more often than people thought.

  “Valerian!” he called in English as he advanced, coming to a halt ten meters from the Haelfar, and planting his [Archon’s Psiblade] in the earth in a mirror of the other man’s stance. “I am ready for your terms.”

  A large circle was already forming around them when Leonidas spoke, kept at a safe distance by the mix of Dawnguard and Royal Army troops—almost tripled from the original detail, he noticed idly—ringing the inside of the circle in a wall of steel and gold.

  “My terms are simple, Earl Latherian,” Valerian called back stoically in the same language, his voice respectably clear and confident. “To begin: I nominate for my second Lance-Master Ilsan Matrovar, if she accepts.”

  Leonidas glanced toward the ring of soldiers at Valerian’s words, and saw a stocky—by Haelfenn standards—woman in Dawnguard gold separate and approach, her winged and plumed helmet tucked under her arm. What surprised Leonidas more, though, was that there was no sign of blue on her armor—nor red. A complete lack of any association, seemingly declared in the notable absence of either.

  His respect for the unknown Lance-Master ratcheted up immediately.

  “Earl Latherian, Dagger-Master Cade,” Ilsan said in adherence to English as she came to a halt and looked between them. Her eyes were a startling grey, framed by jet black hair that fell in waves across her breastplate. “I am not wholly aware of the point of this foolishness, but the traditions of Altera are clear, and as an Archon, you have the right to this duel, my lord. I will only ask that you both try to avoid undue violence in proximity to the populace. We cannot stop them observing, but we can keep them safe.”

  Leonidas nodded at her words and glanced at Valerian, who—for a wonder—nodded as well, without hesitation.

  “Good,” she said simply, and then looked at Valerian. “I accept your nomination, Valerian, but know that I will not intercede for you—not unless the Earl violates the terms of resolution. You made this happen with your pride, and I’ve warned you about it in the past. If this is the path you wish to walk, then I grant it to you, but I will not be party to political scheming.”

  When Valerian bowed his armored head in acceptance, she turned to Leonidas.

  “I have heard much about you, Archon. It seems the rumors do not do justice to your reckless disregard for decorum,” the woman said in the same neutral manner. “Have you declared the terms of victory? As the only present Second, I will witness them for you as well, in place of your deferred.”

  Leonidas smiled at her wryly and shrugged his shoulders.

  “Recklessness and Archons go hand-in-hand, my lady, according to my Mentor. As to the terms of victory, I need the good Dagger-Master alive for my own, so I propose a battle to incapability. Whichever side is no longer able to fight loses.”

  Ilsan eyed him speculatively for a moment, then dipped her head and turned to Valerian.

  “Dagger-Master Cade?”

  “I have not yet delivered my terms, Lance-Master. I will state my desired outcome after that is done.”

  Ilsan arched an elegant black eyebrow at the man’s words, but nodded.

  “The floor is yours, then.”

  Valerian inclined his head to her and then affixed his gaze on Leonidas.

  “My terms, Earl, are as follows: First, upon my victory, you will renounce your Noble title before the Court of Dawnhaven.”

  A ripple passed through the watching crowd, and even Ilsan frowned, but Leonidas just maintained his idle smile.

  “Second, upon my victory, you will renounce your residency and citizenship before the Court of Dawnhaven.”

  That condition caused another stir, and someone yelled a very Terran expletive that almost made Leonidas laugh.

  “Third, upon my victory, you will sunder your [Knight Oath] before the Court of Dawnhaven.”

  That one, however, killed his mirth. His [Knight Oath]? That was the destruction of his Class, as well. He’d lose his Archon status and likely a significant percentage of his power, potentially for years. Leonidas’ expression remained fixed in a smile, but anger boiled within him. He had taken Valerian to task politically, and now the man wanted to break him? Leonidas felt his [Cataclysm Core] growling in reflected anger.

  “Fourth, upon my victory, you will submit yourself for Core Sundering before the Court of Dawnhaven.”

  Shock rippled through the crowd, and Leonidas heard someone—Synthra, he thought—spit a curse at the declaration.

  His own eyes narrowed at the condition, and he felt his Core snarling at the statement. For all that the orb of destructive power in his dantian wasn’t sapient, it seemed to be reacting to his own understandings, and the mana in his blood roiled with fury at the presumption of the Dawnguard Officer. He would need to teach Valerian Cade a more permanent lesson than he’d suspected.

  “Fifth,” Valerian declared finally, “upon my victory, you will surrender yourself to my authority for judgment before the Court of Dawnhaven.”

  At this last pronouncement, the crowd exploded into outrage, and Leonidas felt himself smile again. So, Valerian wanted his head. Good. That was the most predictable condition, other than the revocation of his titles, and it put things into better perspective. If he was fighting for his life, then his [Knight Oath] would have little objection to anything he did to preserve it.

  It gave him ideas.

  “That is quite the list of demands, Valerian,” Ilsan said in a voice that sounded genuinely taken aback. “You would deprive Dawnhaven of an Archon, over merely this disagreement?”

  Valerian turned his gaze to Ilsan, and his voice was cold when he answered.

  “I would save Dawnhaven from an inevitable disaster, Lance-Master. This Terran may have fooled the Duchess, the Princess, and even managed to hoodwink the Dawn-Lord and Adventurers’ Guild—but I see through him.”

  Valerian’s gaze returned to Leonidas, and he spoke boldly, voice cutting through the shouts of the crowd.

  “This man is a cancer, a sore, a poison eating at the heart of what we are. Dissidence and unrest follow him like a plague. This ‘Earl’ is a cankerous boil upon the beauty of our Thronehold, and I will avert the cataclysm he represents with every fiber of my being.”

  Leonidas felt his body ripple with coiled power at the accuracy of the last statement, and he initiated the summoning of his armor—rolling his shoulders as Psi and Aetheric bleed boomed around him in a crackle of atmospheric interference. The crowd stilled when it did, and even Ilsan looked at him askance as power and violence coruscated into a blazing ignition of might, and saw him bedecked in his obsidian [Archon’s Warplate] with a flash-crackle of cardinal radiance.

  Overhead, thunder snarled through the clear skies.

  “I see…” Ilsan said quietly, as if understanding something, and then turned back to Valerian. “The Earl stated his terms of victory earlier, Valerian. Do you accept them? Battle to incapacity, not death.”

  Valerian lifted his blade and settled into a ready stance.

  “I do,” he said simply. The System chimed in recognition, and it was done.

  “Very well,” Ilsan declared, and with a final look at Achilles, stepped back and gained distance from the pending bout.

  “Have you anything else to say, Black Knight?” Valerian demanded, his voice echoing in the tense, anticipatory silence.

  Leonidas lifted his [Archon’s Psiblade] from the earth in response and held it out to his right, Psi igniting into a [Psionic Swordforce] along its length.

  “Alea iacta est,” he declared to Valerian with calm certainty.

  The die is cast.

  Thunder shook the sky above, and the duelists charged.

  Ilsan Matrovar, Dawnguard Lance-Master Concept Art

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