Allies?

One axe, one spear, and two swords. Perry counted the weapons over and over in his head as the last four competitors got into position. While the other three nobles held their weapons proudly and displayed them for the crowd, Malrik glanced almost disappointedly at his borrowed sword. 

Perry wondered if he had his own sword and what might've happened to it for him to now be without it. 

"I wonder why he changed weapons," the King mused out loud. "He seemed very proficient with the spear."

"Some of the others also changed weapons, my King," the Queen observed. 

"Perhaps he is not unlike a peacock." The Clan Leader chuckled. 

Or maybe you could all just shut up, Perry thought desperately. 

He tried very hard to ignore the Queen and the Clan Leader whenever they said anything, but their voices still made helpless anger flare in his chest and set his teeth on edge. 

"The competition is a test of skill," the Master of Ceremonies announced. "The first competitor to draw blood will be disqualified. Your objective is to disarm your opponents before the last grain of sand falls." At that, she extended her arms out and moved her hands in a circular motion. An enormous translucent hourglass appeared above the arena, filled with bright blue sand. "The last competitor standing still wielding their weapon wins." 

The Master of Ceremonies raised one hand and fired off the three silver balls that popped one after the other, indicating the start of the last competition. 

At first, nothing happened. The four competitors just stared at each other. Perry counted his heartbeats. One, two…

The first to move was the one wielding the spear. Perry couldn't even tell if they were a man or a woman because he'd barely paid attention to anyone other than his supposed bodyguard. 

The person with the spear went for the axe-wielder, moving with incredible agility and grace. To him, it was more like a dance than a fight. The person wielding the axe was broader and, Perry couldn't help but notice, slower. 

The King said something about distance and the spear being forged somewhere up north, but he barely paid him any mind as he shifted his gaze to Malrik and his opponent. 

His opponent dealt a series of blows that Malrik deflected one after the other, looking almost bored. 

"Interesting choice," the King mused, half-turning to glance at Perry. "Your bodyguard almost doesn't move his feet, but he is undeniably fast."

"That's… good," Perry added intelligently. What else was he supposed to say here?

The King leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he watched Malrik deflect another blow with almost lazy precision. "Most curious," he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else. "It is almost as if he does not rely on his own stance to fight. Look at him — his feet barely move. It is almost unnatural."

Perry's stomach twisted. Unnatural? What did that mean? He glanced at his bodyguard, who was standing perfectly still again, his sword held loosely at his side. The other fighters were panting, their movements heavy and deliberate, but Malrik looked… bored. Like this was nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

"Perhaps he is simply conserving energy," the Queen suggested, though her tone was doubtful.

The Clan Leader snorted. "Or perhaps he is not as skilled as he appears. Look at him, he barely seems to be trying. One could almost call it lazy. Or inhuman."

Perry's breath caught. Inhuman. The word sent a shiver down his spine. He forced himself to look away, but his mind raced. 

A strange sense of awareness tugged on the back of his mind. He couldn't say what it was. He didn't even know if it was real or just a product of everything that had happened so far.

The King and Long Beard kept discussing the fight going on in the arena. Annoyance bubbled up inside of Perry and he tapped his fingers an the arms of the chair. He glanced up at the hourglass and saw that more than half the blue sand had already fallen. The crowd cheered and when Perry turned back to the arena, the axe-wielder was on their back and the axe was next to him. 

"Three competitors left," the Master of Ceremonies announced. 

"Come on, come on." Perry didn't even know what he was cheering for. 

Anxiety made him lean forward, shift to the left, lean back, then shift to the right. Despite Perry's limited knowledge, even he could tell Malrik was a skilled fighter. Even with the two remaining competitors having seemingly decided to both fight Perry's bodyguard instead of each other.

Perry tried to keep an eye on both the hourglass and the fight, each second putting him more and more on edge. 

The crowd roared as the two remaining competitors circled Malrik, their weapons glinting under the arena lights. Perry's heart pounded in his chest, his fingers digging into the arms of his chair. The hourglass loomed above, its blue sand trickling down way too quickly.

The first attacker lunged, a blur of motion. Perry barely saw the sword swing, but Malrik sidestepped with a casual grace, his feet barely shifting. The blade whistled past him, missing by inches. The crowd gasped, but Malrik didn't even flinch. He just stood there, his borrowed sword held loosely at his side, like he was waiting for something more interesting to happen.

The second competitor, the one with the spear, darted forward, thrusting the weapon toward Malrik's chest. This time, Malrik moved — not much, just a slight shift of his hips — and the spear tip grazed the air where he'd been standing a second ago. 

Perry's breath hitched. How was he doing that? Perry was no expert, but it was like he could see every move before it happened.

The spear-wielder didn't let up. They jabbed again, this time aiming low, but Malrik's sword flicked out, tapping the shaft of the weapon with a sharp clang Perry felt in his own bones. The spear-wielder stumbled, off-balance, and Malrik didn't even bother to press the advantage. He just stood there, waiting.

The crowd was on their feet now, shouting and cheering. Perry couldn't tell if they were rooting for Malrik or against him. He didn't care. His eyes were glued to the arena, his stomach churning with every swing of a blade, every thrust of a spear.

The first attacker came at Malrik again, this time with a series of rapid strikes. The sword flashed through the air, one blow after another, but Malrik deflected each one with ease. His movements were small, precise — a twist of the wrist here, a shift of the shoulders there. It was almost like he wasn't even trying. The attacker grunted in frustration and swung harder, but Malrik just shifted his body to the side, letting the blade slice through empty air again.

Perry didn't see the flash, or the move. All he saw was Malrik dodging another blow and his empty hand raised in the air. Something wooshed past Perry's face and next to him, Long Beard stumbled back. 

Perry turned his head and blinked several times, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Half of the Clan Leader's beard was gone. And next to him, embedded into the floor, was the sword Malrik had borrowed for the competition.

"Guards!" The King's voice boomed over the arena and Perry tore his eyes away from the Clan Leader's petrified expression to see what was going on. 

Down in the Arena, Malrik had the person with the spear on his knees in front of him, both arms locked behind their back. The third competitor stood next to him, sword held against Malrik's neck. 

Perry held his breath as Royal Guards filed into the arena and surrounded the three competitors. 

"Execute this traitor," the Clan Leader all but shouted next to Perry, making him jump. 

For a heart-stopping moment, Perry thought the Clan Leader meant Malrik, but he quickly realized he meant the spear-wielder when Malrik shook his head. Perry tried not to wince at how close the sword was to his neck.

"I would hold off on any hasty executions," Perry's bodyguard said. "It would be smarter to question him first. Who is to say he acted alone?"

"A blatant attempt on the King's life must not go unpunished." The Clan Leader moved his fingers in the air and purple ropes materialized around the kneeling man's body. He struggled, but they only tightened around him. "If you do not wish to join him in the dungeon, execute him now."

Wait, was the Clan Leader ordering Malrik to execute the man as some form of test? Could he do that? Technically, he wasn't in the Royal Guard. Perry really needed to get his hands on some kind of book or guide to get a grasp on the power dynamics of this place. 

"Guards, arrest this man," the Clan Leader ordered, pointing at Malrik when he refused to obey.

"Wait!" Perry jumped to his feet and the guards that had moved toward Malrik hesitated. "I… I…" Perry searched his brain, trying to come up with something remotely intelligent to say. Then he remembered what the prince had said during the celebration, when the Clan Leader had tried to 'steal' Perry from Master Rennin. "I lay claim to this man." He did his best to ignore the way the words made his skin prickle and his cheeks warm. "He's my bodyguard. You don't-do not have permission to take him anywhere. Except where I tell you to. And I do not tell you to take him to the dungeon. Or anywhere else. Leave him right there. Yes."

Perry tried very hard to keep his face blank and not cringe at his own words. Had any of that even made sense?

"Your Highness," the Clan Leader gritted out. "Your bodyguard threw a weapon at the Royal Family. At the King."

Had he? Perry glanced at the sword embedded into the stone bench. He remembered the whoosh he'd felt close to his face. When he glanced down to the arena, the man tied with the Clan Leader's purple bindings didn't have his spear anywhere near him.

Even if Perry had less than zero experience with swords and fighting techniques, he thought he understood what had happened.

"No, he didn't." Perry cleared his throat and tried to inject as much authority as he could into his words. "He deflected the, uh, weapon that man threw and protected my life." He glanced from the sword to the Clan Leader. "We all saw how good his aim is in the first two parts of the competition. If he wanted to hit the King, he would have. He protected me. Which is, you know, his job. As my bodyguard."

Perry clamped his mouth shut to keep from saying anything else as he waited for someone else to contradict him. He had no clue if his conclusion was right or not. The only thing he could be somewhat certain of was that his bodyguard's aim really was impressive. And that the Clan Leader's new half-beard wasn't an accident. 

"The First Prince is right," the King finally spoke. 

"Your Majesty," the Clan Leader protested, but the king held up one hand, cutting him off. 

"Guards, escort this man from the arena so that he may be questioned later and my son's bodyguard may return to his duties. Master of Ceremonies, announce the winner." The King leaned back in his chair and waited while everyone rushed around to do as they were told. 

Perry took the opportunity to quietly sit back down. The Master of Ceremonies announced the winner, the third and only competitor who hadn't been disarmed before the time ran out. Perry didn't hear a single word she said as he watched his new bodyguard dust himself off and leisurely make his way back up to where the Royal Family sat. 

"The blade is of poor quality." Malrik eyed the borrowed sword still embedded in the floor. "It is heavier toward the pommel." 

Perry barely breathed as he waited to see what the Clan Leader's response would be. 

"I shall alert our blacksmiths." The other man touched his beard and looked like he wanted to take a blade to Malrik's hair himself. Or maybe his head. 

Without so much as glancing in the Clan Leader's direction, Perry's new bodyguard stood next to Perry, hands hanging loosely next to his body and stared straight ahead.

Perry didn't know if what he'd just done was good or not. Or what kind of repercussions he might face because of that. All he knew was that, while Malrik might have lost the competition, Perry might have gained an ally. 

Or, at least, he hoped so.