Chapter Seventeen: Courage (Part One).

Two foes, hating each other for nought more than sport, toed the battle lines. Amethyst eyes never cared to meet the copper of her enemy but from across the two meters, and the lifetime of experiences, that stood between them; they awaited as one, for the final battle cry.

Her plan began before the fighting had even commenced. This woman, the Silken Smile, was a duellist by her very nature. Her face; unreadable. Her form; impeccable. She stood both rigid and loose. Both at ease and coiled to pounce.

Her borrowed blade seemed a little bulkier than she was used to, yet she wielded it expertly. It was a dainty little thing, with a spiralling cupped hilt and a slightly curved grip. A tool meant for flourishing and stabbing, with very little power to its slash and cut.

It seemed foolish, a sword meant for the thrust would never work against the significantly longer spear Ash carried. Though Ash couldn't help but notice that her foe seemed utterly disinterested in her spear, while entirely enraptured by her gauntlet.

"Warriors!" The magical voice boomed over the vast crowds. "Begin."

There was no rush, no charge. Both seemed to take the same caution, the same hesitance. This silken woman was not going to go down easily and Ash's only obvious advantage was her superior range. Charging in would nullify that in an instant.

The Sparrow-Knight brought her spear high, the back of the shaft coming past her head while the tip pointed low and forth. It was a spear-fishing stance, meant for precision, small movements and quick thrusts.

Ash took the first tentative step. She coiled low to the ground and held her weight on her front foot as she approached. It was only as she drew near that the Smile finally moved. First, she took a deep and flourishing bow, before she sprang into action.

She dashed towards Ash with an impossible grace, both feet nearly lifting entirely from the ground. Her blade spiralled, its point circling as it tore towards Ash's throat. Ash moved to parry the blow but, in a flash, the Smile's boot rounded against the spear. Ash barely managed to keep it in hand, but she was forced to drop it as the blade inched towards her face. The spear fell to her left while Ash dove to the right, but it was almost too late. The blade clipped against her leather mask and took a chunk to remember her by.

Ashtik rolled backwards and sprung up to her feet. She coiled on her right foot as she drew it behind her and held her gauntleted left hand out towards her foe.

The Smile grew teeth as she twirled back and slashed her blade out again. Ash dodged back and then to the side. Once or twice, she even managed to swat the blade away with her steel-skinned hand, though it felt all too risky each time.

A voice in her mind criticized her opponent. It was Amell, he mocked her extravagant movements and excessive flourishes. He teased her for twirling and spinning in a manner more fit for a late-night dancer than a killer. She took a deep breath and formed a plan of attack.

The Smile stood in the way of her spear, and would likely hold the angle for as long as she could. Luckily, it fell to the southeast while the sun shone from the west. Ash rolled on one hand to put the late-day sun to her back in hopes of blinding her foe. It worked well enough. The woman scrunched up her nose from beneath her open-faced helm as she squinted the glare away.

"Feel free to yield. It would be a shame to ruin such a pretty face," the Smile taunted.

"Funny. I was just about to say the exact same thing," Ash replied.

"Oh, so you can say more than one word."

"Sure," Ash mocked. "Come on, get on with it. Lest you're too scared of an unarmed woman?"

"Scared? Never," the Smile scoffed. "I would simply rather not waste the energy required of beating you."

"And here I thought bullshit bravado was a male affliction. You should just stick to looking pretty; you haven't the gall for violence."

"Awfully bold for the little girl who was too scared to so much as speak earlier."

"Nah, I just didn't want to confuse you. I know you ditsy gingers tend to struggle with big words."

"Ditsy ginger? Do I look like a ginger?"

"I mean, bitch you ain't a purple. Now hit me or kiss me, just shut the fuck up."

"Very well, pigeon. Have at it," the Smile snarled as she struck. The bait was easier than she had expected. Ash twisted on her right heel and pushed away the thrusting blade with her left hand while her right sought a grip on the Smile's finely armoured chest. Once she secured a hold, she pushed herself into her enemy, and her enemy into her. She wrapped her left hand around the flailing blade and sundered it from the Smile's grasp.

The two women tumbled to the ground in a grasping, striking bundle of breathy curses and blatant attempts at biting. The objective remained the same as before, draw blood. Ash realised that her foe had something of an advantage in that regard. Her clawlike nails struck out for Ash's face, but when she couldn't get her hands around Ash's mask, she tried instead to tear away at Ash's armour. First, she struggled against the straps of her vambrace but Ash denied her any chance to tear it off.

The white-haired huntress managed to roll atop the auburn fencer. In a contest of strength, there was no contest at all. Ash pinned the woman's left hand down beneath her outstretched boot and her right beneath her knee.

"Yield?" Ash offered. "Or do I get to cut that pretty face? I mean, 'have to' cut that pretty face."

"Fuck you," the Smile spat.

Ash pulled back her right hand and cocked it for a punch. "Just yield," she whispered.

"Not going to use your gauntlet?" The Smile asked with a strangely unreadable expression. She struggled beneath Ash and nearly managed to roll her off until Ash wrapped her left hand around her throat and held her still. The warm metal dug into her soft flesh and left each of her breaths laboured and difficult.

"Just yield," Ash repeated with an almost compassionate tone.

"No," she grinned. "Make me bleed, Champion."

"Champion?" Ash gasped. That she knew, and that she hid so, was a more powerful blow than any she had suffered since the fight had begun. The strange shock of it threw her balance, and the Smile seized her chance to escape. She brought her boot to Ash's chest and pushed her away with all the might she could muster before dashing away to the nearest weapon. It wasn't her little toothpick, but Ash's spear.

Once sense caught her, Ash did the same. She slid away and caught the thin rapier as she went.

The crowd erupted the competition returned to the battlefield. She had all but forgotten they were there, but suddenly became very aware of them now that her Championship was known.

The Smile held her spear like an amateur. Ash was glad no mirror was present to hand her the same accusation. She did her best to mimic the stance that her auburn-haired foe had held. She slid her right foot forward with the matching hand held out and the blade pointed high.

The Smile held her spear by her hip, her left hand used for leverage and her right used for power. Her left was too far forward, it denied her the range advantage, while her right was too rigid. She would have no way to properly manipulate the tip as they fought.

Ash shone a cheeky grin from beneath her mask and called out, "Wanna swap?"

"By all means, you first," the Smile grinned back.

"Ladies first."

"What would that make you?"

"A rough northern lass. No elegant lady."

The Smile let a far from lady-like cackle escape her, but quickly masked it with a cough. She looked at Ash again with a veiled smirk. "Well, lassie," she called in a false vaguely Maester Veil-ish accent, "Toss out the blade, and I'll toss out your spear."

"Toss the spear? You'll probably aim for my head," Ash scoffed.

"How dare you," she gasped, feigning indignation. "I was going to aim for your heart!"

"How about you stick it in the ground, and I'll do the same thing?" Ash offered.

"Sure," the Smile snorted in the same way Ash had.

Ash made the first offer. She plunged the tip of the blade just barely into the seam between stone floor tiles before releasing the blade.

"What could be stopping me from rushing at you now?" The Smile asked.

"You wanna know who'd win in a fair fight. You wanna be able to claim you beat a Champion."

She clearly considered for a moment. Her gaze fixed to Ash's gauntlet as her face slowly filled with the lust for glory. Her smirk grew all the greater and she plunged the spear deep into the seams. It sank much deeper than Ash's sword, so deeply in fact that it might take a severe effort to pull it free. An effort that would take a small framed woman, like the Smile, much too long. Possibly long enough to cross the distance with a blade in hand.

Ash bowed her head as she said, "You're here for a fair fight. It seems I was right in saying you lack the gall for combat."

Ash tore the blade from the ground with such speed that the tip snapped and shattered into a jagged edge. She ran with the swiftness of the torai, and the raging charge of the rhino. She stormed, her blade coiled, like an army of one towards the Smile as she tried in vain to free the spear.

A single, all too gentle, slash brought an end to the battle. A bead of delicate blood rolled over her sharp cheekbone and stained over the pink of her blusher.

"Fuck," the Smile grunted. "Fuck!" She rushed around to lay eyes on the victor of the bout. Pure, undiluted wrath filled her cheeks and quivering lips. "What the fuck was that?"

"You wanted a fair fight," Ash said meekly. "I wanted to win."

The confidence of battle-blood drained away as the crowd unsettled and began to roar. The warrior who had bantered with her foe so effortlessly fell back into the darkness, while Ashtik stood under the beaming magical arena lights.

"You're no fucking Champion," the Smile, if she could still claim the name under such a sour expression, spat out at Ash. "Didn't even have the grace to use your God-power. Am I truly so pathetic in your eyes?"

"My what?"

"Fuck you," the Smile repeated with raw bile oozing from her tongue. She granted Ash no further notice, and made away for the fighter's section.

"Wait!" Ash called out. She did, if for a brief moment, though she didn't turn to face Ash. "How did you know I was a Champion?"

The Smile turned back to Ash with pure hatred in her eyes. She tore a hole in the tan leather of her thigh pad and revealed what lay beneath.

An olive tree sprouted across the surface of her skin as a pair of lovers held cups beneath flowing streams of purple wine. It moved and animated across her skin in the same impossible way Ash's own little sparrow did.

"You're a Champion?" Ash realised.

"Fuck you," she simply spat again.

And then she was gone, and Ash was left to the ravages of the endless crowd. It seemed they were as displeased with her as the Smile had been.

"The winner, by... 'natural' victory, is the Sparrow-Knight!" The magic voice finally declared with all too little enthusiasm.

The crowd erupted in boos and jeers yet again as Ash made her way down from the stone stage. She found Amell surrounded by aspiring blade masters as he seemed to be giving them each tips and advice for their upcoming bouts. They all seemed earnestly and utterly wrapped up in his wisdom, and hung on every last word he graced to impart upon them.

"... And so, you do not swing, but slash! Unless you're facing me, then you run," he finished. The lads, some no older than sixteen, all broke out into applause while some politely chuckled at some unheard jest. He turned from his adoring followers and just caught sight of Ash as she neared with her head held low.

"Spinny!" He bellowed. "Oh, ah. Excuse me, gents. Best of luck!"

The lumbering giant squoze through the encircling listeners and caught up to Ash. "A brilliant fight!" He beamed.

"Tell that to the crowd," Ash grumbled.

"A BRILLIANT FIGHT!" He shouted out to the roaring spectators. Naturally, none paid him any mind as the next bout had already begun, but it made Ash chuckle a little. "But earnestly, you were brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. A warrior, not a tourneyman. You battled in the mind and won, that is a nobler victory than any bloody slugfest."

"Thanks, Amell," Ash said, though she wasn't sure she believed him.

"Now look, your next fight is coming. What's your plan?" He encouraged.

"My plan?" Ash snorted. "I'm out of my depth here, Amell. I'm probably going to forfeit next round."

"Absolutely not," Amell declared. He drew his sword and held it in an offensive stance as he kicked a spare spear over to her. "Losing is one thing, but to give up? Nonsense!"

"It's not that big of a deal," Ash sighed. "It's just a little tourney."

"No. It's you giving up because you don't think you're good enough."

"I'm not."

"You're in the semi-finals."

"Because I used dirty tricks and basically cheated. Not because I'm better."

"Victory means you are better, the route to victory is irrelevant. You think every war is won by men in honourable combat? No! They're won through cunning and trickery. By fighting the enemy where there is no enemy. By breaking the enemy without ever shedding blood. These people are fighting to overcome, you are simply winning. Keep that up. Win the battle first, then start the fight."

"That sounds very deep," Ash sighed. "But what am I actually supposed to do?"

Amell swivelled his head around until he found a well-built man wading through the crowd. "Him there, do you see?" He pointed to him.

"Yes."

"Describe him."

"He's tall, well built. His armour has a sigil, so he must be a nobleman. No sleeves, either trying to show off his arms or hails from somewhere too hot for full armour. Ebony skin, so he's probably eastern. He's got his hair in long jata and a fair few scars across his face and body. I'd guess he's a second son to some desert lord, looking for glory in battle," Ash summarised.

"That's good, but look closer. His right arm, a slashing scar across his elbow. He'll be weak on that side. His hair is long and easy to get a hold of during a grapple and he isn't acclimated to such a humid nation so his stamina will suffer. Your style of avoidance and distance keeping will serve you well against him, so long as you can keep the pressure on his right side," Amell reviewed. He looked away from Ash again as he scoured the crowd for another appropriate target. He finally found one after another moment or so.

"That's my next foe. Describe him," he smirked.

"He's... large," Ash realised. "Maybe as large as you."

"A clash of the titans. I expect the event organisers to be quite pleased with this match-up. But he is in fact, larger than I."

"Not by height, but he's certainly more muscular. No offence," Ash awkwardly chuckled.

"Not at all, now go ahead. Review him," he smiled.

"As I said, he's strong. I've seen bulls with less rippling muscle. He's going to hit hard, and he's using a blunt weapon. Looks like some kind of mace?"

"A Morningstar," he explained.

"Right. That'll shatter your armour, so you'll have to be quick with your dodges. Your sword is longer, though. Maybe you should keep some distance and hope for some careful cuts. Oh, he isn't wearing a helmet! Whenever I cut my forehead, I bleed enough to serve a vampris birthday party. Slash his forehead and you win, right?" Ash reviewed.

"That rule no longer applies, I'm afraid. It's no longer first blood, but first to yield. It seems folk weren't too pleased with your utilisation of the rules," he chuckled with a strange pride.

"Okay, but the blood should still blind him. It'll give you a chance to get in close," Ash finished.

"That's really good," Amell said. "Everything you said was right, but you missed one thing."

She looked the warrior over again. The veins in his arms seemed as though they were battling to burst. Like a splinter would spring a gushing leak, a fountain of unceasing blood. He was a man of raw meat and muscle, but she couldn't see any great flaw like Amell apparently could.

"His muscle, which you believe to be his great advantage, is actually what will lose him this fight."

"How so?"

"Muscles like those are earned one way, and one way only; by picking heavy things up and putting them back down again. They are muscles of show, not muscles of work and war. He will hit hard, but very slowly and his heart will have to work triple time to keep enough blood flowing. His stamina will last three strikes before he is left panting and sweating on the floor."

"Three strikes? That's all?"

"I'll make it a bet, three strikes before he's panting and heaving. Five before I win."

"Deal. Loser buys the drinks."

"Very well," Amell said with a cruelly cocky smirk. He looked out to his future foe for a moment before he noticed Ash hadn't looked away from him. He matched her gaze and half expected her to wilt away as their eyes met, but she looked to gain confidence as they joined.

"What?" He uncomfortably chuckled.

"I'm... describing you," Ash said as she seemingly scanned over each crease and wrinkle on his face.

"Oh, I've got to hear this," he beamed.

"You're grey, and old. Like a wolf, the older they are; the stronger their bite, but the quicker they tire. I'd offer you a battle of at- atrac- ato-... What's the word?"

"Attrition?" He offered.

"Aye!" She smirked. "I'd keep far away and jab at the joints in your armour. Eventually, either they'd buckle and trap the limb, or you'd buckle and give in."

"Ha! Well, let us see. Make it to the finale, and we can test your theory."

It looked like the old man had something else to say, but he lost the chance when the announcement rang out, "And a yielded victory for the Matarn Matron! Next up, the fight of the night! The titanic panic! The... Fucking big one! Ladies and gentlemen, my personal sweetheart – and the man I wish to marry my daughter off to – The Kovayeshi Commander!"

"Not a clown anymore?" Ash teased.

"No, I miss it," he chuckled.

He gave her a final nod as he climbed the metal stairs up to the great stone stage. He was not so graceful as to hide his thorough enjoyment of the limelight. He basked in the adoration, his face cracking smile beamed through his shadowed helm as he held his arms high and slowly strolled to his starting line.

"And, not to discount, our very own beastly bull! The Forgeland fighter! The vascular vandal! Ladies and gents, please give it up for; THE MAKO!"

The crowd was in ecstasy. The promise of the colliding mountains brought an orgasmic frenzy upon them all. Waves of drooling drunkards singing songs of beautiful battle. Half called for Amell; the others raved for his blood. All were in agreement; it was going to be the true finale, regardless of whoever either victor had to fight in the final round.

Amell drew his steel and planted it in the stone as a salute to his foe. The other man returned the respect by bowing his head as he pounded his steel-clad chest.

"Fighters, warriors, heroes...! Begin!"