Chapter Ten: The Challenge

Dawn came sooner than expected. Raymond woke to the sound of muffled voices beyond his door and the pale grey light of early morning seeping through the shutters. For a moment, he did not know what had disturbed him; he had actually managed to sleep a few hours and felt momentarily disoriented. Then he heard Ethan's voice, low but urgent, just outside.

Raymond pushed himself upright, wincing as the sudden motion pulled at his stitches. He bit back a groan. The pain had lessened to a dull ache, but it was enough to remind him it was real. He quickly donned a fresh tunic—dark blue, with the crest of his house embroidered in silver on the chest—and his leather breeches, mindful of his bandages. He had just buckled his sword belt around his waist when Ethan knocked softly and entered.

Ethan's expression was alert, tension visible in the set of his shoulders. "Sorry to wake you, but I thought you'd want to know right away," he said. "We've received a message. From House Valner."

Raymond's eyes sharpened. "A message?" he repeated. His hand instinctively dropped to the hilt of his sword, resting there. "Let me guess—Dorian has decided to be formal after all."

Ethan held up a parchment sealed with a red wax crest. Even from across the room, Raymond recognized the imprint on the wax: the stylized hawk emblem of House Valner, wings outstretched, a dagger clutched in its talons. The sight of it made his stomach tighten, but outwardly he kept his face neutral.

"A Valner courier delivered this not five minutes ago," Ethan said as he walked forward and placed the parchment in Raymond's hand. "The man said he would wait in the courtyard for your reply."

Raymond turned the sealed letter over in his fingers. The wax gleamed in the morning light. With a slight effort, he broke the seal and unfolded the parchment. As he read, Ethan watched his face intently.

The message was written in a bold, sharp hand:

**To Raymond, In defense of the honor of House Valner and to resolve the dispute between us, I do formally issue a challenge of single combat. We shall let steel judge the truth between our houses. I propose we meet at noon today, in the old dueling grounds by the king's barracks, witnessed by the honorable nobility of the court. Swords shall be our weapons, and the terms shall be to yield or to the death, as fate decides.Do not refuse this challenge, lest your name be forever stained with cowardice. I await your answer.

Dorian Valner."

Raymond exhaled slowly after reading the letter, a mix of emotions coursing through him. The formal words on the page were almost absurd given what had transpired in the night. Dorian spoke of honor and truth in one breath, having just attempted murder in the darkness with the next. Raymond felt a flicker of anger at the gall of it, but he also felt a grim satisfaction. This was confirmation, if any was needed, that Dorian was determined to face him — or rather, to finish him. The letter all but admitted that the conflict between them was past the point of reconciliation.

Ethan, unable to bear the silence, asked, "What does it say?"

"In short," Raymond said, folding the parchment carefully, "Dorian Valner challenges me to duel today at noon, at the old dueling grounds. Swords, until one yields… or dies."

Ethan shook his head, a slight look of disgust crossing his face. "He dresses it up in polite language, but we know what he really wants." He crossed his arms. "At least it's out in the open now. He's making it official."

Raymond appreciated Ethan's attempt to find a silver lining. A formal challenge meant witnesses and some semblance of rules. Dorian couldn't simply stab him in the back on the field; not with the court watching. Of course, that didn't make the fight any less deadly, but it did mean Dorian had to play by the age-old codes—at least until the duel was won or lost.

Raymond glanced down at the letter in his hand. The phrase "let steel judge the truth" stood out to him. The truth. Raymond wondered cynically if Dorian cared at all about truth. Likely not. This was pure maneuvering: if Raymond had died last night, House Valner would claim it was ruffians or some trivial robbery. If Raymond declined the duel now, Valner would smear him as a coward. And if Raymond fought and lost, Dorian would claim the righteousness of his cause had been proven by victory. It was a cunning gambit, covering every outcome. The only outcome Dorian probably never truly considered was losing.

Ethan stepped closer. "Noon today? That's earlier than we expected." He looked concerned. "He's giving you barely half a day to recover."

"So be it," Raymond replied, folding the parchment in half. A shot of pain flared in his side as he shifted his weight, but he ignored it. "Valner likely assumes I'm nursing wounds. He wants to strike before I can fully mend or gather more support." Raymond's lips pressed into a thin line. "He'll get what he wants: I'll face him today. But I'll be prepared."

Ethan nodded firmly. "I'll send the courier back with your acceptance, then. And we should let our allies know. If he wants the nobility as witnesses, we'll make sure some friendly faces are there too."

"Yes," Raymond agreed. He knew at least a few noble allies who would stand on his side of the field, literally and figuratively. Their presence would help balance the scales and possibly dissuade any further treachery. If Dorian tried anything beyond the agreed terms, there would be eyes to see it.

Raymond fetched a quill and a scrap of parchment from his writing desk by the window. Standing there, he felt the morning chill seeping through the glass. Outside, the sky was overcast, a steely gray. Fitting, he thought, for the day of a duel. He quickly penned a succinct reply:

To Dorian Valner,Your challenge is accepted. I will meet you at noon on the old dueling grounds, with sword in hand and honor intact.– Raymond.

He kept it short and pointed, seeing no need to mirror Dorian's florid words. Sanding the ink to dry it, Raymond then rolled the note and sealed it with his own house seal from the signet ring on his finger. He handed it to Ethan.

Ethan gave a tight smile. "I'll deliver this to the courier. And I'll send word to Lord Darrow and Lady Marian to attend as witnesses on our behalf." These were likely allies—Raymond trusted Ethan to know whom to rally. "Also, I'll arrange your equipment and horse for the journey to the grounds."

Raymond briefly clasped Ethan's shoulder. "Thank you. For everything."

Ethan met his gaze. "This isn't over yet. Save the gratitude for after you've won." There was a flicker of his usual humor in the statement, an attempt to keep the mood from sinking entirely into dire seriousness.

As Ethan left to see to the preparations, Raymond took a moment alone to steel himself. He drew aside the curtain and looked out the window. In the courtyard below, a lone Valner courier in a dark red cloak sat atop his horse, likely awaiting the response. A guard was speaking to him—no doubt Ethan's doing to ensure the messenger didn't snoop around. Raymond watched as Ethan emerged, handed the sealed reply up to the courier, and exchanged a few curt words. The Valner rider inclined his head and spurred his horse, trotting out through the gatehouse into the city streets.

It was done. The duel was set in stone now. In a few hours, Raymond would stand face to face with Dorian Valner. The thought made Raymond's blood quicken in his veins—part determination, part apprehension. He flexed his left hand, then his right, making sure his grip felt strong despite the bandaged forearm. He rolled his shoulders gently; still sore, but he could manage. I remain at a disadvantage, he thought, but I've faced worse. He recalled battlefields where he'd fought wounded and exhausted, yet survived. This was one man, however vicious—one man he knew, one man he had prepared for.

Raymond's gaze drifted over the courtyard again. A few of his household knights were assembling, likely having heard the news. They would escort him to the duel, a show of support. Some bowed their heads respectfully when they saw him at the window. Raymond acknowledged them with a nod. Their presence reminded him that this was not just about personal vengeance or survival—others depended on him. House Valner's ambitions threatened more than just Raymond himself. If he fell, Ethan and those loyal knights would be without their leader and open to Valner's reprisals. Perhaps the entire balance of power in the court could shift, giving House Valner free rein to pursue whatever scheme Raymond had opposed.

He closed his eyes and let the weight of responsibility steady him rather than frighten him. The stakes were clear: his life, his honor, and the welfare of those who stood with him all hung on the outcome of this duel. Dorian wanted him gone to clear the path for Valner domination—one way or another. So be it. Raymond would meet him, and they would let the gods or fate decide the victor.

A cool breeze whispered through the cracked window, brushing against Raymond's face. He took a final deep breath of the morning air and then turned with resolve toward the armoire where his dueling armor was kept. If House Valner wanted a fight under the sun, then Raymond would ensure he shone brightly. Injuries or not, he would fight with every ounce of skill and resolve he possessed.

By the time Ethan returned to help him don his gear, Raymond was ready. His mind was focused, his spirit unbroken. The pain in his body was just another factor to manage, not a roadblock. As Ethan carefully buckled on Raymond's breastplate, he remarked quietly, "Your eyes look clear. You slept some?"

"A little," Raymond replied. He rotated his arm as they secured the pauldron on his shoulder. "The pain's still there, but it's distant now. I can ignore it."

Ethan gave an approving nod. "Good." He then held up Raymond's sword in its scabbard, offering it to him. "Time to go. Dorian will be waiting."

Raymond accepted his sword, the familiar weight comforting in his hand. He fastened the belt around his waist, feeling the weapon at his side like an extension of his own body. With a final glance around the room — his home that he was determined to return to by day's end — he strode toward the door.

Outside, as Raymond mounted his horse and his small retinue formed up around him, the intensity of what was to come set the entire company in somber quiet. Hooves clattered on cobblestone as they departed. Ethan rode at Raymond's right, ever watchful. The sky remained a dull grey, and a fine misting drizzle had begun to fall, beading on Raymond's armor.

"We'll be there soon," Ethan said, mostly to break the silence. The dueling grounds were not far — a wide, flat field just beyond the king's barracks, used for tournaments and, on occasion, formal duels sanctioned by the court. Word of the challenge must have spread rapidly, because as they approached, Raymond could see figures gathering at the edges of the field. Nobles in their finery under umbrellas or cloaks, soldiers off duty, curious common folk keeping a respectful distance. Dueling was technically forbidden except by permission, but it seemed House Valner had managed to frame this as a legally sanctioned trial by combat. Or perhaps the authorities simply looked the other way given the stature of the rivals.

Raymond's heart thumped steadily. His injuries twinged with the horse's every step, but he held himself tall in the saddle, betraying no sign of discomfort. He knew Dorian's gaze would be searching for weakness the moment he saw Raymond.

At the far end of the grassy field, a group of men in House Valner's colors (deep red and black) stood assembled. At their center, unmistakable in posture and bearing, was Dorian Valner. Even from a distance, Raymond could sense Dorian's anticipation; the man practically radiated impatience and malice, like a leashed hound ready to be released.

Ethan leaned toward Raymond and spoke under his breath, "There he is. Looking confident, isn't he?"

Raymond's jaw tightened. "He has no reason not to be confident," he replied calmly. "He thinks I'm wounded and cornered. Let him think so."

As Raymond and his entourage reached their side of the grounds, a herald stepped forward from the sidelines, raising a hand to call for order among the onlookers. This was the formal proceeding: announcements and the reading of the challenge for all to hear. Raymond dismounted slowly, careful not to jolt his side. Ethan was immediately there at his side, ostensibly adjusting a strap on Raymond's armor, but in truth just making sure Raymond stayed steady. Raymond gave him a brief nod of thanks and took a few testing steps on the field. Good – his balance was fine, his vision clear.

He looked across the expanse of turf. Dorian was watching him. Even at a distance, Raymond did not look away, locking eyes with his adversary across the way. He allowed himself a thin, determined smile meant only for Dorian: a silent signal that he was not afraid. Dorian's expression in return was unreadable from here, but Raymond imagined it was a sneer.

As the herald began to recite the formal words of the duel's terms, Raymond only half-listened. He already knew the stakes and the rules well enough—they had been written in that letter and etched in his mind all morning. Instead, he used these last moments to center himself. He drew his sword and inspected it in the grey light. The steel gleamed, and he ran a thumb along the flat of the blade, feeling the engraved family motto there (perhaps something appropriate, though not given by user, but I might not invent it). This blade had seen him through countless dangers. Today, together, they would face one more.

Ethan took his place just off to the side of where Raymond would fight, acting as his second and witness. Raymond met his gaze briefly. There was no need for words now—everything had been said. Ethan's face was tense, but he managed a tight, encouraging smile. Raymond returned it with a slight incline of his head.

The herald's proclamation was coming to an end. Raymond caught the last of it: "…to first yield or death. Let all present bear witness to this duel of honor between Raymond of House Lorien and Dorian of House Valner, sanctioned by the Crown."

A faint murmur rippled through the spectators. Raymond stepped forward onto the marked dueling circle on the field. At the same time, Dorian Valner detached from his group and strode forward to meet him.

For a brief moment, as they approached striking distance of one another, the world narrowed to just the two of them. Raymond was acutely aware of Dorian's tall, imposing form, clad in polished black armor etched with red accents. Dorian wore no helmet, just as Raymond had chosen; they looked into each other's eyes directly. Dorian's lips twisted into a small smile that did not reach his cold, blue eyes.

"Raymond," Dorian said in a low voice, just loud enough for Raymond to hear over the hush. "I'm pleased you survived the night to make it here." The feigned courtesy dripped with venomous subtext. Up close, that one sentence confirmed everything—they both knew what he was referring to, though Dorian would never admit it aloud.

Raymond's face remained composed. "It will take more than a few hired cutthroats in the dark to put me in a grave, Valner," he replied just as quietly, his tone edged in ice. "I'm surprised you bothered with this,"—he gestured subtly around them, indicating the formal duel, the onlookers—"when you seemed so intent on avoiding a fair fight."

A flash of anger crossed Dorian's features at the insinuation, but he quickly masked it with a tight smile. "Honor demanded I give you a chance to answer for your slander and insolence," he said through his teeth, loudly enough now that a few nearest spectators could hear. It was clear he was performing now, ensuring his words sounded noble to any ears listening. "Today, I will have satisfaction for the insults you have dealt my house."

Raymond lifted his sword in a salute, the traditional start of the duel, to cut off the exchange before it escalated into an open argument. He did not want to waste breath trading barbs; steel would speak soon enough. "Then have your satisfaction," Raymond said. "Let's finish this."

Dorian sneered and raised his own blade in return, an ornate longsword with a ruby set in the pommel. The two men backed away a few paces to give proper distance. The herald, seeing both duelists prepared, signaled for the duel to commence.

Raymond could hear the blood rushing in his ears. His body protested with flickers of pain, but he set those aside, focusing his mind as he had in so many critical moments before. He settled into a defensive stance, weight balanced, sword steady in front of him. Across from him, Dorian Valner loomed, already lunging forward to attack, wasting no time.

As their swords met in an ear-ringing clash of metal, Raymond braced himself. The decisive fight was begun.

The stakes could not be higher – honor, vengeance, and survival all hung in the balance. Despite the pain in his side and the fatigue lingering in his bones, Raymond's grip was sure and his gaze unwavering. He would use every bit of technique, every lesson learned in decades of combat, to overcome Dorian's wrathful strength. House Valner had tried to destroy him in darkness, but now in the light of day, Raymond intended to prove that neither cunning schemes nor brute force would prevail against his resolve.

The duel was underway, and by its end, only one of them would walk off this field. Raymond silently vowed it would be him. With a determined heart, he faced Dorian Valner's onslaught, fully aware that everything—his life, his honor, and the future of those he protected—depended on the outcome of this battle. The time for words was over; now fate and skill would decide the victor of this bitter feud.