Hal - The Duellist #1

Chapter One - The Duellist

With a sudden roar the crowd erupted, the duelling arena resounding to the clink and ring of money exchanging hands as bets were paid. Hal sank in exhaustion, her knees making painful contact with the splintered wood of the duelling circle. The arena's high arched roof broke into a dizzying spin above her, and she almost vomited with fatigue as her opponent staggered away, collapsing amongst the jeering groups of spectators.

Hal eyed his burly mass as they hauled him upright. What the Easterner had lacked in skill, he had more than made up for in strength. Gathering her final reserves of energy, she struggled to her feet, slumping down once more on the edge of the circle, its arched edge digging into the backs of her legs. Why did Beric always pit her against such giants?

A novice hovered before her, clutching a flagon of water to his chest. She nodded to him, seized the vessel from his hands, and gulped down the contents in long, thirsty draughts. Dragging her arm across her eyes she wiped them free of sweat and scanned the room. The buzz of conversation slowly died away as spectators filed out, and from the back of the hall, someone called down to her: "Thought he had you for a minute there, girl!"

Hal twisted around to observe the man who was now threading his way between empty seats and benches towards her ‒ a tall, slim figure darkly clad in senatorial robes. She barely managed a nod as Senator Marc Remigius approached the circle and beamed down at her. Aging with little dignity, Marc exuded an energy which never seemed to desert him. The greying tips of his hair were always lightly powdered, as was his face - once handsome features now creased with wrinkles. She continued to drink, too drained to reply. He frowned, lowering himself onto the platform beside her.

"Fancy celebrating?"

Hal's thoughts were finally clearing, her heart no longer hammering against the walls of her ribcage. She contemplated his suggestion. "Where did you have in mind?"

"My place? I've been looking for an excuse to organise a party for some time now. You just handed me the opportunity."

"Really, Marc, you don't need an excuse for that. Besides, your 'surprise' parties always seem to attract an indecent number of people."

"Hal Thæc, you may doubt my sincerity, but you can never deny my capacity to entertain. I'll be expecting you at eight. In the meantime, I suggest you bathe."

She sighed, knowing full well that her friend would brook no excuse. "I'll think about it."

"I know you will."

Both rose, Hal with some difficulty. The Senator climbed up between steep, arching rows of benches, letting himself out of the arena through a large pair of double doors at the back end of the building. Hal crossed the arena to greet her duelling master, Beric Thælda, who was studying the tally of bets with satisfaction.

"Well Hal, looks like you've done us proud today, girl." She winced as he squeezed her shoulder beneath a bear-like paw. Beric's silvery hair and beard gave him an unnervingly metallic appearance which, combined with brutish strength made him an intimidating character. That was, at least, how the young novices in his duelling academy saw him. But Hal had learned long ago that beneath the rough exterior lurked a paternal spirit, if not a soft heart.

"You know," he continued, "I was a mite worried in that last round, girl. Tiring were you?" He leant forward, his eyes narrowing to slits as he scrutinised her. 

Hal looked away. "I won. That's all that matters, isn't it?"

"No, lass, as I've told you many times: style can make or break a good fight, especially as far as the punters are concerned. Now, I suppose you'll be wanting your prize money?"