A Song of Silence

Chapter 96: Taunting in the Dark

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His sword descends as if in slow motion. I can see the arc in front of me and it hurtles towards my head. Raising my broadsword, I bat the blow away. The tip of his sword hits the sand with a think. He twirls his body away expecting a similar attack. Surprise lights up his features when no attack comes. He surveys me as I stand there. I hadn't moved from my position since I had started studying him to his initial attack. I stayed where I was, my shoulders thrown back and my broadsword in my hand. I'm comparison, my father paced back and forth as he watched my still form, trying to figure out my tactic.

"Scared, my daughter?" He taints, trying to get a rise out of me.

"I am not your anything, Lord Grand Assassin," I reply calmly, "And scared? In your wildest fantasies maybe."

"Only prey fears to attack and you do not attack me, child. Therefore you are scared or you are prey. You choose." He responds.

"Am I prey? Or am I simply a predator getting to know her opponent?"

He spreads his arms wide, "What else is there to know about your dear old pa? Hmm? You know enough and I know plenty about you as well."

I tilt my head to the side, as if in contemplation, "And what is it you know about me?"

"That you are impulsive, easily provoked, you run when things get to hard, and are foolishly protective of those that cannot protect themselves," he replies evenly. "All qualities that will see your blood coating my sword and your life ended at my hands."

"And yet, here I stand, despite all your talk. You know I felt pity for Guinevere when I found out she was going to be your bride, now knowing that you are all talk, I would have mourned for her putting up with you in the bedroom, if I still gave a shit about her, that is." My father stops his pacing, his face a mask of barely contained rage. The crowd is silent around us, enraptured by our taunting despite their earlier lust for blood. The listen and wait for our next words.

Surprising me, my fathers mouth twists into a slight smile, "I raised you to be a nasty bitch, good to see that some things stuck."

"Unfortunately, the only useful thing you were ever able to teach me," I reply. In unison, my rather and I begin to circle each other clockwise. Our steps mirror each other and we track each other movements. Step after step. Predator watching predator. I do not move to attack and neither does he. Not anymore. He learned from his mistake and will not be the first to attack any longer. The crowd cheers as they finally see some movement. They anticipate bloodshed and carnage. Indeed I know both are soon to follow.

This time, I attack first. I play right into my fathers hand. My broadsword falls to the sand as he parried it away from his body. His agility is easily shown when he avoids the dagger in my other hand. Sliding the dagger back into its sheathe at my thigh, I wait for his next move. The sun had moved far enough behind the colosseum that it no longer blinded me, so my father had wasted his advantage over the chance to gloat. Typical. We circle each other once more. In a quite unexpected fashion, we take turns making a move. He attacks, i parry. I  slash, he glances the blow away. We test each other's defenses and waste little energy.

Despite no real blood being shed, the crowd is thrilled by some actual movement. Each clang of our swords is met with bated breath and cheers or an "aww" when no blood is spilled onto the sand below. Back and forth we go. Back and forth we fight. Boredom sets in soon enough despite my efforts to not let my father lull me into a false sense of security. Noticing my dulled e thrush ask for our fight, my father increases his attacks and uses more of his strength to wear down my defenses. They are simple attacks. Easy attacks. And it soon becomes clear that my father is not the fighter that he once was.

His attacks, though used quite a lot of strength, lack ingenuity. They lack real skill and seem practiced. Fake. It was as if, he never truly learned to master the art of fighting as I had. No, that couldn't be right. He had to be faking. There was absolutely, positively no way. Right? Turning my attention back to the fight, I paid greater detail to the way my father moved and indeed, it seemed that he had a basic mastery of most moves, but he knew how to use them really fucking well. He knew how to turn them against his opponent and allow his opponent to underestimate him in order to win the fight.

I would not allow the same thing to happen to me. My father noticed my lack of further attacks on him and slowed his attacks. He noticed that I noticed his tactic. His mouth thinned into a line. He had wanted to end this quickly as he had done in his other challenges. Unluckily for him, I was no regular opponent.

Deciding that I needed to see the full scope of his abilities, I decided to do something really, really stupid. And dangerous. And a whole host of other things, but my goal would be met and I wouldn't be struck down. Hopefully. Without much preparation, I twisted my body and my leg lashed out in imitation of knocking his feet out from under him. He took the bait. Already in motion, the blade of my knife was arching towards his legs while the crossbow I had secretly taken from him was pointed upwards at his chest. The bolt fired, but by some miracle of god, it only left a scratch on his jaw and blade of my dagger merely scratched him, but did not hit anything vital. Before my forget could register my attack, I backed up quickly to put done space between us.

I slung the crossbow over my back and watched. My fathers hand went to the cut at his chin. He looked stunned as the blood that I had drawn welled up and smeared on his fingers. He hadn't imagined that I would truly draw his blood to win this competition. Somehow, in his sick, twisted imagination, he had thought that I would never harm him. Not to mention he thought that I would play fair. News flash, I had learned from the best and my father was no doubt intending to play unfairly today, so why shouldn't I?

The crowd, on the other hand, was positively delighted at the first drawn of blood. Their cheers beforehand were now minuscule when compared to the deafening cheers of those around us. As blood dripped down my fathers face, they kicked him for not being the first to draw blood. It incensed him to no end. "You, you cheated!" He screams as he points to the crossbow now flung over my shoulder. I raise my brow and look to the referee.

She shrugs her shoulders and says to my father, "You said anything was allowed, Lord Assassin. That was something alright, but it wasn't against the rules." My father seems very fucking pissed at this turn of events. Not only had the crowd turned against him, but the referee as well. I saw nothing but rage in my fathers eyes now.

"You will regret that Aerilynn," he says quietly, "I was going to go easy on you and give you a quick, painless death, but now you will get nothing but pain and misery in your final moments." He vengefully hisses those last words at me.

Instead of having their intended effect, which was scaring the wits out of me, his words merely went in one ear and out the other. The lack of emotional response on my face incensed him further. "If you best me father, then you're welcome to torture me all you like. But that is a big if." My taunt has the intended effect. He is practically seeing red and it is written all over his face. This time, when his sword comes down at me, it is much harder to block.