𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐑

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 | 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

The echo of clashing metal rang through the space.

Two men crossed swords. At another time, in some other instance, they were far different from each other. One was highborn, bred to be a ruler, and that he was. An emperor trained formally in the fight, though he had never seen a skirmish. The other, bastard-born, knew his blade well. He was a knight, a warrior, he had to know his weapon. The man had seen battle countless times and with them, death. He had come to learn his swordsmanship on the fields and rocky plains, stained with blood.

Yes, the two men were vastly different. However, here they were meant to be equals. Birthright and riches were irrelevant, only one's mastery of the weapon. And while one had taken to his skill through weekly lessons, the other had his hand forced. Driven by desperation and the will to live, which made him a fierce competitor. But, the lower man knew his place. Despite the equality of the fighting floor, one was still an emperor and the other was still a soldier. So the lesser held back, he kept to the defensive, rarely striking. He would save his energy for a true fight, one with stakes. And he had an inkling that such a fight was not far in coming.

"Have the council reached a decision, your majesty?" The man, Zafiyr, spoke evenly as he parried a blow.

Vuros neither confirmed nor denied Zafiyr's questioning, simply tilting his head to the side in consideration for a few moments as the clanging of the blades conversed for him.

He sighed, finally relenting a response. "No," He said darkly. "They have scoured the law for an escape clause, yet there is nothing."

"How much longer can it go on like this?" Zafiyr huffed, sweat beginning to break on his brow. "The people will talk, the merchants more so."

"They already whisper and gossip," Vuros murmured angrily. "They have for months. They speak of the incompetence of the crown. My crown, as if I uttered the mindless decree from my own lips."

"And what of the southern regions?"

"The attempts to slow word of the liberation have finally been breached. For now, it has amounted to rumors amongst the Cals. However, those rumors will quickly spread." As Vuros spoke, his hand tightened around the hilt of his blade. He lunged forward, Zafiyr narrowly intercepting the blow.

"Soon enough," Vuros struck again. "The Cals will retaliate. If they haven't already."

"And what will you do with them?" Zafiyr asked cautiously.

"The Cals have no power." Vuros swung his blade.

"No leaders," Zafiyr avoided the hit.

"No structure and no knowledge."

With a final blow, Zafiyr's sword clattered against the floor.

"Those who do not comply and swear their allegiance to the Athrosian crown will be slain," Vuros spoke, looking down on the other man who grappled for his fallen weapon. "Their heads will be displayed on spikes all around their penurious, pest-ridden villages as an example to anyone else interested in this treason."

"What about the law?" Zafiyr questioned quietly, his eyes shifting away.

"When my father created that law he was half-dead and senile. The decree was as legitimate as a bastard son and I am finished with allowing it to define my rule. Aedina and most of the council are the only ones holding me back from doing what needs to be done. They hold on to their archaic traditions too deeply, but even they know this is far from profitable."

Vuros slid his sword into its sheath and leaned against the nearby wall, the divets and texture snagging his clothing and scratching his skin, "The Athrosian people would sooner kill their firstborns than give up their slaves and free labor. And I do not intend to force that decision."