Gerald kicked his opponent, completely surprising the man. As he stumbled back, he found himself on the end of Braydon’s sword. He was one of the last guards standing on the walls of the town, the rest either dead or unconscious.
“No need to go taking my kills.” Gerald pouted, seeing that Braydon had finished the man off.
“Don’t throw them at me then.” Braydon responded, rolling his eyes at the fake outrage from his knight.
“But I didn’t throw him, it was clearly a kick.” Gerald countered without missing a beat. Braydon decided to concede this spar of words to Gerald. He was outclassed by Gerald’s shamelessness and quick comebacks. ‘There are more important matters right now.’ Though even he knew that this was just consoling himself.
“Rhydian has gathered most of the men, we should head over before he ‘greats’ Baron Monrow without us.” Braydon said, starting to go with the scattered mercenaries to the centre of town, where the Baron’s manor was located. Gerald, smiling at the small victory when Braydon changed topics, followed along. He too was interested in how this would play out.
“I see you managed to come back in one piece.” Rhydian greeted when he saw Braydon and Gerald joining him.
“Indeed, Gerald is such a reckless fighter that I too am surprised he is still with us.” Braydon said with utmost seriousness. A small payback for losing the verbal spar earlier.
“Hey! You know that was directed at you!” He got the reaction he was hoping from Gerald, who would not take that accusation lying down.
“And you are implying you are much better?” Braydon responded, stopping anything Gerald was going to say in its tracks. Over the past three hours it was not only Gerald saving him from sneak attacks, but Braydon helping Gerald out when he failed at pulling off fancy moves like his kick from earlier.
“Enough already. Whilst you two are joking around, I’m sure our dear Baron Monrow is having a breakdown right about now.” Rhydian decided to stop their bickering before they lost all the respect they had gained from the mercenaries over the past few hours. Instead, he drew their attention to the matter at hand.
“And how many men does our dear Baron have left at his side at the minute?” Braydon asked, finally getting serious about the rest of their task. The morning was coming to a close and they still had to go check up on Barons Walker and Abel.
“From what I can tell he has about thirty men inside.” Rhydian responded, thinking about how they should do this.
“Then why are we not going in?” Gerald asked before getting eyerolls from both of the men before him.
“Because, my dear naïve Gerald, the corridors in a mansion are thin and rooms are many. A small defending force can most definitely be as effective in there as they can be defending a castle.” Braydon could not help but mock Gerald’s question before wondering if Nela had been rubbing off on him. ‘At least I don’t smile sweetly when I do it.’
“And how are we looking on our losses, Rhydian? We do have another battle to fight after this.” Braydon turned to ask further questions. He was satisfied with the stunned look on Gerald, the latter probably having the same thought as he just had. ‘Maybe getting terrorised by Nela isn’t such a bad thing.’ Of course, he banished that thought as soon as it appeared in his mind.
“About 70, mostly mercenaries. Though we don’t know how many of those are unconscious, that will have to be seen to after this. The vast majority were in getting onto the walls, once we had a hold there were just not enough of them.” That was better news than he was expecting, Braydon thought that there would be at the very least double that. ‘Apparently what they say about mercenaries is true; they are very weak willed but boy are they strong.’ Of course weak willed just meant that they were not being paid enough to throw away their lives on mass, mercenaries were anything but cowardly.
“Well, we should probably go in, just standing here is not going to help. And we don’t have the time to starve him out.” Braydon stated. Whilst it was not an optimal move, it was the only one they had. That was until they saw the Baron himself walking out of the mansion.
“What is he trying to do?” Braydon asked, bewildered at why the man would even think of coming out so soon.
“He might want a duel.” Rhydian stated, he had seen nobles duel to sort out disputes before.
“And he thinks I will pack up and leave if he beats me in a duel?” Braydon knew that nobles duelled to settle disputes. But that was when they were at an impasse, not when one party had all but won.
“He might be betting on you wanting to uphold your honour, that or he thinks he can kill you.” Rhydian chuckled when he mentioned this, nobles were generally not that good at combat if they were not the type to fight on the battlefield. Duels just did not happen often enough for the average noble to be good at them. Braydon was the type who fought on the battlefield, too much so for Rhydian’s liking. But in a situation like this, it would work to his advantage. Baron Monrow had not actually seen him fighting and Braydon being young might have made him underestimate his opponent’s personal skill.
“I sure hope that is what he is trying, it will save me much hassle if I find a proper excuse to finish his line.” Braydon was hinting that Baron Monrow had no family, he was a newly raised noble who had not married. Braydon wondered who the man was even going to pass his land to, there would be no one to inherit. This would work to his advantage. He could claim the newly ‘vacated’ barony and then use that as a pretext for a somewhat legitimate claim to the other two. Of course, self defence would be a much less tenuous claim, hence Nela’s plan.
“Baron Monrow, what grants me the pleasure of you welcoming me to your manor outside of it’s gates?” Braydon shouted to the Baron, he wanted to get this out of the way. The more time his troops had to rest before their next battle the better. Though that did not mean he wouldn’t be sarcastic.
“Viscount Fiton, I hope you would do me the honour of facing me in one on one combat.” As he said that he threw his glove on the floor, not a gauntlet but it would do. Everyone still understood the meaning behind his gesture. Braydon removed his shield, in noble duels armour was allowed but shields were not.
“I would be more than happy to accompany you, I hope you do not lose too easily. It would be very anticlimactic.” Rule one of combat, try to take advantage of your opponent’s weakness. Rule two, if you find none create one. In this case Braydon was trying to crack Monrow’s impressive composure, sadly the man was as cold as a stone. Fair, considering he had practically lost everything already.
“I should say the same of you.” Baron Monrow retorted as the two walked towards each other. The mercenaries made way, granting them a space to duel in. The two stopped walking with a few feet between them, drawing their swords. The Baron apparently used a bastard sword, giving Braydon the advantage in reach. Even though Braydon was confident in winning the match up, he did not plan to give his opponent the first move, this was not a practise spar. He would not be going easy on the man.
Braydon made his move by swinging from his left. Monrow took a step back to avoid it, before stepping back in with a lunge. He aimed his sword at Braydon’s chest, voided. Braydon had always been a good swordsman. He would not get hit by such a sloppy counter.
Now standing slightly to the side, Braydon made a downward swing, both hands on his sword, at Monrow’s outstretched arm. It forced his opponent to raise his sword in a block. Monrow’s prior lunge coming back to bite him. He had no stable footing and was forced to one knee.
Seeing his opponent so low, he decided to take a page from Gerald’s book and aimed a kick at the Baron. This was outside of Monrow’s expectations. Even if they were trying to kill each other, noble duels still kept to etiquette. Well, except Braydon.
The move had been so unexpected that Monrow had no counter for it. It had been a feet to hold onto his sword after that foot. Braydon did not let up, turning his kick into a lunge of his own. Monrow, now on the ground, abandoned his sword to get out of reach of the jab. Braydon pretended not to see this and took another swing.
This time, his sword found its mark, landing firmly in the Baron’s neck. It had been a swing with all of his strength behind it, almost taking the man’s head off in one go.
There would be no surviving that kind of wound. The Baron’s body fell to the ground, he clutched at his neck as the last strands of life flowed out of him. Any words he may have had were gone, he couldn’t speak with an open wound on his neck. Not one that large.
