Chapter 583: Familiar Outcome
Familiar Outcome
Five paces separating them, Martel stared at the three mageknights. Each of them had drawn their daggers; weapons with richly decorated hilts that probably gave the blade poor balance, but still deadly with a single blow in the hand of a mageknight. In comparison, Martel had no weapon in all, not even a broom handle save his magic. It would suffice.
Feeling the eyes of the entire crowd upon him, Martel looked forward to this. The collective nobility of Morcaster would see a Tyrian-blooded upstart from Nordmark demolish three scions of their own kind.
Legate Fontaine took a step forward from the crowd and glanced at either side, confirming they stood ready. "Begin!"
All three mageknights rushed forward to close the gap. Predictable. If just one of them had any sense, they would have thrown their dagger against Martel. Either it would have wounded him, or he would have been forced to summon his shield. Regardless, it would have kept him from being offensive. But they fought according to their training, and the idea of throwing their only weapon away would never have entered their minds. So they all did as they had been taught and used their magic to reach their opponent.
Martel raised the wind and put spellpower into the attack, ensuring all three of them were blown backwards onto the floor. As they struggled to get back up, he unleashed a ray of fire on his first opponent to make her double over in pain. She dropped her weapon and fell back down. He moved the ray to the next target with the exact same result.
The spell was not deadly, not against two uninjured opponents, but the pain alone convinced them to forfeit. Martel was not impressed.
He had left Cheval for last, choosing humiliation over agony for the young nobleman. As Martel dealt with his two minions, Cheval had time to get back up and come within striking distance.
Expecting this, Martel summoned his shield, and those nearby could see Cheval's dagger impotently strike Martel's chest without damaging a single thread on his doublet. With another powerful blast of wind, Martel knocked the mageknight once more unto his back, and he stepped forward to place his foot on Cheval's hand, forcing him to relinquish his dagger.
"That must be enough!" exclaimed Legate Fontaine. He walked into the middle with raised hands to signal an end to combat. Satisfied, Martel took a step back. This had been over in less than a minute, which amused him considering how long the argument took building up to this duel.
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The two other praetorians got on their feet and limped away. Cheval likewise stood back up, and through the thunderous applause from the crowd, he hissed, "I pray to Sol I will be present to witness your slow, agonising death."
Martel barely afforded him a glance. "When you die, I won't take notice."
The clapping continued, and Martel ought to feel good; he had accomplished what he intended, proving his superior skills in magic while defending Eleanor's choice to become his protector and humiliating three members of the nobility in addition.
But as he saw the faces staring at him, he felt like he had done in the pits of the Broken Crown, doing prize fights for the crowds. Just a spectacle, no different than animals being thrown in the ring to fight each other for their amusement. To these people, he would never be anything more than a Tyrian peasant, useful only for a night's entertainment. Their approval meant nothing to him. He would never trouble himself with this again.
***
While feeling suddenly morose despite his victory, Martel returned to Eleanor. But before them could say anything, another voice bellowed over the noise to greet him. "Nordmark! I almost missed your performance!"
Martel whipped his head around to see Maximilian with arms extended, holding a goblet in either hand. "Max!" He quickly embraced the mageknight, who carefully balanced the cups he was holding.
"I would have come on time if I had known to expect such a spectacle," Maximilian grinned, handing over one cup of wine to Martel as the latter pulled back. "Though I did catch the main event, watching you handle those buffoons. And my late arrival may just have been your luck, or you would have faced a proper praetorian knight rather than those three inferior specimens."
"Luck certainly favours me." Realising how parched he was, Martel took a healthy sip of his wine. Maximilian looked himself, wearing his family's colours, and he seemed and sounded like himself as well. Seeing his friend did much to raise Martel's spirits, for which he felt grateful.
Maximilian directed a bow at Eleanor. "And my betrothed! Fortune favours me as well to bless me with such company tonight."
"It is good to see you, Maximilian," she replied, and the reserved smile she usually wore on an evening like this became genuine. "How is life in the Praetorian Guard?"
"As dull as I feared. There is little point living in the Imperial palace if all your time is spent standing guard outside a room. I had hoped to become attached to the prince, as he actually leaves the palace from time to time, but no such luck yet. It cost me a favour to have this night off duty, but I'm happy to pay such a price for your sake. How long are you in Morcaster?"
"Little less than a month," she replied.
"I will do my best to secure a few more evenings of freedom that we may take advantage of this ostentatious occasion. While this celebration is all well and good, I should like a proper night out, much like the days of our long-lost youth as carefree students of the Lyceum."
Martel gave him a look. "Max, that was last year."
"As I said, long-lost. Now, you must regale me with tales of your exploits! Tell me of your daring adventures!"
Martel's smile faltered, and he let Eleanor take the lead in the ensuing conversation.
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