The Chosen

“I am The Chosen,” the man was well suited to the title. He was tall and strong with a chin which looked as if it could crack chestnuts. His hair was combed and his eyes shone with a righteous vigor. All his clothes; his cloak, his surcoat, his gloves, even his belt; were brilliant white. The pommel of his sword was stylized with knots and whorls. He wore full plate, a miraculous product which people around these parts called golem-forged. It hurt Matthew’s eyes to look at it under the full sun, for The Chosen had polished it till it shone like silver. Matthew squinted against the glare and could just make out a rearing lion etched into its surface.

Broken Sword took no notice of his raiment. He extended his hand, “I’m Broken Sword. I just roughed up one of your champions. He might live.”

The Chosen shook it. “You’ve travelled a long time without a squire Broken Sword. Would you like one of my sergeants to attend to you before we duel?”

Broken Sword laughed, “A very long time. Half a century. But I don’t need any help. I’m eager to get this duel started. One question.”

The Chosen raised a symmetrical eyebrow, “Yes?”

“I’ve heard there may only be one Chosen. Will I have to kill you for your title?”

“Death may happen in battle, but it is incidental. The Chosen follow the greatest warrior, not the greatest assassin.”

“Then let us fight.”

“To the arena.”

The Chosen strode from the tent, his cloak billowing behind him. Broken Sword went after, as did Matthew. Stillow was content to stay in the command tent and rummage through The Chosen’s things.

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Once again two men faced each other across the sand. Broken Sword raised his longsword. The Chosen raised a sword and shield to match. A champion stood between them holding a red flag.

“Are you both ready?” She asked.

They nodded.

The champion released the flag and retreated to the edge of the arena. The moment the flag touched the ground the two warriors leapt at each other. Broken Sword struck first, swinging down at The Chosen’s head. The Chosen raised his shield to intercept the blow, but the longsword was no longer there, it was swinging sideways towards The Chosen’s armoured flank. He ignored the strike, content to trade the blow for a chance at Broken Sword’s neck. Before The Chosen could strike home, Broken Sword’s longsword took him in the side, lifting him from the ground and denting his armour. Gasps rose from the gathered mercenaries. Even Matthew knew armour didn’t bend like that, especially not golem-forged plate.

Broken Sword stood back, longsword at the ready, but the Chosen did not rise. The champion stepped back into the arena and raised another flag, this one white, “Victory to The Chosen!”

A healer ran across the sands to the former Chosen. After a quick examination he announced, “He’s alive! He’s probably bleeding internally, but we should be able to save him.”

“Excellent. Let me know when he’s recovered,” Broken Sword took off his black helm and grinned crookedly at Matthew. “Glad you stuck around?”

Matthew walked over, “I’ve never seen anything like it! The only disappointment is how quickly it all ended.”

“You scholars are more bloodthirsty than I thought! Better a quick war. More valour, less death. I can only hope that’s how it goes with Otto.”

“Queen Vesper is going to fight Otto?”

“Of course! They’ve been eyeing each other’s border for a while now. Didn’t I mention that?”

An idea came into Matthew’s head. He’d never have dared voice if Adal was around, “Stillow and I are on our way to a kingdom bordering Vesperdom, by the name of Eornostdom. It’s on the way to Ganter. Could we accompany you?”

Broken Sword threw back his head like a howling dog and laughed, “You’ll accompany me further than you think. Talahdom is former Eornostdom. Way I heard it, the king was assassinated. That’s what finally convinced Talah to go to war.”

“An assassination? The more I hear about Otto the more of a monster he becomes.”

“Then you and Stillow shall march with me! We’ll stop him together.”