[Short Story] The Duelists
I wrote a short story about Fiora for Riot's Creative Contest. I saw some other posts like this so I thought I'd give it a go. I would welcome a critique.
It had been three days since Fiora last held her sword. “It doesn’t take three days to polish a blade,” she said to the maid, who had already begun to slink away. “Well? Answer me, girl,” said Fiora, tapping her foot on the marble floor. “Idon’tknowm’lady,” she squeaked. “Stop terrorizing the poor girl,” said the man who had just entered the room. “Fetch me some wine, child." “Leopold, do you know where it is?” Fiora asked. “No. Ask Ammdar about that. The Crownguards have finally agreed to let us use their roads and bridges, in exchange for the agreed amount of produce.” “Where’s Ammdar?” “They weren’t too happy about it.” “Why not?” “Perhaps it was because they're very proud, because you sent the House’s youngest son as the messenger, or perhaps because you’ve already turned them down once before.” “Either they make this deal or they fall to ruin. And they know you handle all of Laurent’s transactions.” “Why do you need your sword anyway?” “I’ll cut off your right arm once I find it, then you’ll know. What else?” “There is a challenger at the gates.” She paused. “I was surprised too but he insists on fighting you. Shall we send him away?” “It doesn’t take three days to polish a blade,” she said as she stormed off to find Ammdar.
Ammdar hadn’t slept peacefully for several weeks. His wife, apparently unable to tolerate the commandeering of her blankets each night, had already begun to sleep in her private chambers. She had never felt such relief, for she no longer had to hear, every morning and every night, about Ammdar’s constant worry over Fiora. Therefore, for the sake of his youngest sister, and the love of his wife, Ammdar had resolved to bear Fiora’s vitriol. Through great cunning, he had acquired Fiora’s bluesteel rapier and hidden it. His wife was skeptical for, “Fiora is no longer six, and is a better fencer than you,” but Ammdar had slept like a log for the past two nights. However, on the third afternoon, Fiora burst into his room during his siesta, and took her sword back from his sock closet, and he slapped his forehead in dismay, for he had not changed his hiding place in almost two decades. Ammdar hurried in pursuit of her, trying to button his doublet on the way. “Why do you need the sword?” he said. “For a duel.” “You challenged another one?” “He challenged me.” This gave Ammdar pause, but he pressed onward. “You’ve no need to fight, Laurent’s honor is restored.” “A challenge to me is a challenge to Laurent’s Honor.” “I fear for you.” Fiora stopped and turned around to face him, “You doubt my ability?” “I fear for you soul,” said Ammdar. “These men are far below your skill. To continue to fight them...” “What? Spit it out” Ammdar awkwardly tried to flatten his bed-hair. Any words he had evaporated before Fiora’s formidable stare she reserved for the most egregiously rude suitors. “They don’t really stand a chance.” Fiora said nothing. Ammdar steeled himself. “Aren’t you just murdering them?”
The challenger said nothing, he only raised his sword. Fiora’s family and footmen gathered, fear gnawing at their faith in her skill. She raised her sword and it was decided, the duel would end in a kill. The white sun in the blue sky was the dangerous glint in her blue eye. He was now terrified. He planned his offensive, already feeling the blade at his throat. He lunged forward, Fiora attacked too; she read his feint. He hastily pulled back to parry, but the force of her blow could not be fought. He was cut in the chest and now he felt faint. This woman was not what he had thought. He cursed his foolishness, he felt no pain, his blood was red paint. He was alive, he could beat her, and then they could be betrothed. It took another blow before he came to his senses. In the moment of his death, he saw, for the first time, the woman who killed him. The red locks in her dark hair fell like crimson tears down her fair face, but her lips curled upwards. Fiora did not see the boy whom she had killed. She saw The Coward lying face down, unable to face his daughter in the moment of his death. She had killed this Coward. In return she must bear his curse. The young maid holding a tray of wine said a silent prayer for the duelists.