The crash of blades, the keening song of swords, filled the main courtyard of the Palace of Shir. A large group of city watch, Kingsguard, and servants watched from the outer edges as the two master swordsmen clashed, one their King, the other a young knight who had only recently arrived. The King had the advantage in sheer size and strength, his muscled form titanic in comparison, but the young swordsman made up for what he lacked in strength through practiced skill. The blades flashed between the two with impossible speed. The King's shortsword, Peacebringer, danced in tight circles before lashing out with pointed, deadly thrusts. The young man's longer, curved blade moved with easy grace, parrying and transitioning to attack within the same breath. His movements were like the ocean swells, shifting to breakers, and back to smooth water to roil on, ever taking the path of least resistance. Some few of the Kingsguard, elevated from the ranks of the Legions of Shir, recognized the base forms of the Waterwalkers trained by the old blademaster.

  The King wore a broader smile than he'd worn in years. While this was mere practice, to the King it was closer to life than any moment of peace. He was reminded of his time training with Blademaster Zimossa, the elderly man a whirlwind of attacks and feints, so full of confusing skill as to force his opponent on the defensive. Here he was again, being forced to play the defender for the first time in near twenty winters. Brutal exultation consumed him.

  The young swordsman was without expression. His movements, the spinning blades, the dodges, blocks, and disengagements seemed as much a part of him as his own heartbeat. There was no wasted movement, not a single step out of place. Yet, he did not seem to be happy or sad, excited or in any way responding emotionally. If anything, he appeared cold, calculating.

  Ariadne watched with the Kingsguard around her, listening to their colour commentaries. "What a move! That kid's got style."

  "Aye but look at the King. He's not even trying. All skill no muscle. If'n he put some real thrust into it, he could force that bastard back."

  "Fools, the lot of you. They are evenly matched, and this ain't a real battle. No telling."

  "What say ye, Princess, who do ye favor?" The Captain of the Kingsguard addressed Ariadne in a sidelong way. Lord Kerras was a hard man, simple, and straightforward.

  "I favor my father of course. This is only a battle of blades, after all. The Shir could change this all in mere moments. But the Swordsman is, well, he's very skilled..." Her voice trailed off.

  "Fair enough, Princess. What say we make a wager then?" Kerras said, his fellow guards stopping their side conversations to listen in. "If they both get serious, I bet that the young Swordsman will overpower the King in a matter of seconds."

  Ariadne’s blue-steel eyes flashed with a quick anger just, as soon concealed as it was shown, before she spoke. "I will take that bet. My father wouldn't fall so easily. What shall we wager, Lord Kerras?"

  Whispering, "If I lose, I will teach you the sword like you have been begging me to do for so long. But if I win, I will reveal to your father your other evening escapades..."

  Ariadne halted and turned to look at Lord Kerras. The continuous clash of blades lent an eerie song to overlap with the rapid percussion tempo of her heartbeat.

  "What? Ye thought none of my guards noticed ye sneaking out of the castle grounds? Do ye think so lowly of our security?"

  "Why didn't you stop me?"

  Lord Kerras laughed sincerely, "Farbeit from me to imprison my Princess. I am yer protector, not yer jailer. Besides, I always had someone close by to ye if need be, but I doubt yer father would approve."

  "So a bet that could imprison me, or give me my own set of skills. Hmm, intriguing." Ariadne glanced away, her eyes re-engaged in the practice session between her father and the young knight. She pondered for a while, then turned and looked directly into Lord Kerras' eyes, a fire burning in her own. "You're on! But I will change the bet slightly."

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  "Oh," Lord Kerras said, his eyebrow raising with curiosity.

  "Yes, I bet that the Swordsman will let my Father win if they are asked to fight all out."

  "Ah... I am beginning to think that ye may know something that I do not. It's hard to believe such a young knight would so humble himself.” Kerras surveyed the courtyard and then eyed the Swordsman with a measuring gaze that seemed cautious, like a man who didn’t quite trust the scales. After a time he responded. ”I will take yer bet, Princess" He reached out his hand to her.

  Ariadne reached forward wrapping her hand around Kerras' forearm just above the wrist and he grasped her forearm. "Agreed!"

  "Father!" She then called out, and walked out into the middle of the courtyard toward the fighting men. As she approached, both started to slow their assaults, and then discontinued. Theon IV stood with sweat dripping down his face, his light dueling tunic drenched, but his breathing was steady as he threw his head back and laughed into the sky above briefly then turned to face his daughter. The Swordsman maintained a low fighting stance, which he broke to stand and bow to the Princess as she approached.

  Theon looked out towards his daughter, "Yes, Ariadne? What would you like my dear?"

  "Father, Lord Kerras and I have made something of a bet on your training here. Would you be willing to settle it for us?"

  "A bet? Interesting. And what is this bet?"

  "I have bet that if this fight were to become serious, engaging all of your strength, you would be victorious, and Lord Kerras seems to think that this young Swordsman will overpower you in," here the lady paused, a wry smile on her face as she looked back at Lord Kerras, "and I quote, 'a matter of seconds.'" It wasn’t strictly true, but what was one more fib between father and daughter?

  Theon IV's mood could not be broken, and so he laughed again and turned to address the Swordsman "Well, young man, what say you? Shall we engage in a true battle?"

  The Swordsman merely nodded his calm unbroken, "As you wish, Sire."

  "Still so sullen I see, well then let us continue in earnest. Young Man, let us take a brief reprieve, and then we shall settle my daughter's silly wager, yes?"

  "Yes, Sire." The Swordsman sheathed his blade and walked to the edge of the courtyard without haste. A throng of watchers looked poised to go to him, but his chiseled calm held them at bay. As much good it would do to speak to stone or a sea of glass.

  The King sheathed his own blade, took a deep breath and began to meditate on memory standing upright in the middle of the courtyard – heedless of any watcher at all.

  The full brunt of my power, the whole of my soul...

  The King stood motionless. It had been years since he had actually Quickened. No one amidst his guard could have handled it. No battle was engaged that required it. This would be a marvelous opportunity to test his own strength. It had been so long since he felt this good. He raised his hands and stared at them, feeling out for his power with every nerve. He was ready. "Swordsman!" He called across the courtyard. All the spectators hushed and shuffled back from their various conversations to return to the battle at hand. "Let us begin."

  The Swordsman sat with his back against a wall, hugging his sheathed sword to his chest and dozed when he heard the King's call. He opened his eyes and rose. Silence banished all and reigned over the courtyard.

  Lord Kerras and Ariadne stood in the middle now, their wager the impetus for a shift from training to real battle. The stern face of the King stood in stark relief to his earlier demeanor, though the Swordsman's calculating air had not changed. Kingsguard gripped their swords or spears with white knuckles. Passing servants stopped and gaped. Lords and ladies visiting the palace on business paused in silent anticipation.

  There was not even the wind of a breath until Ariadne spoke, "All of your powers gentlemen, every tool at your disposal, but please... don't actually kill each other."

  The Swordsman nodded, and the King spoke, "No," the King looked back and forth from his daughter to the Swordsman, "I won't hold anything back."

  The Swordsman simply bowed and drew his blade.

  "Back up. All of you stand back!" The King cried.

  The air in the courtyard thrummed as the King drew his sword. The ground quivered. There was a pause as he took a deep breath inward, held it, and then exhaled. A wave of force roared out from the King. Spectators who stood too near fell unconscious, and those just beyond were shoved backward by the torrent that assaulted them.

  Ariadne's breath caught in her lungs as she looked over at Lord Kerras. Their eyes met, fearful realization a brilliant fiery core in their pupils, though Kerras' eyes were tinged with something of a wild recollection. Ariadne had felt something similar before, though not as harsh, not so uncontrolled and wild. Her father's aura felt hot, wrathful, yet strong and proud. This was something different from what she had seen him do with Spellverse, something other than she felt from the young man in the garden. This held powerful intent, and she stumbled then steadied herself against Lord Kerras.

  She noticed the Swordsman, standing with his blade drawn. He seemed unaffected by the maelstrom of power, as if he stood in the eye of a terrible storm. As she watched, her father lunged, all his strength pressing him forward at great speed toward the Swordsman. The blade in his hand seemed to warp as if seen through waves of desert heat. Just as his blade was about to enter the Swordsman's chest, there was a shifting flash of white light.