Chapter 41: Steel in the Mud
The central courtyard of the Starfall encampment was packed, but the silence was heavy enough to feel. Word of a royal sparring match had spread through the tents like a fever, and while the morning air was crisp, the atmosphere was thick with a nervous, electric tension. The remaining fifty militia and the squads under Elyndor and Garran formed a wide, silent circle around the training ring.
Kendrick stood in the center of the sand, rolling his shoulders with a lazy, predatory confidence. At twenty years old, he was a man in his full prime, his reach and height making Alaric look like a stray cat in the path of a warhorse. He had stripped off his heavy travel cloak to reveal a brigandine vest of blackened steel over crimson silk. He looked down at his seven year old brother with a grin that didn't reach his eyes, an expression of pure, unadulterated cruelty.
"Are you certain you want to do this, Alaric?" Kendrick called out, his voice loud enough for every soldier to hear. He tossed a blunted practice sword from hand to hand as if it were a toy. "I would hate for the news to reach the capital that I broke our father's favorite little doll. Perhaps you should just admit that this whole Order is a game and go back to playing with your blocks."
Julios watched from the stone balcony, leaning back with a glass of wine in hand, his face set in a mask of bored amusement. "Don't be too hard on him, Kendrick. He's only just stopped nursing, I imagine."
Alaric stepped into the ring. He felt the weight of every eye on him, the collective breath of his men held in their chests. Asimi sat on the raised stone dais, her face a mask of imperial indifference, though her fingers gripped the armrest of her chair until her knuckles turned white. Beside her, Dawn stood with her arms crossed, her violet eyes burning with a cold, protective fury. Gina hovered nearby, her hand resting on the hilt of a dagger, her loyalty radiating like heat.
Alaric didn't speak. He picked up a weighted wooden practice sword. It was dense, heart of oak ballasted with lead to simulate the weight of a true blade. To any other child, it would have been an impossible burden, but to Alaric, with his Strength of 22, it felt like a part of his own body.
"Ready?" Kendrick didn't even wait for a signal. He lunged with a speed that was blatantly unfair, intended to end the match before it even began.
It was a vertical cleave, delivered with enough force to shatter the collarbone of a grown man. Alaric didn't parry. He stepped into the strike, his center of gravity low and immovable. He caught Kendrick's blade on the forte of his own wood, redirected the force with a sharp twist of his wrists, and stepped past.
Kendrick stumbled, his momentum carrying him into empty air. A ripple of muffled laughter broke out among the militia, a sound that made Kendrick's face flush a deep, angry red.
"You think you're clever, you little freak?" Kendrick hissed. He stopped playing the teacher and began to fight in earnest. He unleashed a flurry of horizontal slashes, each one aimed at Alaric's head or ribs. Kendrick was using his full adult strength, swinging the practice sword with a vicious intent.
Alaric retreated in a controlled circle, his wooden blade clicking against Kendrick's with rhythmic precision. He was measuring the man, sensing the slight tremor in Kendrick's form. But Kendrick was an Ecthellion, and he had been trained by the best in the Empire. Seeing Alaric's composure, Kendrick faked a wide swing, then suddenly shifted his weight, driving his leaden practice sword in a brutal, mid level kick he hadn't telegraphed.
The blow caught Alaric squarely in the ribs.
Even with Alaric's reinforced physiology, the sheer mass of a twenty year old man was a physical reality he couldn't ignore. The impact sounded like a hammer hitting a drum. Alaric was sent flying backward, his small frame skidding through the wet sand and mud until he hit the base of the stone dais with a sickening thud.
The courtyard went deathly quiet. Asimi half rose from her seat, her breath hitching in a way that silenced the entire arena. Dawn's hand went to her mouth, her eyes wide with a terror she couldn't hide.
On the balcony, Julios did a double take. The wine glass in his hand tilted dangerously. His bored amusement vanished, replaced by a sharp, sudden alarm.
"Kendrick! Enough!" Julios shouted, his voice cracking with a rare moment of genuine panic. "He's seven, you idiot! You'll kill him!"
Kendrick stood in the center of the ring, chest heaving, his face still twisted in a snarl but his eyes flickering with a sudden realization of what he had done. He hadn't just sparred; he had delivered a potential death blow to the Emperor's youngest son in front of a hundred witnesses.
For a long, agonizing moment, Alaric didn't move. He lay in the mud, his breath coming in ragged, shallow wheezes. His vision swam, and the world tasted like iron and grit. He could feel the dull, throbbing heat of at least two cracked ribs, and his shoulder screamed where it had hit the stone.
Then, his fingers twitched.
With a slow, agonizing deliberation, Alaric pushed himself up. His arms shook, and a thin trail of blood ran from the corner of his mouth, staining the front of his tunic. He coughed, a wet, rattling sound that made Asimi's hand tremble on the armrest.
But he didn't stay down.
Alaric forced himself to his feet, his legs wobbling before locking into place. He wiped the blood from his chin with the back of a muddy hand and looked Kendrick straight in the eye. There was no fear there, only a cold, terrifying resolve that looked entirely too old for his face.
"Is that all?" Alaric croaked, his voice raw but steady.
He reached down and retrieved the lead weighted wooden sword from the mud. He held it with a white knuckled grip, his posture upright and defiant despite the way his chest hitched with every breath.
"I'm not hiding, Kendrick," Alaric said, the steel in his voice returning. "I'm just seeing how much of a bully you really are."
Kendrick's face went pale. The power dynamic had shifted completely. He was the adult who had tried to break a child, and the child was standing back up.
As Kendrick lunged again, desperate to end the spectacle, Alaric didn't move his blade. He moved his body. He twisted his torso, ignoring the fire in his ribs, and let the practice sword hiss past him. Simultaneously, Alaric dropped his shoulder and drove into Kendrick's chest with the full, terrifying power of his reinforced musculature.
The impact was a dull, sickening thud. Kendrick was lifted off his feet, his breath escaping him in a violent wheeze as he crashed into the sand.
The rest of the fight was a blur of humiliation for the elder prince. When Kendrick finally drew his live steel in a fit of rage, Alaric met it with the jagged, broken hilt of his oak sword, the sheer kinetic energy of his strike sending the Imperial blade flying into a training dummy.
Alaric turned his back on his brother and walked toward the dais, every step a testament to his endurance. Dawn met him halfway, her fingers lingering against his as she took the broken hilt, her eyes wet with relief. Gina draped a dry cloak over his shoulders, her face set in a satisfied, toothy grin.
Julios watched from above, his eyes narrowed as he looked at the bruised, bloodied, but unbroken boy. He had scolded Kendrick out of an instinctive fear of the Emperor's wrath, but as he watched Alaric stand his ground, he realized the threat wasn't just political.
The steel was no longer just in the mud; it was tempered.