The Boy and The Man - Offer R (fiction book recommendations .txt) 📗

his hopes, and with it his life, to the Gods and pray for a favorable outcome to his daring venture. 'I've learned my lesson', he vowed silently. 'Allow me this small miracle, and I shall never perverse the truth again.' But before ingratiating the God's, there was a certain prince Dansalot's to be reconciled.

"What! Do you play us for fools? Is this the kind of man you join to your ranks, prince? Accept your fate, boy, and die as a man on the battlefield!" He raved. He seemed on the point of renouncing the whole arrangement and leading his army straight into our Guard.

Our prince was almost as outraged by The Boy's irreverent temerity. He would've been completely in the right had he beheaded his Lieutenant on the spot and apologize to the enemy for the dishonor, but it wasn't for our noble prince to keep up appearances at the cost of being forgiving to his men. And in this case it wasn't a random one of his men which required special sympathy, and not even just his Lieutenant.

'If The Boy has acted so blatantly contrary to what was expected of him, there must be a very good reason for it', he thought. And since he couldn't even imagine any reason good enough, he concluded that there was something The Boy knew that he didn't. Then, in a moment of trustfulness that exceeds what we've established as due conduct for a leader, that is placing blind trust in the judgment of another, he ordered The Boy to mount his horse.

Our terrified boy turned and cast the prince a plaintive glance. 'What will he do with me? Maybe he's going to put me in the hands of our enemy as punishment for my disobedience', he thought dismally. 'And how can I blame him? I've taken a high stakes gamble and I've lost.' He didn't make so bold as to question the prince's call again, and obediently climbed his horse. But to his astonishment, the prince's next move was to call Gladius, who was considered an excellent swordsman, exceeded in the whole kingdom only by the prince and The Boy.

"Prince! What is this?" Dansalot roared, fuming. Gladius balked halfway between our prince and the rest of the Guard, deterred not by Hartlus' sword but by Dansalot's wrath. But our prince exhorted him and was soon in the same spot The Boy had been.

"See here, Dansalot", our prince said with such poise and confidence that it was truly difficult not to prescribe to his view at once. "We both know why you're here, and we both know that your plea of innocence is a ruse. An underhanded one that doesn't become an honorable soldier if you asked me, and in any case a ruse. Yet we both sit here in our saddles pretending to negotiate on authentic terms, as though no scheme had been hatched. I've so far indulged you with trust instead of suspicion; now it's your turn to return the favor and indulge my change of heart. Gladius, The Boy's second and my third, will fight your Hartlus. A prince setting forth his third against the mighty Capitals' second- who would believe it! Let us see if it's your men's ability to swing a sword or your horses' ability to carry your men that has created the halo of fierceness that follows you. Besides, The Boy is a fine swordsman but is shy of experience on the battlefield. Defeat our Gladius, and there shall be no doubts cast upon your victory."

"You have a quick mind and a slippery tongue, prince", Dansalot conceded with obvious discontent. For those with a taste for blood, blue blood spilled is always a greater cause for celebration than ordinary red blood spilled. The higher the rank of the fallen man, the better the blood. But this petty affair was consuming too much of his valuable time, so rather than drawing out the haggling he accepted the offer. Some of the Capitals snuck an uneasy glance at their horses, but for the most part they were also grateful to have the standstill broken. That the mighty Hartlus would yield to our prince's third was inconceivable and they were therefore safe in their saddles.

Before the duel began, our prince snuck a few words of motivation to his honorable and courageous warrior. The words were exchanged in complete privacy, of course, as it is an act of suicide to let one's mortal enemy in on one's inner psychology. Prince Dansalot scorned at his counterpart's behavior, seeing it as a sign of weakness to try and move the heart of a warrior with words.

"Gladius, are you afraid?" Our prince whispered.

"No, sir."

"You don't feel fear?"

"Oh, that I certainly do. But I'm not afraid, sir", said our warrior earnestly. There was fire in his eyes, and he possessed the kind of respect one should feel toward an equal enemy, or in other words toward any enemy, as all enemies are equal until the battle has begun, just as all men are equal before God at birth.

'This is a man who knows a thing or two about war', thought the prince. "They say this Hartlus is an exquisite swordsman", he said shrewdly.

"I thought they said that about me."

"So they do. Have you thought up a plan of how to compensate for his significant advantage in size?"

"You make a common error, sir. It is he who must compensate for his larger dimensions."

"Oh?"

"Of course. You see, everyone notices the difference in size between us, and the advantages it confers him, most of all he. But few take into consideration the various advantages that I enjoy thanks to my smaller size, least of all he."

"Such as increased mobility and a larger target to hit", our prince observed comprehensively.

"Such as, sir. As a result, while I shall gauge my situation without bias, my enemy will very likely overestimate his chances. And if there's anything more valuable going into battle than having unfavorable chances, it must be overestimating your favorable chances. So I don’t complain about my odds."

"You're a wise man, Gladius; make it count. Good luck."

"I will do all that can be done. I hope it shall suffice to win your applause, sir", said our humble warrior and made his way back to the stream.

"You already have it ", the prince called after him.

This little episode was the final one in the sequence of events that put off the duel. Currently the two swordsmen, having been cleared a sufficient expanse of land in the Capitals' side of the stream, were assessing each other with swords drawn. They started by going in circles, as certain scavengers circle the sky over land where blood is about to be spilled. Hartlus was first to strike, but by the time his thick arm came down Gladius had already skipped out of reach.

Among our Guard The Boy was the most optimistic as regards our chances, and perhaps also the most desperate for a victory. His calculations were simple: on the face of it the two lives at stake belonged to the Capitals' number two and our Guard's number three swordsmen. Considering the Capitals' famed mastery of handling swords this should translate into a critical advantage against out Guard. But the truth, known only to him, was that Gladius was in fact the unrivaled, finest swordsman in the kingdom, which at the very least should even out the odds. He was counting on Gladius's speed and a slim intervention by the Gods to bring justice to the battlefield and due honor to the Guard.

But even he was surprised by how swiftly the larger and stronger man was brought to his knees. It happened after Gladius parried a presumptuous and awkwardly delivered vertical strike by his rival, finding himself facing Hartlus' entirely open left side. Without hesitation he delivered his first and only thrust, stopping his sword halfway through the large man's chest.

According to the rules of conduct applicable to duels in the time and place relevant to our story, a compassionate victor, having secured his triumph, leaves the vanquished to choose between mercy and death. Gladius' coaxing was required for his aching rival to opt for the first. He then slid his sword out of Hartlus' chest with one quick motion, helped him dress the non-fatal wound, and returned to his awe-struck Guard. No less coaxing on our prince's part was required for Dansalot to spare Hartlus' life and abide by the terms of their agreement and order his men to dismount from their horses and begin the long march back.

"Mark my words, prince: we shall meet again!" Dansalot snarled menacingly, thrusting his sword in the air in our prince's direction, before he turned and followed his vanquished army. This was no favorable development, as great swordsmen, be they virtuous or ignominious, were known to hold their word sacred. And Dansalot could be claimed to lack many qualities, but only a fool would deny his being a great swordsman. And yet in the thick of things our prince wasn't much troubled by it.

Such a glorious victory on behalf of our Guard was unprecedented in the memories even of the kingdoms' eldest. The lion's share of the glory was split between Gladius, the prince, and The Boy, each of whom had played his own distinct and indispensable role in the monumental success. Gladius, wise that he was, knew that glory doesn't come in fixed amounts and therefore didn't insist on receiving more than the other two, though one may argue that he was entitled to it in light of the division of labor between them. Their manner of embracing this glory was also distinct for each: Gladius basked in it for weeks to come, The Boy soon felt it mingle with the fluttering of his heart toward his meeting with Aphrodite and lift him to the clouds, and the prince tempered it so there would be enough space in his heart to contain both it and his heartache.

Chapter 8

 

There was no longer reason for The Boy and Aphrodite to keep the screen of discreetness over their meetings, but that day news of the Guard's encounter with the Capitals had already flooded the town, and if The Boy were spotted in a crowd he'd be swarmed at once and not allowed a moment of privacy. Therefore it was very fortunate that the meeting had been arranged to take place at the same scenic place behind the bell tower. He'd of course relieved himself of the burden of his uniform and put on the plainest clothes he could find in his wardrobe. His black cloak and wide brimmed hat pulled low over his eyes completed a satisfactory disguise.

Despite the day's dramatic events and the special ceremony to be thrown in honor of the Guard that evening by the king's order, The Boy was first to arrive at the rendezvous. Looking down at the valley, his eyes homed in on the exact spot where the miracle had taken place. It was humbling to ponder now how thin the line had been between tragedy and triumph. He was awakened from his musings by the sound of his beloved, who raced to him and covered him with kisses. She'd of course already heard of his heroism, and seemed to be no less ecstatic than he.

"The whole town speaks of you! What bravery, what genius", she sputtered uncontrollably. "Even father has admitted that he was a fool to have ever doubted you! I was afraid you might've forgotten our rendezvous." She was even more charming and lovely than usual, absorbing from the halo of glory that surrounded The Boy. The little ringlets resting on her shoulder were golden coils, her eyes priceless gems and her fragile body and manner immeasurably precious for their rarity and vulnerability.

"But how could I forget my heart?" Our boy said, feeling that he could jump over the cliff with her and fly over the valley. "It was the first thing I did once victory was