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

skills of swordsmanship. (He'd done much to improve them since we've first met him, but a mere few years of practice don't put a mediocre swordsman in any position to challenge a whiz who handles his sword as if it were a magic wand like Dansalot did). And she'd heard of Dansalot many times from both the prince and The Boy, so she realized the scales weren't balanced.

"I wish there were", said our prince with a melancholy sigh, gazing deeply into his beloved's supplicating eyes. "I've already avoided one battle in front of my people. It seems the time has come to pay my dues." By this he was referring to his faked duel with The Boy, a secret he shared only with her. Aphrodite understood this insinuation at once and fell silently supportive of her prince.

With another man he would've perhaps resorted to his well-honed skills of negotiation, but he knew that with Dansalot it was in vain. "Now you'll have to move back, my love. Everyone. From this point forward this is a duel, and any man who interferes will be fair game for both our swords." Everyone obeyed this decisive command but the king, who, prompted by the queen, held his ground.

"This is madness!" He bellowed furiously. "And I won't allow it, son. This is a day for celebration, not for violence. Dansalot! Retreat at once and you shall be allowed to leave the kingdom unharmed. Do it now and I will pardon your opprobrious conduct."

But Dansalot didn't flinch. "To your people you are a king and your word is inviolable", he said calmly, "But to me you are a stranger, and your word is a meaningless noise."

"How dare you!" Our king snapped, and he stepped forward so he was almost aligned with his son, facing the avenger. The whole crowd seemed to take a step toward the altar turned battlefield in protest against Dansalot's act of sacrilege. In a mere few seconds hundreds of frenzied people could be upon him and tear his body to pieces. But the handsome prince was in full control of the situation, and all he had to do was apply a light pressure with the edge of his sword against our prince's chest bone so a tiny trail of blood started to trickle down the blade. At this our prince emitted a moan of pain and surprise, and our king realized that he was stripped of his authority.

"Father, please", our prince rasped, breathing deeply so as to be able to bear the thought that the edge of his avenger's sword was inside him. "Only one prince can live to see the fall of dusk tonight, and there is nothing you can do to change it. It remains for us to decide which of us deserves to be that lucky man. You must accept that this is what God has intended for us, and have faith that he will give me the strength to prevail."

This was the end of the objections, preparations and prevarications, and finally Dansalot wish was fulfilled. He slipped out of his smock to reveal his regal red and blue Guard uniform, slid his sword softly out of the tiny puncture in our prince's flesh, and struck his sword against his rival's as an official sign that the duel has commenced.

"Good luck, prince. May you do your people proud and carry out your God's wishes", Dansalot said snidely.

"I would wish you the same, but your people have forsaken you and it seems you have forsaken God", our prince recriminated to the cheers of the audience. Dansalot laughed and the deadly clanking of metal began. There was no rage in the swordsmen's smooth movements or any ill-will in their thrusts toward each other's hearts. It was a duel between two gentlemen, honoring an arcane code of conduct at the inevitable expense of one of their lives.

The duel was an intense, fascinating one between two excellent swordsmen. Our prince proved to himself and to his people that he mastered his sword with graceful skill just as he mastered his men at the Guard. But in the end even his best efforts and his desire to live, greater now than ever before, couldn't bridge the gap between his skills and Dansalot's. The latter swung his sword as a painter swings his brush across his parchment, and made no mistakes. He was a crafty tactician and gained ground on our prince gradually but surely. A novice spectator wouldn't perceive it, but there was one man in the crowd, a certain Mr. Musashi, who realized from the very beginning that his student was outmatched. Slowly our prince gave ground, slowly his arm tired and his legs weakened, until he could barely deflect his rival's lethal strikes. Then, finally, it came. A direct thrust to his left shoulder, which he knew the moment he saw his rival's chest tilt that he was too slow to parry it. Our prince cried out as a sharp pain streaked through his entire right side. For all his courage and strength of character, he was still human and no human could've borne the pain he felt and the realization that his time had come. He dropped his sword and fell to his knees before thousands of terrified faces. A helpless yelp came from behind and Aphrodite, who unlike the king and queen wasn't familiar with the unbreakable rules that applied to any duel from its starting point until to its very end, lunged forward. But Dansalot repelled her with a single menacing gesture of his sword. The life of our brave prince was now in the hands of his greatest rival.

"You fight well, prince", he said smugly.

"Save us your prideful courtesy", our prince snarled in a voice shaken by the fragility of his body. The blood from his wound was spreading quickly and he was losing strength. But he wouldn't allow his people to remember him as a weak man with a broken spirit. He didn't want her to remember him that way. "If my death will bring you the peace you've been looking for, then do it now. Do it or renounce your evil cause; but if you dare parade before our pain I will order my men to kill you", he said with his right hand pressed against the wound and his knees trembling.

"Is that your way of begging for mercy? The great Prince Conan, gravelling for his life?" Dansalot spurned.

"I will only beg mercy of God. But you- you don't know what mercy is, so what is there to ask? But it seems you're content with your victory, so I will retire now and treat my wound", our prince said and rose to his feet. This was the only way to force Dansalot to make his choice at once while keeping the prince's chances of living.

"You're right", Dansalot said darkly. "I don't know what mercy is."

Our prince had his back to his avenger, but while he stared at his never-to-be future wife he could feel Dansalot's gaze of death fixing on his back. The lovers shared a sweet and bitter smile so fraught with emotion that it alone could take a man's life. It was a smile that at the same time celebrated a sacred love and mourned its loss.

A heavy silence like no other lay upon the thousands as the evil man's blade was thrust toward their prince's defenseless back side. There, under the legendary monument that perpetuated his courage against the same man who was about to end his life, they watched their hero's final moments. In life we may be set oceans apart, masters and slaves, heroes and villains; but in death our corpses are all miserably equal!

Our prince closed his eyes as he heard the swishing sound of the sword slicing through the air. But steel hadn’t yet pierced flesh when a thunderous roar issued from the end of the courtyard.

"Dansalot! Halt!"

If only for the sake of allaying his curiosity, the avenger complied and turned his attention, as did the thousands, to the source of the noise.

It was a man riding his horse at full gallop, the hoofs clicking through the same path the carriage had rumbled down not an hour earlier. A general murmur emerged in the audience, no doubt relating to the identity of the mysterious rider. By the time the horse came to a stop and the rider dismounted the fog had cleared and a deep, low 'Oh!' of astonishment resounded through the entire kingdom.

The greatest astonishment belonged to Aphrodite, whose eyes locked on his. "You're back!" She whispered, her lungs taking in far less air than she required in those moments.

The weakened prince, also breath taken, mouthed something that only the moribund could understand.

"Lieutenant! How nice of you to join us", Dansalot greeted with authentic delight. "And just in time to pay final respects to your Captain."

Our boy, who was deeply saddened but not discouraged by the grimness of the scene, was now a full-grown man. Three years normally don't take a great toll on one's body, and his case was no exception. But his body had been that of a man for many years now, with strong arms, a broad back and a proud chest. What had changed in him were his eyes. They were still blue, deep, and pretty, but they were wiser now. Words are a tool not powerful enough to seize the essence of the transformation, and for one to understand the nature of The Boy's newfound manhood, he would've had to be present among the thousands at the courtyard that day. In any case, The Boy wasn't a boy and there was no mischief left inside him.

He wore neither the clothes of a member of royalty nor those of a Lieutenant. His tattered coat and frayed trousers weren't even fit for a loaner of substantial sums at the trade area. They were the clothes of a humble man from the south who hardly belonged at the center of the attention of the entire kingdom.

"Any last words to the dying man before his body becomes a corpse?" Dansalot said. He was truly delighted by The Boy's appearance, and felt that his revenge was now doubly forceful.

"No. In fact it's you I've come to speak to", said the newcomer sternly.

"Oh? Well be quick, for your prince has expressed his wish for me not to postpone his death. And being the gentleman that I am, I haven't but to oblige such a humble desire."

Since nobody had seen or heard of The Boy for a long time, they didn’t know what to expect of him. What kind of man had he become? There was only one soul, one beating heart that was on the verge of being crushed for the second time, that saw in him our prince's only chance of salvation. And the owner of that soul and heart stared at The Boy with as much love as she had three years earlier.

"I have a proposal to make. An exchange, if you will", said the newcomer with such calm and steadiness of voice that he commanded immediate respect from his addressee.

"A proposal! Surely you don't expect me to fall for your famous trickery a second time", Dansalot said, his sword still pointed at our prince's back.

"Quite the contrary. My current proposal depends on your sharp memory, my friend." With this the poor man had not only the avenger's respect but also his curiosity. He continued:

"As you say, it was my trickery that caused you your downfall, not the prince's honest proposal. Clearly he wanted to avoid a duel with you since you were always the better swordsman. You have proved it just now to him and to his people, and yet you say yourself that I was the true culprit for your humiliation." He was clear and calculated with his words, and this time there was no trick to be played.

"I'm listening", Dansalot said. Our prince in the meantime attempted to reprimand The Boy for his