As the tournament progressed, the strong fighters began to become more evident. Cheering wildly, the crowd watched as an adventurer wielding a pair of metal claws dispatched his opponent, the claws plunging into the hapless player's side, already awash in blood from the previous strikes.
Groaning heavily, the fighter collapsed, a light enveloping him as he was transported away from the stage.
"And Kifax Catclaw wins! Mikaer Infernalshadow is eliminated!" Halfthur announced, his voice blaring through the arena.
"Kifax is impressive, you said he was an adventurer?" Alistair asked, watching the slimly built man as he raised his arms, playing to the crowd after his victory.
"Yes. He was a former Tidescout, but quit after commander Longsail wanted him to poison a group of merfolk who'd taken refuge in a cove. He refused to use such dishonourable methods and was discharged for his disobedience," Wavesun replied.
"Damn Longsail was always too obsessed with obeying the chain of command," Alistair muttered.
"All I know is that he's making me a killin. Between him and Gorin, I chose him to advance farther, although Gorin's doing well as well," Halfthur added, pinching his fingers and rubbing them together slyly.
Wavesun shook his head, "Alas, where did the morals of our once noble tournament announcers go. Whomever could have predicted that those brave men and women, who proclaim the deeds of prize fighters and announce their bloody conquests to the world, would become corrupted by the greed and sin that surrounds them," he proclaimed mournfully.
Alistair looked at him in disgust, "You've been reading too much Stirrglobe."
"A cultured mind is a sharp mind," Wavesun replied with a laugh.
"You could be focusing on learning more about proper military tactics, or practicing your swordsmanship, but instead you waste your time going to plays and wooing various women," Alistair retorted.
"You're just jealous that I've been with more women in twenty-seven years than you have in over sixty," Wavesun replied with a smirk. "Don't act like you wouldn't enjoy it if Duchess Sabrepool showed up in Tonbura. What man wouldn't want that?"
"I just want this damn tournament to be done with so I can get back to Tonbura and continue planning the assault. I still don't get why I have to be here, Wavesun," Alistair complained.
"Because you're the face of the assault. And because the assault is already planned. It's the militia, Alistair, I know that you've been doing your best to turn them into a real fighting force these past few years, but the complexity of any operation based on them is best kept to a minimum. And that's before we factor the otherworlders into it. At least by being here you can evaluate the fighters you'll be using tomorrow directly, rather than having to learn their capabilities on the fly, a much better use of your time than sitting in that dark closet you call an office and attempting to improve upon the plan. As the main strategist for this mission, that was my direct evaluation of the situation. Are you trying to say I'm wrong?" Wavesun asked, a hard edge appearing in his voice for the first time.
"Screw off, Wavesun, don't think that just because I've aged a little that I can't still put you over my knee," Alistair growled.
"I'm not a child anymore, Lord Crowsea, and I would thank you to stop acting like one yourself. You are here to show the residents of the north that you don't need to plan in the final hours before the assault, to reassure them that the situation is under control, and to learn the capabilities of those you will be commanding tomorrow. I know that, and I'm well aware that you know that as well," Wavesun replied coldly, the temperature on the dais seeming to lower as the two men glowered at each other.
Gulping softly to himself, Halfthur hardly dared to breathe, staring nervously from face to face as his hands trembled unconsciously.
Suddenly, the atmosphere seemed to lighten, fading just as quickly as it had appeared.
Alistair sighed, "Just the gripings of an old man, Wavesun. A senile old man, who's powerless to prevent the calamities befalling those he cares for."
Wavesun laughed, the dark atmosphere disappearing entirely as he looked fondly towards Alistair, "There are people you care for? And here I thought your heart had turned to stone long ago."
"Ah shove it," Alistair grumbled, turning to observe the nearby matches.
Smiling slightly, Wavesun went silent, offering no retort. As Halfthur looked between the two men, he slowly released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Noticing this, Wavesun turned to the dwarf.
"You should probably announce the winner of the match over there," Wavesun advised Halfthur, pointing to a stage where the winner had been standing with his sword held aloft for the last few seconds, peering over towards the announcer's dais in confusion.
"Uhhh. Right," Halfthur muttered absentmindedly, drawing the runes to amplify his voice as he did so.
"Alexnir Swordboard advances to the next round!" Halfthur announced.
"I'd also ask that you forget about what you just heard. It isn't healthy to internalize such things, especially for those who aren't nobles," Wavesun whispered, bending over to put him at the same level as the dwarf.
Looking at Wavesun, Halfthur could see that he was smiling, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes, two gray pits which seemed to promise Halfthur that if he didn't forget, he would be the one to be forgotten.
Chapter end
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