"Quick! Aemon! Cut that bastard down from his horse!"
The shrill voice was grating, but its owner seemed utterly unaware, his eyes fixed on the two knights fighting in the field.
He clapped excitedly and shouted into the field.
To put it unkindly, Humfrey looked like a "noble lady" ordering her hounds about.
Had Leyton Hightower been here in his younger days, he would simply have slapped him to the ground.
His smugness did not last long, however. An unremarkable man wearing no armor silently approached his side.
Then a level voice spoke:
"Lord Garth already knows what happened here. He has sent me to bring you back."
Despite the phrasing, his tone left absolutely no room for discussion.
Only about twenty minutes had passed since Darean had been stopped, yet Garth Hightower already knew what had happened.
That fool Humfrey had botched the job.
Whatever the outcome of today's fight, Darean would be fine.
Baelor the Laughing was no pushover.
Things had not been going well lately, but since they had failed to take Darean away at the outset, there was little point in continuing to block his way today.
In fact, Garth had never intended to do anything to Darean by taking him away.
The stain of kinslaying could even serve as a pretext for launching a rebellion.
So he would never let anything happen to Darean.
But once Darean had spent some time in a "private discussion" with him and then been released unharmed...
Baelor the Laughing would no longer be able to trust his dear younger brother.
At that point, Ser Baelor Hightower would truly stand alone at the House Hightower council.
That would have been enough.
Now, however, with Darean's "duel" throwing things into disarray, that plan could no longer be carried out.
Garth Hightower had lost interest in Darean.
The most important thing now was to get his embarrassing ally Humfrey back at once.
If this really blew up and Baelor took it to the old man, Garth would be the one in a difficult position.
Ducking the blade that skimmed past his forelock, Darean watched coldly as Aemon Cuy rode past him, already panting.
The man was tired.
After a few exchanges, he had already gauged his opponent's abilities.
He certainly could not win by meeting him head-on.
This was an experienced man with tremendous strength.
His stamina, however, did not seem particularly good.
After so many furious attacks, he had accomplished nothing beyond leaving a few scratches and notches in Darean's armor and shield, and he was growing anxious.
"Is dodging all you can do? Where is the honor of the House of the Tower?"
Mustering what little strength he had left, Aemon Cuy spurred his warhorse into another charge.
Renown was an honor, but also a shackle.
He simply could not imagine losing to a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old boy like Darean.
If that happened, what would Garth Hightower think of him?
How would House Cuy scorn him for bringing shame upon House Hightower?
So, no matter what, he could not lose!
His thirst for victory had overwhelmed everything else. Forgetting his opponent's noble status, he raised his longsword high and forgot to guard himself.
His chest lay wide open. He hoped this blow, carrying all his strength, would cleave through his opponent's hateful shield.
As for the consequences, they no longer mattered...
But he had forgotten that such a move also left him at his most vulnerable.
This was the opening Darean had been waiting for!
Magic was scarce, impossible to use at will-at least for now.
So Darean was not certain whether his [Spell: Force of Sharpness] could cut straight through his opponent's shield, then pierce his armor and wound Aemon Cuy himself.
That was why he had kept holding back.
Waiting for him to grow anxious, to lose patience, to expose an opening.
Fortunately, all that effort had paid off.
Now!
Magic flowed unseen, droplets gathering into a stream that wrapped around the edge of the longsword in his hand.
The others watching the field tensely all held their breath.
Because they had noticed.
This time, neither of the two men who had been fighting for so long made any attempt to defend himself.
Those with experience went a little pale.
Their instincts told them...
There would be blood!
Crack!
"Aagh!"
An eerie snapping sound rang out, followed by an agonized scream.
Eight hooves crossed once more amid the rising dust, but this time, blood poured down like a rainstorm.
"Seven Hells..."
When he saw the outcome of the exchange clearly, the pupils of Maester Marwyn, who had remained hidden beneath his hood, suddenly contracted.
The exclamation so favored by people of the South kept spilling from his lips.
Aemon Cuy, who had just been trying like a madman to cleave Darean in two, had plunged headfirst to the ground, his blood flowing like a stream.
Beyond that searing scarlet, what held their eyes even more was the cut stretching almost the entire width of his breastplate.
One stroke... had cut through his opponent's armor!
The bloody scene first drew a chorus of startled cries. Then those who knew something of such matters were left utterly dumbfounded.
Generally speaking, cutting and thrusting weapons such as swords had great difficulty inflicting effective damage against the frontal armor of a heavily armored knight.
Unless they struck weak points such as the joints.
Against such an enemy, one either used a lance or relied on a blunt weapon and the tremendous momentum generated by a horse's speed to crush the opponent outright.
Take the Battle of the Trident during the War of the Usurper.
Rhaegar Targaryen, everyone's great hope, had been wearing heavy armor, yet Robert, then Lord of Storm's End, had smashed his chest in with a single hammer blow.
And now this man named Dareon Hightower had actually sliced straight through his opponent's armor with one stroke.
How on earth had he done it?
An uproar broke out, and everyone began talking at once.
Humfrey, who had just been about to leave with the man Garth had sent, saw the scene and his eyes nearly burst with fury!
Why could it not have ended after he was gone?
Aemon Cuy, you incompetent fool!
Seeing that his opponent could no longer fight back, Darean, who had drained his magic dry, nearly collapsed from exhaustion.
Unsure whether he could pierce the armor, he had pushed himself a little too hard.
Now, the moment his feet touched the ground, he wanted to sink to his knees.
Fortunately, Clyson reacted quickly and rushed over to support him.
Catching his breath, Darean shook his head and said:
"I'm fine. Go see if that fellow is still alive."
He was still under Sunflower Hall's authority, after all. Killing a Cuy would not be a good thing.
A minute later, Clyson ran back and said quietly:
"My lord, he won't die. No vital areas were hit, but that stroke of yours will certainly leave him with a long scar."
Darean waved a hand and said:
"Spare his life. As the victor, I have the right to show my mercy."
At the same time, he added inwardly:
For now.
Coming up to Maester Marwyn, Darean patted the old man's shoulder and said with a chuckle:
"Come on, stop standing there in a daze. It's time to come play in the mud with me out in the countryside."
The young nobleman sheathed his bloodstained longsword.
Laughing heartily, he walked toward the passage through the city gate that the cavalrymen had cleared, into the sunlight of the year 297 of the Conquest Calendar.
Step after steady step, no one dared block his way again.
The victor was to receive glory, enjoy the gods' protection, and know no taboos!
"Home!"
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