The Old World: Shadows

“Come on, you can do better than that!” Frost Burn scoffed, a look of mock disdain smeared across his face. “You need to focus more.”

Eager Ice relaxed his spell, panting, and said, “What?! I did it just how you told me to!”

“No, you didn’t. Watch,” Frost Burn retorted, exasperated.

The two unicorns stood in the training yard in the inner ward of Smallclover’s castle. There were no guards present, as the brothers were practicing volatile combat magic that could easily go awry. Frost Burn was blue with a white mane and tail, with dark blue streaks running through them, and had yellow eyes. His younger brother, Eager Ice, had an aqua coat, a dark blue mane and tail, and yellow eyes not unlike Frost Burn’s. They faced each other across the combat ring, both unarmed.

Frost Burn, standing on his hind legs in standard battle stance, one hind leg positioned just in front of the other, cast the spell. His horn glowed yellow, and illuminated the predawn twilight. A long triangular blade materialized on his right foreleg, the base attached to the end of his hoof. “See? It should appear to be a crisp and clear-cut blade, easily distinguished as a spirit sword. Yours was . . . blurry, to say the least.”

“What are you talking about? It was shaped exactly like a triangle,” Eager Ice said. “Sort of.”

Frost Burn pointed his sword at Eager Ice. “Aha! There’s your problem. It was only ‘sort of’ shaped correctly. If you focused entirely on your spell while you’re casting it, you don’t need to use nearly as much energy. When it’s easier to fuel, it’s easier to maintain.” Frost Burn smiled mischievously. “So, where’s your focus at, hmm? Not still wondering about a certain servant of ours, are you?”

Face turning red, Eager Ice couldn’t formulate a witty retort. He sighed. “Yes.”

Frost Burn laughed. “Well, save those thoughts for later. Now is practice time,” he said. A thick wooden pole stood upright in the middle of the fighting ring. Still standing upright, Frost Burn walked across the sandy ground, approaching his target. “This is why you need to learn,” he said, slashing the post. His glowing yellow blade cut deep scores in the wood, much thicker than a steel sword would do. “If I can do this against stout oak wood, imagine what it can do against flesh and bone.” He dispelled the sword.

Eager Ice nodded. “Here, let me try again,” he said. He closed his eyes, and focused the magic around him into his horn, clearing his head of needless distractions. Envisioning a sharp, contoured triangular blade, he let his magic go. Opening his eyes, he found a spirit sword protruded from his right foreleg. He smiled. “Got it.”

Frost Burn grinned. “Aye, you did it. A bit wobbly, but you did. Now, come at me.”

Eager Ice looked up in confusion. “Come at you? With this? Shouldn’t we practice with tourney swords first?”

Frost Burn shook his head. “No, just lower the energy flow on your blade, so it’s nonlethal. About one quarter. Then, we-“

Before he could finish, Eager Ice flew at Frost Burn, and thrust his blade up to his brother. Frost Burn quickly sidestepped, and summoned his own blade. “You sneaky bastard!”

Eager Ice turned around, his competitive nature glinting in his eyes. “I almost had you there,” he taunted. He raised his arcane weapon. The yellow glow was dim, but was still bright enough to light up the darkness. “Let’s go!”

“You’re on!”

Frost Burn sprinted at Eager Ice, sword raised. Their swords clashed, again and again, sending sparks flying every which way. With each sword strike, and subsequent parry, short bouts of intense light greatly illuminated the predawn darkness. Frost Burn thrust, and Eager Ice spun out of the way, going to elbow Frost’s stomach. He succeeded, knocking the knight square on his back. Eager Ice quickly pointed his blade at Frost’s neck. “Yield,” he commanded.

Without hesitation, Frost Burn swept his hind legs in a kick that tripped his younger opponent. He got up, and assumed a ready stance once again. Eager Ice scrambled to get up, and raised his sword just in time to deflect Frost Burn’s savage overhoof swing. With such force, the low-powered swords crackled and sparked, temporarily blinding a surprised Eager Ice.

Immediately, Frost Burn ducked under Eager Ice’s blind slash, and plunged his sword up into Eager Ice’s chest. The blade passed through his torso, and stuck out his back. The force of the blow lifted him into the air. Frost slid him off his blade, and dispelled it. “You alright?” He stepped back, half-anticipating a counterattack.

Where a gaping stab wound should have been bleeding, there was nothing but a bruise. Eager Ice looked up from the ground, a pained expression on his face. “I’m fine,” he groaned, “Help me up, will you?”

Frost Burn extended a hoof, and Eager Ice hooked his own hoof on it. Frost pulled him up. “Come on. The sun’s rising,” He said, cocking an eye towards the dawn. “Father’s feast and tournament are soon. Let’s get some rest before it begins.”

The brothers hoof bumped, and left the fighting ring.

“Where have you lollygaggers been? The tournament’s in two hours!” Tough Nails shouted, sitting on a stool and banging his hammer against a helmet. The castle smith, Tough Nails was a dark brown earth pony with a black mane, beard and tail. “Ye need to get prepared!”

Frost Burn nodded his head. “Nails, you know I would never miss father’s tournament. I was just training my faithful squire,” he said, patting his younger brother’s head. “Oh, that reminds me, isn’t one of the duties of squire to take care of his masters’ arms and armor, and help him don said armor?”

“Right away, Frost- er, I mean, sir,” Eager Ice stammered. He hurried off into the armory.

Tough Nails looked up at Frost Burn. “Ye know, ye shouldn’t give yer brother too much of a hard time. He is you’re squire, aye, and he must treat you as his master for the time being,” he said in a gravelly voice. “But if ye abuse him too much, he might come to resent ye.”

“Aw, come on, what’s the point of being an older brother if not to give younger siblings grief?” Frost wheedled, looking innocently at Tough Nails.

Tough Nails banged on his helmet some more. “Nothing, I reckon. I’m just sayin’ don’t overdo it.”

Eager Ice returned, bearing his brother’s armor and swords. “Sorry it took so long, sir.” He began to fumble with Frost’s helmet straps.

Frost Burn shook his head, “No, Ice, you start from the legs up. Get me my bracers and boots first.”

Eager Ice mumbled an embarrassed apology, and reached for Frost’s boots. Made of supple brown leather and more like sleeves than boots, they reached his shoulders and hips, and provided protection from armor chafing, an otherwise common occurrence from leg armor. They went on first. Frost Burn lifted each leg to allow Eager Ice to put them on. Over the boots, which went up to Frost’s knees, went the lower bracers. These steel plates protected all four of Frost’s shins from attacks. Eager Ice strapped them on easily. Unsure on what to do next, Eager Ice looked to Frost Burn for guidance.

“Now the upper bracers. They look like the ones you just put on, only smaller,” Frost said patiently.

Eager Ice got them and put them on Frost. With Frost’s legs all armored up, he grabbed the breastplate.

“Not yet, Ice. First the main barding.”

Eager Ice sheepishly put down the breastplate, and picked up the barding. He threw the coat or armor, made of bands of steel and mail sewn into a cloak of leather roughly the shape of a saddle blanket, over Frost, protecting him from attacks to his rear, back, and sides. He tightened the auxiliary girths to prevent the main barding from sliding, and fastened the shoulder straps and the main girth to ensure it wouldn’t fall off when he entered the bipedal combat stance.

Eager Ice picked up the breastplate. Frost Burn, and Frozen Lake before him, never cared much for ornate finery, so it was a plain piece of armor. It had no designs, no carvings, and no enamel. It was just grey steel. Eager Ice moved it into place, so that the back portion went over the main barding, and started tying the leather straps tight. Wherever the breastplate was too loose, he tied the straps tighter. After the breastplate was done, Ice placed Frost’s gorget around his neck, protecting it from frontal assault. Next Ice grabbed Frost’s collar. The piece of metal snapped shut around his neck, further protecting it from side and rear attack.

“Now you can do the helmet,” Frost said.

Eager Ice placed the helmet on Frost Burn’s head, tightening the bridle to keep the helm secure. He threaded Frost Burn’s horn through the small hole in the forehead area of the helmet, making sure it wouldn’t rub on it uncomfortably. He struck the back of Frost’s head with a hoof. “All done, Frost.” The entire procedure took a little less than an hour.

Frost looked pointedly at Ice, who nodded sheepishly and quickly picked up his swords.
Nails smiled and shook his head. “You are something else, little lordling.”

Frost grinned. “I’m a knight now, remember? A lordling no longer.”

“Bah. You’ll be a lordling till the day ye die.” Nails said.

Eager Ice quickly went to work attaching the hoofblades to Frost’s forelegs.

After his swords were strapped on, he said, “Now, little brother, the tournament begins soon. Watch the fights, you’ll learn something.”

Frozen Lake stood at the nobles’ box, elevated from the stands. He looked down on the arena before him; the melee ring, the jousting rail, and a larger ring where the team fights would be held. Running about outside the marked off arena, squires were making last-minute preparations for their masters’ armor and weapons. Knights were casually talking to one another, getting armed by their squires, or just loitering about, waiting for the games to begin. Along the sides of the square fighting arena, droves of townsponies, farmers, and travelers sat in the stands and on the dry grass, waiting excitedly for the tournament to start. After letting his gaze drift from knight to knight, analyzing the contestants, Frozen Lake glanced back to his fellow box-seat holders. King Stoic Gaze, an ageing pony, looked weak and frail. He was the head of house Summerhearth. His once brilliant scarlet coat had faded to dull maroon, and streaks of grey dotted his body. His muzzle was completely white, and his mane and tail were too, but his green eyes haven’t lost their spark. He wore a hoofblade, but that was just a formality; the ornate sword strapped to his foreleg likely hadn’t seen use in forty or more years. To his side sat his granddaughter and heir, Princess Gold Star. She had a lovely golden coat, gleaming red eyes, a dirty blonde mane and tail, soft features, and all around looked stunning. If I had been twenty years younger. . . Frozen thought. He grimaced. Maybe thirty years. He quickly banished those unfaithful thoughts as soon as he saw his lady wife. Morning Pyre, now getting on in her age, was about fourteen years younger than himself. He remembered the marriage, arranged, of course, essentially the contract that kept his house and hers at peace. House Coldheart and house Firelight ended their dispute, more or less, that day, when their houses joined, enabling a lasting peace throughout the realm. Luckily, the marriage worked out for the best for them; they developed a strong love that most arranged marriages lacked.

Of the other box-seat holders, there were representatives from house Redwood, house Dusthelm, house Ironeye, house Blackbrook, house Firelight, house Hardfoot, and house Heavystride. Lords and ladies, either too old or otherwise not inclined to violence, populated the box, although there were more ladies than lords. The less important houses occupied the stands closest to the box, distancing themselves from the more raucous commoners.

“You’ve drawn quite a crowd,” King Stoic Gaze said, voice sounding dusty with age. “The tournament holds many mighty contestants. One of your sons is competing, is he not?”

“Yes, your grace. Frost Burn, my eldest. He will be showing his valor and his house’s this day.” Frozen Lake said in a respectful tone.

Stoic Gaze waved his hoof dismissively. “You don’t have to be so formal with me, Frozen. Leave the pettiness to the petty nobles. You and I are above them.”

Frozen Lake bowed. “I thank your grace,” he said. “Shall we begin?”

Entering a fit of wracking coughs, Stoic Gaze nodded his head, waving for Frozen to continue.

Frozen Lake nodded, and turned back to face the crowd. “Men and mares of Smallclover, of the Everfree Kingdom, it is my great pleasure to commence the start of this tournament,” he said in a loud, commanding voice. The mass of common folk below him quieted down, letting their lord speak. “This test of the strength of arms of our realms’ mighty knights is in part being held for your enjoyment. Over the next two days, the tournament will hold the team fights and the jousts. In addition to a two-thousand bit reward to the champion of the melee duels today, free bread will be distributed to you good people throughout the entirety of the tournament!”

At this, the crowd of ponies got so rowdy that it threatened to degenerate into a mob. Coldheart soldiers kept them from storming the field right then and there, such was their excitement.

Stoic Gaze raised an eyebrow. “Your commons love you well, I see,” he rasped. Gold Star nodded in agreement.

“Let the tournament begin!” Frozen Lake shouted, raising a hoof and unsheathing his sword. The already excited crowd cheered again, and bread-bearers began distributing food courtesy of Lord Frozen Lake. He sheathed his hoofblade, and sat down beside the king and his lady wife, Morning Pyre. “From my time with the Drycons of the Roaman Empire, I learned a method on how to stay in the commons’ good graces. Occasional free food breeds loyalty in the people,” he said, smiling.

An earth pony herald announced the first melee duel. He was very loud and proud of his work, absolutely shouting at the crowd. “My good ponies! First to fight is Lord Broken Stone of house Redwood, the head of his proud and noble house, and Sir Lyric Awe of house Blackbrook, the heir to his!” As the herald spoke his words, two knights entered the arena via ducking under the rope fence. Lord Broken Stone was a tall unicorn, clad from head to hoof in full steel plate, and his armor was enameled red and etched with golden runes and ornate designs. Gleaming in the midmorning sun, he calmly made for the melee ring. Lyric Awe was something else entirely. Laughing as he went, he galloped around the outskirts of the arena, among the commoners. He riled them up, and got him cheering his name. He was smaller and slimmer than his competition, and his armor was less extensive as Broken Stone’s. It was lighter, and less intricate. “When I win, I’ll share the prize with all you fine folk!” He shouted. This got the crowd even more rowdy, and they threatened to boil over the stressed guards and spill out onto the arena. He turned to face his opponent, and cantered over to meet him. “Good luck, friend!” he said. Broken Stone said nothing in return.

“My lords!” the herald shouted once more. “This is a duel for spirit swords only; no other magic and no live steel. Tone the energy for the blades down to one third capacity, and the winner is declared when his foe falls in battle, or yields. Are you ready?!” he yelled.

“I am!” Lyric Awe shouted back. Broken Stone only nodded.

The herald looked hard at both of the knights. He then looked at the crowd. “Then let the duel begin!”

Immediately, Lyric Awe was on the offensive. Rising to fighting stance, he summoned his sword and released his shield, which rotated outwards to full position with a loud, rachety sound. With a yell that sounded almost like a laugh, he leapt at Broken Stone. The red armored lord cast his own sword and activated his shield, rose, and the two swords clashed over Broken’s head. A red and green blade crackled with excess energy, sending off rays of white light in all directions. Lyric Awe immediately disengaged, and began to circle around his opponent. He made a quick thrust, but Broken Stone was quicker. With a loud, deep yell, he shield bashed the blade and his enemy away from him, and sent Lyric Awe stumbling to the ground. Broken Stone jumped towards his foe to execute a falling stab, but Lyric Awe rolled out of the way just as the blade plunged into the dirt.

Lyric Awe scrambled to his hooves, only to be met with Broken Stone’s vicious backhoof strike, spraying dirt with his swing. He raised his shield just in time, and the low powered sword deflected off with a sound akin to steel screeching along steel. Lyric was laughing no more.

Wordless, Broken Stone attacked again. He swung his sword in long arcs, using his superior reach to drive Lyric Awe back. He pressed his adversary up against the fence before Lyric charged in. He took Broken by surprise, and knocked him down with a shield bash strengthened from his full body’s force. Lying prone, Broken tripped Lyric, who collapsed to the ground, and he rolled himself over and rose a crouching position. Lyric Awe tried to squirm out of the way, but it was too late. Lord Broken Stone plunged his spirit sword deep into Lyric’s chest. The audience erupted in disappointed wails and boos.

On the sidelines, Frost Burn remarked to Eager Ice, “You see that move? It’s the one I used on you this morning, less the fast counterattack. If Lyric Awe was paying attention, he could have sidestepped or jumped back, or even jumped forward to do a falling stab. That’s how you counter it”

Eager Ice nodded.

In the melee ring, Broken Stone rose from his kneeling stance, bringing his sword to bear. He looked around challengingly, and the crowds quieted a little. Lyric Awe lay on the ground, unconscious, and his sword winked out.

“We have a winner! Lord Broken Stone of house Redwood, Earl of Dorhart, stands victorious over Sir Lyric Awe of House Blackbrook!”
Some of the crowd was cheering again, although many were disappointed that Lyric Awe wasn’t going to be sharing that prize money with them. Lyric’s squire hustled out to the field and grabbed his mentor, dragging him through the dirt back to his tent. The thundering of hooves drumming against the wooden stands sounded throughout the arena, and Broken Stone left the ring. Two more knights ducked under the rope fences, and one met up with Broken Stone. The new contestant congratulated Broken, who then left the arena. He then removed his helmet, gave it to his squire, and sat down to watch the next match.

Up in the nobles’ box, Frozen Lake nodded. He figured Broken Stone would win, as he had fought many battles with him in years past, and he knew the lord’s skill. The king shook his head slowly. “Fool. Save your boasting for after the battle!” he rasped, scowling at Lyric Awe as he was dragged off the field.

The herald’s loud voice rang out once more. “Next up, we have Sir Night Strings and Sir River Ward, two hedge knights seeking fame and fortune in the Coldheart tournament!” The two unicorns, about of equal size, wore simple armor, devoid of decorations, carvings, runes, or enamel. They entered the melee ring. The herald looked hard at each of the contestants. “Sir Night Strings, are you ready?”

“I am!” the young knight said.

“Sir River Ward, are you ready?”

“Yes,” he said.

“The rules are the same as before; spirit swords are permitted, no live steel and no other magics.” The two knights nodded. The herald nodded too. “Alright then. Let the match begin!”

The tournament had been going on for some time now. Knights entered the arena in twos, and either left walking or were dragged out by their squires and retainers. Currently, Lord Blue Mist of house Dusthelm fought a traveling earth pony hedge knight, Sir Sea Rock. Since he couldn’t conjure a spirit sword, Sea Rock used a blunted tourney hoofblade. Many paid especially close attention to the duel, as earth pony knights were a rare sight in the Everfree Kingdom.

Blue Mist seemed to have an advantage, as his spirit sword was longer than Sea Rock’s tourney sword. Their swords clashed again and again, overhoof, backhoof, sidehoof and thrusts, lacking the signature sparks of light that spirit swords made when fighting. Despite the longer reach, Lord Blue Mist seemed to be having a tough time of it. Sea Rock swung at him hard, again and again, driving his enemy in circles, all the while deflecting Blue Mist’s strikes with his shield or hoofblade. He landed a few swings, and at each one, Blue Mist grunted in pain.

Sea Rock made an overhoof swing, only to feint as Blue Mist moved to parry, swinging his sword down in a heavy slash to Blue Mist’s lightly armored midsection. Blue Mist gasped, and fell to his haunches. A little blood seeped out from under his armor. With a savage battle cry, Sea Rock quickly sheathed his hoofblade and punched Blue Mist’s face with all his brute earth pony strength. His helmet’s cheek guard dented, his head whipped back, a tooth flew, and blood flowed freely out from his mouth. He slumped to the ground, defeated and unconscious. His spirit sword disintegrated into nothingness.

“That’s my man!” one of the spectators called out, and the thundering applause was louder than ever before. Most of the viewers were earth ponies themselves, thus feeling more attached to Sir Sea Rock than the other nobles. In the nobility box, Frozen Lake brought a hoof up to his chin and nodded thoughtfully, as the king sat beside him utterly surprised. Lady Gold Star joined in the applause, and cheered loudly. The rest of the lords and ladies in the box sat uneasily, and were clearly unhappy that an earth pony bested a unicorn knight in a tournament. One of the pages came to refill Frozen’s wine.

“Page, wait a moment,” Frozen Lake said as the servant started to leave.

Puzzled, the colt stopped, and returned to face Frozen. “Yes, my lord?” he asked.

He gestured towards Sea Rock, standing over Blue Mist’s unresponsive body. “I want you to go tell that knight that I want to see him after the tournament’s over.”

The page nodded. “Yes, my lord. I’ll make sure he comes to see you,” he said, before trotting off to refill some other noble’s wineglass.

The king raised an eyebrow at Frozen Lake. “You know, you can’t trust those earth ponies,” he said, coughing. “They’ll stab you in the back for two bits.”

Frozen Lake scowled. “I’ll be careful, your grace,” he said through gritted teeth.

Morning Pyre saw her husband’s distress, and gently touched a hoof to his foreleg. She looked at him with her soft, knowing brown eyes, and gave the slightest shake of her head. It’s not worth it.

Frozen Lake forced a neutral expression, and pointed to the new contestants walking out onto the field. “There’s my son, your grace. Let’s see how he does.”

King Stoic Gaze chuckled. “Old friend, if he’s anything like you, I think it’s safe to say he’ll be the victor.”

Before stepping out onto the field, Frost Burn was stopped by Sir Swift Spark. “Hey, Frost!” he said, “Be careful. From what I’ve heard, your opponent is quite the fighter.” Frost turned to face the knight. Clad in black enameled armor with yellow highlights, Swift Spark’s helm showed his face, covered in black fur, and yellow eyes peered out at him. His mane and tail were long and grey, with yellow streaks. He looked quite the spectacle, despite the fact he wasn’t next in line to be head of his house, house Freeroot. He was one of Lord Frozen Lake’s bannermen. “He’s a dangerous one.”

Frost rolled his eyes. “Spark, I’m dangerous. You’re dangerous. All of us here are dangerous. That’s what knights are supposed to be. I’m sure I’ll be fine,” he said, gesturing to Lord Blue Mist, being dragged out by his squire. “Look at him. At the worst, I’ll just be knocked out.”

Spark shrugged. “Good luck, then.”

Frost Burn thanked him, then ducked under the ropes to enter the arena. He made for the melee ring as the herald announced the competition as loudly as he could.

The herald bellowed, “By fellow citizens of the Everfree Kingdom, I give you Sir Frost Burn of house Coldheart against Lord Sleek Stride, head of house Ironeye and Earl of Lune!”

Sleek Stride approached the melee ring, and Frost Burn could get a better look at him. Under his steel plate armor, the smaller unicorn had dark red fur, and one good grey eye. The other was cloudy-white and sightless, and had a scar running through it. His black mane and tail were of medium length, and flowed freely out from his armor. He nodded to his opponent, Frost Burn. “Well met, son of Frozen Lake,” he said, flashing him a brief smile.

“And greetings to you too, lord Sleek Stride,” Frost Burn replied respectfully.

The two knights entered the melee ring. The herald approached them, and instructed them on the rules of the match. Maximum one-third powered spirit swords only, no other magics and no live steel. “Do you understand?” the herald asked, giving each of them a serious look.

“Clear as day,” Sleek Stride replied.

“I do,” Frost Burn said.

The herald looked back and forth between Sleek Stride and Frost Burn. After a few seconds of this, with tensions rising in the stands, the herald spun about in a flourish, shouting “Let the match begin!” as loud as he could.

No sooner than he said this, Frost Burn kicked off the ground hard, rising to standard bipedal stance. In an instant, he summoned his two yellow spirit swords, one on each hoof. Once he did this, he was forced to cross them above his head to block Sleek Stride’s first assault. The grey spirit sword crackled and sparked on Frost Burn’s own pair of blades, and short bursts of brilliant light shone on the crowd. Sleek Stride kept his offense up, and swung in varying patterns.

Overhoof swing, right slash, overhoof swing, right fast cut, left sidesweep, center thrust, uppercut, lower right sidesweep, Sleek attacked again and again, with such speed as to not give Frost Burn an opening. Sweat dripped down Frost’s blue muzzle, and stung in his eyes. He blinked quickly to clear them, and focused on Sleek’s attacks as he parried them. He seems to favor his left side more, I’ll start with that.

After parrying another overhoof swing from Sleek Stride, Frost Burn countered with his left spirit sword, attacking Sleek Stride’s right side. Sleek fumbled a little trying to parry it, and inside his helmet Frost Burn grinned. I’ve got you now. He swung again and again, forcing Sleek Stride back. He struggled to keep up with blocking attacks to his right side, the side where his eye was blind. He turned his head slightly to allow for his good eye to compensate more.

After retreating a few steps under Frost Burn’s dual blade flurry of blows, Sleek Stride managed to land a quick slash after blocking a double strike from Frost. His blade shallowly cut along Frost’s right side, leaving a small notch in his armor and bruising the flesh beneath. Frost Burn grunted, and his attacks slowed a little.

Sensing an opportunity, Sleek Stride swung right. Expecting a committed strike, Frost Burn brought his blades up to parry his upper right-side slash, leaving his lower left side completely unprotected. Sleek dispelled his sword at the last second, and his hoof passed through empty air. He quickly brought it down to his right side, resummoned it, and plunged it into Frost Burn’s left side before he could counterattack.

Frost quickly tried to spin out of the way, but Sleek landed a glancing blow, cutting shallowly and sending a burning sensation throughout Frost Burn’s lower left side. He cried out in pain, and instinctively brought a hoof down to press against where the wound would be. Even under his armor, the area was extremely sensitive to the touch, and he would likely have a massive bruise there for some time.

Sleek tried another stab. Frost Burn deflected it, and countered to Sleek’s neck. He ducked just in time, and the sword cut off a chunk of his mane. Bits of black hair scattered in the slight breeze. Sleek leapt up into Frost Burn, shield raised to deflect Frost’s now frantic slashes. He collided into his foe, knocking him to the ground. Prone, Frost Burn swept his hind leg to trip Sleek Stride. Sleek backstepped, and held his sword in the path of Frost’s leg. He noticed too late, and his leg passed through the glowing grey weapon. Fire shot up Frost’s leg, causing him to yelp in pain.

Thinking fast, Sleek Stride moved in for the final strike. He plunged his sword down into Frost Burn’s chest. Frost moved his right sword to deflect the thrust into the dirt, and he used his left to stab upwards.

Sleek couldn’t react in time, and the weapon pierced his heart, Frost’s blade sticking out his back. He gasped, eyes wide, and quickly backed up, bringing his swordhoof to his wound in pain.

Frost Burn limped to his hooves, and again raised to combat stance. His face blanked, and he failed to comprehend what stood before him. The audience all around was astounded, and the usually rowdy crowd fell dead silent. Guards dropped their usual composure, and the nobility box fell quiet as well. Sleek Stride stood there grimacing for a while, gritting his teeth, but he didn’t fall down. What would have easily incapacitated many other knights and warriors failed to do so to Lord Sleek Stride. He looked up to Frost Burn, face contorted in agony, and let loose a yell as he charged, sword out to his side and shield raised.

As he approached Frost Burn, he cleared his head and hastily dodged out of the way as fast as his injured leg would let him. Sleek Stride’s shield clipped Frost’s body, causing the unbalanced knight to collapse. He shot out his foreleg to grab the melee ring’s rope fence, stopping his fall. He got up and turned around to face Sleek Stride.

His enemy stood on the opposite side of the ring, breathing heavily and clutching his chest. Frost Burn watched him slowly spin to face him, and saw blood oozing from his bad eye. Gasping raggedly, he charged again, yelling in torment as he stumbled towards Frost. He had retracted his shield, and held his chest with his shield hoof. Frost himself started limping at Sleek Stride, his blades held out and down. Sleek Stride swung his sword, using the last reserves of strength he had. Frost Burn raised his left sword to block it, and with his right he swung at Sleek’s now unprotected left side. He brought his sword down on Sleek’s legs, dropping the lord to the ground. With a followup slash, Frost Burn held both his swords together and struck out at Sleek Stride’s neck. With that, Sleek Stride slumped on his side, hooves splayed out. His spirit sword winked out.

Frost Burn stood there panting. Eager Ice immediately made for his brother, but the crowds were silent. Everypony else just stared.

After a short silence, the herald boomed, “Sir Frost Burn has defeated Lord Sleek Stride, Earl of Lune!” and the audience suddenly burst out with cheers. The thundering of hooves striking wood and earth echoed throughout the clearing, and the herald praised the match further. “Never before have I seen somepony take a hit like that and keep going! And that finishing strike, truly a glorious sight!” The crowd roared its approval. Sleek Stride’s squire hurried out to collect his master, and Eager Ice did the same. He helped the injured knight out of the melee ring.

In the nobility box, everypony politely stomped their hooves on the floor. Frozen Lake and Morning Pyre beamed with pride, and Gold Star looked deeply impressed. Stoic Gaze was laughing. “Aye, that’s a fight to remember!” he rasped.

Frozen Lake watched as Eager Ice helped Frost Burn limp back to the sidelines, towards his tent. I couldn’t be prouder of you, my sons.