The Duelist

Dal Reniac was constructed around a hillside, developed centuries ago in its defensive position when its southern neighbors had just begun to exercise their economic and military powers. Annabeth lives in Caraden but a carriage passed through town today to bring her to this place wherein she was arranged to be married to Marc, the son of the rich and powerful aristocrat, Lord Nerac.

The evening was developing a slightly hazed appearance as the sun wound its way downwards, yet the buzz of Dal Reniac was still apparent. Annabeth sat stiffly, rubbing her eyes which were sore from crying. Any hopes that today had been no more than just a nightmare now evaporated. Through the curtains of the carriage windows, Annabeth could see the citizens scurrying down the streets. The place was alive and busy at such an hour, with customers flitting between shops and stalls. Women gathered, admiring wood combs and jewellery on display. It was almost dawn when they reached the gates.

The carriage door finally swung open. Some soldiers in the bright red livery of the Nerac family came out of the main door, flanking a tall, slim, dark-haired figure dressed without show or refinement; her first glimpse of the man who was to be her husband.

Without much to say, their day of their marriage came and the marriage feast had been an impressive one. Both the newlyweds’ fathers had invited many guests. By late spring, Annabeth and Marc became parents to a beautiful baby boy. They tried to be happy together but days came when what they can only do was yell at each other. Annabeth’s spirit had been broken to such an extent that she could not even face their son. She suddenly hoped, she could take the courage to run with another man, to cross the moors to Caraden and freedom.

A year later……

In spite of the cold, Remigius was sweating. No sooner had he arrived in Dal Reniac than he had caught wind of rumors concerning her daughter’s flight from her husband. That was when the urgency of Nerac’s summons began to dawn upon him.

He fumed inwardly, pacing the corridor outside Nerac’s private chambers. To be made wait in such a way was demeaning. He was not the man’s servant.

“Lord Nerac will see you.” Remigius gave his forehead a hurried wipe and followed the page through into Nerac’s rooms. There was little light and he strained to make out the figure of his business partner who was sitting behind a writing table with his shirt unbuttoned, a few days’ worth of unshaven stubble on his cheeks. A large bruise encircled his left eye and his hand appeared to be shaking as he wrote. Remigius stared down at him. This he hadn’t expected.

“I gather you understand the reason for our meeting.” Nerac continued to write, not looking up once.

“I had heard rumors as I came through the city.”

“Ha! Rumors!” Nerac spat the words out and threw down his pen. “Yes. You see, Master Remigius, that is what you and your daughter have subjected me and my son to. Rumors. I am now the butt of a thousand jokes.” He looked up at Remigius, an intense fire raging in his pupils.

“Nerac, I had no idea that….”

Nerac held up a warning finger. “Today I am Lord Nerac, and if you want me to believe that you had no idea about your daughter’s affair with another man, you insult me and my son further. Were you deliberately incompetent or is this man some kind of spirit that he slipped from your grasp?”

“I don’t think I understand you, Lord Nerac.” Remigius scrutinized Nerac’s face, attempting to gauge his meaning.

“No, I believe you don’t. Those men who returned from the moors saw your daughter and the duelist leaving in the company of the Master of Hannac. Go find your daughter and bring her back here. And if she begs on her knees for her life, I may determine to spare it, on the condition that my son forgives her. I suggest that you do as I ask if you do not want the whole of Caraden to set ablaze.”

For the first time in his life, Remigius was scared. He thought of his daughter and the impasse that he had brought into her life because of the arranged marriage. His blood began to seethe.

“Very well. I will deliver what you want before the month is out.” Furiously, Remigius slammed the door behind him.

Nerac slumped, suddenly weary in his chair. A duelist? He pulled his own sword from his belt, eyes narrowing as he examined the blade’s glint in the candle-light. He had always been a skillful swordsman.

He stood up once more, pointing the weapon at the throat of an imaginary adversary. Then he drove it forward with slow deliberation, twisting it as it cuts through the air. And in his mind’s eye, Annabeth lay dead at his feet.