Tales of the Exalted

The trip to Ataraxia would take nearly a week. Sanjuro sent word back to the Khal as the others prepared for the trip

The sun had set after another day of riding. While their meals were being prepared Donovan went about setting up torches in a ring away from the camp, then again in a smaller ring inside them. He lit each torch and walked toward the center, drew his sword and waited. The flames dances around him blinding him to whatever lie beyond.

Mercy made a final adjustment to her armor, checking the straps a second time, then checked her mobility. She had to don the armor herself. It was three times as time consuming as doing with help and at least twice as easy to make a mistake, but she wasn’t in a rush. She tied her hair back and tucked it under the arming coif then donned her helmet. Stepping outside her tent she saw the circle of flames dancing away from the camp and walked toward it.

A silhouette breached the inky darkness beyond the flames and quickly came to life reflecting the light off of it throwing it in a hundred other directions. She had approached him directly. This was good he thought. She showed honor, when advantages could be taken. He raised his sword toward her.

Donovan hadn’t given her any instruction other than to arm and come to the circle. There was no surprise in finding him at the center of hit, or his sword. What was surprising was his final instruction: to kill him. This wasn’t training then. It was more than that. She momentarily questioned if she could even kill him, was it physically possible? But her knight had given her an order. It was her job to make it possible, not to question its finder points. He wasn’t wearing any armor, not that it mattered any more. She drew her sword and sighted along its blade to his face and then slashed it through the air in a salute. And then she charged.

The clanking of mail and plate came rushing toward him. She had chosen a basterd sword from the selection available he noted and he striked out with his own blade. She leaped to the side at the last minute and spun her self around as she grabbed the pommel with her second hand putting all her strength and momentum into the strike, he only blocked it at the last minute and the effort sent him sliding back.
Again and again their swords met. She was making wise use of her blows, striking once or twice to get him over commited to a particular move before striking a blow to kill. She was not wasting any time to wound him or wear him down. Normally he would have chided her for this, but her tactic was sound against him. Would striking him really give her enough of an advantage in this match? It would not be worth trading a wound for a wound as a normal fight would be. She was preserving herself because she knew a blow from him could be fatal armor or no.

He side stepped again, catching the blade with crosshilt and pushed into her. He was larger and bearing down on her, this was not a fight she could win and would indeed eventually loose being overpowered by his size and strength…
She sifted her hips and struck out her foot slamming her heel into his toes. As he flinched back from the blow she sifted the other way bringing the rotation of her body behind her knee that she planted squarely between his legs.

Donovan felt the twinge of pain in his foot and the wind leaving him as she struck his groin. Falling to one knee he raised his sword just in time to catch hers driving down on top of him, the blades matching just above his head.
He launched off his position on the ground and slammed into her hips lifting her off the ground and sending her falling onto her back. Both of their swords had been flung to the side and lay on the grass reflecting the torchlight to the stars.

The ground fighting was fierce, but despite the strength behind Donovan’s blows, striking the metal was taking its toll. Mercy’s mailed fists struck back cutting gouges into his face and soon blood was pouring off of him and down onto and through her visor. She grabbed one of his wrists in a distraction and with her free hand pulled a dagger from her belt and twisting it around plunged it into his kidney.

Again and again she pushed the blade into his flesh, tears welling in her eyes even as she did it. And then there was nothing.
She was looking up at the sky, her visor haloed with the licking of firelight. She propped herself up on a shoulder and looked about. Donovan was standing a few feet away, holding his side and the blood that was pouring from him.

I yield he said. He had never intended the fight to get that far, his own mistake for being cocky. She had fought with honor and bravery, she had followed orders she did not want to… he was feeling a little light headed. He was supposed to yield the fight if she was ready, he had pushed it too

She stood up to her feet and walked over to her sword, picking it up. Donovan didn’t move as she advanced on him. “I accept” she said, her voice nearly breaking.
The sword then slipped form her fingers and she rushed to him putting his shoulder around her and walking him back to the tent.

Sanjuro and Mayumi watched the exchange from a distance. He was interested to see the outcome, and was not disappointed in the woman's courage. Donovan was overconfident to be sure, but he had every right to be against a mortal. It had cost him though, as Mercy managed to land a telling blow.
"She is a fierce warrior. I still do not care for all that armor." Mayumi said as the fight ended and Mercy carried her master back to his tent.
"Keep that opinion to yourself when it comes to the Princess. I'd rather see her in armor like Donovan's than the outfits she wears. It is going to be more and more difficult to keep her safe." he said.

After his squire had retired to her own tent Donovan gingerly touched the field dressing Mercy had applied. She had packed and bound the wound well, but it still hurt like hell. He pulled wine bottle and bit the cork out and spit it across the room, venting his pain into the effort. He wouldn't be needing the cork again anyway, he'd be finishing the bottle.

It was a long standing tradition for a knight to tell his squire to try to kill him. The battle was to test the potential to their limit. It wasn't that they had to be better than their trainer, but they needed to try- if nothing else to prove that they can follow an order no matter what, and fight a foe no matter how much overmatched they think they are, or how close they once held the ally. Mercy did all these things. He smiled and took a swig of the wine.

He should have worn his armor, but he was afraid with his new found ability that it would have made the effort on her part a joke. As it was fighting at a fraction of his ability still proved difficult for her- however, he had to admit to himself, his hubris had gotten the better of him and let her strike him dearly before he could have yielded the field. Another swig. At any rate she was ready. He would talk to her about this after his side healed. It was no good to perform the knighting ceremony when he was so enfeebled. Another swig. He stared into the candle light, as he continued to nurse the bottle.

The next day Donovan was sore as he rode, but that was his own doing and he wouldn’t let a little blood slow their journey on his account. He was fine he assured the few that were curious enough to ask, trusting that they would believe that their increased healing ability was enough. As he rode he explained to Mercy the finer points to of the final test, what each part meant and what she had earned, and the hope that one day she would be able to bring her own squire into the circle of fire.
You have learned much and proven yourself of worth. While there is always more to learn, you will no longer be beholden to me. Learn from each of our companions. I think this will be a great time for you. Savor it.
Mercy was quit. Perhaps it was a lot to take in. She wasn’t surrounded by the content tourneys and squires nights out like he was. But enough, she would bare it well, for tonight she would be made a knight.

The camp had been set for another night. Everyone had gathered for the evening meal and the fire spit and crackled as the rice and vegetables finished cooking.
Donovan stood and addressed the group.
I have had the privilege of knowing Mercy for some time. Though you have all had the privilege of knowing her as she has been thrust into the forge of battle again and again. Mercy has lived the code of an An-Tir knight. She has proved her worth through service and combat. She has trained her body and her spirit, and I feel that any lord would be privileged to her in their host. She has had the humility to identify her own weaknesses, the honesty to train them, and the tenacity to see it through.
Donovan drew his sword, and passed to his left hand, pointing the tip to the ground. Sister Mercy, step forward and be recognized.
She rose from her seat. That evening she had chosen to wear the finest dress she had, one that had been gifted to her from the princess, it felt as heavy about her as a full coat of mail at the moment though.
She stopped just in front of her knight, and he raised his right arm to the square.
[/color=darkgrey] May you be a light in the darkness, a shield to the weak, and a sword to those in need of justice. May you always be wrapped in our Mother’s love, and may you share that love with all you meet. May duty and honor sustain you, for they shall be your bread and your meat. May you never draw a weapon in anger, and may you vanquish any foe who causes you to take up arms. [/color]
Donovan rotated ever so slightly and then with the full force of his arm open palm slapped Mercy across the face, making her almost loose her balance.
And May that be the last blow you ever receive unanswered. Kneel Sister Mercy, Squire of Donovan and Daughter of An-Tir, and rise Sister Mercy, Knight of An-Tir, protector of the Mother, the Realm and its people.

Mercy stood still and did not kneel. She took a deep breath and steadied her nerves.
I cannot, Brother Donovan. This is everything I have striven for, and am honored more than I can rightly say. But I cannot take this oath with a clear conscience. she turned to face Calista, the livid red handprint across her cheek. My Lady, you had once mentioned taking me into your service. I ask you now, would you have me. I cannot serve two masters, and though my Mother bends her knee to your father, and thus the royal family. I could not bare it if my Mother’s wishes conflicted with your own. Let me swear my fealty this day to you and I will serve you with my every waking breath, I will uphold your honor as my own. As I shall live, it shall be in your service, and if I die, it shall be carrying out your orders. If they Gods are good then even death’s sting will not end my service. I have wanted nothing more since being a little girl to be a knight, and yet in you have I have found the honor and grace that I would even forgo that title if it be your wish, if only it means that I can be of service to you.