Serik
“I will not have a bastard living among my family.”
Serik wasn’t sure who the man was, but he knew that that was all he had said to the man who opened the door. He knew only that he had been bared by a woman too young to bear children, who had no husband, and no money. He knew that bastards were disgraced, particularly among the lower classes, and that he had two options.
He could either pick up the sword he was offered or he could die nameless and doom his soul to damnation.
So he picked up the sword, and he carried it with pride, and he welded it with skill. He practiced and trained harder than the others around him. He was younger, too. He started two years before anyone else, because there was nothing else to be done with him.
It shouldn’t have been as big of a surprise as it had when Helnik came and dragged him out of the barracks in early winter. It shouldn’t have been a surprise when he was dragged through the already knee deep snow to the stables, told to saddle up a horse, and was led out of the village.
He was fifteen, at the time. Tall for his age, but too lanky and lean. He had muscle, sure, but he didn’t eat enough to be bulky by any means.
Ravorkstrat was full of people like him. More starved than anything, with lean muscle and a lack of fat from long days in the snow hunting or fishing in the river.
In the summers they farmed fast growing crops, but nothing grew in the two feet of snow that came mid September.
The village was situated near the peak of one of the hundreds of nameless mountains in the Itzvelhelm Mountains. It snowed most of the year and rained the rest, but the fish in the lake nearby were always large in number and elk passed through often enough.
It was a week’s ride to the capitol. Serik hadn’t known that before, but he did when they reached it.
The tall, spiked wooden walls towered in front of him. The stones making up its base were stacked three or four high, each of them taller than he was. Ten men stood around the massive gate, and watched their approach. They were all far beefier than anyone back in Ravirstrat ever had been, even Helnik who Serik thought was the biggest man out there.
Serik bowed his head against their scrutiny, suddenly entirely too aware of his relatively small size and bony frame.
“Reason for approach?” One of the men called out when they got within ear shot.
“Ralvanuuk.” Helnik replied.
“Who, this tree branch?” Another man asked.
“This tree branch could have you flat on your fat ass before you had the chance to draw your ax, you sorry oaf. Let us through.” Helnik huffed.
Serik was eternally grateful for the elkskin hood and the strip that covered his mouth and nose. They worked to hide most of his features, since the royal guard were supposed to be seen as faceless nobodies, despite their high standing.
That was part of the reason why he was chosen. Ralvanuuk were the most elite guard, but they were nobodies. People who came from any sort of name couldn’t be royal guards because of risks of bias and bribery.
Serik was the epitome of a nobody. No family name, from the middle of nowhere, and relatively unassuming in build. Not to mention he didn’t even have an actual, written name. He was called Revin- Orphan- by everyone who spoke to him. He only knew Serik was his given name because the only memory he had of his mother was of her whispering his name to him not long before he was taken.
“Serik. Your name is Serik. Do not let them take that from you. Your name is Serik.”
It was a nice enough memory, but the words could never be heeded. He was an orphan. Orphans didn’t get names unless their parents died in battle or to some other honorable cause.
Serik thought all of this over on the way through the gates and through the winding roads. People glanced at them as they passed, but barely.
The eyes that did linger on them didn’t linger for long. Or they didn’t until they reached the courtyard of the palace.
The castle itself was made of stone and dark wood. The first floor was stone, but the next two were wooden, with stone columns and framework holding it up. It was stunning and terrifying at the same time. Hostile and warm looking.
The courtyard was open to the public, and acted as a sort of market square. Pelts and cloths and meats hung from hooks and shelves in stands around the edges of the square, and there was a fountain gurgling softly in the center. The light snowfall had covered everything with a frosty white-blue color, and the afternoon sun was casting an almost purple shadow.
There was a balcony two floors up, maybe twenty feet up, where Serik could see two soldiers standing watch. Neither had their faves covered, which meant they weren’t Ralvanuuk. The fact that they were the ones guarding just went to show how few were left after the attack the month prior.
Serik figured the Prince would be out at some point in the near future to survey his abilities, judging by the way the square was being roped off around the center fountain. It would be an awkward space to fight, considering the obstacle in the center, but he didn’t think it would pose too much of an issue.
“Dismount. Your horse will be taken from you. Leave your cloak and outer pelts on the saddle. Leave only the tunic covering your middle. They’ll bring you a sword.” Helnik instructed, and Serik did as he was told. As he shed his outer layers the cold immediately started biting at his limbs, but he didn’t mind it.
Back in Ravorkstrathe trained like that almost year round. It was part of the process after he had been screened for Ralvanuuk training.
He still had bruises on his arms and ribs from the last bout he had gone with his instructors, but it wasn’t too bad. Nothing had been broken.
He stood near the fountain, watching the people around him subconsciously, aware of every movement around him, and the eyes that had begun to hang on him. He really hated being watched. The sooner he got this done and over with the better.
After nearly half an hour of just standing and observing his surroundings, he was brought an old, weathered looking sword with rust along the hilt and a rather serrated looking blade.
He would have to be more careful with it, since it could do significantly more harm to his opponent than he intended.
When the courtyard lined with soldiers, Serik started to tense. When people were cleared to the very edges, he was on edge. When Helnik came back looking grim, Serik was ready for just about anything. He wasn’t nervous, per se, and from the outside looking in he didn’t even look concerned, but internally he was running through every move and maneuver he had ever learned at any point in time.
“Your fighting and ex-Ralvanuuk. Some guy who tried to run during the attack. He’s bigger than you are, stronger than you are, and more experienced than you are. That being said, you’re faster, smarter and more skilled than he is, so knock him on his ass and make a show out of it while you do it. Earn your spot now or fight for it later. Up to you.” Helnik informed him, keeping it short. The fact that he was saying any of that at all was a lot for him. Normally he just told Serik he sucked.
“Luck be with you, Revin. Godspeed.” Helnik sighed, and remounted his horse. As he left Serik realized one of two things was about to happen.
Either he was going to kill the other man and win , or he was going to die trying.
