[i]A day ago…[/i]

“So, we’re all here. Now, to find out how to spread the word that an honourable duelist is holding a pas d’armes on the main road to Hegathe. Surely, Redguards would line up to test their skill, being a martial society and everything.” Francis said.

They were back at the [i]Leaf on the Wind[/i] tavern with their newly acquired damsel. She was a young, lithe thing with a pretty face. She was much more than that, though, as she used a few colorful words to describe what she’d do to Vendel’s nether regions if they didn’t let her have a portion of the money they would be accruing through this particular venture. Francis had no choice but to assure her that there would be no problems in getting the payment to her, and nothing she said she would do would have to be done. Vendel made sure that Francis made that last part doubly clear. Something about that brown-eyed beauty’s face contorting in anger while detailing the full list of harmful techniques she would employ on Vendel gave her words an extra amount of seriousness. A woman with her kind of intimate knowledge on the male form could probably do everything she said she could too.

“They’d better. I’ll be awaiting payment all the while you boys are play-fighting.” Lawrenna, as she had introduced herself, spoke up.

“We know, and we will get it to you. This ‘play-fighting’ that we will be doing, as you call it, will be paying your wages for the day and maybe the next few if I’m as successful as I’m known to be,” Francis ignored the sarcastic glance from Vendel, “so I’d show a little more respect if I were you.”

“Your friend’s [i]favorite toy[/i] hopes even more than I do that you’re right, Fendel.” She said as if the act of examining her nails called her attention more than Francis talking.

“My name is Francis, and he’s Vendel.” Francis corrected.

“I don’t care what your names are so long as you’ll be getting me as much coin as you promised.” She shot back.

“I thought women-of-the-night were supposed to at least act more friendly than you are right now.” Vendel said from his seat situated a good deal far away from Lawrenna on the other side of the table.

“Only in my bedroom. This is not my bedroom, little boy.” She mocked the stout Nord and got a dirty look in response.

“I’ll pay a few merchants to spread the word, let’s go before we end up [i]killing you.[/i]” Francis shot at Lawrenna, who only looked at him the same way one would look at an annoying child who’d overstayed his welcome.
============================

[i]3 hours, forty septims, a long brisk walk filled with constant arguing later…[/i]

One the road to Hegathe, no one tells you how short the ride seems when on a cart and they even less often will tell you that it feels significantly longer on foot. It was less the ache in Francis’s feet but more the arguing behind him that was not letting him get any respite and was sapping his morale. By the time they got to the desired spot- a small stretch of road- he felt he’d not be able to lift himself, much less his sword, after having to sit through so much bickering. Like children, did Vendel and Lawrenna regard each other and never a kind word was uttered between the two.

“Lawrenna, dear,” Francis said, “give me a handkerchief, glove or some other object under your ownership. I must show anybody willing to rescue a damsel from Vendel and I, your captors.”

Lawrenna scoffed at that, making it loud enough for her to be sure he and Vendel could hear it. Francis really hated that about her. Well, that and everything else. Francis got a handkerchief from her and kept it on his person to show to any would-be competitors. He still had a few septims left over if any merchant passed by on their way to any other city. Food would be good to buy off of them and Vendel began making camp near the dunes as Francis watched him on the bridge. Vendel always worked best alone and sure enough, the tent was up in less than twenty minutes, fire-pit made in less than fifteen and they’d bought dried camel dung to use as fuel for a fire. They were told it was lighter and easier to transport and it wasn’t as if the nomad was carrying dried shit on the offchance that an outlander would pay gold for it.

The sound of hooves caught Francis’s attention and moments after Francis’s head snapped towards the sound, so did Vendel’s. Lawrenna was left wondering what the fuss was about, obviously becoming spooked at the fact that they knew something she didn’t. She made to speak and only the first inkling of a sound made it out of her mouth before Francis held a hand up.

“Two, maybe three horses.” Vendel’s voice rose.

“Yes, my friend. They aren’t in a hurry either. We’ll see if they’re willing to show their skills to us for a good practice and maybe even rescue a lady and take her back to Helgathe.” Lawrenna cleared her throat at that, “Of course, under armed escort by Vendel and I, no one can ever be sure with the people they meet on the road.”

“No, you can’t be. For instance, Francis, do you remember that old monk we met? Easy to kill, he was. I bet he was sure that wouldn’t happen!” And a boisterous laugh lifted itself out of Vendel as the Nord bent over from the humor he had granted upon the world at that moment.

“My friend can be like that sometimes. We never killed an old monk.” Lawrenna’s previously concerned look turned just a bit more relieved at that, “But young monks?”

Lawrenna scowled and pushed Francis away before walking down to camp to watch Francis do his work. If it got out of hand, Vendel would step in. Such were the roles of the pair, Francis the duelist and Vendel the peacekeeper, there to keep a professional air about things. If any fighting was to be done, Vendel would do it. Not many in their right and even a few in their wrong mind wanted to go toe-to-toe with Francis and Vendel after seeing the big Nord bring his blade to bear. Hopefully, none of that would have to happen now.

The two riders broke mirage, their Redguard-style helmets- a conical steel helm wrapped tight with a keffiyeh- and brightly coloured robes covering chainmail. They made an impressive show of themselves, but their prowess with the sword was yet to be seen. Perhaps a Knight and Squire was what they saw today, or perhaps a pair of sellswords. For all they knew though, they could be the advance party of bandits that called the surrounding sands home, or who could be watching them from the dunes at this very moment.

Francis hailed the two riders and they stopped a small distance away from him. They said something to each other in Yokudan before one of them stepped forward, “My friend says that you look like warriors. You stole this woman, no?”

“She’s yours to have if you manage to beat me, my friend.” Francis said.

“Beat you? You are Francis Martell of Camlorn, a duelist come to make coin in Hammerfell and to test the reputation of Redguards’ martial prowess then?” The man asked, a smile growing on his lips with each word.

“The very same. What say you? Duel me and either hand over a small portion of your coin in the event that you lose or accept the woman and some of my coin if you beat me. A fair deal, no?” Francis offered.

More Yokudan. Things he didn’t understand. “We agree. My friend wants to fight your friend first before I fight you.”

“That isn’t part of the deal.” Francis’s eyes narrowed.

“I could tell the guards that you stole this woman from her brothel and plan to do grotesque things to her out in the sands or I could tell them that you are part of the insurgency. Whichever one suits you, [i]my friend.[/i]”

“You drive a very hard bargain. So be it, have your friend come and challenge mine. Vendel!” the big Nord looked over to Francis and his conversation. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he had since removed the padding from under his maille, brigandine and furs, “This man here wants to duel you. What say you to this?”

“I say I accept!” Vendel yelled back as the rasp of the sword being freed from the sheath underscored his point. The Nord hefted his shield and cracked his neck before spitting into the sand and making his way to the road to meet his opponent. Both duelists took their stances, the Redguard taking a high stance while Vendel bent at the knees and let his shield protect his left flank, his sword-arm being his right. The two circled each other and Francis watched intently.

The Redguard’s curved blade flashed through the air glancing off of the hardened leather and wood of Vendel’s shield. Vendel stepped back to receive another blow to the shield before shifting a foot forward and bring the edge of the shield hard into the man’s chest, stumbling him back. Vendel gave him no chance to recover, raising his shield to protect his left side, stepping forward onto the Redguard’s foot and once again punching hard with the shield, sending the Redguard to the stones of the road. A sword-tip leveled at his throat gained Vendel the first yield of the two he’d need to win. One more and Nords could claim a victory over Redguard.

“You should tell your friend to be careful.” Francis smirked.

“We shall see.” Was the Redguard’s response as Vendel squared up against the Redguard.

The two began to circle each other again. Whatever tactic this was, it didn’t work last time. Vendel took the initiative and decided it was the right time to strike. He raised his shield to protect his left side, his blade trailing the brim in a heavily protected cutting edge, his shield providing protection to the entire left-side of his body, forcing his opponent to put himself at a disadvantage from attacking from his non-dominant side. That did not happen. The Nord pressed his attack knowing it would not, once again stumbling the Redguard as he tried to avoid the six inches of steel protruding beyond the shield’s range, hunting for flesh to part. Francis chuckled. Peculiarly, the Redguard did too.

Vendel yelled out as sand was kicked in his face from the Redguard’s non-dominant side, forcing Vendel to pause in his offense and give the initiative to the Redguard warrior. Crafty man as he was, he was just as fast. A glint of steel in the sunlight, scraped off of the brigandine that Vendel wore, signifying a blow and the equivalent of a yield. Francis growled, and only the Redguard was left to chuckle alone.

“Redguards bend sand to our will, from the sand magic of the Alik’r mages to a simple splash in the eyes of an enemy. Everything must become a weapon for the warrior, so he is never unarmed. The warrior must become skilled enough that torn from his physical form, his very conscious is its own weapon.” The Warrior said.

“What is your name, Redguard?” Francis asked, growing curious at the display his friend had shown and whatever skill may lie beneath his words.

“Hassan. I am a duelist. Arrived from Stros M’kai.” Hassan’s name rung bells. Bells. Klaxons. Captain Alaire St. Tarley, he was hired by a woman named Nadeen and her bodyguard was named…

“I will give Captain Alaire your regards next he and I meet, my friend.” Francis said.

“We do not have to fight. I can simply give you coin in exchange for your loyalty for some time.”

“As gracious as that all sounds, Hassan, I’d like to see what skill you have.” Vendel stood over the Redguard in triumph. He had won after all. Francis had his doubts, but he had more faith and confidence in his friend.

“So be it.”