The Bound Knight Ch 12

"He certainly seems a brutish sort," Lopen said to his slave, Ann, as she sat on his lap. They both stared down at the mysterious knight Lopen's father had introduced as the absurdly (if also fittingly) named 'Black Knight.'

"Yes, but it does mean you were right, Loopy," Ann said, her finger idly toying with the locks of his curly, black hair.

"Anny, It doesn't take a genius to figure out he was hiding something." He gazed down at the knight in the suit of black armor, a frown on his face. "But where'd he find him? I thought anyone good enough to beat Moldred refused."

"And what makes you think he's good enough to beat him?"

Lopen smiled, running his hand over her thigh. "I'm no blacksmith, but that armor looks likes it's made of almost pure infernum. Anyone who fights in something that valuable is either incredibly good, or incredibly foolish."

"I'm leaning towards foolish. It's tacky."

"As opposed to the shinier armor the other three have? It's hurting my eyes."

She giggled. Ann was wearing a black chemise so thin he could see through it. There were tits on display all around him, but hers, just barely visible, were much more enticing. He slid his hand from her thigh, up her dress. She put her hand on his, but didn't stop him as his fingers rubbed over her clit. She gave an exaggerated moan of pleasure before looking at him a devilish grin. He rubbed one finger between the folds of her pussy and she leaned closer to him, biting his ear. As she did, she moved her hand over his crotch.

"They look like the good guys," she said, pressing her cheek next to his. "And the tall one, Molder or whatever his name was, he's hot."

"So, you're rooting for them?"

"Don't pretend you're not, Loopy. We both know how mad it would make your father if he loses."

Lopen smiled, and glanced over. Count Mevenmein sat on the highest table on their raised seating area, two slaves between his knees. He had looked confident when he made his speech introducing his champion, but Lopen could see through it. The man was terrified.

"He wanted to buy your sister," Ann said.

"A lot men have wanted to buy her. No idea why father won't sell her. It's not like he held onto any of his other daughters."

"Is he fucking her?" she asked, her voice mockingly sweet, and just loud enough that the people sitting next to them would hear.

He laughed. "No. And stop trying to stir up trouble." He put his middle finger inside her. He knew exactly where to rub to get a reaction, and she gave a very short, but very real gasp.

She grinned again as her fingers wove their way into his pants. "They'd be sexy -- her and Malder. I'd watch them fuck."

"You know it's Moldred, Anny. And you seem oddly taken with this knight. Do you want me to make an offer? See if he'll take you off my hands?"

Her fingers found his cock, and she grabbed it -- squeezing tightly. "I don't think he'd like me very much. He probably -- Oh, I guess he's not fighting?" she said suddenly, as both of them watched Moldred and one of the other three walking off -- leaving the black knight, and the one remaining member of the trio to stand facing each other."

"Guess not," Lopen said -- trying to keep his voice level as she began stroking him.

As they watched, Ann stroked him almost painfully slowly. Lopen did his best not to let it show, and returned the favor -- speeding his fingers up just enough to get her excited, before slowing down again. On the field, two women were walking up to each of the knights. The ones moving towards the black one were painted from head to toe in Mevenmein green and gold, and carried a massive sword between them. The ones headed to the silver one were Gavain red and blue and carried an equally oversized spear.

"The spear I can understand," Lopen said, "but that sword is absurd."

Ann shrugged, and he took the opportunity to reach his arm around her and cup her breast. In response, she stroked even slower. "It is," she agreed, "but you know how obsessed boys are with their swords."

-

Eve was not a fan of the weapon Vassimir had chosen for her. She understood it, it made perfect sense, but that didn't mean she liked it. The two women who carried it out struggled with the weight of the thing, and she could tell how eager they were for her to take it from them. Of course, they also looked at her like she was going to eat them -- a look she was starting to grow frustratingly used to.

Their heads had been shaved, and their entire bodies were painted a mix of green and gold -- the colors of House Mevenmein. It was a common custom, and she was sure she had seen it before, but she had never really thought about it. She felt bad for these slave, and not just because they were struggling to hold a heavy weapon and would doubtless be punished if they dropped it. With their heads shaved, they would be given the worst assignments until it grew back. It just seemed so pointless when she could have easily carried the sword out herself.

They knelt before her, holding the weapon up. She took it -- flaring her crest so she could actually hold the thing. It was as long as her with a blade wider than her hand. She couldn't help but feel ridiculous holding the thing, even though she understood it made some sense. With her crest it felt no heavier than a normal sword, and in the wide open arena the extra length wouldn't impair her. She knew, glancing over at Gastogne and his spear that was taller than him, she would be glad for the extra length.

She still didn't like it.

Eve gave the sword a few swings as the painted slaves scurried away. Across the stadium, Gastogne looked on, his spear held beside him in a formal stance. She ignored him. The sword was more top heavy than she was used to, but she had more than enough strength to get that around that.

The bishop was now standing at the center of the raised platform -- saying something or another about the sanctity of this competition. He wasn't young, but he was younger than she felt a bishop should be. She still remembered the old bishop. A terrifying, ancient, stalk of a man. The rumor was he had trouble getting it up, and his death was caused by an overdose on potions to keep his flag raised. The new one was in his late thirties or early forties, with a thick black beard and an otherwise unremarkable face. Her father seemed to like him well enough, but all she knew about him was that he tended to preach about the importance of cruelty to slaves more often. Also, he had instituted a punishment lottery during the slave mass. Every week, after the slaves all had their sermon, twenty were randomly selected to be punished, along with those who had done something wrong. Supposedly, this was to teach them all that punishment wasn't something you earned, it was simply the natural course of things.

He also liked to use Alwynn's name a lot, which he did now. Eve nearly flinched when she heard the name, but managed to bite her tongue while still keeping her body still. He used the god-king's name again, and she bit her tongue again -- annoyed at the pain and how long this was taking.

Blessedly, he eventually wound himself down. He had managed to use Alwynn's name four times during his speech, and she could taste blood in her mouth. She wondered if it was wrong to use her crest to make herself a little tougher when she hurt herself, and decided that particular theological issue had likely never come up before. Besides, she was learning that her crest only seemed to make things do less damage to her body, it didn't reduce the pain much at all, if any.

The bishop stepped down and her father stepped up -- clearing his throat to begin his own speech. She found her mind wandering again, and focused on her opponent. He was staring right at her. Even with the helmet, she could feel his intensity. She used what she was starting to think of as her 'crest-vision' to look closer at him, and she could see his brown eyes through the slits of his helmet.

A brief panic took her. If she could see him, he could see her. She forced herself to calm down. All she could see was the color of his eyes. That wasn't enough to tell gender. Right? Then again, she had been told her whole life that men were smarter than women. That they could figure out and understand things she would never be able to. She wasn't sure what those things were supposed to be, but everyone assured her they existed. She was just too female to know what they were. What if this was one of those things? She forced herself into breathing exercises, mentally running through stances to avoid her rising panic.

"Who the hell are you?"

The words were spoken at a normal volume. Between the muffling of the helmet, the sounds of the crowd, and her father's speech, she shouldn't have heard them. Except, she realized, her hearing was much better now. She had been subconsciously tuning out the ambient noises -- mostly because they were just people fucking. But Gastogne's words cut through, and only she could hear them.

She didn't reply, though her heart did start to beat faster. She hadn't considered the full implications of these senses. He could hear her. Could he somehow hear that she was a woman? Could he hear her cunt? It was a stupid thought, of course, but she was starting to worry. Did men and women's heartbeats maybe sound different? It was too loud to hear his now, but she tried to compare what she could feel in herself to what she had heard from Vassimir earlier.

Gastogne said, "Fine, don't tell me. It doesn't matter who you are. But, you should know you're making a big mistake. I don't know what Mevenmein promised you, but every major family is backing Gavain in this. You think you can hide in your armor? They'll find out who you are. Last chance. Walk away now, or you will make an enemy of everyone who matters in this kingdom."

It might have been intimidating to someone else, but to Eve it was a relief. He had no idea what she was. If he had, he would have known she had nowhere to 'walk away' to.

He scoffed. "Fair enough." He took up his stance. It was aggressive, with the head of the spear low and pointed towards her. She kept her weapon down, not dropping into a stance yet. She wanted to wait until the last second to use her stance -- keep him guessing how she would approach.

"Aloric told me to say that," he said. "In truth, I couldn't care less." She could feel the bloodthirsty smile on his face. "If anything, I'm glad. It would be a real shame to come all this way and not get to beat the shit out of some pumped-up noble in overpriced armor."

She took a deep breath. Vaguely, she could still hear her father giving his speech, but the words echoing in her head were Vassimir's: "A spear is a telling weapon. It's the weapon of commoners, but more importantly, in a one versus one it is a weapon of distance. A spear user values spacing more than anything else."

She thought about the halberd users she had fought in the bout earlier. Gastogne's spear was like their weapons, just longer. The head alone was the length of a short sword with the width of two legs pressed together. With a weapon like that, he would likely try to keep back, forcing her to come to him and counter-attacking her the entire time. It would be an exhausting, tricky fight. Almost like a puzzle. She would have to find a way inside his reach without getting stabbed.

Then a trumpet sounded, and Gastogne dashed towards her -- kicking off from the ground so hard the dust exploded into a cloud behind him. By the time she realized the fight had started his spear was a hairsbreadth from her helmet. She flared her crest, dodging at the last possible moment.

But, he had the same hyper-senses she had. The same inhuman speed. As she dodged his spear followed her. She tilted her head to the side, trying to get as much space as she could. She

heard

the sound of metal striking metal as his spear's head slid across the side of her helmet. She felt the metal shake like it was screaming, and she flared her crest as much as possible and jumped to the side -- trying to gain some distance.

But he was right on her. He swung the spear down like it was an axe. Eve parried it to the side, but as she did he spun the spear and the butt swung at her legs. She dodged, and tried to counter, but he spun his body back -- stabbing at her as he came around. Another block, but once again he was already onto the next attack.

It was relentless. Comparatively, the attacks came slightly slower than Christophe's combos, but they were much more powerful, much more skillful, and infinitely more random. She tried to counter with a strike of her own, but he spun his staff, sending her strike to the side. Immediately, he transitioned the spin into an upward slash. Eve dodge, but just barely, and the head of the spear raked across her chest plate -- sending sparks flying.

Gastogne's crest blazed like the sun as he dashed back towards her. Hers looked dull and lifeless in comparison. He spun and stabbed, striking at her like a dervish. He was nothing like the halberd users she had fought earlier. These were not the practiced pokes of an infantry lineman. He moved body and spear like they were one -- using the momentum of one to propel the other forward. She realized she had completely misjudged his style. He had no interests in spacing. He fought like the kill was moments away, and with his skill it always was.

Eve blocked and parried. She tried to use the length of her weapon to gain space. This was not Christophe. His attacks were too random for her to just block them. She barely deflected a blow and once again felt her armor scream as his spear scrapped across it. She had to gain some initiative. If he controlled the pace she was doomed. Her armor was blocking the strikes for now, but it wasn't impenetrable. Infernum was valuable because it could channel the power of a crest. Every time he hit her, she felt the drain on her crest as the infernum sucked up some of its power to keep from shattering.

She knew what she had to do. His blows were stronger than hers and faster than hers -- every time she blocked she was staggered back while he had time to prepare his next attack. She needed an opening.

Eve let his attacks slide off her sword as she tried to go on the offensive. It didn't work, but she knew it wouldn't. She had left her left side open, and as she stabbed at him Gastogne jumped back and spun, blocking her follow up and sending a powerful sweep into her left side.

She could block it, but with the power of the strike she would be knocked back and open for his follow up. Gastogne knew that, and didn't hold back. Eve brought her sword down to block, and then kept brining it down. She stabbed the oversized blade into the ground -- bracing it with her whole body.

It still rung like a bell, and the impact made her worried the blade would snap. It was made for knights though, and had infernum laced through it. The drain felt like the air had been sucked out of her, but the sword held.

The effect was exactly what she needed. Gastogne had expected the blow to go through, and when it didn't he was caught off guard. She spun on the ground, pulling the sword out and swinging up in a single motion. He dodged, but just barely, and this time his armor sparked as the edge of her sword trailed across him.

He jumped back, then as soon as his foot touched the ground he jumped back again, putting some distance between them. Eve didn't follow. Her crest would recover with every breath she took. It would take hours to regain what she had lost from being hit, but every little bit counted. She stood slowly, keeping her eyes locked on Gastogne.

He stood slowly. The crowd cheered and jeered at a deafening volume, but when he spoke she could still make it out clearly.

"I hate fighters like you. You block and dodge and try to find annoying counters, but you have no strategy of your own. No style. Why wear such flashy armor if you're going to fight like a cunt?"

Eve just breathed. He was clearly trying to goad her, but he would have a hard time getting under her skin by calling her a cunt.

"Fine. I'm done messing around. We're going to have to do this again tomorrow, and I was hoping to go all out and end it even faster then, but if you're going to fight like a bitch I'm not going to play."

His crest began to grow even brighter as he crouched down. Eve matched him -- taking up a defensive stance. She flared her crest, though it looked like a torch next to the sun. He dashed forwards, once again kicking off so hard the ground exploded him.

Eve crouched, tensing her muscles, waiting. Just as he drew close, she dashed forwards -- swinging her sword to knock his spear aside and hit him at the same time. Gastogne disappeared.

Her sword hit nothing. Her body was spun around with the force of the blow as she slid along the ground, and she let the momentum carry her as she scanned the arena. Nothing.

There was only one place he could be, and realizing it she rolled to the side. Just as she did, Gastogne hit the ground where she had been like a lightning bolt. The dodge had been too slow though, and she was off balance as he swung at her. She blocked the first strike, but the staff spun around and the butt slammed into her head. Her head rang as she nearly fell, but she kept enough of her senses to know there was only one direction the next strike could come from.

No time to raise her sword, she curled her arm up in a block. The spear slammed into her, and Eve was sent flying. She rolled as she landed. Her arm felt like it had been stuffed full of cotton and spikes. Every movement hurt, but she could still move it.

Gastogne was dashing at her again. Eve quickly dropped into a defensive stance. She was ready for the move this time, and caught it. Just before he reached her range he slammed the butt of the spear into the ground and pushed, sending him flying up. The movement was so fast that, even with her crest-enhanced senses, it was still barely more than a blur.

She had thought to hit him in midair, but he didn't even try to block. Instead he grasped his spear in both hands and used his momentum, gravity, and his crest to drive it towards her. She couldn't trade with that. No amount of infernum would let her armor survive that strike. She was forced to dodge.

Once again this gave him the opening to go on the offensive. Eve tried to dodge, moving around the arena in low-to-the-ground leaps. Gastogne never relented though, and kept following her, haranguing her with strike after strike. She could feel her crest depleting.

She turned around suddenly and rushed him. Gastogne used the butt of his spear to leap in the air again, but instead of slamming down sailed over her -- landing behind her. Eve turned and went on the aggressive, hitting with a series of strikes he effortlessly turned away. His dazzling crest shining bright as she was once again pushed back. Sparks flew as he landed glancing blow after glancing blow on her armor.

Eve was desperate. Only one move had worked, so she tried it again. As soon as she had an opening she took it, leaving her right side intentionally open. Gastogne spun her blows to the side, and once again went for a sweep.

Except, as she drove her weapon into the ground she realized he hadn't put all his strength into this sweep. As she braced herself into the sword, Gastogne effortlessly transitioned away from the sweep, into a spin, into another sweep on her opposite, exposed side.

Which was exactly what she wanted.

Eve flared her crest till it shined as brightly as his. She leapt towards him in a flying tackle, grabbing him by the waist. He lost his grip on his spear as both of them went to the ground. Eve wrapped her legs around him, trying to force him into a headlock. As she did, she saw him flare his crest even more. He pushed back with increased strength, but only for a moment. Then, his crest dimmed.