* * *
Muda stumbled through the streets his rage driving him through the sickness. People laughed as he passed, calling him a drunkard and a fool. A few less generous souls kicked him down, fueling his hatred. But he had no time for them, he had a meeting.
When Muda arrived the square was burgeoning. There were more guards than usual, but Muda knew they would not interfere. He had made a challenge, and would be allowed to fight. If the cowards who attacked Sophia chose to come.
The people parted as he walked to the center. He had grown worse with each step, and the nausea was now so bad that he couldn't see more than a foot.
When he finally reached the fountain in the center of the square, he collapsed beside it. He lay there for only a moment before a voice roused him.
"I didn't actually think you would have the stones to show up."
Muda knew the voice. It was the voice that had tortured him at every training session, which had mocked and jeered at every failed attack. That voice had called him a coward time and again. That voice...Jakta.
"You are a monster," Muda spat, "And a fool if you thought you would survive this."
Jakta laughed. "The little poppet is lucky to be alive, she'll not be able to challenge me. Now all that is left is her little lapdog."
The people jeered at this. They respected the rules, but many had been fond of Sophia.
Muda drew his father's sword, then used it as a crutch and forced himself to his feet. It was only then that he noticed Jakta had brought along his own lapdogs.
"Three on one? And you call me a coward."
"Rules are rules," Jakta said with a grin, "And you're the one who made the challenge."
“When we’re done with you, we’ll finish of the bitch of yours.”
The three men drew their own weapons and Muda's rage returned. He swayed once, and then for the first time since his parents' death, Muda attacked.
He thrust forward aiming for a weak point in Jakta's armor, hoping to end the battle quickly. His strike was well aimed and almost caught Jakta by surprise, but he had been too far away. Jakta brought up his own sword to block the strike as he side-stepped, then followed with a quick strike that bounced off Muda's plate armor. Muda followed through, passing Jakta and charging into Trig, knocking him into Jerome. The two men fell backward and struggled on the ground while Muda found his footing. He almost went in for the kill, but Jakta was too fast and leaped around Muda to protect his two fallen friends.
Muda pushed forward, not wanting to give his three opponents enough time to organize a proper assault. He attacked three times in quick succession, then feinted a kill-strike at Jakta’s head, but sliced through his sword arm instead.
Jakta cried out, then backed off, and let his two companions advance. Muda knew that he would need to finish the battle quickly, or else they would be able to tire him out and kill him. He feinted again, striking at Trig who was the better weaker of the two. Jerome circled behind Muda, and tried to attack as the two men often did in practice. Muda saw the trick and struck Trig hard to knock him off balance, then just as Jerome moved to attack Muda launched his elbow backward breaking Jerome's nose. Muda turned around and thrust his sword through Jerome's throat, severing his spinal cord. Jerome was dead before Muda even had time to withdraw his sword.
A wave of nausea hit Muda, and he fell to his knees. Jakta saw Muda’s moment of weakness, and rushed forward hoping to end the fight and avenge his friend. Trig had the same hope, however, and the two men crashed into each other, bringing a righteous cheer from the crowd.
The noise brought Muda back to his senses. He swallowed his nausea, and turned to face the remaining two fighters.
They organized themselves, and attacked at the same time. Muda’s blade was like fire, flickering back and forth between their attacks, nicking at exposed flesh whenever the chance appeared. Within a minute both Trig and Jakta were bleeding from half a dozen spots each. They both backed off, pausing to catch their breaths and figure out a new strategy, but Muda gave them no rest and doubled his attack. Trig tried to block a low attack from Muda, but was too slow, and Muda cut deep into his thigh. He screamed, and dropped his hands to his leg, leaving space for Muda to thrust his sword up through Trig's chin, and into his brain.
Jakta stumbled backward, listening to the cheers of the crowd as he watched his friend die.
“I…I yield.” He pleaded. “I can still be useful. Do not kill me.”
Muda's slashed hard, knocking Jakta's sword from his hands, then thrust his own through Jakta's heart. Muda spit as he watched the light fade from Jakta's eyes, then pushed the corpse backward, leaving his sword upright.
Muda raised his hands to the air and screamed his rage until he was hoarse, then fell to his hands and knees. Staring at the ground, he heaved, and tears came to his eyes. He clenched as if to vomit again and again, then finally a torrent of black flew from his mouth coating Jakta’s body and the sword that still stood prone in his corpse. Thick black liquid reeked of rot and death. When he could vomit no more, he fell to his side, and slept.