The parties collided and the fight in earnest began. Only moments later, the second party joined. The guards did not lend their support. In a real fight they would have, but this occasion was a show, partly a test, and a rite of passage. This fight belonged to the five siblings. Evacuation and archery support were allowed, but when it came to calling commands and the brawl itself, the Farella family used this as an opportunity to show the people who they still had leading them.
After the archers had done their brief part, thirteen attackers and four sagemen remained for the siblings to take care of. Two armsmen fell to Valkyr’s arrows, another limped, and three were taken from the fight by Tido’s knives before the opposing parties met in close combat.
This left thirteen armsmen and three sagemen to face. Though they put up a good fight, the sixteen couldn’t hope to win against five Farellas. All they could try to achieve was removing a couple of them from the fight before it was over.
Domire, broad-shouldered and distinctly bearded—brown, matching his eyes—for a boy of 15 Turns of age, leaped into the fight, bringing his sword down on one opponent and then another. His powerful strokes could be deflected sometimes, but they could not be ignored.
Valkyr, tall and clever-looking with her hair pulled back and concentration in her green eyes, hesitated for a brief moment before joining the melee. She began to move her bow to her back where it could be locked in place so she could pull out her knives. Deciding instead that she was still not partial to the knives, she started using her bow as a staff, swinging its familiar weight around in a whirlwind. Where she aimed to strike, she hit.
Tido, curly-haired and stockier than his siblings, swung his blunt practice axe as though he had had days to carefully plan each blow. His dark eyes considered and knew that each strike would meet its mark. Though he did not always make sure to hit his opponents where their armor left them vulnerable, they got the idea—a real axe in those hands would have gone right through any plate or mail of reasonable width to be worn. Few dared to try standing in his way, and when they did, they fell quickly.
Misolfa, running into the fight with her short hair swinging and with a twinkle in her blue eyes, swung her hammer decisively. Its relatively lightweight construction gave her the poorest imitation of her real weapon among her siblings, but she didn’t let that get in her way. It clanged on armor and smacked limbs, certainly leaving a bruise wherever it hit.
Aton, though he was running, entered the fight with such a calculated and deadly grace that he seemed to stalk deliberately into a pit of vipers. Domire, Valkyr, Tido, Misolfa—all fought very well, all were on the point of being masters of their respective instruments of defense. All would soon collect their weapons and hurtle towards the superlative of skill. All were almost certain to become the most skilled at their respective weapons among anyone alive, with the exception of an uncle or aunt, or their own father. But Aton had no weapon. Aton had no such guarantee of supreme expertise. He did have the fabled Farella agility though, and his own determination. He wasn’t sure what it would turn out to be, but Aton would be all that he could be. He thrust, slashed, and parried, turning, blocking, and attacking with all the effort he could muster.
Moments later it was over. Aton found himself facing the sagemen and holding blades to the throats of two of them, breathing hard. Tido held the third one by the shoulder and kept his axe ready. The attackers had all fallen. The Farella siblings had won. The onlookers at the edge of the square were cheering. Something was wrong, though. They were hushing each other and quieting down. They looked proud, but perhaps somewhat dismayed at the outcome.
Aton, Valkyr, Misolfa, and Tido all turned their heads. Domire had fallen.