Today marks the last day of the Rule of Three blogfest. Four weeks and four parts, the stories were written by many talented writers throughout the blogosphere. I have had fun this past month jumping from blog to blog and connecting with characters and stories that have one common thing: Renaissance. This is my final entry in the blogfest. I hope you’ve enjoyed the story so far. If you haven’t read it yet, check out parts 1, 2, and 3 before reading this final resolution.
The prompts for this final part were:
You must use at least one of these prompts.
- The misfortune is resolved/accepted.
- Relationships mend/ are torn asunder.
- The final event becomes another secret for generations to come.
- There is a new arrival in town.
The day of the fight, Tyrnin took fresh flowers to the cemetery. A weight settled on his shoulders at the name on the grave stone. “I should have come sooner,” he said to the granite as he settled the flowers onto the ground in front of Jenna’s name. I should have been in your place.
The thought of allowing Bannon to win crossed his mind, but he couldn’t do that. Even to be with Jenna. He wiped the wetness from his cheeks and strode to the center of town.
Bannon was already there, wrists still bound by rope. A crowd had started to form too, though the people remained silent. The only thing Tyrnin could hear was the wind and his own steady breath. Only months ago, the thought of fighting to the death would have made him sick. Now though, his determination to see Bannon pay for his crimes – for killing Jenna – pushed the fear away.
“Bannon O’Toole, you are hereby sentenced to a fight to the death,” said the mayor, gruff voice reverberating through the air. “Should you win, your innocence will be declared. Should you lose, may God have mercy on your soul.”
The mayor’s men untied him and he picked up the sword and shield at his feet. “You know I’m the better fighter, Tyrnin. Is it your wish to join Jenna so soon?”
Tyrnin’s flesh crawled with goosebumps at the calm in the other man’s voice. “I will join her when God sees fit to call me.”
Bannon rushed forward as Tyrnin knew he would. Bannon was the better swordsman, but Tyrnin had great training in endurance. Blow after blow fell upon his shield. He parried thrusts and sidestepped as great arcing blows came close to touching him.
Hours could have passed as they continued to dance around each other before Bannon’s sword arm and shield started to droop. The shift was barely noticeable, but Tyrnin had expected it. As Bannon thrust with his sword, Tyrnin knocked it away with his shield and spun, throwing his own sword toward Bannon’s face.
A muffled grunt was enough to tell Tyrnin he made contact, and blood slicked down Bannon’s cheek.
“You son of a whore!” Bannon yelled charging Tyrnin.
The sound of clashing steel and wood surrounded them, the world too small for anything else. A second strike hit Bannon’s shoulder, and a third, Tyrnin’s thigh. Bannon’s shield and sword kept sagging lower and lower as the fight continued.
Finally, Tyrnin saw his chance when Bannon’s shield arm fell. He attacked, chasing after Bannon who tried to take quick steps until he sprawled onto his back, shield and sword flying out of reach. Tyrnin closed on him.
As he brought his sword down, pain shot through his side, searing into his lungs and taking his breath away. He looked down at Bannon and saw a trickle of blood at the corner of his grinning mouth.
“Looks like we both lose.”
Tyrnin looked at his own chest where a dagger stuck out of his side. Letting go of the sword burried in the dead man’s heart, Tyrnin stepped back and pulled the knife out of his own body. Justice had been served with Bannon’s death, but he had dealt Tyrnin a mortal blow with his last action.
“Bury me next to Jenna,” he said to the crowd he knew was still there only by their breathing. “Bury me next to Jenna.”