Lothar

"Our favourite Stallion returns to the ring to face the one opponent who ever bested him! Tonight, he faces Lothar!" The crowds responded to Tibert's announcement with the expected cheer.

Martel knew he could win against the old man. When they first met, he had never tried fighting in the pit before, and he did not know how to use his magic. Now, Martel was no longer intimidated, and he had acquired the abilities he needed. On the other hand, he also had to win. He could not expect to gain a match against the champion of The Broken Crown if he could not beat Lothar.

"Fight!"

Martel made a few tentative attacks. They were swiftly denied, and he practically had to leap back to avoid the retaliation. If there had been any doubt, Martel knew for certain that Lothar had gone easy on him during their first fight. Clearly, no such favours were bestowed now. The old veteran struck with speed and precision without ever leaving himself vulnerable. After every attack, he was immediately ready to defend.

Martel decided to test the limits of this. He raised his magical shield and allowed an opening. Lothar took the bait, striking against the shoulder. Ignoring this, the novice made his own assault. His staff met nothing but air, and he had used the first portion of his spellpower.

Opting for caution, Martel decided to hold back using more of his magic until he had a better sense of his opponent. The first fight had been so one-sided, he had not really learned anything about Lothar. Now, he could better focus and actually analyse how the old legionary fought. Every time they exchanged strikes, each of them attacking and parrying, Martel got a better sense of the speed and strength he faced.

It soon became apparent that he was outmatched. He finally tried to use magic to increase his speed, which made no difference; he could not move fast enough to land a proper blow. Lothar always defended, and he even managed to land his own strikes on Martel, who by now was growing sore and tired across his upper body.

The only thing that Martel could reliably hit was Lothar's staff. Which, perhaps, could also work. But it required Martel to push his magic further. He raised his shield around him, creating a slight shimmer only visible to those with magical sight. But this time, he needed to protect more than just his body.

He focused on the staff in his hands. Made of living wood, Martel imagined it as part of him. An extra limb. He pushed his magical barrier to extend across the surface of his weapon.

Using the last of his magic, Martel poured power into his arms as he struck. As expected, Lothar raised his staff to parry, probably already prepared to retaliate now that Martel had brought himself off-balance.

The force of the blow cracked Lothar's staff in twain; Martel's shield protected his own from similar damage. Pure surprise overtook the old man's face, and before he could recover, Martel thrust his staff up against the veteran's throat, as if holding a blade that might cut him open.

Dropping the broken pieces in his hands, Lothar exhaled. "I surrender."

~

Retreated to his chamber, Martel removed his mask with a smile. In just a few fivedays, he had gained enough control of his empowerment magic that he could defeat someone as skilled and experienced as Lothar. He did not imagine he would ever need these fighting skills once this task for Kerra had ended, but knowing he could shield himself and move with greater speed, attack with greater force, filled him with satisfaction.

Tibert entered. "Quite a fight. Never seen anyone strong enough to break a staff before." He poured out Martel's winnings on the bench.

"I got lucky. Got the hit right."

Tibert regarded the novice with his unblinking eyes and a calculating expression. "You've beaten my regulars. Except one. Nobody has ever defeated him, which is why I offer fifty birds to anyone who can."

Martel had wondered how to best raise the subject of getting a fight against Leatherfist; it seemed that fate had done the work for him. "I'm interested. I'll fight anyone."

"This man fights with just one fist, even against your staff. But you shouldn't underestimate him."

"I won't."

"On the other hand, no getting cold feet. if I announce to my patrons that I finally have someone who dares to face Leatherfist, you better not disappoint. Don't make a liar out of me." The tavernkeeper blinked once as he stared at the novice.

Nothing could persuade Martel from staying away. "I'll be there."

Tibert nodded slowly. "On Pelday. It'll be the only fight that night. Expect a crowd. Everyone will want to see this."

~

Martel left the tavern. For a moment, he wondered where Maximilian might be, until he remembered that the mageknight had not joined him; he himself had told Maximilian to stay away. With tired steps, he began walking away. As always, he quickly felt drained and almost guilty after a fight, having beaten someone who did not stand a chance against magic.

"Boy, one moment."

Martel turned around. In the darkness of the alley, he could scarcely see the speaker, but he recognised the growl that belong to Lothar. He wondered if this was some kind of ambush or whether the old veteran had come to settle a score, but hopefully not; Martel had spent his magic, and even summoning enough fire to light a pipe would exhaust him.

Lothar approached him. "We need to talk."

"About what?" Martel tried to keep an eye on the surroundings, should any sudden movement appear; the eyepatch forced him to be rather conspicuous about it, turning his head.

"Not here, not now. Further down the main street, there's a tavern called Pork and Pepper. I'll be there tomorrow evening at sixth bell. Meet me then."

With those words, Lothar turned around and disappeared back into the building, leaving Martel to wonder what conversation awaited him.