Seperation and Rejoice

Zsaal stood at the far end of the arena, the 'dishonored' spot, where he was far from the King's gaze and the gaze of any noble-born. He was pelted with rotten fruit and vegetables as he stepped into the arena, and knew he could be slain outright by anybody who found his appearance too disgusting, and nothing would be done about it.

At the other end, the King's Royal Bodyguard, an eight foot tall giant of a man, wearing burnished plate armor and wielding a massive flamberge almost as large as he, which he swung easily with one hand.

"My lords! My ladies!" called the Herald. "May I present the Royal Bodyguard, Lord Hughtan of Analia, Slayer of Horde Scum, Defender of His Majesty, King Olin!" Cheers and applause went up. "Today a slave tries to win a position by surviving a battle with Hughtan of Analia." Boos. "He must survive for three minutes, as the hourglass falls. If he is still alive by the end of the match, he shall become a Guardian of the Provinces, against the Barbarian westerners! Let the battle, BEGIN!" He upturned an hourglass and the sands began to fall.

Hughtan placed his flamberge on his shoulder, waiting for the foolish slave to strike. Zsaal waded in slowly, his body rigid, tense in the style of Streaa Dokk. When he came within range of the flamberge, Hughtan swung a massive horizontal blow towards the skinny slave, whom moved with incredible speed as he slid beneath the blade onto his knees. Hughtan recovered quickly, though, using his momentum to bring the blade up to his other shoulder, his other hand clasping the hilt and sending it screaming straight down.

His blade sunk into the ground, the slave nowhere to be seen. A hollow rapping could be heard on the back of his armor, as Zsaal knocked three times on the armor, causing Hughtan, enraged and ashamed, to yank his blade out of the ground, spinning and bringing the blade to bear. As his legs turned, however, a thin wire, strung about his ankles loosely, tightened, and he lost his balance.

Lord Hughtan, Defender of His Majesty, King Olin, fell upon his own blade as surprise jerked it from his grasp, and the slave snapped a kick at the flat, so that its point was directed upwards. The Royal Bodyguard gasped as he sank down on his blade, shuddered once, and died.

The crowd was silent. The King's face, as Zsaal looked up, was blank, though he thought he saw the king's mouth twitching. In anger, or hatred?
In Caesarian fashion, the King rose, his hand extended in a fist, his thumb halfway out. The crowd began to chant "Kill, Kill, Kill!" as if they could influence the King's decision. His hand turned... and his thumb extended... up.

Alternative boos and cheers rippled through the crowd, and the Herald called the crowd to silence.

"By decree of King Olin, Ruler of the Five Provinces, this slave shall be known as Duke Xyalin, Defender of His Royal Majesty!"

Zsaal's shoulders sank, and he bowed his head, and wept. A royal bodyguard. He was doomed.

***

Zsaal woke slowly in a satin-covered four-poster bed, blearily looking about. Where was he? What was he doing here? This wasn't the bed he shared with Jazzai. The mere thought of her name brought everything screaming back into him, and again he wept. Unfamiliar breathing reached his ears, slow and rythmic, and he looked down, seeing a nude woman in bed with him, looking at him concernedly.

"Who... in the Nine Hells are you?" he growled.

"Anna, my Lord. The King's daughter. He bid me to spend the night with you," the girl responded, sitting up in the bed, exposing herself to him.

"What did we do?" he asked through a tight throat, thinking of Jazzai.

"Nothing, my Lord Xyalin," she responded, blinking innocently. "We spoke, that's all, and I lay in bed with you. You were drunk, my Lord, and told me... many things."

Drunk... that explained the searing headache. "We just... talked," he asked as much as said. "Nothing else?"
"No, my Lord. But I thought it best, as did you, to sleep in your bed, so my father would not be suspicious." She smiled slowly. "You told me of your love, and I could not in good conscience bed you, nor could you me. This Jazzai of yours is lucky."

That broke him. He bowed his head and wept again, and Anna wrapped her arm around his shoulders, petting him and trying to soothe him, whispering soft words into his ear.

Chapter V

Zsaal woke one morning to find that Jazzai had not slept in bed with him. The room smelled strongly of their lovemaking, but she was nowhere to be found. He slowly rose from bed and dressed, walking quietly down the stairs, on the alert. The inn was closed for now, as he had just returned a month before, and he and Jazzai had spent the time most lucratively. So why had she not been in bed with him when he awoke, to resume their lovemaking activities. So he was surprised to find her sitting at the door, his things in a bag, and a sorrowful expression on her face. He saw it coming.

"I'm not leaving, Jazzai," he said as he walked over to her. Neither of them had said anything real about their feelings for each other yet, but he thought she should know where he stood on the manner. Thus it angered him for packing his things for him as a silent attempt to get him out.

"Yes, you are," she responded immediately, standing. "You need to go out and make a life for yourself, not just sit around here all day."
"We've been over this, Jazzai. I want to stay here."

"No. You're going, and that's final."

"Is it?" he asked and closed the distance between them. She melted against him as his arms closed around her, and his lips locked against hers, their tongues, one rough, one smooth, tangling together. The kiss seemed to last forever; to Zsaal it did, because he knew what was coming, as it had come before.

When they parted, he saw unshed tears in Jazzai's eyes, and she pointed out the door without a word. He picked up his things, and left down the road he had walked five times before, four in this direction, five in the other.

He never knew that four days later, Jazzai woke nauseous and vomiting, six weeks late. She was pregnant. She never told him that there had been nobody else since he had come into her life. Never told him she was pregnant with his child. She cried herself to sleep that night, knowing she would never see him again.

***

Six months passed, and Zsaal had fought in numerous battles, been awarded many accolades by the King himself. He passed the time in a wooden haze, fighting when told to, mostly killing usurpers to the King's throne in ritual combat. The King was old, and his Royal Bodyguard was his Champion to those who claimed rite of combat.

He had a harem somewhere, girls he spurned, forgoing everything pleasurable in life, except for losing himself in booze. The King's daughter, Anna, came by almost every night to console him in his drunken tears, speaking of things that were going on in the court.

He had but one friend, Riktanus by name, Commander of the Royal Guards. Though common-born, Riktanus was the wisest and best man in the court, and Zsaal knew that he had eyes on the throne. It was only a matter of time before he tried the ritual combat, and Zsaal had no wish to kill his friend. He used Anna to keep Riktanus from going for the throne, for he knew the two were secretly in love, from the late-night talks with Anna while he was drunk. He knew he had to get out of here, somehow. This was going to kill him, eventually.

It came, then, when he had just made his mind up to leave. He had not seen Anna in some time, and Riktanus had become elusive. His friend, Lord Riktanus, delivered the challenge by Rite of Combat to the King, to take his throne.

Zsaal stepped into the arena slightly drunk, having feared this day since he first learned of Riktanus' designs. He waited for the Herald to finish annoucing him and Riktanus both, then turned and stared up at the King, his back exposed to Riktanus.

Riktanus had no wish to kill Zsaal, but he had to, if he wanted the throne. Bearing himself down, he advanced steadily on Zsaal's back, blade in hand, his shield at the ready.

Zsaal looked over his shoulder at Riktanus, then looked back up to the King, then to Anna, seated at his side.

"Fuck it," he muttered under his breath, finding, in his drunken state, the one out. He leaped smoothly up onto the King's dais, shoving the Royal Guards out of the way and down into the arena, hearing bones break. Screaming for help, Zsaal's hands closed around the King's windpipe, and began to choke. He felt Anna grabbing at his hands, but he ignored her, sealing his fingers firmly around the King's throat, choking the life from him.

It took less than a minute. Old and feeble, King Olin succumbed to the lack of air, and died, his face black. It was then that Zsaal had turned and screamed out at the court; "I claim this throne by Rite of Combat, and relinquish it to the one person who deserves it! Lord Riktanus!"
Stunned, Riktanus had fallen to one knee as King Olin had died, but rose, as all the Royal Guards who could stand sank onto one knee, those who could not supported by their brothers and their swords, all facing Riktanus, who had just become king with one statement.

Riktanus stared up at Zsaal and bowed his head, even as the Royal Bodyguard sank to one knee. The new king mounted the steps to the throne, and bowed to Zsaal, whom came up to see him.

"Marry that damned girl, and get a new bodyguard. I'm getting the hell out of the Five Provinces," Zsaal said quietly to Riktanus, whom looked shocked, but nodded.

Zsaal left then, some say vanish, and began the long walk home.

Epilogue

This was where it all began, and where this tale ends. Zsaal came quietly up to the door of the inn, trying to think of what to say. He felt for the oblong package in his gi, a final gift from Riktanus before he left, using its presence to bolster his courage to knock upon the door.

She came to the door, opening it. "Who is it?" she asked, before looking up to see who it was.

"Remember me?" he asked softly, his blue eyes piercing into hers. A smile made her face broaden, and she leaped into his arms. Laughing and crying together, the two of them swung into the tavern, kissing each other all over.

Later... much, much later... Jazzai leaned against Zsaal, feeling his familiar warmth. They had spent a long time talking, apologizing, kissing. Finally, she leaned her head up to kiss Zsaal on the neck.

"What do you think of children?" she asked.

"Why do you ask?" he replied.

She smiled and led him through the toy-strewn main area of the tavern. He looked around, smelling another scent, but it wasn't male, and he followed.

She led him to a room near to the one they had shared in the past, opened the door, and crossed over to the bed to a child who was dozing. She picked up the child and held her in her lap, a child with blue ears like his but her mother's features.

"Zsaal... this is Lana. Our daughter." And the tears flowed from her, as all of her sorrow was replaced by joy.