The Bound Knight Ch. 10

"Don't sell yourself short Christophe. You're one of my bests. Or," Vassimir frowned, "are you saying I haven't prepared you to face a knight?"

Christophe opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. His eyes darted back and forth as he tried to think of something to say to get out of the snare Vassimir had thrown him in.

Sadly, Vassimir gave him the out he was looking for. "But of course, I wouldn't make you challenge a knight by yourself. I think I see Sir Pelas and Margot, and I could have sworn I saw Boris earlier. Grab all of them."

"Even with four men sir, a trained knight..."

"Don't worry about that. Our friend here won't even use his crest. It'll be a simple bout. Get hit by clean blow, or fall to the ground, and your out."

At that Eve's giddiness died and Christophe's hope rose. "I understand sir," he said quickly. "I'll be back in a moment." He ran off.

Before Eve could say anything Vassimir stepped in front of her. "Listen to me," he whispered. "You don't beat a knight by using more power from your crest than they do. You do it with control." He pressed his hand to Eve's breastplate, his arm going through her crest. "Lower it so it's under the armor. Use just enough that it only lets you lift the armor. You're senses and reflexes are still ten times what they normally are, and you don't need the strength or speed to beat them. I don't want to see even the tiniest glow from your crest. Understand?"

Eve focused. She felt the well inside her, but instead of drawing from it, she poured into it. She could feel the strength draining from her body -- like she was atrophying. Just as the armor started to feel heavy, she stopped. When she looked down, she could still see bits of the crest poking through the armor. She took a deep breath, and poured in more -- until she could no longer see the light of her crest. She could feel the armor now. Not quite a burdensome weight yet, but present.

"Good," Vassimir said, stepping away from her. "Remember, control. You need to learn it, and you need to learn it fast."

Eve nodded, though she had her doubts. How would making herself weaker help her against another knight? It was easy to push the doubts down though. Trusting Vassimir was almost as much a part of her as doing what she was told.

Christophe returned with three other men, and wordlessly handed her a training rod. She didn't bother swinging it. She knew what it felt like.

Eve recognized one of the men from her gang rape, and possibly a second, though she wasn't sure. They didn't look frightened -- Christophe must have told them she wasn't using her crest -- but they did look apprehensive. She noticed they were all carrying real weapons, even Christophe.

A small crowd was forming at the edges of the training pit. Mostly men-at-arms, but also a few lords visiting the manor before the duel -- their slaves kneeling beside them. Eve had no doubt that, if the fight got close to any of them, they would move.

513 was kneeling near the carriage. Eve wondered what she was thinking. Eve had saved her from the dungeons, at least temporarily, but from her perspective it must not have seemed much better. Eve knew she looked terrifying in her black plate. What did she look like to someone who thought they were going to be raped by her?

She pushed the thought down as Vassimir began to count down. He said, "Begin," and the four men all moved at once. The two at the sides moved to surround her while Christophe and the fourth advanced slowly. The flankers kept their distance, moving quickly. She raised her stance.

But, defense wasn't an option. Vassimir had taught her basic tactics, and she clearly remembered him saying that if your about to be encircled, you strike fast and try to break through. So, she dashed towards Christophe. He dodge back just as she pivoted and changed directions towards the fourth man. He was young, with a patchy beard and an ugly red boil on the side of his face. His eyes went wide as she moved towards him, and he pointed the tip of his halberd at her.

Eve faked a wide swing and he panicked. He pulled his weapon back to block. Expecting it, Eve dashed in -- knocking his halberd aside with her free hand as she slammed the butt of her training rod into the side of his helmet. With her crest low, her strength wasn't inhuman, but she was still stronger than she would have normally been. He fell to the side immediately. Three left.

Instinctually, she spun around -- swinging her weapon as she did. She didn't know if there was anyone there or not, and the move was done just to be safe. Her hearing was great, better than ever despite the helmet around her ears, but her peripheral vision was restricted. Plus, being clothed was throwing her off. She was used to feeling the wind on her skin.

Her bet paid off though, and she felt the rod connect with flesh. One of the flankers, this one armed with an axe, had tried to dash in while her back was turned. He grunted as her rod landed on his ribs, but he didn't fall. He was knocked off balance though, and before he could recover she kicked his feet out from under him. Two left.

She immediately dropped into a guard, expecting a quick retaliation. But, Christophe and the other man had fallen back. Christophe had a sword, and the man had another halberd. She could see Christophe motioning towards the man -- giving him some instruction.

They began to approach, and Eve kept her stance up -- looking for an opening. The halberd guy kept his weapon up, a capable ranged threat, and Christophe kept his sword in a guarded stance in case she tried to move close. Dangerous, but Eve could see the path through it. All she had to do was block a halberd thrust, parry Christophe's retaliations, and from there a few quick blows would take them both out. The image was crystal clear in her mind, and she took a breath -- feeling the power surge in her.

She stopped. It was too much. She wasn't sure how, but she knew doing that would draw too much from her crest. Slowly, she let the breath out, and kept herself even. She drew her training rod closer to her, and began to circle around -- looking for a different opening.

The halberd stabbed at her, she parried it to the side. But, before she could step inside another stab came. Then another. Then another. She parried one, and as she did Christophe darted out, low to the ground and fast as a snake, with a strike at her legs. She dodged at the last second, but before she could swing at him another thrust from the halberd came.

It was relentless, and between the two of them at least a few blows made it past to scratch at her armor. They were glancing though, and apparently not what Vassimir considered a 'clean hit.' There was no pattern here. No easy out. It was all she could do to dodge and block.

And she didn't have time for that. So, instead of thinking through her training or lessons, she thought 'What would Moldred do here?' Of course, she had never seen him fight, but she could guess.

When the next halberd thrust came, Eve dodged to the side at the last second. Then, as he drew it back, she didn't watch the weapon, she watched his eyes. He had surprisingly pretty brown eyes, and they narrowed just as he was about to strike again.

She threw the training rod at him. At the same time she rushed forward with a tackle. She was vaguely aware of Christophe striking somewhere past her, but he had expected her to move back, not forward. She hadn't thrown the rod too hard, but it was enough to keep her target off balance long enough for her to run in, hook the man with one arm, lift him off his feet, and throw him to the ground. One left.

She never stopped moving. Christophe was too fast to let her get away with something like that. She grabbed the first weapon she could reach, the man's halberd, swiping it before it even hit the ground. She moved and spun, and sure enough Christophe was already there, ready to strike.

It was the same as before. Quick, rapid strikes, again and again. Except, as she blocked the first few, it wasn't the same at all. She wasn't exhausted. She didn't have to worry about a stray, glancing blow scratching her nude skin. And she could see his face. He wasn't a confident predator cornering his prey. His eyes were wide and panicked.

Besides, she already knew the pattern. As he pulled back for a one-two combo she had seen a dozen times already, Eve dropped her crest completely. He moved to strike. She punched him in the face. Her normal strength combined with metal gauntlets was enough to drop him to the ground.

Eve took a deep breath, unsure what was supposed to happen now. It was then that she heard it. It must have been going on the whole time, but she was too focused to notice. Cheering. The lords were giving her polite, but sincere claps, and the men-at-arms were joining in, a bit more enthusiastic.

Eve just stared from behind her helmet, unsure what the strange feeling welling inside her was. Christophe was still on the ground, clutching his bleeding nose. A hand clasped her shoulder, and Eve spun around.

"That was incredible," the man with the pretty eyes said -- grinning at her. "I've never seen someone move like that."

"By the king," the one with the axe said, as he stood up, rubbing his sore limbs. "That was something else. How'd you even know I was there?"

"Sir knight!" the young man with the boil on his face said as he ran over enthusiastically. He had taken his helmet off, and there was a knot forming on his head. He held his hand out towards her. "That was one of the most impressive feats I've ever seen. And to be a part of it." He looked like he was holding back tears. "Thank you. I'll never forget this."

Eve stared at his hand -- shocked. What was this? Shouldn't they be angry? Frustrated? They had just lost, but instead they seemed happier than ever. She couldn't help but feel that his outstretched hand was some sort of trap. But, she couldn't see it, and he was the only one she was sure hadn't raped her the day before. She shook his hand.

"Well then," Vassimir said, stepping between her and the men-at-arms starting to move towards her, "I suppose we have a winner."

"The hells we do!" a voice called. Christophe crawled off the ground, blood still pouring from his nose. "That was shameful! You all saw it. He threw away his weapon. Not only is that a loss, it breaks every rule of honor I've ever heard of. And look what he did to me," he shouted, pointed towards his nose. "He punched me! In a duel!"

Eve was surprised. In many ways, this was the reaction she had expected, but it seemed odd coming from Christophe. He had always seemed cool and collected. This was pathetic. But, while some of the men-at-arms seemed to see that, a few were shaking their heads as if they agreed with him.

To her further shock, Vassimir said, "Perhaps you're right." Christophe, and the rest of them, froze at this. Vassimir tended to be a taskmaster. Seeing him allow this sort of display was odd. "It was shameful, and in a traditional duel he would have lost. But, at the start I said the rules were that you were out if you took a clean hit. The four of you did, our friend here didn't."

Christophe opened his mouth to say something, but before he could Vassimir whirled on him. "Besides, our friend here is committed to one thing. You know that all knights take an oath. Well, our friend committed himself to victory. What you just saw is what that means. Victory does not care about pride or honor. Victory means whatever it takes." He paused, and slowly looked all of them in the eye. At the end, he paused on her. "Understand?"

"Yes Marshall!" the men said in unison. Eve was glad for the noise. It blocked out her quite, reflexive "Yes master."

After Vassimir yelled at the men more, and ordered Christophe and the others to go get a potion for their wounds, they finally headed towards the carriage. The men stared at her with awe, but no one else came up to shake her hand. Had she really been that dishonorable? Vassimir had taught her how to fight, but he had never told her there were rules to fighting. Besides, she was confident that the thing that seemed to make them the angriest was what Moldred would have done.

513 crawled up as they neared the door. "Master," she said, her head down. It took Eve a moment to realize she was talking to her and not Vassimir. "May this cunt lick the dirt off your armor?"

Eve stared at her. What was she supposed to do with her? If she let her go, the girl would have to just go back to the dungeons. But, she couldn't take her in the carriage. She needed to talk with Vassimir. And what about long term? She couldn't keep her. Could she?

513 was already kneeling down to lick the mud off Eve's greaves when Eve grabbed her by the hair and wordlessly pulled her up. She led her to back of the carriage, and secured her collar to one of the chains that dangled there. She would figure that out later.

They stepped into the carriage, and Vassimir immediately shut the door behind them. He lifted the seats on both benches -- making sure no one had stashed a slave in the compartment under them. Confident no one else was there, he pulled on the string that hung from the ceiling. The string ran to the clit of the carriage driver, and when it was pulled she knew it was time to start moving. Eve heard a whip crack outside, and she started to look for a place to kneel, before realizing she would never fit with her armor. She sat on the bench opposite him, feeling a thrill at the novelty of sitting on a raised seat.

Eve unclasped her helmet as she felt the carriage start to move. She laid it next to her, and smiled. She tried to wait for him to speak first, and failed. "Did you see that?" she asked excitedly.

Before Vassimir could answer she kept going, "That was incredible. They were so slow! And Christophe, he was such a sore loser. I had no idea. I mean, this cunt had no idea. Or, do I need to say that? Does it matter?" she giggled.

"But Master Vassimir, they totally bought it. No one even questioned me! Even in the dungeon, when I saw 513. I don't know why I did that but -- "

Vassimir slapped her. It barely hurt. Her crest was still low, but even without it she had so much adrenaline that it was more surprise than pain. But her reaction was conditioned. Immediately, all words died in her mouth, and she dropped her eyes.

"You're being stupid. You need to stop acting like you have a cock, and focus."

"Yes Master Vassimir."

"What did you do wrong?"

She paused, thinking through what the men-at-arms had said. "This cunt fought dishonorably."

Another slap. She could have blocked it, she was ready for it this time. It seemed just as slow as when he tried to hit her with the axe, but she let it land."

"Wrong. That was the only thing you've done right. I meant what I said back there. You pledged yourself to victory. Own it. Do whatever it takes to win. I don't care what kind of blackguard you have to become to achieve it."

He grabbed her throat and slammed her into the back of the carriage, squeezing just enough for her to feel her air tightening. "Do you know why you're the best student I've ever had?"

He didn't loosen his grip, and Eve took that as a sign to stay silent. It was becoming harder to breath. She could have flared her crest and stopped him easily, but she didn't dare.

"You're fast, and talented, but you're a stupid cunt if you think you're the fastest or most talented student I've ever taught. No," he said, squeezing even tighter. She could no longer breathe.

"You listen."

He let her go, and leaned back. Eve gasped, choking in air.

"Men grow up with ten cunts for every one of them. In those conditions, it doesn't matter how what kind of training you give them, they'll always see themselves as big and strong and on-top. You have no idea how hard it is to teach someone who is used to giving orders and having them be followed unconditionally. I have trained dozens of knights, and not one of them paid half as much attention as you did. I never had to worry about you pausing practice to get a blowjob. I never came back to find you fucking some slave girl instead of doing your exercises. That is why I still believe you can win."

Eve didn't know what to say. Luckily, she didn't have to say anything. She was back to being a slave, and slaves only spoke when spoken to.

"So, what are you going to do?" he asked.

"This cunt will do what you say, Master Vassimir," came the conditioned response.

"And?"

She paused, unsure what he wanted her to add. "Win?"

He slapped her. "Don't tell me what I want to hear. Tell me what you are going to do."

"This cunt will win, Master Vassimir," she answered, loud and clear.

He took a deep breath and leaned back. The carriage rumbled under them as the pony girls pulled it closer and closer to the arena. Already, she could hear the sounds of the crowd.

"Alright then," he said, leaning towards her. "Then let's talk about the one who's going to lose. What do you know about this Gastogne?"

She told him.