Where the Young Prince Stands

             Vitoroy was in pain, but he wasn’t hurt, Smalls knew how to pull his punches. Bard was correct in stopping the match, at least to make sure Vito was alright. After Bard had confirmed Vito was going to be able and compete, he gave everyone five minutes to rest before the next round started.             When they had rested, Bard revealed the next round matchups. “In this second round, the match ups will be first, Shabaka vs Vitoroy, and then Amare vs Tilian, with Smallblade acting as timekeeper and getting the bye.”             “Hey, that’s not fair,” groaned Vito, pointing an accusatory finger at his father. “I have to fight twice in a row.”             “Unfortunately, due to this tournament only having two matches each round, it mathematically has to be this way,” said Bard with a soft tone. “You Vitoroy, just had the bad luck in drawing the first double-header.”             “Fine, let’s go,” grumbled Vito. Not four seconds later, Shabaka stood face to face with

             Shabaka pulled up Tilian and hugged him. She had to honestly think to herself, about why. Why did she care so much about winning this little sparing tournament? Was it just because it was somewhat like the fighting tournaments back home? Probably not, while those were a common source of her entertainment, they did not mean the world to her. No, this was a matter of pride. She knew that, but who’s or what’s pride was at stake here? That she did not know.             “I am so sorry Tilian,” Shabaka cried, rubbing her face into his chest. “I don’t know why I went so hard in that fight. I can tell how much winning would have meant to you.”             “Don’t worry about it. We are all trying to win here. I still have time to grow, and so do you. Don’t forget that,” said Tilian looking down at Shabaka with a soft smile. He then guided Shabaka to the sidelines, while Smalls and Vito walked in front of Bard.             In the seconds before the next bout started, Shabaka t

            “What order will these matches occur?” asked Tilian, looking up at the tournament table written in light. Shabaka didn’t care, she would be willing to fight a full four-person gauntlet in one go. She would probably lose, but if asked she would be willing. Intellectually though, she knew it would be better for her to have all her fights come as late as possible, let her opponents be worn down before she fought them. Then again, she wanted fair fights, and she wanted to be challenged. The most favorable outcome would be something between the two options, with her matches evenly spread out, and this was also probably what Bard had planned.               “It is fitting that you asked that Tilian,” said Bard, pointing his fan at his half-dragon son with a flick of his wrist. “I determined the rounds and match ups last night by drawing names from a hat. Round one will be you against Shabaka, and then Vitoroy vs Smallblade, while Amare gets the bye and will act as timekeeper.

             Shabaka had never experienced such as whiplash of emotions as when she saw her father fight at full power, unleashing the Essence of Fire within him. Bard’s fire seemed to change from being like it came from the depths of the underworld, to like that of a home hearth. Her father was the Fury of Sound and Flame, and what made that fury so destructive was that he could control and direct it as he willed. It was that destructive power, that ability to defend oneself and their loved ones, that Shabaka hoped to learn from him.             After the defeat of Autca and his Capital Robot, the family returned to Bards estate in Gygax they were finally able to rest for a few days. Shabaka slept close to twenty hours on that first day back, four more than the sixteen-hour average for her race the quat. It was on the third day back that Bard called a family meeting after dinner. In the living room they met, the room with full to bursting bookshelves for walls and only the fluffie