Let the Silence Sing 2
Part 7: Honor Duel
Tables had been moved. Lines had been drawn on the pristine marble floor. Celestia herself had been herded to a front-row seat, fretting with her eyes as the combatants stepped forward. Nobles gathered around like it was a school-yard fight, a perfect circle of staring onlookers. King Ebonfeather sat to one side, arms folded angrily. Princess Luna stood between several guards (all of whom just DARED anyfeather to make a move on her so they could challenge a griffon to their own duel).
The rules were simple, the first one to die or leave the circle would lose. The challenge had been issued by Big Macintosh, so the weapons would be selected by Prince Ivoryclaw. As there were no wing swords on hand, he instead demanded a pair of golden spears from the solar guards standing by a column. They were begrudgingly hoof’d over and the Prince tossed one to Big Macintosh, who only clumsily caught it.
Celestia stared in horror. If something happened to Big Mac all for the sake of her honor she could never forgive herself! But the challenge had already been issued, her hooves had been tied from interfering. Ponies and griffons alike widened the circle in case one of the dueling pair should suddenly fly out of the ring.
Prince Ivoryclaw tossed his cloak with a flourish. He had a cat’s waistline, and Big Mac had no doubt every inch under his feathers was muscle. The lonely Prince’s life consisted of court ettiquite and fencing lessons, no doubt. Smoothing his tail-feathers a bit, he took up the golden spear and gave it a whistling couple of whirls. There was skill in his wrists, it was easy to see, for he could toss it back and forth, spin it about his back, and still catch it over his head while staying in perfect stance.
Big Mac cocked his head, turning down the offer to just give up or even take a suit of armor to aid him. He’d wrestled Applejack enough times and been to enough sporting events, he knew how to rough-house. He couldn’t say he’d ever dueled for a mare’s honor… but you learned somethin’ new every day, right?
The first hit went right across Big Mac’s muzzle and the spatter of blood was as red as his coat. Everypony gasped, for the blow had snapped the stallion’s head to one side. Had he not been paying attention?! What if he’d been hit with the sharp end of the spear?! He could’ve lost an eye right then! Very much focused now, Big mac held the spear under one arm and stood waiting. Ivoryclaw danced about, just as much to show off for the audience as to confuse Big Mac’s eyes.
The red stallion took a half-hearted swing and it was easily parried away. Then another, then another. There really wasn’t any way to get to the griffon prince with this silly stick weapon, the farmer knew. Two, three, four kisses across Big Mac’s muzzle made welts rise. He was toying with him.
Celestia watched the two of them dance back and forth. This was a political nightmare, either way it went. If Big Mac won the griffon’s would be resentful, the trade agreements might fall through! If Ivoryclaw won, he would demand courting rights by the very same traditions that forced him to duel Big Mac in the first place. The thought of losing her big red pony made her hooves steeple together in a rather timeless expression of feminine worry.
Droplets of blood spilled when Ivoryclaw got around to using the pointy end of the spear. The front of Big Mac’s barrel had a long cut, which bleed onto the white floor. His belting grunt of pain made everypony flinch. The red stallion took to charging into his enemy, spear raised, but the Prince was too nimble. He couldn’t get close enough to tackle him to the ground. Bucking was out of the question too, he would only expose his back to the warrior Prince. Ivoryclaw bade him once more to give up, but the stubborn apple would not.
Big Mac found himself at the center of the circle, watching Ivoryclaw whap him in the side, in the face, in the legs. The griffon’s agility was certainly impressive, but Big Mac was too well-built to be cut down easily. Spreading his wings, Ivoryclaw took to the air, swooping about. Big Mac held his spear up, but a quick swoop-and-grab robbed him of his weapon. Rearing angrily, the red stallion flailed his hooves like a war-horse, stamping like a crack of thunder. It was like being attacked by a huge bee, he just couldn’t get his hooves on the guy!
Ivoryclaw, sensing victory, made a dive-bomb for a finishing blow! Time slowed for both of them. His spear passed Big Mac’s shoulder… dug into his side, hit a rib! Big Mac’s front legs rushed desperately up, grasping the spear before it impaled him. Using the Prince’s momentum, he flailed all of his mighty weight backward to wrest the spear away from him. But no, he would not let go. Big Mac flipped onto his back, all four massive hooves in the air. The spear did an impressive one-eighty with him, flopping the Prince lightly on his back—just outside the circle.
Oof!
There was utter silence for a few moments, then the cheering started. The Prince lay on his back, more stunned by the loss than his landing, and the spear clattered away as he slowly let go of it. Big Mac rolled onto his side, bleeding rather badly, then upright. Celestia rushed forth out of the crowd to embrace him, almost stepping on the Prince in the process. His blood spattered her perfect white coat, and she rushed him away to the medical wing.
Ebonfeather went to collect his son, sighing angrily. There would be no shot at Celestia’s hoof at this point. They may as well leave. Gathering up everyfeather as he went, and dragging his shocked son along, the griffons made for the exits. The cheering crowd was at their backs.
=-=-=-=
Ten stitches and a hoof-full of bandaids later, Big Mac was looking much better. Celestia fussed and worried over him while a private nurse helped to patch him up. The royal coltfriend apologized for ruining the evening, but the alicorn would have none of it.
When the nurse was done and they were at last alone, Celestia took him into her arms. He rested his head on her breast, sighing comfortably. His nose, his ribs, his face all hurt. Bein' the royal Coltfriend was hard work! But, he would get over it. It wasn’t every day you got to duel for a mare’s honor, after all.
End of Part 7