Terync swallowed hard and looked up at the four faces staring intently at him, in expectation. The two knights, each looking at him as if knowing what he was currently going through, one with a look of sad reflectiveness and the other with a look of wistfulness. The Lady Azulaphael’s face seemed more concerned than anything, and the fourth face, that of the panther, still seemed like it was laughing at him.
“I suppose this is as safe a place as any,” Terync said slowly. “I felt fear. From the first moment the bout started… hells, probably even before.” A chill ran down his spine at the very memory of it all. “The fear increased with every step I took in retreat and exploded in my heart when he struck me and made my arm go numb.”
“What was there to fear?” she asked gently. “The bouts are scored, not to the death, correct?”
The young man sat back in his chair and pondered that for several seconds. It was true that there was very little for him to actually be afraid of, but he was certain that was the exact emotion he felt at that moment. The sheer intensity of the panic was almost debilitating, crippling him from action. He couldn’t remember ever feeling that way before.
“Such fear,” she said slowly, “could not be natural, do you agree?”
“I cannot think of how it could be so,” he replied, “but I also have no idea what else could have caused such an intense emotional state.”
She nodded, as if expecting the response. “Let us skip ahead a moment or so, to when the fear left you.” She shrugged, “I mean, I’m simply guessing that it must have for you to have been able to return to a prime fighting condition and win the bout.”
Terync narrowed his eyes as he regarded the lady in a new frame of mind, one that was instantly suspicious of her and her expertly tailored questions. “You seem to have the right of it. I suppose you could tell this story far better than I could at this point.”
She nodded once but said nothing else.
Terync briefly thought of waiting her out, testing his patience against hers to see who would speak first. He ejected that thought almost immediately, as if he knew deep down that it was a game he could never win.
“I don’t know what came over me. I was struck and my arm was numb, but luckily my finger still gripped tightly to the rattan stick. Had I dropped it, it would have been ruled as lost, such that I would no longer be able to use it.
“I think, perhaps, it was the look on Wiedermon’s face. That smug look of complete victory that caused the fear to molt away. I fought back and from that point forward in the bout, I was never at a disadvantage. I won the bout less than a minute after he struck me for the first, and last time.”
“Take it back a step,” the Commandant said, speaking for the first time since the interrogation had begun. “You say you had never learned the fighting sticks, yet you bested Wiedermon, one of the top upperclassmen when it comes to weapons and who was, in fact, highly favored to win the entire tournament.”