Merek's Ascendance by Andrew Lashway

before Merek could bash him in the head, and he straightened with a cough.
                  Merek twirled the staff several times, a trick he had fondly taught himself.
                  “You aren’t gonna take me alive.”
                  “We’ll see.”
                  They circled each other, though Merek never allowed the circling to go far enough to put the woman behind him in danger.
                  Finally, they both moved.
                  The man slashed, but Merek deflected the blow with one side of his staff. He spun to the other side, but the man ducked it.
                  He didn’t duck the return swing.
                  He yelled in pain, leaving himself open to taking a forceful shove from the staff to the small of his back. He straightened with a howl, and Merek wasted no time swinging the staff like a sickle into his gut. He doubled over, and the last thing he saw was Merek’s staff smash into his face with a resounding crack, knocking him out cold.
                  Merek twirled the staff again, letting it rest against his back.
                  “That’s no way to treat a lady,” Merek said, though he forgot where he had learned that from. Maybe the traveling merchant.
                  He walked over to her, extending his hand.
                  “Are you all right, ma’am?”
                  She nodded as she took it, smiling in a strange kind of way. He couldn’t quite figure out what it was. She was smiling as if she had never seen something like him before.
                  Then he heard a noise he was quite unfamiliar with. People were clapping for him, and he raised an eyebrow. People certainly impressed easily in the castle…
                  “You know,” Thorald yelled, “most people use a ‘door’ when they want to go in and out.”
                  “Well, you know,” Merek shouted back, “I’m a barbarian from the forest, remember?”
                  “Oh yes, you uncultured swine,” Thorald laughed. “Get back in here and we’ll get you cleaned up.”
                  Merek looked down. He didn’t think he had been all that dirty. Then again, he probably did smell less than pleasant. Not much less than pleasant, but a bit.
                  And something told him if he wanted that woman’s attention, bathing was a smart move.
                 
     
                  The next day, at high noon, a freshly bathed and newly clothed Merek knelt before High King Tyrigg. He was adorned in a suit of black with a matching black cloak on his back, the standard for rising knights.
    “Do you, Merek Quinn, vow to uphold justice and peace throughout the kingdom?”
“I do.”
    “Do you vow to protect those who cannot protect themselves against those who wish them harm?”
    “I do.”
    “And do you vow to defend the innocent under your care even at the cost of your own life?”
    There was no hesitation.
    “I do.”
    “Then I dub you Sir Merek, Knight -errant of Wentana.”
    Merek stood up and turned to face the gathered assembly of people he didn’t know. They all started applauding, and Merek simply smiled. Knighthood… it was something he had never even dreamed about. Sure, he had watched the knight train, but to actually be one… to even think, someone like him could be a knight…
    He was sti ll very sure it was impossible. He’d be waking up any minute now.
     
     

Chapter Seven: Sticks and Swords
     
                  Merek went to sleep and woke up again, and still he was a knight. He slept in the Knight’s Quarters with the other knights, six in all. He hadn’t met them yet, but he was sure to do so today.
                  According to Thorald, today was the day his training regimen began. Merek was careful