Champion of Fantulis

I observed each of the three combatants spread out around me. They were all just entering adulthood; younger, spryer, full of energy with the gleam of hunger in their eyes. Hunger for glory. Everyone wants to be the one to take out Numero Uno. But they were inexperienced. Brash. Prone to mistakes. 

Sipho, Chief Bafana's son, broke formation with his fellow students to close the distance between us. It was just the opening I needed. A surge of disappointment splashed an irritated grimace across my face as I blocked Sipho's incoming strike with my ubhoko and let my isikhwili sting both the side of his head and his pride. Instantly, his dlala 'nduku clattered to the dirt. Sipho stormed past his allies and exited the sparring circle with one hand cradling his skull. Now it was just down to my top two students.

Impulsiveness aside, Sipho was definitely a cut above the other twenty or so warriors in my dojo, but even he couldn't hold a candle to either of the twins. Anele and Sanele were my most dedicated learners yet. And they were bitter rivals.

Unlike Sipho, son of the Chief, their futures weren't certain. They both knew I couldn't be Fantulis's Champion forever. I'd eventually leave the village in search of greater adventures like the Champions before me and that's if I didn't end up getting killed first. The lands of Kofurai could be wondrous and quite mystical places at times, but they never stopped coming up with clever new ways to kill its inhabitants.

Problem was, only one warrior can hold the mantle of Champion in the village of Fantulis. One would claim the mantle and have his fill of wine, women, and riches. The other would fall in line with the rest of the warriors and follow the champion's lead. Tough thing to watch, what this whole mess was doing to the brothers. Sometimes those fights between them would get pretty brutal. It was nice to see them fighting side by a side for a change. 

Not that it lasted long. Something loud and familiar reached my ears and I motioned for a stop to the fight. Anele looked pissed. Senele looked disappointed, as if he regretted not rushing in with Sipho. 

Next time, lads. Next time.

A youngling of about six was calling out to me from where she stood behind three neat rows of warriors sitting cross-legged just a few meters away from the sparring circle. 

"Yes, child?" I asked. "What's the matter?"

"Chief Bafana summons you!" the little girl replied.