by T Nisbet
Chp. 16
Captain Marchon waited until the excitement had died down before ordering a uniform be issued to me. Corporal Gillian escorted me down the stairs behind the desk to a room where I was given a guardsmen’s uniform.
“Who did you study under?” he asked as I got dressed.
How did I answer that? Tell him I was an immortal, who was chosen by the imprisoned essence of an ancient mage to receive thousands of years of knowledge and experience in armed combat? I decided to give a partial truth, hoping it sated his curiosity and didn’t provoke any questions I couldn’t answer.
“A knight named Nisbet,” I said buckling my sword belt over the top of the black tunic.
“Sir Nisbet? Whoa… that explains it,” he said smiling in relief. “I wondered why you carried a Quail blade. Is it his?”
I nodded.
“Incredible.”
Once I’d finished putting on the uniform, Gillian led me back to the reception room. Captain Marchon and the guardsman on duty behind the desk were the only two men left in the room. The captain of the guard looked me over, nodding his approval.
“Drape the cloak over your sword to hide it,” he smiled. “Come, let us sign the scrolls, Guardsman Gunn.”
We left the Guard station and immediately entered a boisterous crowd. It had grown considerably during the time we had been inside. Captain Marchon and corporal Gillian walked in front of me, opening a small hole leading towards the brightly colored pavilion. We emerged through the crowd and found a line of men stretched to the right against the canvas, separated from the crowd by a vivid red silk barrier. They stood quietly waiting patiently to enter the tent, enduring the inspection of the crowd pressing against the barrier. The line stopped just short of the entrance to the grand pavilion, where two black clad guardsmen stood watch. We walked past the line to the guardsmen, who bowed as Captain Marchon approached. They stepped aside, and we passed into the tent.
Another line formed just inside the doorway leading up to a large wooden table. We settled into the back of the line as I anxiously looked around the room. A plain white canvas hung down behind the table separating the room we were in from the rest of the huge tent. A muscular, dark haired man in his mid twenties stood before a panel of five middle-aged men seated behind the table. They spoke with him for a time, then he bowed, and was replaced by the next person in line. I watched as a young boy directed the dark-haired man through a tent flap near the table as we stepped forward.
The line moved forward slowly, filling in behind us as we progressed. I wished Toby were here, as well as Carla and Ivy. I wondered what they would say about me entering into a tournament, to fight with a sword. I was guessing they wouldn’t be too happy about it. I wondered if there was some way to let them know I would be there after this was over.
“Captain Marchon, is there anyway to inform my… employer what is going on? They are probably worried that I ….”
The captain of the guard smiled, interrupting me.
“Already sent a rider out to explain. Don’t worry about them, they are well protected I assure you. You will need your full concentration on the tournament if you are to win.”
I was shocked at his presumption of my concern but glad that he had anticipated it so my friends wouldn’t be worrying. They would be apprehensive about me being in a tournament, of course, but not fearful that I was in a dungeon somewhere or banished from the kingdom. I guess it was that best I could expect under the circumstances.
When we finally stood before the table, one the men behind it stood and shook hands with Captain Marchon smiling. He was an older man with short-cropped gray hair and the eyes of a hawk. The others at the table all followed his lead.
“Are you really going to let Gillian fight in your stead Volare? I would give much to see you enter,” the man said. He was clearly a friend of the Captain’s. He looked at Gillian and bowed slightly. “No offense intended good corporeal.”
“None taken,” Gillian said returning the bow. “We all would like to see him enter again.”
“I’m afraid my blade is nearly as slow as your wits, Master Dorchus.” The captain laughed addressing his friend.
“I should be so quick-witted,” responded the man. “I sent a runner to inform you that we registered Corporal Gillian. Had I known you were waiting in the line, I would have told you immediately my friend. There is no need to test him, his skill is known well enough that he has already been set into the bracket. We just need to enchant his sword and…”
“Corporal Gillian is withdrawing,” Captain Marchon interrupted. “His replacement stands beside me.”
“Well, well… gamesmanship and intrigue! Kind of young isn’t he?” said Master Dorchus appraising me. The other men also looked me over trying to assess what skill I might have. “Your name?”
I was about to speak, but the captain beat me to it.
“Master Gunn,” he said smiling.
“Master?” asked another one of the men behind the table. “Surely you jest good captain. Is he not too young to be given such a title?”
“Even so,” Captain Marchon grinned.
The men behind the table sat slowly back down into their chairs and eyed me suspiciously, obviously doubting what they’d heard.
Master Dorchus grinned at Captain Marchon. “Truly my old friend?”
“Indeed,” said Captain Marchon, obviously enjoying this too much.
My heart raced, but I held back the panic ready to sweep me away by using the breathing techniques I’d learned with my therapist.
“Well then, ‘Master’ Gunn. Place your blade on the table, and sign the roll,” said the Captain’s friend exaggerating the word Master.
I started to unbuckle my belt.
“The blade itself will do.” Master Dorchus smiled.
I nodded and drew Gwensorloth out of its scabbard, placing it on the table before the men.
“A Quail blade!” stammered the man behind me in line. The men at the table gasped, their eyes wide in surprise.
“Even so.” Captain Marchon said grinning wickedly.
Master Dorchus leaned forward, inspecting the beautiful blade without touching it. The other men behind the table leaned forward to examine it as well.
“If someone had told me that I would live to see two such blades in one day, I would have thought them daft,” he whispered loud enough for those nearby to hear.
“Two?” Captain Marchon asked, taking his turn at being surprised.
His friend reluctantly looked up from the blade and nodded.
“Even so old friend.”
“Who is this sword master, one of the High Elves?” asked Captain Marchon incredulously.
“Indeed… a masked elf from Morgoz,” Master Dorchus confirmed.
“Morgoz?” Captain Marchon sputtered “A High Elf?”
Master Dorchus shrugged, nodding.
I signed near the bottom of a long list of names as instructed. One of the men behind the table, clothed in flowing yellow robes with silver embroidery, held his hands over Gwensorloth. A light green mist swirled around his hands, and he gingerly touched the point of the sword, then he nodded to Master Dorchus.
Master Dorchus gestured to the beautifully crafted Quail Blade eying me. “Master Gunn, please forgive my sarcasm, it is extraordinarily rare to meet a fellow blade master. I have never in my life met one of your age. I should know by now that nothing is ever as it seems.”
“I would doubt me too.” I shrugged, retrieving Gwensorloth and placing it back in its scabbard.
He turned back to Captain Marchon. “He’ll have to be tested, and ranked in the bracket, since no one has seen him fight.”
“I have,” Corporal Gillian interrupted. “He took my best easily, I had no chance.”
“I have no reason to doubt you Corporal, but since none of the judges have any knowledge of his abilities, he will still need to test,” Master Dorchus said.
“Who is on testing duty?” Captain Machon as
ked.
Master Dorchus smiled. “I believe your little brother, Lord Palfry Marchon is currently doing the testing Volare.”
A smile spread over both of their faces.
A young man in bright livery came through the tent flap behind the table, and asked us to follow him. Captain Marchon shook Master Dorchus’ hand, nodded to the other men on the panel, and we accompanied the page out of the room.
Banners hung on the canvas walls of the sizeable room we followed the page into. Another panel of men sat behind a large black table running down one side of the large room. Before the table a circle had been painted on the low cut grass in the center of the room.
A richly dressed Lord rose from a stool to the other side of the circle as we entered. He looked a lot like Captain Machon only quite a bit younger. He walked towards us across the low grass ring with a haughty confidence.
“Brother!” he said stopping in front us. “Tell me you haven’t entered the tourney.”
Captain Marchon’s brow furrowed for only a moment, then he smiled and gave his brother an almost imperceptible bow.
“No, Palfry. I have not,” he replied.
The captain’s younger brother grinned, feigning relief “I would have hated to show the panel how far your skills have fallen, Volare. I’m glad you will not be bringing more embarrassment upon our family’s name. Shouldn’t you be out busily guarding things, perhaps helping the elderly bring their goods home from market?”
The obnoxious lord laughed before Captain Marchon could answer. “I wish I’d the time to visit brother, but they have need of my sword.”
“I’ve no desire to visit either Palfry. I’m just accompanying the Guard’s representative in for his test.” Captain Marchon smiled.
Marchon’s arrogant brother looked Gillian over and shrugged. “I guess starting out in a bottom position on the bracket is preferable to walking the wall on guard duty eh Corporal?”
Corporal Gillian exaggerated a bow to the pompous lord, a grin splitting his scarred face.
“I enjoy guard duty milord, but I think I may enjoy this more.”
Lord Palfry smirked at him, shaking his head. “I’m afraid you will have little to enjoy once our swords cross guardsman.”
“It’s not me you have to worry about milord,” Corporal Gillian snickered, his awful scar turning his smile into something more nefarious.
Lord Palfry seemed to notice me for the first time and began to laugh. He turned still laughing and staggered back across the room back to his stool, overcome with overly indulged mirth. I felt my anger rising inside. This guy was such a douche bag! He was all attitude, like the undefeated team that played us in the last game, only worse. I wanted more than anything to take him down a few pegs.
“Destroy him Gunn!” Corporal Gillian whispered in my ear.
The page raised his voice over the lord’s laughter. “Master Gunn of the guard is here to prove his worth. Will you have him?”
“We will,” intoned the eight men sitting behind the ebony table.
“Is his opponent ready?” continued the page.
“Give me a moment,” said the obnoxious lord still trying to contain his laughter.
Captain Marchon patted me on the shoulder as I waited for the jerk to stop laughing. “Your blade is enchanted to prevent injury while in the city. Your strikes will bring the pain they would have dealt, but no death. The only evidence of a strike will be a black stain that will go away after ten minutes or so.”
“Gentlemen please have a seat,” the page whispered to Captain Marchon and Corporal Gilian indicating a row of chairs to the side.
“Please,” said the Captain loudly, smiling at me. “Feel free to enjoy yourself.”
Lord Palfry stood, still chuckling and walked to the edge of the circle. “I’m sure I will, brother.”
The page indicated that I stand on the opposite side of the ring. I walked over and stood, testing the traction of the low grass. It was shorter than a green on a golf course and offered great footing.
“Is his opponent ready?” asked the page again.
“He is,” answered the overconfident lord.
I looked up from the grass.
“Face the panel,” the page ordered.
I turned and faced the panel.
“Unsheathe your blades.”
I pulled Gwensorloth out of its scabbard.
“Salute.”
I brought the hilt of my sword to my heart, knowing somehow that this was how I was supposed to salute.
“Face your opponent.”
I turned and faced the Captain’s loathsome brother. He was standing casually looking at me as though I was less than human. I stared back.
“Salute.”
The lord before me only nodded as I held my blade up before my eyes, hilt resting on my chest.
“Begin!” said the members of the panel as one.
I brought my blade down slowly until the tip of Gwensorloth touched the grass. Lord Palfry Marchon stepped indifferently into the circle, “It starts when you enter, boy,” he snickered.
I looked into his eyes and took a step forward, blade still low.
“Guldan’s defense… how boring,” he said sword held before him casually.
“Whatever,” I said aloud, my mind suddenly crystal clear.
Lord Palfry didn’t like my tone and licked out with his blade, I stepped to the side lightly, my counter leaving his elbow black. He roared in pain, stepping back, his eyes suddenly intense. Our blades met again. He was quick and well balanced, but I could see holes in his defense as we danced around the inside of the circle. Intuition told me which ones were accidental and which were traps.
I pressed an attack, Gwensorloth a blur of shining steel before me, forcing him into a mistake. I took advantage of the split second lapse and scored three times, once to the ribs, once to the hip and once to the thigh, before spinning easily away from his counter. He hissed in pain and nearly dropped to his knee, his fury betrayed by his astonishment. I stepped back rather than taking off his head.
I could see in his eyes then, that he knew I would beat him. He lurched back to his feet, settling into a defensive stance. He moved like he was wounded. I wondered briefly if the enchantment carried not only the pain of being stuck, but its effect as well.
“Do you require a minute my lord?” I asked stepping back as well, my blade out to the side.
“Impertinent wretch!” Lord Palfry growled. “I’ll piss on your bloated corpse.” A knife appeared in his hand and he threw it at me. I effortlessly knocked the dark blade off its path towards my face with a flick of my wrist.
“Doubtful,” I said and attacked.
I sheathed Gwensorloth and stepped to the side as Lord Palfry Marchon staggered forward dropping to his knees crying out in pain, a large dark stain spreading over the front of his rich blue and white doublet, his sword falling uselessly to the grass. He sat back on his boot heels gasping for breath as low moans escaped his lips.
“The test is complete,” the page called out. “Stand before the panel.”
I left the circle, turning my back on the gasping lord. Captain Marchon appeared at my side and offered me the dagger his brother had thrown at me, his smile said it all. The blade was nine inches long and made out of some kind of dark blue-gray metal. The hilt was serpent-like with rubies where the eyes should have been.
“It appears my brother no longer has need of this,” he said chuckling and handing it to me. I accepted the blade and put it under my belt.
The judges gathered behind the lacquered, ebony table discussing the fight, then returned to their seats. A balding, older man stood and nodded to me.
“Master Gunn, you are deemed fit to enter the tournament. Furthermore, it has been decided that you shall be bracketed in the semi-finals. Return at the fifth bell ready to do combat,” he said and bowed to me. The other members of the panel rose and bowed as well.
I left the pavilion with Captain Marchon
and Corporal Gillian and we made our way through the gathering crowds to a café bordering the square. The owner appeared immediately and escorted us to a table on the patio next to the street.
“Captain Marchon, it is always a pleasure. What will it be today? I have an amazing Pesce alla Griglia special. Featuring a grilled Tagla bass marinated in herbs and a port reduction, served over a bed of lupine rice, with wild barberrys, and steamed Lozno squash. The chef is also serving a spiced venison steak sautéed in a bath of fresh butter, garlic and peppercorns with Lozno potatoes and spiced apples.”
“The venison steak sounds great Bouillion,” Captain Marchon said.
“I can assure you that you will not regret that choice my captain,” Bouillion said bowing. “And you good sirs?”
Corporal Gillian shrugged. “Sounds good to me.”
“I don’t need anything,” I said quickly. I was absolutely starving, but I didn’t have any money.
“Nonsense! I won’t have it!” Bouillion said putting his hands on his hips.
I shrugged. A wave of panic started to rise inside of me. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything to pay you with.”
Bouillion smiled and reached down to pat my shoulder. “You are new to the guard I see. The elite guard have an account with all the restaurateurs in Lockewood my young friend. The city picks up the bill for all of their food and drink.”
“Great benefit if you ask me,” Gillian smiled winking.
Relief flooded through me, “Then I’d like to try the fish please.”
“Good choice!” Bouillion said clapping me on the back again.
“And to drink? A bottle of wine perhaps? I have a port from Kris’co that is divine,” he said to Captain Marchon.
“We must pass on the wine, just food and water for now.”
“I will personally bring it out when it is ready,” Bouillion said and left us.
