Gasps rang around the room. Krea and Ten smiled proudly at Mythia. Miles shrugged at the surprised recruits, showing them that he knew it all along. Zane locked his eyes on hers, then slowly lowered down to one knee. Eldrid followed his steps. Within a moment, one by one, each recruit lowered themselves down to their knee and placed their hands on their hearts, bowing their heads.
Eldrid turned his face up to Mythia and shouted loud and clear, his voice ringing throughout the long room. “Long live the queen!” Mythia stared at him as the rest of the recruits echoed his words, a flood of memories filled her so suddenly like a broken dam, as tears streamed down her face.
The castle. Her chambers with the light pink silk canopied bed. Lord Ulric, Lord Pileus, Sir Fort. Suppers with King Tribus. Their walks in the royal garden. The Venandi. Her deceased mother and father who both gave up their lives for her. Titus, the Doctrine, their journey in finding the three golden scrolls…
And yet something remained hidden. Something stayed in the darkest corner of her mind and refused to walk out into the light. Something that tugged at her heartstrings, that caused her heart to pound into her throat. Something she could not remember.
Her thoughts immediately landed back into the recruit’s kitchen as everyone watched her, Rejicio swelling with pride all around the long room. She gave a quick small bow and they released themselves, straightening up and standing tall, excited murmurs filling the room. Eldrid glided over to the table and poured himself a goblet full of mead, gesturing for everyone else to do the same.
Once everyone had a goblet, he raised his hand for silence. “Now that you all know who we have on our side, you should be filled with renewed hope. Queen Mythia’s very presence gives us faith for a new kingdom and for peace to the people of Terra. As the legends of the Rejicio have foretold, we shall be the people who build the new land- the kingdom of Pax. Long live the Rejicio!”
Everyone in the room raised their goblets high above them and yelled, “long live the Rejicio!” They all drank deeply until the bottle of mead was dry.
◆◆◆
The grass rippled in the rolling green hills surrounding the jousting field. Like a ghost, it crouched from the hills and into the field, nuzzling lightly against the prince. He shivered slightly, his light blue cloak billowing behind him. He glanced up at the pale pink sky as the sun peeked its head from the horizon. Clouds hung vacantly off to the distance, but the air was thick with an oncoming snow, accompanied by the extreme excitement such a tournament always created within the kingdom. He walked around the long oval field, taking in the empty and silent wooden benches which surrounded the field, waiting patiently to be filled with hundreds of spectators. He breathed in the silence, the stillness, the calm before the storm.
He paced down the field, back toward the stables, and through the jumble of royal horses. He stopped suddenly, then retraced his steps. Bestia, Lord Animus’s huge chestnut horse, stood silent and tall in one of the stalls, watching him. The loss of such a great knight still sent a sting of grief through his heart. He stroked the soft spot on her forehead, peering at his own reflection within her dark, shimmering eyes. A prince dressed as a knight. Or was he a knight pretending to be a prince? He sighed, giving Bestia a big pat on the head, before continuing down to his own, faithful white steed. The prince watered and brushed his horse until he couldn’t delay any longer. It was time to ready his knights.
◆◆◆
Thousands of soldiers glistened against the slowly emerging sun. Rows upon rows of them, neatly uniformed and identical to each other. Bello stood in the front, her right eye considerably swollen and bruised, standing tall and magnificent in her brown leather dress and feathered cloak, closely followed by Mythia and her team of recruits. Mythia heard a whinnying accompanied by footsteps and quickly turned around as a knight of Trigonus riding her horse, Noctis, stormed his way toward them. Mythia's heart pounded with anger for a moment before the knight was close enough for her to realize it was only Ventus.
Ventus shrugged and stroked the wild stallion’s head. “I hope you don’t mind. He seemed awfully keen for the job.”
Mythia sighed with relief and stroked her horse gently on the neck and peered into his face. “He must have been going mad cooped up in the mountain. Just keep him safe, will you?” She looked up into the face of her young friend. Ventus wore the knight’s armor well, the pale blue cape fastened beneath her chin. Like Mythia, she hadn’t put on her helmet yet. She lowered her voice. “Where should we meet?”
Ventus glanced quickly around, but no one paid them any attention. “In between each fight, the knights rest in their own tent. You’ll see Noctis waiting outside of mine. As soon as I’m up against the prince, if I make it that far, we switch.”
“You’ll make it, Ventus.” Mythia grabbed her hand and held it tightly within hers. “No one but you could pull this off... By the way, the knight's armor looks good on you.” Ventus smiled and squeezed Mythia’s hand one last time before letting go.
“I have to go. If I’m to get there on time for the beginning of the tournament… I hope this guy runs fast.” Ventus nodded toward the horse.
“He’ll get you there before the sun fully rises. I promise.” Mythia gave Noctis one last pat and stepped away. Ventus pulled at the reins and squeezed her thighs. She rode off into the birch trees just as the first snowflake fell from the dark blue sky. Mythia opened her palm and caught it just in time; its intricate, unique design, quickly dissolving in the heat of her hand.
A deep horn blew as Bello sat high on her own horse, its dark brown tail swishing, its long face munching on the grass beneath it. Silence fell amongst the giant army, beginning at the front of the line and working its way to the back like a rippling field of wheat. Mythia settled herself in between Krea and Zane.
Bello lifted her chin and spoke in an impressively loud, clear voice that carried throughout each and every soldier. “Stay within your groups. Follow your assignments. If we all work together as one unit and do what we have trained to do, today will turn into the biggest victory the Rejicio have accomplished.” Her cold eyes lit up in the opal sunrise. “We have gone from one to thousands. A feat never heard of before. Without a monarch to control us, to stop us from being who we really are.” She raised her fist into the air, as every Rejicio soldier did the same. Just like the silence, it started at the front and made its way to the back until a thousand fists were raised in unison. “FOR THE REJICIO!” Bello shouted. Her voice carried in an echo, bouncing off the mountains behind them. The army repeated her, the ground shaking from the outcry. She slowly lowered her arm and turned her attention to a stout, bald man sitting patiently on a small horse. Pater.
With an air of astonishing peace despite the impending chaos, Pater raised both his arms and bowed his head. Mythia felt herself copy him along with everyone else, now more familiar with the Rejicio’s votum. His soft voice was surprisingly loud enough for all to hear. “Spiritus, be merciful to us warriors. Thou art the great Spiritus to be feared above all; oh save us, that we may praise thee. Thou, oh Spiritus, most powerful, defend our cause against the face of the enemy.” A hush fell upon the field, as a few more scattered snowflakes fell slowly down, landing gently upon the earth. “In your name… et in nomine tuo.”
A thousand voices rang out in the crisp morning air. “Et in nomine tuo.”
16. THE TOURNAMENT
King Tribus stood tall in the center of the heightened benches reserved only for the royal court, observing the abundant turnout the jousting tournament had brought. Thousands of his people, seated around the jousting field, cheered with tumultuous applause, their excitement infectious and contagious, infiltrating through each wooden bench. Many scattered around the benches exchanging gold for seasoned turkey legs, green and black triangles hung billowing in the breeze from every corner of the field, just as a light flurry began to fall in the crisp, chilly air.
A blend of the four cities integrate on the benches and over the
rolling fields surrounding them, a mix of reds and orange from Fenniks, pastels and white from Monoceros, and black and green from Draconis. Most of them stayed within their own groups, but some could be seen mixing together, laughing and talking joyously over a large mug of mead. Jesters roamed around entertaining people while they waited for the tourney to begin, juggling brightly colored balls or pushing flaming swords down their throats. Merchants brought their business on wagons, wheeling them around and calling out prices and bargains. Musicians strummed on harps and sang out poetry, using the event as an excuse to make a bit of extra gold.
Bounty hunters came in by the dozens, placing bets on which knight they believed would win and which knight would obtain the most gruesome injury. They all took advantage of the people selling mead, as most of them were already so overcome by the drink they had passed out before the tourney could even begin.
A hundred small, colorful tents popped up all around the jousting field, one for each knight competing in the tourney. The knights themselves were nowhere to be seen, as it was tradition for them to remain hidden until they were introduced by the royal announcer.
The atmosphere in Trigonus was so thick with excitement it would need a particularly sharp knife to slice it. The people of the kingdom were clearly starved for entertainment, after spending the last few months barricaded in their homes, living in fear of the outside world. The king had given the cities strict curfews, but today he lifted it for them. Today was certainly a special day to celebrate in the Kingdom of Terra.
King Tribus smiled at the sights and sounds that surrounded him. Yes, he had made the correct choice by not canceling the tourney. The kingdom needed this. He needed this. A day of normalcy. A day to forget all the bad things that were happening and to pretend, even if just for a few short hours, that everything was under control. That he was in control.
He nodded to the men standing beneath him with long brass trumpets in their hands. They raised them up to their mouths and blew out the royal fanfare. Silence fell upon most of the spectators as they hurried to take their seats, but everything around the outside of the field was still bustling with sound and movement. King Tribus cleared his throat as soon as the people settled down as much as they would and raised his arms out wide as though embracing his kingdom.
“Welcome,” he announced. His clear voice echoed across the field. “Welcome to the knights’ of Trigonus’s annual jousting tournament.” The crowd stamped their feet and clapped in applause, rattling the earth beneath them. The king paused momentarily until they settled down again. “This tradition has been held for hundreds of years. From generation to generation, we have competed brawn against brawn.” He paused again for a moment, allowing those who could hear him repeat his words in hurried whispers to those who could not. “Our most valiant knights, our bravest men of the most noble and oldest families of Terra, shall prove their own worthiness, chivalry, and courage today.” He paused again. Flurries started to fall more thickly, sticking on the smooth brown dirt that covered the jousting field. “Now it is time for these most honorable knights to come out for their introduction!” He waved his hands and plopped down on his throne as the royal trumpet players blew out the fanfare again. The crowd cheered so loudly they could be heard within miles from the city.
The knights slowly appeared from an opening in the benches, one by one. They lined up in rows as the announcer called them by name, beginning with Prince Regulus. He marched into place, along with his fellow comrades, blending in easily as a knight and never making himself stand out as the precious prince of Terra. King Tribus stroked his neatly trimmed beard as he watched his only son, pondering as he so often did, on whether or not he truly had it in him to be the next king. A pang of guilt wrenched at his soul at the realization that he hadn’t been a great mentor these last few months. He had been plagued by weakness for his missing queen, depressed, and distracted from nightmares that consisted mostly of fires and dragons. Tribus felt as though he had missed a great number of days, as his memory was filled with long stretches of blackness. If he was indeed losing his mind, as he realized with a horrible jolt, that would mean the reign of Regulus was near. He took a deep drink from his mead and glanced around at the court and the noble families, including the senior knights, Lord Ulric and Lord Rowan, seated in the royal box with him. He smiled at them through his troubles, pretending, as he so often did these days, that everything was all right within their king.
◆◆◆
Mythia covered as much of her hair and face with her dark hood as she could. Specks of white continued to fall in tiny intricate snowflakes, their unique designs visible in the bright midday air. Zane, Miles, Krea, and Ten all pulled their hoods on as well and followed her down the path that led into Trigonus. She silently thanked the Spiritus for the snow since the frigid air would leave no suspicion as to why they were bundled up so protectively.
The large wooden gates with black iron handles were wide open at the entrance, and the guards hardly noticed them stroll right inside. Krea grinned happily at Mythia beneath her hood. It was Krea who had suggested they entered Trigonus as regular citizens, since so many were coming to the tournament, it would be easy to blend in.
They walked between the thick crowds of people, who were all heading toward the dark gray, three-walled castle that loomed so high it could be seen throughout the entire city of Trigonus. The crowds carried them around the castle to the western side, where stretches of rolling green hills that were once empty, were now filled with people. Thousands of people.
Mythia couldn’t help feeling the excitement that flooded through the air as she took in the scenery. The jesters, the harp players, the merchants, the spectators. So many from all over the kingdom, blending in a magnificent mix of dragons, phoenixes, and unicorns. In the very center of all this, was an oval of benches so wide and long she couldn’t make out the other side from where she stood.
The five of them sidled in between the hustling crowds until they found an opening and slid their way into the layered ring of seats. It was easy to see that all the seats were occupied, so they huddled together off to the side and watched the field as the knights were introduced.
“Now what?” Zane hissed. The four of them turned to stare at Mythia, expectantly.
“Now we wait,” Mythia answered, “until Ventus makes her way through the tournament and faces the prince. Once she gets to him, we create a diversion in the form of us barging down the field and starting a fight... that's when the rest of the Rejicio are supposed to show up.”
“Who exactly are we targeting?” Krea asked, looking uncertainly around her at all the thousands of spectators. “I don’t want to fight any of these people…”
Mythia scoffed. “We’re meant to get to the king and anyone that comes between us. But Krea… these people would attack us in a heartbeat if they knew you were with me. I’ve witnessed it in Monoceros.”
“And Draconis,” Ten chimed in. “As soon as they noticed who she was… they tried to kill us.”
“Yeah, so don’t feel too bad if you need to fight a citizen or two,” Miles finished.
Krea still looked uncertain. “Only if we need to, right? In self-defense?”
“Sure,” Miles answered. He swung his arm around her neck, causing her to blush so red she looked like a turnip. Zane rolled his eyes.
The sound of trumpets bellowed across the field again, calling everyone to attention. All one hundred of the knights were lined up in two sets of fifty rows, facing each other. They each shook the hand of the knight across from them, then headed toward their colorful tents. They arrived back within minutes, this time straddled to their horses and holding tightly onto ten-foot-long wooden lances with blunted spears at the ends. The knights all looked identical in their light blue capes, gray tunics, and shimmering silver chainmail with matching helmets; only the different colored horses made them stand out. Mythia quickly scanned them until she found Noctis somewhere in the middle, with a slightly shorte
r knight sitting on top that could only be Ventus. Mythia watched as Ventus rode down the field before taking her place. Twenty knights faced each other, on the very opposite ends of the field. The trumpet blew into the air and they took off, horses bursting through the crisp air, their lances pointing toward their opponent at the opposite end heading straight toward them. A long rope separated each knight.
Mythia winced as a loud cracking filled the air and around a dozen knights fell off their horses. The others raised their fists in victory, as the crowd exploded with applause.
Snow swirled in the air, sticking to their cloaks. Zane casually wiped a snowflake off a piece of Mythia's chestnut hair that stuck out from beneath her hood.
“Are you still angry with me?” she asked him quietly. The sound of galloping shook the crowd, ending with another round of tumultuous cheering.
Zane studied her a for a moment, his brown eyes soft. “How can I be?” He kept his voice low, aware that the other recruits could hear him easily. “You, being who you are and everything. And anyway… we both deceived each other. Or tried to, at least. I think we can call it even now.”
Mythia smiled. “Good. I don’t want to go off into battle being anything but friends with you.”
“Anything but friends… are you sure about that?” Zane teased.
“Yes, Zane.” Mythia glanced over at Krea, who was enchanted by the tournament. “But I think there’s someone who wants to be more than friends with you. And I’m not sure how much time you have before that option goes away.” She peered meaningfully at Miles, whose arm was still wrapped casually around Krea’s shoulders.
Mythia: and the Awakened Beast Page 20
