by A. D. Wills
The King's Tournament; a special event like no other, and one filling the city with a special kind of buzz—more so than any other vibrant day during the week-long Festa. This was the event everyone was waiting for, to see the strongest fighters from all over the world gathering, doing battle to see who might be granted the honor of escorting King Dreymond to the prestigious Summit of Leaders.
Since early morning, the crowd filed into the pristine, massive open-air arena on the edge of Lyndenwell. Everyone filled out the arena's lapis lazuli seating shimmering in the sunlight, giving the fighters a beautiful view from down within the grassy fighting pit, and sturdy stone walls to properly contain the action.
From the outside, it was just as marvelous to gaze at, but for Lorin, he didn't have much time to do any gazing. He still needed to usher in the few fighters who trickled in just before starting the tournament.
“If we could please keep moving forward, and be ready to confirm both your name and place you choose to represent in a prompt manner,” Lorin ordered sitting behind a small wooden desk outside the back entrance leading to the waiting area where the fighters all gathered.
So far, no one made a stink, or took up any more time than they needed to, but Lorin found himself waiting for the next entrant to move—holding up the short line behind.
“Please, I said next!” Lorin raised his voice, still arranging the tournament bracket.
“Easy now errand boy, I'm here,” Aldriss' deep, brash voice piqued Lorin's attention up to him. His long tied brown hair shook, as he let out a bellowing chuckle through his surprisingly neat beard, but without the gray his brother had.
Aldriss' presence alone inspired fear, and respect among everyone around him, but it wasn't because of any immense physical stature. Aldriss was tall, broad shouldered, and well-built from head-to-toe, but no more than many others in the world. His clothes, also plain and without much to them at all. A thick brown fur cloak hanging off his shoulders, brown pants, a yellow shirt, and three different swords at his side. No armor on him whatsoever. But even so, it was as if he gave off a suffocating pressure by just standing there.
“Very well, I will be in the back soon, so please wait there with the rest of the competitors...peacefully please."
“Hold on, I'll get going in a second.” Aldriss leaned in with a wry grin, relishing in getting under Lorin's skin during the rare times he would see him. “I just want to know, did ya give me a good fight to start this year? I don't want any of these softies you set me up with last year, alright?”
“I-I assure you, every one of our competitors is capable,” Lorin stammered behind a gulp. "I wouldn't dare find anyone lesser to escort Lord Dreymond, you should know that much.”
“Alright good, but I'm holding you to it.” Aldriss started walking past Lorin before he remembered something. “Oh, and one more thing, could you tell me if Thungar's already come through here?” Aldriss asked, wondering if his friend, and one of the four fabled Starborn had registered.
“Yes, he was one of the first ones to arrive in fact, without waiting until the very last moment...” Lorin muttered.
“Perfect! If that sap hadn't shown up, this wouldn't have been nearly as fun. And hey, if you've got the balls, maybe you'll even match us up before the final, but I doubt it.” Aldriss gave Lorin a stiff pat on the back, and walked into the tunnel toward the waiting area.
With only one entrant waiting to register, Lorin crossed Aldriss' name off the ledger, and ran his finger along the bracket for a spot Aldriss might be satisfied with.
Shyn was the last one in line, and stepped up to finally register seeing Aldriss long gone now. “I'm Shyn, representing Hollow's Peak.”
“One moment please,” Lorin cringed his face, waving his hand around to quiet Shyn down.
Shyn awkwardly stood by, wondering if he should speak up again when he noticed Lorin finishing up.
“Now then, you're the final entrant, Shyn of Hollow's Peek?” Lorin asked with his head still down, confirming the name, and location.
Lorin had no idea who Shyn was—one of Dreymond's few secrets he kept from Lorin, so when Shyn appeared without anything different than that of his normal concealed appearance, he—as well as everyone other than Calaera and Dreymond, wouldn't recognize him. His identity was secret enough as is.
“Alright, everything is set. You may join the others inside."
Shyn went on his way into the waiting area with a bit of bounce in his step, so close to getting his chance at a good fight. I know Dreymond won't let me fight Aldriss, so hopefully I'm able to fight at least once before that possibly happens. I really hope that the draw is kind to me this year.
Shyn entered the red-brick waiting area, almost like it were one giant clay oven. All of the competitors, some familiar, and most of them Shyn didn't recognize scattered around. There wasn't much for them to do with only a single small bar with some kegs of ale they could help themselves to, and beside it, plenty of water.
What stuck out to Shyn this year, was the feeling of hunger and immense strength that filled the room. In previous years, there were plenty of formidable foes, but this time, Shyn could feel the difference right away. The thick tension, silence, and everyone trying to size one another up from across the room, it felt like it could crush anyone who might not have experienced anything like it before.
“Holy shit, can we just get this going already?” Yango groaned, hugging the pole of his massive scythe as he sat against the wall, lazy as ever, wearing the same dingy, baggy robe.
Shyn looked over, and his sharp eyes caught a glimpse of a branded mark at the base of Yango's neck, if only for a sliver of a second. Still, it was long enough for Shyn to suspect it was the mark of the Trust. He hadn't seen anyone from the Trust in person before, but he was well aware of the mark they are said to bear.
There isn't much that's known about the Trust. Even those who consider themselves to be well connected information brokers either refuse to say anything, or would rather stay away from anything that might lead them to finding out more. All anyone knows is they're a dangerous group of deplorable criminals, rumored to be guilty of the most heinous of crimes. Some say they can be hired for an outrageously high price, while others suggest they're involved in any number of other nefarious conspiracies. In the end, only the ignorant and unfortunate find themselves asking questions.
“Entrant Yango, I'm here to do just that. Please, exercise some patience,” Lorin interrupted, entering the room, escorted by Commander Reiner.
Commander Reiner stood there in a bit of drunken stupor already at such an early hour in the morning, his little flask dangling off the side of his belt. He scratched his rough gray stubble that needed a good shave, but his disheveled white hair, and old ratty clothes indicated he didn't care all that much.
Reiner used to be a well respected leader in a branch of the Ethril army, but since the war, Reiner became more of a drunken hermit than anything else. But nevertheless, he was still the highest ranking officer in the city.
“For those of you who are here for the first time, until the moment I announce the bout in the arena—signaling for Commander Reiner to bring the combatants out, the matches will remain unknown to everyone other than myself. None of you will be given a chance to prepare for your opponent beforehand, so be ready for anyone. Lastly, remember the only manner you will be able to achieve victory, and advance, is to incapacitate your opponent, or have them surrender. As usual, there will absolutely be no killing. There will be severe consequences if you do so. Am I clear?”
No one objected.
"Then good luck. I will soon relay the first bout to Reiner once we're all settled." Lorin went on his way to join Dreymond and Calaera in the arena.
If they weren't trying to examine the competition before, everyone shamelessly looked around now to get a little bit of a read, as poor as it might be from just guessing.
“The competition certainly seems to be daunting, doesn't it?” A bald, bare-footed Monk in a dr
ab gray robe shifted up to Shyn, cutting in out of nowhere to make small talk behind an easing tone.
Shyn turned to the monk, a little surprised he didn't sense his presence at all, and noticed his broach indicating he was a monk of Um'Den. They're a well loved and respected sect of monks all around the world traveling as nomads spreading generosity—taking nothing for themselves, and giving everything they have. While his appearance appeared anything but formidable, Shyn wasn't so foolish to believe it. He knew the monks were some of the most well trained fighters in all of Gamriss.
“Seems that way. Is this your first time competing?” Shyn preferred to pass the time in peace, but wasn't about to just turn him away.
“Yes it is, and if I'm being quite honest, I think I'm a little nervous,” the monk grew a smile that would thaw the coldest of hearts. “Oh, but pardon me, my name is Boroku.” Boroku held his hand out for Shyn to shake.
“Shyn,” Shyn shook his hand. “And if you've been accepted here, I don't think there's anything to worry about. Everyone here is deserving of their spot.”
“That's certainly reassuring to hear from someone else. However, I suspect any one finalist should expect to face one of those two, am I not right?” Boroku seemed like he was making a bit of a joke, but he wasn't wrong, when he pointed over to Aldriss and Thungar, clearly the two favorites among everyone else.
“I wouldn't wager against them."
While everyone else mostly kept to themselves, Aldriss and Thungar decided to unwind a little. Neither of them had any reason to worry after all, they've seen much worse than an organized tournament in the horrors of the war of regions.
“I'm just so happy to see you again Aldriss.” Overcome with joy he was able to see Aldriss for the first time in years, a blubbering Thungar with tears flowing, extended to embrace his large arms around Aldriss.
“Get a hold of yourself will you?” Aldriss pushed Thungar's face back away from him. “Now, you never answered before errand boy cut in with his little speech. What brings you out to this tournament, and away from your farm in Belbur? I haven't seen you properly fight in at least eight—maybe ten years.”
A handful of confused faces in the waiting area were confused to see an almighty Starborn reduced to a sobbing state. At the same time, they dare not say anything out loud.
Thungar snorted up his runny nose, and tears in composing himself. “I received an invitation, and Betheca suggested I go. She said it might be good to see you all again, or whoever might show up, and I'm already happy I listened.”
“So Betheca still hasn't got tired of you yet, eh?” Aldriss chuckled. “I'm glad she sent you over here off that farm of yours though. This might've been a pretty boring tournament if she didn't push you out the door. There're a couple of strong ones in here, but they're all just gonna get their asses handed to them if either of us get a hold of 'em.”
Aldriss' words were easy to hear with his deep voice that filled the room with ease. But none of them did anything about it, pretending they didn't hear a thing.
“I can't lie, Aldriss, at first I was nervous on my way here, but picking these old things up again, it feels nostalgic...and exciting.” Thungar looked down at his massive steel gauntlets on his huge hands. As much of an emotional wreck Thungar was, two things put him at ease; Fighting, and his peaceful secluded farm with his family.
“You better not have any of those nerves left over when we meet in the final bout, or you'll pay for it like old times. I'm not letting you use something like that as an excuse when I beat you,” Aldriss let out a boisterous laugh.
“I look forward to it,” Thungar returned with a brimming grin, excited to exchange fists with his close friend. “But as much as I want to fight you, I would feel terrible making it to the final bout. I'm not interested in escorting King Dreymond or any prize really. I already have everything I could ever want and need. My family is enough. I only came here hoping to see you, or the others.”
“I don't blame you, I don't want to haul my ass all the way to Faella with him either. The entire way I know it's going to be nothing but pestering, or best case, awkward silence. Not to mention how boring the summit's going to be itself. Just a bunch of stuck up politics going around, getting nowhere, arguing a bit, then heading back home without having done anything.” Aldriss dreaded the thought. “But, I want to keep my streak up, so I plan on winning. For all I care, he can take whoever's left after us as his escort.
“I hope Dreymond won't be upset about that. I would have done so any other time—I certainly consider being afforded this chance an honor—but I can't leave the little ones, and Betheca alone for long.”
“You've always been so soft when it comes to my brother. You know, we're the ones who really did all the work back ten.”
“I'm sorry Aldriss, but I owe everything to Dreymond, especially the life I have now,” Thungar wouldn't relent. “And I know you know how vital Dreymond was back then.”
Aldriss sneered, looking away in annoyed acceptance. He couldn't argue with Thungar, as much as he wished he could. “Whatever, it doesn't matter bringing any of that up anyway if we're not going to escort him in the end.”
“Then what are you going to do instead if you win, return to Rhogar?” Thungar asked.
“When I win,” Aldriss grinned. “Well if they had it their way, my annoying advisors would have me back in Rhogar, stuck behind a desk catching up on work. When I win some of that coin though, I'll have my brother send it to Rhogar, and just have the people split it among themselves, I couldn't care less about that for myself. And besides, that should get them off my back for a little bit. I just need a little time to check on something before I return.”
“What's this about?” Thungar sipped his ale with a shifting curious look over at Aldriss, whose expression dropped to a serious one.
Aldriss looked around to make sure no curious eyes and ears focused in on their conversation. “Have you been off that farm of yours at all before now?” Aldriss leaned in, asking under his breath so only Thungar could hear.
“A couple of times here and there, when I need to go into a city or village. Otherwise, I just stay at home with Betheca and the children.”
“Then you haven't seen, or heard of anything with Griselda?” Aldriss asked about one of their fellow Starborn with a look of weighted concern.
“Sorry, I haven't seen either Jonatan or Griselda in years. As you know, Jonatan disappeared years ago, wandering about on his own in self imposed exile. Griselda...as far as I know, she's still in Hightree,” Thungar sounded as though he was mourning for a lost friend when bringing up Griselda.
“I thought so...” Aldriss showed a rare sense of grief.
“Are you going to see her? You better than anyone knows what could happen, so what do you have in mind?”
“If it was anything to worry about, I'd be dragging your ass along with me whether you liked it or not.” Aldriss did well to evade the question, as he snatched Thungar's mug and filled both of theirs to the brim, with golden foam overflowing—tipping the mug in Thungar's face. “I just wanted to know if you've heard of anything, but it's not a big deal. I'll find out soon enough for myself anyway.”
Thungar wore a look of suspicion. After all, he knew Aldriss best, as did the other Starborn. They spent years together, eating, sleeping, fighting at all times together. He could tell when something was bothering Aldriss, but he could also tell when Aldriss wasn't going to say anything more on the matter too.
◆◆◆
Meanwhile in the arena, Calaera waited with her patience waning, and eager to kick things off. She wasn't alone either. Everyone else in the crowd was fine for a bit, but they now grew mildly weary, whispering and groaning.
“Is everything nearly set to begin, Lorin?” Calaera asked in hopes she might nudge Lorin along.
Lorin looked up again at the crowd from his ledger with frantic scribbles all over, well aware of everyone's patience running out. “Apologies, I just needed to fix a
few things up. Now, would you like to start things off, Milord?”
“I was getting so comfortable, I almost forgot.” Dreymond stood up from his comfy padded chair, and snapped on a vocal amplifier, a stiff necklace with a piece of glynt in the center of it. "Welcome everyone to today's King's tournament!” Dreymond's voice echoed, reaching everyone in the arena with bellowing ease.
The crowd snapped their sights down to Dreymond in his booth.
“As always, this has been nothing short of an amazing Festa all week long and I have each and every one of you to thank for that. You who all come here, and leave whatever qualms and worries you might have outside. Even if only for a small bit at a time, I know that every year we are all brought closer to each other, and are all reminded that no matter how different we all are, we are still one in the same. We all just want to live our best lives, and I don't think that's so selfish of us to desire. And with every passing year, I truly believe we inch closer to that ideal day, so long as there are open-minded people like all of you in Gamriss.”
The crowd threw down a roaring wave of praise Dreymond's way.
“With all that being said, I know no one came here to hear an old man rant on. So, let the twentieth King's Tournament begin!” Dreymond sent the crowd into a hyped frenzy.
“Well said indeed Milord,” Lorin smiled with glee, before clipping the necklace on, and holding the ledger up high. “Then without any further delay, the first bout shall be, Shyn of Hollow's Peak, and Ackar Wildmaul of Valdenheim!”
Reiner waited at the tunnel's entrance for Lorin's announcement, and went back down toward the waiting room where only the anticipatory rumbling from the crowd could be felt and heard. “Ackar and Shyn, come with me. Looks like you get the job of warming us all up.”
Who is it? Shyn shot up to his feet, and looked around the room for his opponent.
A hulking man, clad in worn, yet sturdy armor, carrying a giant hammer over his shoulder approached from the back of the room. “I'm not into brutalizing runts like you, so feel free to forfeit, boy” Ackar grunted down with his weathered face behind his scruffy black beard, towering over Shyn by a good couple of feet. “The crowd won't like it, but at least they won't know your face, so no shame in running now.”
