A Sky of Spells sr-9

by Morgan Rice

  The rounds continued, on and on. Elden eventually lost a joust, to a warrior twice his height, a knight who appeared to be invincible. But Kendrick took out that warrior the very next round.

  As the second sun hung low in the sky, there eventually were but four warriors left in the competition: Thor, Kendrick, Erec, and a knight Thor did not know, a short stocky man, with black armor and menacing slits for eyes, who kept apart and who had not raised his visor once all day. Thor found himself facing him.

  The two charged each other, Thor feeling all the eyes on him as the crowd roared in excitement. As they got closer, the sound of horses’ hooves rumbling in Thor’s ears, Thor prepared for impact—but something surprised him. His opponent raised his lance, and suddenly hurled it right at Thor.

  Thor had not been expecting that. It sailed through the air, right for Thor’s head. At the last second, Thor’s reflexes kicked in, and he raised his shield just high enough to swat the lance away. At the same time Thor used his free hand to aim his own lance at the knight and strike him in the rib cage. The knight fell sideways from horse, tumbling down to the ground, and the crowd cheered.

  Thor, breathing hard, shaken by how close he had come to losing, rode off to the side and turned and watched, as Kendrick and Erec, the last two aside from him, faced off with each other. He wondered which he would have to fight; neither would be easy.

  The crowd thickened, as nearly everyone left in King’s Court crowded in to watch these two great knights, leaders of the Silver, famed warriors, whose songs had been sung are far and wide. They faced each other from far ends of the jousting lane, each with visors up, offering the other a salute of respect. Then they lowered their visors, raised their lances, their squires got out of the way, a horn sounded—and they charged.

  The crowd was cheering as these two great warriors closed in on each other, their horses rumbling, raising up clouds of dust in the summer heat. Finally, they met in the middle with a clang, each knocking the other backwards.

  The crowd groaned.

  But neither of them fell off their horses, each of them good enough to be able to, somehow, hang on.

  They each regained control, circled around, and, as the crowd cheered wildly, prepared to meet each other again. It was the first match of the day that had gone a second round.

  Kendrick and Erec charged again, each ducking low, gaining incredible speed, holding their shining silver lances, the best the kingdom had, out before them. As they met, this time Erec raised his shield and blocked Kendrick’s lance. Erec’s shield was so strong that Kendrick’s lance snapped in two on impact. Erec, in turn, used the opportunity to aim his lance beneath Kendrick’s shield, striking him dead center in the chest and knocking him backwards off his horse.

  The crowd cheered like wild as Erec circled around, jumped down from his horse, and gave Kendrick a hand up. They lifted their visors and Erec smiled down.

  “Nicely fought,” Erec said. “If your lance had not broken, you would have won.”

  Kendrick shook his head.

  “You fought the better match,” he conceded. “Next time.”

  Erec nodded, remounted his horse. Thor mounted his, realizing he’d be up against Erec.

  Thor and Erec each circled around the entire perimeter of the jousting grounds, the final loop, as the crowd roared with a great cheer, chanting both Erec and Thorgrin’s names.

  The two stopped at opposite ends of the jousting field, facing each other, and the crowd went wild. Thor felt nervous to face his old friend. He was determined to fight him on his own terms, and not to draw upon any of his powers. Thor wanted to see if he could win, as one man to another, one warrior to another.

  They each lifted their faceplates in a gesture of respect, Thor facing off against his old mentor, a man he was once squire to. It was a funny feeling.

  A horn sounded, and the two charged for each other. Thor focused with all his might and all his will, trying to drown out the screams of the crowd. He did not want to hurt Erec, and he tried to aim his lance for Erec’s chest, where the armor was thickest. But as he tried to focus, Thor realized that Erec was different than all the other opponents he’d faced. He was faster, harder to pin down, and his custom-forged silver armor, with all of its interchanging plates, shined in the light like the scales on a fish. It made it even more difficult for Thor to concentrate.

  The two met in the middle, and Thor braced himself, as he felt for the first time that day the impact of a lance on his chest. Yet at the same time, Thor felt his own lance impacting Erec’s chest. The two of them hit each other at the same time and they each went flying backwards, off their horses.

  The crowd groaned as each hit the ground at the same time. It was the first time of the day that had happened, and the rules of jousting demanded that if both fighters fell, then the fight must continue.

  As Thor and Erec faced each other on foot, attendants ran out and handed each one a long mace with a studded wooden ball. They faced each other and charged.

  The two of them fought hand-to-hand, slashing and blocking, maces clacking on armor. Thor knew that the rules demanded that whoever hit the ground first would lose—and he was determined not to lose.

  But so was Erec.

  Back and forth they fought, pushing each other forward and back; memories flooded back of Thor’s real battle with Erec, when he fought for Andronicus. Thor felt overwhelmed with guilt; he lost focus, and as he did, for a moment Erec got the better of him. Erec landed several blows and Thor stumbled back, nearly falling, the crowd cheering as it seemed he was finished.

  Thor shook his head and cleared his mind. He had to stay focused and forget about the past, to let go of his guilt. This was just a tournament now, not real life. If he won, he would not be hurting Erec.

  Thor rallied and pushed Erec back—but then Erec rallied and pushed him back. The two of them went blow for blow, until Thor’s arms grew tired, neither able to gain an advantage. They were well-matched. That alone made Thor proud, given that Erec was a veteran knight and Thor was years younger than he.

  Erec brought his mace down in one great blow, and Thor turned his and blocked it. The maces locked, and Thor held it in place, his arm shaking against Erec’s great strength. He felt that in moments he would give way. He did not want to lose, not in front of all these people. Especially not in front of Gwendolyn, whom he knew was watching with everyone else. Thor dropped to one knee, arms shaking, barely hanging in there.

  Thor closed his eyes, and involuntarily summoned a power from some deep place inside. Without trying to, his magic, his true power, suddenly surfaced. He felt himself gushing with energy, a heat racing through his body.

  Thor stood in one burst of energy, raised his mace, and pushed Erec’s mace so that it went flying from his hand. Thor swung around in the same motion and struck Erec in the chest, and knocked him down, onto his back.

  The crowd cheered like crazy, Thor the victor.

  Thor lifted his visor, reached down, and gave Erec a hand up, feeling guilty.

  The crowd came running in, all converging around him to embrace him.

  “What happened to no magic?” Erec asked with a smile, goodheartedly.

  “I’m sorry,” Thor said. “I did not mean to.”

  Erec smiled wide, and Thor could see he was not upset.

  “I’m proud of you,” he said. “You are a great warrior.”

  The crowd closed in, hoisted Thor high up on their shoulders, and carried him off into the festivities. A chorus of horns sounded, and casks of ale and wine suddenly appeared, rolled out onto the fields by an army of attendants. The jousting fields instantly transformed into a field of festivity. More and more horns sounded, people drank and cheered, and it was clear the day’s festivities had begun.

  * * *

  Gwendolyn walked through the bustling crowd swarming in the rebuilt courtyard, thrilled to finally be out of King’s Castle, done with her official duties of the day, and out joining her people in the
day’s revelries. After all, it was the day of the Summer Solstice, and a day like this only came once a year. It also coincided this year with the celebration of the reconstruction of King’s Court, and with the imminent celebration of her wedding. It would be a joyous year unlike any other—especially in the wake of such a year of darkness and gloom. Her people craved any occasion to rejoice, and they now had many of them.

  Gwen took a deep breath on this beautiful summer day; she was determined to leave all the darkness behind her, and to rejoice with her people. The endless affairs of court could wait; she’d seen enough people already today. And now that the jousts were done and the horns had sounded, Gwendolyn was thrilled to finally have a chance to mingle with Thor.

  Gwen was thrilled to see him so happy, and she had been so proud of him throughout the day, watching all of his jousts on pins and needles, cheering with the crowd, groaning when he was hit. She never doubted that he would win; he brought honor on himself, and on her, in everything he did. Even if he had lost, she would have loved him just the same.

  Gwen held Thor’s hand, and the two of them walked through the crowd to the cheers of thousands of well-wishers, as Thor led her through the parting masses and up the steep wooden steps towards the high platform overlooking the court. Thor led her halfway, and then stopped; as queen, Gwendolyn walked the final steps alone, and took the stage alone.

  Thor stood below, in the front row, looking up and watching with thousands of others, Reece, Kendrick, Godfrey, Erec, Steffen, Atme, Brandt, O’Connor, Elden, Conven, Aberthol and dozens of others at his side. The crowd grew silent as Aberthol slowly ascended the steps himself, leaning on his cane, seeming much older, each step an effort. In his other hand, he carried a long, tapered, unusual yellow sword, with a golden hilt.

  Aberthol reached the stage and took his place beside Gwen, and the crowd grew silent. Thousands of people watched, transfixed, as Aberthol gingerly held out the long, yellow sword to Gwendolyn. She reached over, bowed her head, and took it from him carefully, grasping its golden hilt. It was the golden sword of summer, used once a year, every year, by kings, to initiate the Summer Solstice.

  Gwen held the sword out before her and stood before a huge, round yellow fruit which hung from a rope before her. It dangled there, twice the size of a watermelon, bright yellow with white sparkling nubs, dazzling in the sun.

  Aberthol turned and faced the crowd.

  “The Summer Solstice is a precious day,” he boomed out, his voice raspy but able to be heard in the rapt air. “A day of powerful omens. A day that portends the year to come. A day honored and celebrated by kings for thousands of years. As our ruler slashes this water fruit, it signifies the bounties of summer should be showered on us all throughout the year. It portends the blessing of a good harvest. And yet we also destroy the fruit, to signify that nothing lasts forever, and that our ultimate security comes from the almighty above.”

  Aberthol nodded and stepped aside.

  Gwen examined the long, yellow sword, the one used by her father, and his father before him; it felt odd to be holding it. She remembered being a young girl and standing down there and watching each year, so anxious, hoping her father slashed the fruit just right, and that it was filled with water. She, like all people, wanted a good omen for the year to come.

  Gwen took aim, her heart pounding, not wanting to miss, wanting to slash the fruit perfectly, as her father always did; he had always made it seem so effortless, showering all of his subjects with the bounty of the water fruit. She wanted this to be a good year and a good harvest, especially after all the darkness they had gone through.

  Gwen breathed deep, raised the sword high, and brought it down with all her might, aiming for the center.

  A perfect strike. She slashed the water fruit in half, and clear liquid gushed out of it in every direction, showering dozens of people in the crowd below.

  There came a huge cheer, as horns sounded all up and down the courtyard, and people broke out into merriment. Musicians picked up their instruments, and the sound of trumpets and cymbals and horns and flutes and drums filled the air. Dancing broke out everywhere, strangers locking arms and spinning in jubilation.

  The Summer Solstice had officially begun, and no time was wasted. Gwen looked down and saw tables already being rolled out everywhere, casks rolled up beside them, platters of meats and cheeses and fruits laid out as far as the eye could see. It would be a feast unlike any other.

  Gwen looked up at the now-hollow fruit, swinging there, and as she examined it, she had a moment of dread: the inside of it, usually a bright yellow, was rotted to the core, black. She was the only one who could see it, from her angle, high up on the platform, and she quickly looked away. She did not want anyone else to see this, and she tried to push it from her mind, to pretend she never saw it. But it was, she knew, a terrible omen.

  “Gwendolyn?”

  Gwen looked over to see Thor standing there, smiling, hand outstretched; he had climbed the steps, and was waiting to help her back down.

  Gwen put on a good face, and she forced herself to smile wide as she descended to the shouts and cheers of endless well-wishers, all of them embracing her, patting her on the back. Thor took her hand and she walked in a daze, filled with conflicting emotions, her stomach so large, as he led her past thousands of loyal and devoted subjects.

  “They are enamored of you,” Thor said. “They don’t just admire you, they truly love you. Most unusual for a leader. You are like a mother to all of them, or a sister. You can see it in their eyes.”

  Gwendolyn looked around, and she saw that Thor was right. She felt all of their love, and it was the greatest feeling of her life. She had never thought she’d be capable of ruling a kingdom. She had always assumed that it was only something a man could do.

  “I love them back,” she replied.

  Thor led her to a long feasting table in the midst of the courtyard, seated with all her family and council and dozens of nobles and lords and foreign dignitaries. Gwendolyn, ever the ruler, walked around the table, greeting each noble there, making a point to make everyone feel as welcome as possible.

  Gwen spotted Kendrick and Sandara, Reece and Selese, seated beside Erec and Alistair, and she fell in beside them. Gwen had become so close to Thor’s sister these last moons, she already felt like a sister to her, like the sister she’d never had. Gwen had also become equally close to Selese, her sister-in-law to be. She had always been close to Reece, and anyone he loved, she knew she would love to. And she did love her, more than she ever expected, not out of fraternal obligation, but because she was discovering what an amazing person Selese was, and how devoted she was to her brother.

  When Gwen had found out that she’d had the good fortune of being proposed to on the same day as Selese, she felt that it was meant to be, and had insisted that Selese and Reece share her joy, and be married together in a double wedding. Selese and Reece had been thrilled. The wedding preparations under way now were for all four of them, and in preparing and planning, Gwen had become as close to Selese as Alistair. In a way, it had been like she’d been given two sisters at once.

  Gwen embraced her brothers, Kendrick and Reece, and looked about.

  “Where’s Godfrey?” she asked Reece, realizing one of her brothers was missing.

  “Where else?” Illepra remarked, shaking her head in frustration. “Drinking and having fun,” she added, and pointed across the courtyard.

  Gwen turned and followed her gaze, and saw a stage being rolled to the center of the courtyard, Godfrey standing in its center, dressed in costume, Akorth and Fulton beside him, along with dozens of their tavern friends. A horn sounded, and the common folk began to gather about the stage.

  “He’s incorrigible,” Illepra said. “I searched for him all morning, only to find him in one of the new taverns you ordered built. There are too many of them. King’s Court has become a drinking haven!” she said, laughing.

  “The people need a reason to celeb
rate, and a place to forget their woes,” Gwen said, “as much as they need food and shelter.”

  Gwen sighed.

  “One cannot keep the people back from the taverns,” she added. “If you don’t build them, they will drink anyway, in private. At least now they can come together, and we can regulate them.”

  “HEAR ALL AND ONE COME TOGETHER!” Godfrey yelled out, as the stage was rolled out front and center.

  Musicians quieted, the jugglers and fire-throwers stopped, and the crowd pressed in more closely, milling about the stage, an eager anticipation in the air, eager to see another play by Godfrey and his men.

  “And what do you have for us this time?” O’Connor called out to Godfrey.

  Godfrey stepped aside to reveal a tall, thin actor, dressed in a scarlet robe and hood, who stepped forward, threw back his hood and scowled at the crowd.

  “I am Rafi! A man to be feared!” the actor hissed.

  The crowd booed and jeered.

  Godfrey stumbled forward, his belly out before him, crumpling his face, doing his best to act mean.

  “And I am Andronicus!” Godfrey said. “The most feared of all commanders!”

  The crowd booed.

  “No—wait!” Godfrey called out, stopping, confusion on his face. “I forgot: I am dead! And no one fears the dead!”

  Godfrey suddenly slumped down, collapsed on the stage and did not move, and the crowd shouted out with laughter and relief.

  The actor playing Rafi stood over him and held out his hands:

  “Rise, Andronicus! I command you!”

  Godfrey suddenly jumped to his feet, and the crowd booed. But he then chased Rafi around the stage and caught him and strangled him, pretending to throttle him to death. The two of them wrestled on stage, and the crowd howled with laughter.

  Finally, Godfrey killed him and rose, victorious, and the crowd cheered.

  Another actor, lean and unshaved, stepped forward, frowning.

  “And who are you?” Godfrey asked.