Trial at the Faire

by Laurel Wanrow

  Giving a cocky grin to the rest of them, Salm looked at Willow and said, “I’ll make you proud,” and then followed the knight onto the field.

  Willow leaned toward the rope, intently watching Salm join a half-dozen other youths in the field.

  Orb take it! Salm couldn’t be doing better to impress her if he’d planned it.

  “What about you, young man?” asked a man from behind Raven. “Fancy a friendly competition with your friend there?”

  Raven looked up at the horse that’d approached and met the gaze of a knight in red. Several of the surrounding humans were pushing each other and the rope to get closer, but the knight was looking at him.

  “Me?” Curses, he sounded like a git.

  “I need a squire who can light a toasty fire. Has your training made you the lad to help me best Sir Sarah, the Blue Knight?”

  He could light a fire. Raven glanced at Willow, wide-eyed at his shoulder. She looked scared. He shouldn’t. They weren’t supposed to draw attention, and some task might make him slip up. But if he could best Salm…

  Oyster loomed into Raven’s face. “Do it, lad. Prove yourself.” He turned Raven by the shoulders to face the knight.

  Raven raised a hand. “Yes, Sir…”

  “Sir Richard, the Red Protector of the Righteous.” He tossed a red tunic to Raven.

  On the field, Salm did not look pleased as Raven strode out. “You have left Willow and Oyster alone,” he hissed. “Coral and Beri are not back.”

  Raven put up two fingers, and Salm huffed. What sorry excuse is that? He canna have forgotten we can go off in twos. Besides, Salm of the Seas couldn’t boss him around.

  The other volunteers had arrived, and they donned the livery colors of the knight they served. Salm and Raven copied them, pulling on their tunics. The knights dismounted, and while the real squires led their horses away, they came to stand at their banners.

  The crier with the funny hat and instrument had arrived with his crate and climbed on top of it again. “Faire visitors, you have seen the skill of our good knights,” he announced. “We assume you feel your safety is guaranteed now. Yet always, we must look to our new ranks. Squires train from a young age to care for and later use the weapons of a knight. In medieval times, youngsters competed to be selected as a squire, for this was an apprenticeship that reflected on the knight’s good training, as much as the squire. The winner of the last round has the honor of teaching the basics to this morning’s potential squires.”

  Sir Richard, the Red Knight, came forward with his real squire and took the microphone. “A squire must be dressed in their knight’s colors.” He nodded to the volunteers. “Well done. Next, a squire is always armed. Always.”

  The crowd laughed.

  What was funny about this?

  The Red Knight’s squire put down the canvas bag she carried and began pulling things from it.

  “You will find your belt and scabbard and put them on.” The girl did so. “Sheath your sword. Adjust your shield brace and slide your arm into it.” The squire did these things as well. It didn’t look too hard, since everything was in the bag.

  “Next, squires, set about your tasks. It was the duty of the squire to clean, pack and transport the knight’s weapons. As was done in the days of old, today’s squires must sort through the weapons to retrieve their knight’s belongings, as identified by their colors. You’re looking for eight items each.”

  Ah, he meant from the pile in the center. That didn’t look difficult either.

  “The squire must clean the mud from them and transport them to the knight’s camp.” He gestured to the circle of colorful banners. “Once at your camp, the squire must build and light a small—I repeat, small!—fire within the knight’s brazier to warm their return.”

  “Squires! Are you ready?” called the crier.

  The volunteers cheered along with the crowd.

  “To your camps to await the signal to begin!”

  Along with the others, Salm and Raven trotted to their knight’s banner. Raven peeked at Willow—she was watching him! Then her gaze darted toward Salm, before coming back to him again. Time to do something to make sure she kept her gaze on him. The bag of weapons to wear lay at the base of his red banner, next to a box containing the metal pan and sticks of firewood. The weapons to gather were in the middle. Raven glanced toward Salm to see if he was doing anything different. Salm was eyeing two of the real squires approaching the equipment.

  “Ladies and gentlemen! Squires in training,” said the crier. “Remember these are weapons dirtied by the rigors of battle.” The crowd began hooting when the squires held up packages and ripped their paper coverings. A white powder began pouring out, and they shook flour over all the weapons. Other squires approached with buckets, and Raven pinched his eyes shut. Not honey, please! It was water, so not as bad. Lastly, two squires trotted out with a canvas between them and flipped it over the lot. Bits of straw rained down on the sodden mess.

  “The weapons must be cleaned,” the announcer said. “The squire’s tunic should remain respectably clean. And don’t forget, you must always remain armed.” Beside him, the red squire held up her arm with a shield on it.

  They had to clean while wearing a shield? Blast, what had Salm gotten him into?

  A whistle blew, starting the competition.

  6

  Upended Plans

  Why did I let myself get drawn into this? Raven struggled to buckle the costume belt and scabbard over his own belt. A plan hit him. He reached under the red tunic, unbuckled his belt and strung it through the shield’s arm bands. He had to wear the shield, but not on his arm. He looped it across his chest, letting the shield hang on his back. A minute later, he wore the scabbard and sheathed plastic sword at his side.

  One small, foot-square rag had fallen out of Raven’s canvas bag when he’d upended it. He snatched it up and ran for the pile of weapons. Several others were there already, working one-handed and blocking others with their shielded arm as they wiped vigorously at weapon handles. He frowned. Eight pieces. Would they be all different?

  Another kid ran up beside him, paused to scan the pile, then bungled his way into it, scattering the long pieces with kicking feet. “My jeans don’t have to stay clean!” the boy crowed as he reached—and slipped. He landed with a thud on his rear on the flour-and-water-slicked ground.

  A real squire ran over to give him a telling off about safety, and Raven moved several yards around the pile, only to come face-to-face with Salm.

  He held dirty weapons in each hand, the shield on his arm like the others. His face lit with recognition upon seeing Raven, but the quip Salm must have had ready froze as his gaze landed on Raven’s back and the shield there. “Ahoy, mate! Well done!”

  Salm was complimenting him? “Thanks,” Raven said automatically as Salm rushed off.

  He reached into the pile and picked out a realistic-looking but lightweight mace, a sword, a lance and a dagger. That was four. No one had said he had to clean them here. He held two of the hay-flecked and oozy white weapons in each hand, gingerly away from his tunic, and minced out of the mud.

  “Hey, that’s mine!” A lass in a green tunic blocked his way, pointing to the mace.

  Raven froze. What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t get in an argument with a human. “I, uh, got it fairly,” he muttered as he edged sideways.

  “That one’s green, you ken? It’s mine.” She slapped her belly—no, she meant the green tunic she wore.

  Oh right, the mace handle was green. They were supposed to collect weapons only in their own color. He’d forgotten that among the other rules. Blast it. Were any of these red? He dropped the weapons between them. The lass grabbed her mace and swiped her flour-doughy fingers over others to expose their colors. An especially floured handle was red, so he grabbed it back.

  She pivoted toward the pile, and he followed, carrying a dagger. No point in returning to his banner empty-handed. He searched among the weapons
for the handles and swiped at the ones that weren’t already clear of goo.

  “Raven!”

  His head popped up at Gran’s shout filtering through the crowd’s cheers. He found her at the rope, waving with Willow and Oyster. He waved back. Nice that Gran would be here to cheer him, but if he didn’t find—

  “Raven! Come here!”

  This time, he straightened and really looked. Gran was upset. He started for her, but they were all waving and pointing at something else, so he stopped.

  “Hey, you,” yelled a lad elbowing past him. “Move if ye aren’t going to pick any up. The rest of us need to get our stuff.”

  “Sorry.” Raven trotted toward Gran and finally made out their calls of, “Get Salm!” He spun around, searching. Blue, blue… Salm was on the far side of the circle, crouched at his banner. Raven raced around. Whatever was going on must be bad. Though…not bad enough to use magic? Raven got within range and yelled, “Salm!”

  His head lifted. Salm frowned.

  “We’ve got to go. Gran is calling us over.” Raven gestured to the crowd, only then noticing he still carried the dagger. He lowered his hand.

  Shaking his head, Salm didn’t even look. “Come now, that is a lame attempt to lure me away. You’re even jeopardizing second place for yourself.”

  “Exactly!” Raven cuffed his shoulder. “I wouldn’t! This is some sort of emergency.” When Salm continued to wipe his weapons, Raven left, tossing out, “Look, would you?”

  He ran from the circle, headed for… Only Willow and Oy were at the rope now. Where had Gran gone?”

  “You there. Stop!” shouted one of the knights—his!

  He stopped. Around the circle, the closest volunteer squires paused to stare at the man in red armor striding over.

  How stupid I must look. “I have to go. Emergency with my gran.”

  “What? You got a call on your mobile? Or did you see you were too far behind?”

  Raven searched again for Gran. Folks along the fencing yelled and pointed. His face heated. He didn’t know what the bloke was talking about, and he didn’t know the proper way to get out of this human competition, but he couldn’t stick around to find out.

  Salm trotted up, the scabbard banging against his leg. “Ahoy, Raven. Problem?”

  His nerves loosened a bit. “We have an emergency, and he doesn’t want to let us leave,” Raven repeated slowly, as if explaining the situation to Willow’s younger brothers. He tried to will Salm to understand he needed help here. That this wasn’t a time to joke.

  Salm moved in with him, shoulder to shoulder. “No problem with volunteers leaving, right?”

  The knight frowned. “Give back the equipment, lads.” He put out his hand.

  That’s all they had to do?

  Raven handed over the dagger. Quickly, his fingers undid the buckles. The belts dropped, and he yanked the tunic over his head. He gathered the squire things to hand them back, but the knight was already reaching for Salm’s and couldn’t hold everything. Raven set his down. “Uh, bye.” He spun toward Willow, Oyster and the booing crowd.

  Salm joined him within steps, and they ran together.

  “Glad you came,” Raven said.

  “Couldn’t not do it, but hoy, I’d gotten the hang of the game. I was ahead!”

  Oyster held up the rope for them, and they ducked under. Willow grabbed Raven’s hand and pulled him with her, threading her way to the back of the crowd and toward the crafter area. Her warm fingers calmed him some, and he wished he had more time to enjoy their hands together and that she’d reached for him, not Salm. Where is Gran?

  Willow stopped apart from the humans, who’d already forgotten about them, and the four of them clustered together.

  “The cashbox was stolen,” Willow said. “With a necklace of Lady Lark’s inside it.”

  By the Orb! Raven pressed a hand to his forehead.

  “She said…” Willow swallowed. “She said they both stepped inside to bring the rest of the scarves outside so a customer could see them in the daylight. When they came out, the man was gone, with the cashbox. Ms. Scallop went to report the theft, and Lady Lark came to fetch us to search with Merlin and Mr. Grouse.”

  “Then no one is watching the tent?” Salm asked. “That seems a tad risky.”

  “Nothing…” Raven took a breath. “Nothing is as important as getting that cashbox back.” He scanned the crowd they’d left, the path to crafter area, the tents beyond. Where did they search, and for whom?

  Oyster clasped his shoulder. “Her desperation… The way she said it and told us to tell you… ’Tis special in some way?”

  Glumly, he nodded and spread his thumb and forefinger to the size of a peregrinator’s glass rod and placed them at his sternum where one would hang.

  The other three’s mouths dropped open.

  “We must get it back. Otherwise, Gran is…” He couldn’t think about what might happen to her. He began trotting toward their tent, the others falling into step with him. “And Beri left with Gran to help?” he asked Willow.

  “No,” she cried. “He and Coral never came back!”

  7

  Right Place for the Wrong Reason

  As Beri walked through the woods, alone and among familiar flowers, trees and shrubs, the weight of dealing with the faire dropped from his shoulders. Even the calls of the birds were mostly the same as on the isle, and the deer had nibbled twigs of their favored shrubs. The best thing, thank the Orb, was no crowd. Here, the sounds of nature swept the estate’s hum to the background, and he had no fear of the automobiles while he was among the tree trunks.

  Though muffled, the traffic noise still reached him. Could humans never escape it? This only proved that the human world was not the place for him. That was a difference in the wizard versus human lives to relay to Merlin: Wizards lived more quietly.

  He had to shake the fear that made his skin crawl and steel himself for the rest of this endless day. Emptying his mind of what was yet to come, he breathed the scent of soil and decomposing leaves.

  Ahead grew a good-sized oak with many lower limbs, and it was nothing to grip the rough bark and pull himself up into it. His back to the trunk—and the faire—he settled in with a view of birds flying about the trees.

  Raven broke into his thoughts, and Beri’s first reaction was to brush him off. Ach, Raven was going to get them in trouble again. He shouldn’t answer… Then Raven’s question sank in: Where are you and Coral?

  I am… What do you mean? Isn’t Coral with you and the group?

  No, and neither are you.

  Merlin’s orders of stay together echoed in his head. I watched until she rejoined the group. I…needed time alone. It was one thing for him to be alone among the trees. The woods were safe. But a fourteenth-year lass alone in this crowd with no magic…

  Beri rose to stand on the limb. This communication is against the rules—

  Don’t you think I bloody well know it? Raven shouted in his head. We have a blasted problem. Coral is missing. The cashbox has been stolen. Gran’s peregrinator has been stolen. I’ve gotten through to you, but Salm can’t reach Coral. She must have shut down her channels.

  Beri clutched at the tree’s rough trunk to steady himself. By the Orb, this was awful. They couldn’t lose either Coral or the device. He crouched and jumped to a limb facing the house. As he did, a feeling of lightness came over him—oops, his…magic.

  A quick look told him no one was watching the trees. And this might be a bloody emergency. Something the DMR wouldn’t penalize the enclave for. Besides, the council wanted them trained to react in an emergency.

  Gran needs our help, Raven sent. Willow and I are on our way to find out what the man looked like. Oy and Salm are searching for Coral. They can thought-speak with each other, but otherwise, it’s only siblings—you and I, and Salm and Coral. And we’re not supposed to be doing it, so…

  We have to, Beri sent back. We canna lose Coral. Plus, if that device gets lost,
Lady Lark is in major trouble. Even this far away from the jousting, its announcements carried. Crowds still lined the lawn. If Coral had left the event, then this was the time to find her. She was a small lass, but easier to find than a metal box.

  We’re at the tent—ho! The lambs are loose. I only see one. Dad—

  How did that happen?

  An announcement was made at the jousting area, to many cheers. While Beri waited excruciating seconds for Raven to answer, light music started up, and the chatter swelled. Something was happening on the stage. If he waited much longer, the crowd would fan out, making it that much harder to spot Coral.

  Beri scanned the people strolling, filtering through them as he did when searching the bushes for grouse…maybe with a touch of his usual magical method. Nae tall, nae bright clothes or dark, nae paired. Small, blue outfit, alone.

  The purple-haired chap at the doughnut table. Might he remember her? If he worked for the estate, would he know how to search the grounds?

  Dad says leave the lambs, Raven finally said. We’ve got to find Coral and the cashbox.

  I’m searching the east side of the house where we bought the doughnuts—

  “Ahoy, stop!” The shout cut through everything else, and Beri jerked his gaze beyond the maze’s entrance. Coral’s blue blouse and brown braids popped into view. Her back to him, she was running down the wide gravel roadway behind the manor house, dodging people.

  Spells, there she is! Running like she’s being chased.

  What? Where?

  Beri leaped from the tree, landing a good ways from the trunk. By the Orb, magic again! He couldn’t, not in public. He ran. Out of the woods and across the first bit of lawn that was clear. Ahead, people strolled along, unaware.

  Beri, be more specific!

  Maze entrance. Behind the house and headed toward the main gate and—he swallowed—the car park.