The Wayward Knight

by Carfagno, Charles

  The Wayward Knight

  The clash of steel-on-steel rang in the cool morning as armored men from the Order of the Blessed Knights battled one another for rank. Many would compete in the tournament, but only a few would be crowned victors. Throughout the day, there would be jousting, long point fights, sword and shield battles, archery, rapier and dagger contests, knife fighting, clashes with different weapons, and finally armed and unarmed grappling.

  Of all the combatants participating, there were three members who stood out. The most successful was Marcus. Marcus was average in height and weight, but what he lacked in size, he made up for in speed, agility, accuracy, and more importantly, timing. The one event that no one could best him in was grappling. He once pinned the mighty Dayron in less than thirty seconds. Marcus was also very proficient with a sword and shield and usually wins his contests. His toughness and heart can only be measured to that of a lion. One year, he tore his calf muscle right off of the bone and even that couldn’t stop him as he hobbled and swung his sword to victory. The other event, which he was almost unbeatable was rapier and dagger. Marcus had a knack of slowing down his thrust thus tricking his opponent into moving before he did. That usually ended the fight right there and then.

  Marcus’ equal was his former teacher, Riffen. The instructor turned student again was a very astute pupil and everything he read instantly was committed to memory. He always said that he never slept, and as a result, he practiced day and night. His efforts paid off on several occasions when he defeated most of the competition with technique alone. One time, he beat five heavily armored students with just a short sword. To challenge himself further, Riffen challenged and defeated several members with only a pair of wooden daggers, while they used spears. A very impressive feat to say the least. His most notable fight was against Marcus though. Fighting with rapiers, they battled to a draw in one of the longest matches ever recorded.

  The third notable combatant was, Dayron. Dayron was a mountain of a man standing nearly six and half feet tall, muscular, with the agility of a cat. His specialty was fighting up close and personal. Most people thought his size was a disadvantage, but quickly realized how wrong they were when Dayron picked them up and slammed them onto the ground. The impact usually left his opponent dazed, which meant death if Dayron wanted it so. Brutish force wasn’t his only tactic. Dayron was equally skillful with both hands and was capable of wielding two heavy war hammers at once. It was said, he defeated three giants when they attacked his village. Dayron has only tasted defeat once in a tournament, and that was to Marcus. Despite his tall stature and prowess with a weapon, Dayron was a gentle man, but one you should never play a trick on.

  Over in the far corner, one of the more seasoned members of the Order, was helping his younger brother prepare for his second tournament. The first didn’t go very well for Var, so Tracs understood why he was nervous.

  “Quit fidgeting and let me finish with your armor. You’ll do fine.” Tracs said.

  “And why aren’t you fighting?” Var asked looking down at the top of Tracs’ head.

  “I’m leaving soon and can’t risk an injury.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I don’t know yet. Ludar hasn’t told me.”

  “You have to tell me when you find out.” Var demanded.

  Tracs stopped buckling his armor and looked up. “If I’m allowed, I will.”

  “You’re my brother, so you have to.”

  “I’ll tell you what. If you win three of your events, I will. Okay?”

  Var nodded.

  Var was four years younger than Tracs and always admired him, even though Tracs wanted nothing to do with him growing up. That all changed a few years ago, when Var was alone and got into a scuffle with several older boys, who made fun of Tracs for religious beliefs. Var fought bravely, but in the end, he took a severe beating. When Tracs found out what they had done to Var, he confronted the boys and gave them the opportunity to make amends with Var, but they refused and Tracs had no choice, but to administer justice. Since that day, Tracs had developed a deep bond with Var.

  Tracs finished securing his brother’s armor and then went over to the fight chart, while Var put his helmet on and unsheathed his steel long sword.

  “It’s not good.” Tracs said walking over.

  “Why? Who am I fighting?”

  “You’re fighting Janole with a long sword. Kras with a staff, Dayron with a war hammer, and finally, you’ll be grappling Marcus.”

  Var’s face turned ashen, “No one has ever beaten Marcus in a grappling match and on top of that I have to fight Dayron?” He said feeling defeated.

  Tracs couldn’t contain his laughter. “I was kidding about Dayron. You’re fighting Huball with a rapier and dagger.”

  “And Marcus?”

  “No, you’re fighting him.” Tracs smiled.

  “How am I going to defeat him? No one has ever lasted longer than a minute.”

  “You can try tricking him into making a mistake.” Tracs offered.

  “Has it ever worked for you?”

  “No.”

  Var sighed.

  “Maybe you’ll get lucky, and he’ll take you too lightly.” Tracs said.

  Var nodded knowing it was just wishful thinking.

  “Let’s go.” Tracs said and escorted his brother to one of the competing circles.

  In the center of the ring, long sword in hand and lightly armored, was Janole. He was the same height and built as Var, so the fight would most likely come down to skill. Janole grinned when he saw him approach.

  “It’s good to see you Var. The gods have answered my prayers by allowing us to begin the day together. I’ve always considered you a worthy opponent, so it should be an excellent match.” He said.

  “It has been a long time since we last fought, so we’ll see.”

  “Tracs is he ready?” Janole asked.

  “I guess you’ll find out, won’t you.”

  Janole’s smile broadened, and he lowered the visor of his helm.

  Tracs’ grin faded. “Teach him a lesson. Strike him where he least expects it. Trip him if you can.” He advised.

  “I don’t fight like that.”

  “In battle, everything is fair. Always remember that.” He said and walked way.

  Var lowered his visor and walked to the center of the ring.

  In each corner were the judges who would score the bout. They waited for the combatants to stand a few feet apart before going over the rules.

  The judge to Var’s left spoke. “The fight will be determined after one of the fighters has convincingly bested the other three times. Sportsmanship is always paramount, and you should absolutely show control. We don’t want anyone seriously injured. Points are only awarded for clean strikes. Takedowns are legal, but you still need to immobilize your opponent. Do you understand?”

  Var and Janole both nodded.

  “Good luck and begin.” The judge said.

  Var and Janole circled each other until Janole decided it was time to attack. His offensive began with three powerful strikes to Var’s head, but Var parried them and then countered with two of his own. Janole recognized the attacks by Var’s shoulder movement and blocked them easily. The fighters disengaged and reset their posture.

  Var changed his guards from low to middle to high, but what he was actually doing was baiting Janole to attack, which he did thinking he would get Var with a low strike when his guard was high.

  Janole tried hitting Var’s left leg, but at the very last second, Var moved it away and easily hit Janole’s helmet with a downward blow. The loud thud against the steel helm, dazed Janole long enough for Var to hit him on top of his left shoulder with the flat of the blade. Ja
nole backed up, and it was a good thing, because Var just barely missed his head.

  One of the judges commanded them to stop and take up their original positions. When they were ready, they continued.

  Janole charged Var and when he was close enough, swung his weapon at Var’s upper body. Var met the blade with his and then in one motion, stepped in, placing his left leg behind Janole’s right while using his arm to knock him off balance. Janole stumbled and by the time he regained his footing, Var had the point of the sword against his neck.

  The judges awarded Var another point, and they were told to separate and prepared to fight again. Var was gaining confidence, while Janole’s was faltering. He couldn’t afford to give up another point, or he’d lose the match, so when they were ready, he charged Var again. This time he threw his sword at Var’s head, which caused him to raise both arms to block the weapon leaving his stomach open. Janole picked up speed and launched himself right into Var’s midsection knocking him off of his feet. Janole then wrestled Var’s sword away from him and ended up aiming it at Var’s visor and was awarded a point. The judges knew Janole could’ve easily stabbed him in the eyes.

  They were on their feet holding their own weapons again and the judges signaled for them to begin anew. Janole led off with a series of powerful blows. His strength took Var by surprise, leaving him with no choice but to defend himself. He did manage to stop one of Janole’s attacks, but as soon as he tried to hit him back, Janole used the hilt to give him a wicked uppercut right under his chin, snapping Var’s head backward. Janole then placed the false edge of his sword against his throat and was awarded a point. Although embarrassed, Var was grateful Janole didn’t use the true edge otherwise there could’ve been an accident.

  With the score tied, Var knew he had to be smarter and quicker than his opponent, otherwise it was only a matter of time before Janole won.

  The two fighters faced each other one last time. When Var lowered his weapon and took a step backward, Janole thought he was unprepared and charged. Var waited until Janole swung at his head and then quickly moved forward while ducking under the blow and hit him right under the armpits of both arms. If the weapon were sharp, Janole would’ve lost both arms.

  The judges said it was a point and declared Var the winner. The combatants embraced each other and went in their separate ways.

  Var approached his brother. “He was tougher than I remember.” He said.

  “And so are you.” Tracs replied. He was proud of his younger brother.

  “Am I tough enough to beat you?”

  “Not yet.” Tracs said grinning.

  Since Var was already suited up, it made sense for him to fight Kras with staves. They found the big fellow, sitting under a tree resting. He’d just finished defeating several other combatants.

  “If it isn’t Var and Tracs.” Kras said when he saw the brothers approaching. “Var if it wasn’t for the peach fuzz all over your face, it would be tough to tell you two apart.”

  “It’s a full beard.” Var said.

  Kras smiled.

  “It’s good to see you Kras.” Tracs said and offered him his hand in greeting.

  Kras gripped it and then extended his hand to Var. Var reached out shook it.

  “Tracs, how are you?” Kras asked.

  “Not bad.”

  “Are you competing today?”

  “No. I’m going on an assignment tomorrow.”

  “Make our Order proud.” Kras said and looked at Var. “So young man; we'll be fighting today. I’m looking forward to it. I heard you’re getting better.”

  “I’m coming along.” Var replied.

  “Good. Now help me up.”

  Tracs offered his hand and helped him to his feet.

  “You look tired.” Tracs commented.

  “You’d be too if you had fought the Rowan brothers. Quick little buggers. It took me a while to slow them down.” Kras said smiling and limped toward the circle.

  Tracs thought Kras’ muscle must either be stiff from sitting too long, or he was hurt. He slowed. “He might be injured, so keep an eye on how he moves.”

  “He might also be putting on an act.”

  “Hit him in the legs and find out,” Tracs paused, “and by all means keep your distance.”

  Var nodded and entered the circle.

  To warm up his cramped muscles, Kras swung his staff around his back, over his head, did a couple of powerful downward strikes and some side-to-side ones as well. He looked fast; Var thought as he also did his warm up. When they were finished both men put on their helmets and faced the judges, who went over the rules and then told them to fight.

  Both men began circling each other. Var knew that he had to play the distance game with Kras, but realized it might be hard to do, because he moved quickly for someone his size. The fight officially began when Kras attacked. Holding the staff in three-quarters position, he swung it from his left and then his right in quick successions aiming for Var’s midsection. Var defended himself well enough, but in doing so became predictable allowing Kras to change direction and hit him several times in the head, knocking him to the ground.

  Var got to his feet. His head was still ringing from the barrage of strikes to the helm. He thought that he made it too easy for Kras and took a different approach this time. When Kras came at him again, Var thrust his staff at his face hoping to hit him, but Kras saw the weapon at the very last second, stopped dead in his tracks, and backed up a few paces.

  Var charged him and swung downward at his head. When Kras raised his weapon to block it, Var pulled it in and thrust his weapon right in Kras’ face, knocking him back a few feet. Var came at him again and attacked his legs. Kras blocked each strike and then countered, by stepping in and maneuvering the staff in between Var’s legs while twisting it and tripping him to the ground. The big man hit him several times to indicate he’d won.

  After they'd reset, Kras came at him again. Var blocked many attacks, but couldn’t mount a counter strike and was hit again and knocked to the ground.

  The judges ended the fight, and Kras was awarded the win.

  “Nice job Var. You’re getting better. Maybe next year you’ll beat me.” Kras said smiling.

  “You’re as good as they say.” Var said and walked back to Tracs.

  Tracs looked into his brother’s face. “You fought well.” He said.

  “I wanted to win so badly, because of his reputation.”

  “I know. I’m the same way. To be the best you need to beat the best.”

  “I’ll train harder next year.” Var said.

  “I know you will. Take a break and we’ll get you ready for your next fight.”

  While they were resting under a tree, a young lad came up to Tracs and handed him a note. Tracs scanned through the words swiftly and said. “Lord Ludar wants to see me now.”

  “What is it?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  “Can it wait until the fight is over?” Var asked.

  “No. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Good luck and don’t forget Huball has this one move where he holds his arms outwardly and launches both the rapier and the dagger at the same time to attack your stomach.”

  “How do you stop it?”

  “Parry them while stepping either to the side or the back. It’s not easy, but it can be done.” Tracs said and left.

  Tracs mounted his steed and left the tournament grounds. He arrived at Tinderrush within the hour and entered the stables behind the Oder of the Blessed Knight. He handed the stable boy the horse’s reins and entered the Order.

  Lord Ludar was in his quarters looking over several documents, when Tracs entered. He looked up when he heard the door open. “I apologize for making you leave the tournament. I know your brother is fighting.” He said.

  “Your message sounded urgent.”

  “Have a seat.”

  Tracs took the chair directly across him.

  “Wine?” Ludar offered.

  T
racs nodded, and Ludar poured him a goblet full of the sweet-tasting nectar from the small jug.

  “We have a problem. Repan’s mental powers are getting stronger by the day, and his army is growing.”

  Tracs waited for him to continue.

  “My sources tell me his castle came under attack a few weeks ago.”

  “By whom?” Tracs asked.

  “A general named Paven. Reports conform; he had over two hundred men at his disposal.”

  “Do you know the outcome of the battle?”

  “The general was defeated down to the very last man.”

  “Is Repan’s army that large?” Tracs asked.

  Ludar took a taste of the wine and then stared at the empty goblet. “No. I think he used his mind tricks.” He said.

  “To do what?”

  “Make them appear bigger than they are.”

  “I say we put an end to him and his evil men.”

  “There’s more. Paven’s siege machines were destroyed as well.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me. I’m sure they were demolished after he lost the battle.”

  “The way in which they were should. They were smashed by large rocks, and I’m pretty sure Repan doesn’t have any catapults in his castle. I heard he has animated skeletons in his service, as well.”

  Tracs knew what that meant. “Then he’s in possession of the Gem of Reviving. Ludar, we need to stop him.”

  “I know we do.”

  “Should I prepare the men?”

  “No.”

  “Then what?”

  “A direct assault against him isn’t the answer. We need to watch his fortress and take note of his actions.” Ludar said as he refilled his cup.

  “I’ll gather some men and leave right away.”

  “You are far too important for that.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “I need you to find some very rare items.”

  Tracs raised his eyebrows. “Items?”

  “Tracs,” Ludar paused, “I’m afraid time is running out for us. There are reports that the demons are already in our world, and I don’t think prayer or blessed items will stop them.”

  “What will?”