Epik thought he knew now the secret of the Grand Sovereign’s magic. He’d gone back and read a strange passage in The Art of Sorcery again, over and over the rest of the night.
When stolen, however, the transferal of magic may prove to be greatly detrimental to both the victim and the thief.
It was near to the passage that gave him the idea to offer the Grand Sovereign his magic in the wager. But what did it mean—greatly detrimental to both the victim and the thief?
To lose magic by theft is to lose one’s soul, Epik had read. The words stuck in his mind, but their meaning kept slipping by, like a memory lost.
“Are you all right?” the cook came from the kitchen and asked him.
“Huh?” Epik looked up. He hadn’t touched his breakfast.
“Good luck today,” the cook said.
“Have you seen Sir Dom?” Epik asked.
“No,” he shook his head. “Not since yesterday.”
Epik returned to his room to find someone else there.
Her back was to him, he saw only her white robes.
“Kavya,” Epik said with relief.
But when the servant turned, Catarina’s yellow eyes burned into Epik’s own. His heart stopped a moment then sped up to make up for it.
“Where’s Kavya?” he asked, careful not to give too much away—how much he cared for her.
“She’s busy,” Catarina said. “I’m here to fetch you. There’s more to do before today’s joust. The newspapermen want to take your picture. There’ll be no parade. We’ll meet your horse at the Coliseum.”
“Oh, okay,” Epik said guardedly. Her eyes were still trained on his, and he could feel magic in the room. She had some form of it. And she was looking for something—maybe the books beneath the bed, hidden with Epik’s other things. Instinctively, his magic reached out to find some way to stop her
Her smile was tightlipped and false, her eyes, unfazed. “Shall we go?” she gestured at the door.
After hours of pomp and circumstance, Epik finally made it to the Coliseum where he found only Sir Wallack awaiting him. Todder was nowhere to be found.
And Epik was happy Catarina was out of sight, but certainly she wasn’t out of mind. What had she been up to?
They readied Buster for the joust, attaching the copper armor around his head and over his mane, feeding him one last apple. They were ready.
It was the final countdown.
“It’s time,” a squire told them. They walked down the tunnel, each lost in his own thoughts.
The silence of the crowd wasn’t deafening per se, but it was off-putting in a way that sent shivers down Epik’s back.
After day upon day of the crowd’s raucous noise on his ears, he could hear only small sounds: the capacity crowd edging forward in the stands and their seats, the hoofbeats as Buster clip-clopped down the tunnel. The eeriness amplified everything down to Epik’s own heartbeat.
It all came down to this. Epik barely had time to feel nervous, and his concerns had changed overnight. He thought of Millie and the Grand Sovereign stealing magic from children. And what did that mean for their souls?
Still, the fate of Dune All-En was in Epik’s hands. He didn’t need reminding that this was how heroes were forged, in the small moments—a gamble, a bluff with the whole pot at stake.
The announcer kicked off the event as usual. “Let’s get ready to BATTLE!!! On the red side,” he said, “we have the Half Knight with Might, the surprise of the fight weighing in at two and a half stone, and jousting out of Dune All-En. His record stands at five wins and one defeat, some believe pound for pound the best jouster since Sir Wee Gowan. Sir… Epik… STOUT!!!!”
And as a dam breaks, the roar of the crowd shook the Coliseum to its foundation as the spectators cheered for their new favorite. They waved handmade copper flags. They had hand-painted signs that read things like STOUT STOUT LET IT ALL OUT, The Half Knight didn’t half beat my favorite, and Bandwagon Epik Fan.
There were even four chubbier fellows who painted their bellies to spell out E-P-K-I.
The sound sent a wave of exhilaration to buoy Epik’s confidence. It engulfed the halfling and lifted his soul. He wouldn’t be using anger today. There was a new emotion in town, and it felt a lot like pride.
“And on the blue side, undefeated, a newcomer hailing from parts unknown, weighing in at lot more than Sir Epik, and with magic like we’ve never seen! The Goldennnnnn Knight!”
Some in the crowd applauded, but it was overshadowed by boos and jeers. The Sir Dom fans were unequivocally behind Epik.
Epik cast a spell on Buster and the pony vanished, which caused another round of cheers.
“Just like we did before.” Epik patted Buster’s invisible neck. “Just like before,” he whispered to himself.
The flags dropped, and both horses, accustomed now to the signal, leaped into action.
Vanishing wasn’t an option for Epik this time. He had to win.
The Golden Knight leveled a golden lance. Magic or no magic, it was aimed directly at Epik’s heart.
Epik took firm hold of the exhilaration he’d felt. With it, red lightning trickled from his fist around and down his shortened lance. At the last moment, Epik brought his shield up to his chest to take the brunt of the impact.
The impact still felt like a hammer had hit him squarely on every inch of his body. Whatever kind of magic the Golden Knight used had made the blow tenfold that of any regular lance. Epik rocked back in the saddle, narrowly avoiding a fall that would have cost him the whole bout.
The invisible pony galloped to the end of the tilt and turned. Epik peeked out one eye. Red bolts still crackled up and down the Golden Knight’s shield.
Dang, the shield, he thought. They both missed. And Epik was reeling from the force of the hit. His lightning had no effect at all on the other knight.
The Golden Knight threw a broken lance to the ground and motioned for the young squires to hand over another. The Golden Knight straightened, ready for the next pass.
“Now, I want to remind everyone,” the announcer said over the crowd, “today’s joust is the final. It’s for all the marbles, as they say. There will be no tie. If it comes down to the wire, we’ll have to settle it the old-fashioned way.”
Some in the audience knew what he meant and applauded. Epik vaguely recalled there was something in the rules...
But the flag waved, and the horses were off, again so suddenly Epik couldn’t get his mind straight. This time he thought he’d try fire, not the fake green flames—that hadn’t worked out so well for Sir Dom. No, he had to try and use real fire.
Again, he connected only with the shield. The Golden Knight threw the flaming shield to the ground, and the fire was snuffed out.
Epik, on the other hand, felt like he’d been trampled by horses. Or, at least, what he imagined that would feel like—he could barely breathe. His ribs had tried to cave in, and his neck was jerked out of place. At least the etiquette lessons had done him some good. The muscles he made held him together somehow.
The Golden Knight hit him squarely in the chest.
“That’s two points awarded to the Golden Knight. The point totals stand at three to two. Sir Epik has to find a way back in this final scheduled lance.”
The announcer said what Epik already knew. How could he beat this knight? He had to win. He had to save Dune All-En. And he wasn’t ready to give up his magic, not yet. Not ever.
He had to unseat the knight, that’s all there was to it. Maybe he should take a page from the Golden Knight’s playbook. Strength, Epik thought. I need strength.
Epik searched through his every emotion—there were many to choose from. He chose them all. He bound them with what he knew of strength—who he knew was strong. He thought of Sir Dom, he thought of Gerdy, and Coe, and the dwarves. He bound his memories with the magic and the emotion.
The horses flew down the tilt toward each other.
BOOM!
Epik saw the Go
lden Knight tumble, and a wave of relief washed over him. He had done it!
The crowd roared.
So it was hard to hear when the announcer said, “Wait… Wait… Right, she’s right.”
What did he mean? She? Epik looked around the arena. Gerdy was getting to her feet, her golden armor caked with black mud. Her helmet was missing.
“That’s right folks,” the announcer said. “That’s my mistake. This is a double elimination tournament. And she’s only lost once. We have ourselves a melee! We’ll end this the old-fashioned way.”
Gerdy pulled a sword from her squire’s belt.
“Hey, that’s mine!” the squire said, but when she rounded on him he cowered away.
What was Gerdy doing? How could she be the Golden Knight?
“Better get down from the horse, boy,” Wallack yelled at Epik. “Come get your dagger.”
But Epik won. He knew he had won. He couldn’t fight Gerdy. He wouldn’t.
She crossed the arena in what seemed no time at all.
“Get off your pony,” she said. “We have to settle this.”
“No,” Epik insisted. “I won.”
“Not yet,” Gerdy said grimly.
“You don’t understand,” Epik pleaded. Gerdy had already swung at him. Epik flew from atop Buster and hit the ground hard. He scuttled backward and collected his dagger from Sir Wallack.
Gerdy was on him in an instant. Her sword flashed through the air and whizzed over Epik’s head.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” she told him. “But you have to yield. This is my fight to win.”
“But,” Epik managed to dive between her legs and roll out of her way, “Dune All-En.”
Gerdy’s armor hampered her movement, and she stumbled ungracefully. She raised her sword again. “Epik. I really don’t want to do this. But he’s got Myra. And if I don’t win, we’ll never see her again.”
Epik parried her blow, a move he had practiced many times with Coe in the dark. Gerdy kept coming.
“What you don’t understand,” he managed to say, “is if I don’t win, Dune All-En is doomed. And I lose my magic.”
Gerdy faltered. Epik stopped mid-swing, and both blades missed their targets.
“That snake,” Gerdy said, dejected. She let the sword hang at her side. “What should we do?”
“I’m not sure.”
“What’s going on?” the announcer asked. “They’ve both stopped fighting.”
It took several moments for the crowd to quiet down. When it did, Epik addressed them.
“I’m done fighting.”
It was the Grand Sovereign who spoke next. “Then finish him!” he ordered Gerdy.
“No,” she said. “I’m done11, too.”
The scene turned immediately from the tournament to the feast. It was the first time Epik had seen the Grand Sovereign use out-and-out magic, displacing the majority of the crowd to the castle, even the commoners. The Great Hall was transformed, much larger than they had ever seen it, tables stretched out as far as the eye could see.
Epik and Gerdy were seated at the high table with Myra and the Grand Sovereign between them.
Epik had little time to mull over what had just happened. What just happened?
The crowd was faster to react, applauding wildly at the feat. The Grand Sovereign quelled them with one hand.
“I know,” he said. “I took you all by surprise... as these two have taken me.”
Epik realized it wasn’t only the setting that had changed. Gerdy’s golden armor had become a golden dress. Her hair was pulled back, and her face glowed like Myra’s. But the glitz and glamour couldn’t hide the lingering animosity her eyes. It had been directed at Epik in the melee, but now, the Grand Sovereign was the subject of her ire.
Epik’s copper armor was replaced with his usual purple jacket, trimmed in yellow and emblazoned with the unicorn seal of Dune All-En.
“Let’s hear it for our champions,” the Grand Sovereign said conversationally. The words reverberated through the hall. The applause was deafening. “They put on quite the show, didn’t they?” The room erupted again. “Now, there are only a few small matters to attend to before we feast.”
This was it.
“A deal’s a deal,” the Grand Sovereign said. “But you both went back on your agreements. I’ll be taking what’s mine. You first.” He pointed at Epik.
Epik shook his head. “I didn’t lose,” he said confidently. “That was the word you used. If I lose, I have to give you my magic. And I didn’t lose.”
The Grand Sovereign gritted his teeth. “You’re right. Fine. But my armies will go forth from here and from World’s Eye. They’ll be in Dune All-En in in less than two weeks’ time. You’ve doomed your city.”
Epik gaped. What did we do?
“Now you.” The Grand Sovereign looked at Gerdy with contempt. “You aren’t so lucky. I said you had to win. And you didn’t.”
“That was never a fair deal,” Gerdy said.
The Grand Sovereign didn’t care. “You will no longer have relations with my granddaughter. Not of any kind. You will never see her again.”
“You can’t do that!” Myra scoffed. “Who do you think you are?” It was like Myra, too, was coming out of a spell, familiarizing herself with the world around her.
“Can’t I?” the Grand Sovereign said. “Here love,” he handed Myra a small piece of parchment, “read this.”
“I don’t love Gerdy,” Myra read out.
For a moment, it seemed the spell might have worked. Myra’s green eyes glazed over. Her jaw tightened.
She read it again. “I don’t love Gerdy?” But this time she laughed at it. “What’s this supposed to mean? It’s just a letter.” Myra smiled mockingly, narrowing her eyes at her grandfather. “Father used to try these, too.”
“But that’s… that’s a very potent spell,” Epik said without thinking.
“Exactly,” the Grand Sovereign muttered. He took back the note and it burst into flame in his hand. “But the one about you overthrowing me won’t work either. I guess I’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way.”
Epik wasn’t sure what that meant.
“Knight,” the Grand Sovereign said. Epik readied for one of the knights of the tournament to attend the Sovereign, but it was Wallack who stood. “Bind this girl. She’s never to leave the castle.”
Wallack nodded and rope materialized in his hands.
“And Captain,” the Grand Sovereign looked down to Todder’s table, “Mobilize my troops. Ready them for an advance on Dune All-En.”
Todder snapped to attention at the order. The whole of his eyes went black as night, and he marched out of the hall.
“You can’t do this.” Epik found the wand in his coat pocket. He climbed up on the table so he was eye-to-eye with the Grand Sovereign.
“My dear boy, it’s time you learned your place in all of this.”
“I know my place.” Epik readied the wand.
“Epiman never told you he is your father.”
“He didn’t have to,” Epik said.
The scenery changed again. They were back in the Coliseum, on the jousting pitch. The tilt barrier was gone, and only a short stretch of trodden grass stood between Epik and the Grand Sovereign.
The sky turned a murky gray. Lightning crackled, splitting the gloom. A black silhouette settled over the Grand Sovereign and his true form returned: that of an old, old man, withered to the bone, but poised at the ready. His black robe billowed in the wind—a wind he seemed to have conjured. His hands were cupped around balls of blue flame.
Gerdy was there. Myra was bound with rope, held by Wallack, the traitor.
The whole of the crowd was back as well, filling the grandstands. Tremendous fear was Epik’s foremost emotion. The onlookers cowered, some crouched low, unsure what would happen to them next.
“Is this what you wanted?” the rasping rattle that was the Grand Sovereign’s voice was off-putting. “What y
ou did in the joust was a trifle compared to my power. I’d prefer to just wipe my son off the planet. But I’ll do my grandson first.”
Epik closed his eyes. At first, he thought the sound was thunder. But then hoofbeats became clear. And out of the tunnel atop a black stallion rode the Indomitable Knight with Buster in full charge behind him.
The crowd wasn’t sure whether to cheer or even whether to react at all. But an involuntary “Ahhhh,” filled the stadium.
The knight’s lance was high above his head. The blue electricity rippled and sparked as it careened down the pitch, straight at the Grand Sovereign’s heart.
The lance met the Grand Sovereign with a resounding clap of thunder. Both men were knocked back. The Indomitable Knight fell with his horse, visibly shaken. Lucille flailed beneath him, laboring to right herself and rise. She succeeded, and with Buster at her side, galloped to Epik.
Dom struggled to get to his feet. He retrieved the broken lance and staggered toward the lump of black cloak.
A fire erupted, seemingly from nowhere. The Grand Sovereign was motionless. But the black cloak had been an illusion. The wizard materialized on the other side of the knight.
His armor was unscathed. Dom turned, opened his visor, and yelled, “Epik! Get out of here.”
The flames poured across Dom’s face. Real flames trapped inside the knight’s armor with him.
“Not so fast,” the Grand Sovereign directed the fire toward Epik. Epik saw it in slow motion—time playing its game again. The flame caressed his skin, but it had no ill effect.
The moonstone, Epik thought and touched his chest.
He had one chance to get this right. And he knew what to do.
The Grand Sovereign was quick; he realized his mistake. What he did next was entirely unexpected. Myra and Wallack vanished in a puff of smoke before Epik could execute his plan.
“From your own playbook,” the Grand Sovereign said, laughing.
But Epik couldn’t let that deter him. He went back to what he knew best. He looked at Gerdy and the horses. He bound the halfling inside him with the magic and with the muddled feelings of the moment. And they vanished.
Knowing is Halfling the Battle: An Arthurian Fantasy Romp (Epik Fantasy Book 2) Page 19
