by Finley Aaron
So she practiced. Indeed, she spent the entire week practicing, so that when Saturday came, and she was tired from her other events, and feeling slightly discouraged after both she and Henry had been eliminated early from the foot melee (and their side had gone on to lose), she was nonetheless prepared to do whatever she could to fulfill her promise to Henry.
“Are you ready?” Henry asked as they were lining up. Raedwald and the Ulsters were positioned across from Ella. She didn’t even try to avoid them.
Ella nodded. She’d let Henry in on her practice plans since she needed a horse riding opposite her.
Bastian had faltered the first few times when she’d planted the tip of her lance in the ground and vaulted over him, high in the air, but he’d eventually gotten used to seeing her soar past his head.
These other horses wouldn’t have that advantage, though. She had no way of knowing how they might react. And since she was purposely unhorsing herself—intentionally becoming vulnerable to being trampled—that uncertainty made her distinctly nervous, no matter how many times she’d successfully vaulted over Bastian’s head.
The herald in the middle of the field shouted the rules, and Ella listened attentively, noting, with satisfaction, that he said, “If you’re removed from your horse, you must leave the field.”
No one was going to remove her from her horse, not if she executed her stunt correctly.
Her heart felt as though it was going to pound its way out past her chest plate. She was always nervous before the mounted melee, especially with Raedwald and the Ulsters glaring silent death-threats at her from across the field, but today was worse. She gripped her lance and left the sword in the scabbard at her side.
The herald finished his speech and darted to the sidelines as the trumpets blared.
Mirage burst forward at that signal, and Ella counted the beats of her hooves against the turf.
Raedwald and his men rode forward at much the same pace that Bastian had approached her when they’d practiced. She’d timed her maneuver to that pace.
She had her feet under her, soles braced against the saddle, in Mirage’s first three strides. Two more strides, and she stood, lance level, the lances of the opposing team members no more than two strides away.
She lowered the tip, planted it in the earth with both hands, and launched herself over the heads of the approaching horses.
Except that those stallions had never seen such a thing, and three of them reared up in alarm, pawing the air above their heads with their hooves.
Chapter Sixteen
Ella felt the churning air and the hot breath of the frantic horses as she flew above them, rotating as she landed so that when her feet hit the trampled turf, she stood facing the horses she’d just flown over.
Einhard was the first to get his mount turned around, and he pointed his lance at her, but there wasn’t room for him to build up any speed.
Ella pulled her sword and thrust Einhard’s lance to the side as he rode past.
Uliad was next. He came with sword drawn. She blocked his blow with her lance and pushed hard. He wobbled in his saddle, but did not fall.
Still, his wobbling gave her pause. She’d been about to hoist herself onto his horse, but she’d need him to be secure in his seat. If he tumbled out, she’d likely fall with him, and that would do nothing to achieve the goal Henry had set. She let him pass by.
She needed a mount and she needed it soon, but she’d trained Mirage to ride on through, past the danger zone of the fighting, and indeed, her horse now stood a stone’s throw away, much too far for Ella to attempt to reach her through the thick of the fighting.
The longer she stayed on her feet, the greater the danger of being trampled or speared through.
But the next mount to approach her, was Raedwald’s.
He charged at her, eyes furious above the chain-mail curtain that covered the lower half of his face.
Raedwald carried his lance in his left hand and his sword in his right. With only one hand to support the entire weight of his lance, and that growing weary from holding it steady through the initial charge, a turn, and a counter-charge, his lance arm would be his weakest point.
Ella lunged to that side.
Raedwald followed her movements with the tip of his lance, keeping it aimed at her chest.
Ella tried to step back, out of his way, but there was another horse behind her, and she was at risk of getting kicked as it was.
Crossing her sword and lance together in a very unconventional X-block above her head, she caught the tip of the lance and thrust it wide, trusting that the strength of both her arms combined would be enough to leverage the lance away.
It was.
Raedwald roared and pulled his mount up sharp, preparing to double back for her.
But Ella had already sprung forward, scrambling to climb onto the horse behind Raedwald. Both of her hands were full with the lance and her sword, and she’d expected Raedwald to continue moving. She’d timed her leap with the expectation that his body would be out of her way, and she’d land directly behind him.
Raedwald had pulled up his horse so sharply, he wasn’t out of her way at all. He was in her way as she shoved lance and sword upward and lunged after them to mount.
There was nowhere for her to go but on top of him. The horses all around her were pressing in. It wasn’t safe on the ground, so she threw herself forward, expecting to land, with some jostling, behind him.
After all, Raedwald was a big guy. He was almost never dismounted.
Almost. Never.
Whether it was the sharp turn or his surprise, or if she’d set him off-balance when she’d shoved his lance away, Raedwald couldn’t keep his seat. He tumbled back as she took his horse.
The last she saw of Raedwald, he was lying on his back in the trampled sod, red-faced and screaming in fury.
Raedwald’s horse was much bigger than Mirage or even Bastian. The animal was also clearly trained to find the heat of battle and dive into it. Ella recovered quickly from her surprise and used her lance to unseat Uliad, who was still a tad wobbly, and who hadn’t seemed to realize his master’s horse had taken a new rider, and thus was not expecting the attack.
Uliad joined Raedwald as he ran for the safety of the sidelines.
Einhard turned on Ella, screaming for revenge. He came at her on her sword side, and she locked blades with him. She’d fought him at swords before and knew his weaknesses. Their blades clashed repeatedly, cutting the air, horses prancing backward and lunging forward again, as their riders struck and jabbed. Ella finally took him through sheer endurance, pushing him back as he weakened, until she pulled herself onto her knees in the saddle and kicked him off his horse with one foot.
He fell with a wail.
Ella slid back into her seat and surveyed the field for the first time.
Henry was gone, watching from the sidelines, holding Mirage by the reins as he sat atop Bastian. Indeed, it appeared her team was taking the worst of it, save for her action against Raedwald.
She’d have liked to hop off the horse and be done, but her men were outnumbered. They needed her.
Three riders from the red team had one of her men surrounded. She lowered her lance and urged Raedwald’s horse forward.
The stallion didn’t seem to care who was riding him. He lowered his head and plowed into the skirmish.
The men didn’t even see her coming until it was too late. Her lance hit one in the chest and flung him back off his horse. She ran past him, turned her mount, and swept back to pick off another.
This time, the rider saw her coming and held his lance to strike.
Ella saw it and nearly pulled the stallion up sharp. She had not spent all week practicing to vault from horseback only to gain a horrific bruise now.
She thrust her lance forward, clipping his lance a moment before it reached her chest, and shoving it wide, throwing the rider sideways as she did so.
He tumbled from his horse.
Easy pickings.
She swept the man from the other team from his horse with a sideways brush of her lance. The stallion she rode hadn’t gone any faster than a trot.
By this time the teams were nearly even. Ella paused to catch her breath. She didn’t see any more riders who would be easily picked off. She almost didn’t see the rider headed toward her from her left side, but I buzzed at her ear and she turned her head in time to get her lance up. With a hard backward jerk of the reins, she pulled Raedwald’s horse backward, narrowly missing the attacking weapon, and clapping the rider sideways with her lance as he rode past.
He wobbled in his saddle, so she urged her mount after him, and walloped him again with the lance, sending him toppling to the ground.
While Ella finished off the rest of the red team, Raedwald and the Ulster brothers were raging on the sidelines, screaming that Allard wasn’t eligible to continue, that none of his victories should count, and that he ought to be barred from future competitions. But the officials were still recovering from watching Allard vault over the enemy line, and their awe at his skills made them think he ought to be praised rather than punished.
It wasn’t until Ella and two of her teammates remained, alone, on the uncontested field that the trumpets blew, signaling the end of the melee.
Ella leapt from the stallion’s back and ran to where Henry held Mirage.
She mounted her horse before anyone could approach intending to tackle her.
Henry shook his head, his expression an unreadable confusion of awe and worry and shock.
“How did I do?” Ella asked him, panting from the effort of all she’d done.
“You won. We won.” Henrys words were hollowed out by amazement.
“Is that good?” Ella clarified, still unsure whether Henry was happy or upset.
Henry shook his head. “I think it may be. We’ll find out tonight.” He glanced at the field in time to see Raedwald and the Ulsters reclaiming their horses. “You might want to get going. They look angry.”
Ella didn’t hesitate, but urged Mirage through a break in the crowd. She glanced back to see Raedwald glaring as he pursued her through the throng.
Where could she go? The camp was thick with men, the city thick with crowds. She turned toward the river, found a wide-open stretch of floodplain, and Mirage (who’d hardly had any exercise all day) took off at a gallop toward the tree-lined field where they’d practiced vaulting all week.
When Ella looked back, she saw, to her relief, that Raedwald and his men had turned around. Most likely they’d decided to take up their argument with the officials or the council. Ella took an indirect route back to camp, and hurried to her tent, where she changed out of her armor and into the clothing she’d worn on her trip to the dress shop her first day in Paris, bringing with her the skirt so she could transform into her female persona before entering the shop.
Neither Sigismund nor Jerome nor Henry were anywhere to be seen, which was probably for the best, since she didn’t know what she’d say if any of them offered to go with her to pick up her clothes for the masquerade.
The sun would be setting within the hour, and the ball was scheduled to begin around sundown. Ella needed to get her dress, but she also wanted to bathe, if she could find a way to do so privately. Next to the dress shop she’d noticed a public bathhouse. She wondered how busy it would be.
Since she knew on which side of the camp Raedwald’s tents were pitched, Ella took a route that would lead her as far from that area as possible. It cost her a bit of time, and she stopped more than once to look behind her, but she didn’t see any sign of her enemies or her friends.
The sun was sinking fast. Already the western sky was streaked with pinks and yellows, and the shadows were deepening. The further Ella traveled into the city, the darker the streets became, with tall buildings blocking out what little light was left from the sun.
This made navigating a bit tricky. Ella wasn’t familiar with Paris in the first place. Other than remembering that it was on a wide-open square, she wasn’t sure where to find the dress shop where she’d rented her ensemble.
Up ahead, she heard a commotion, and spotted a wide-open square. She hurried forward, knowing that the day was already growing late.
Thus it was that she rushed headlong into a boisterous crowd from the camp.
And it was not just anyone. Raedwald stood at the center of the commotion, complaining loudly about Allard’s open abuses during the mounted melee.
The instant Ella recognized him, she stopped cold, and tried to step backward, hoping to disappear into the crowd. But it was too late. Raedwald had already recognized her.
He leapt forward, growling with an inhuman throaty eruption like a snarling wolf.
“There he is, the cheating boy who stole my horse!”
Ella tried to run, but strong hands plucked her up by the arms and lifted her so that her feet no longer touched the ground.
I flew above her, helpless to know what to do.
Raedwald stomped forward, seething, and punched her in the stomach. He started to yell something about the cheater getting what he deserved, or some such nonsense. I’ll never know, because Ella, being held firmly by both arms, did the only thing she could do.
She used her legs, lifting the left in a sudden front kick that landed firmly in Raedwald’s midsection. She kept that foot planted against his belly and propelled her right foot higher, whipping two swift successive arched kicks against his head before he roared backward, beyond her reach.
Ella still hadn’t caught her breath from being punched, or she might have yelled something at him in return.
Raedwald gathered himself and stomped forward.
This time, when Ella kicked, he jumped backward before her feet made contact with him.
The crowd, of course, was not watching silently. They were cheering and jeering and giving advice. Someone yelled, “Put him in the stocks!”
The suggestion gathered momentum, and a good portion of the crowd began to chant the same.
Perhaps it was the way his head still rang from Ella’s kick, or the fast-approaching start of the ball, or perhaps he was really a coward at heart, but Raedwald yelled “Put him in the stocks!” and the crowd cheered again.
The men who held Ella’s arms dragged her toward a pair of stocks, shoved her head and hands into the holes, and clamped it closed.
There was a moment’s scrambling for a lock and key, but a padlock was produced from somewhere and a key turned.
My biggest fear this entire time was that someone would pull off Ella’s cap and free her hair, or by some similar accident realize she wasn’t a man at all. But it was just then that a herald rode through the square calling everyone to come to the ball, and the crowd followed him.
Raedwald was one of the last to leave. He sneered at Ella. “Stay there and rot tonight. I’ll be back to beat you bloody in the morning. I don’t want to get my suit messy tonight.” He smoothed down his vest (which was black, embroidered with gold thread), and stalked away.
Scuppernong shenanigans! I flew in a tizzy in front of Ella’s face, unsure what I could possibly do.
Once she was sure everyone was gone, Ella whispered to me. “Fairy godmother? Can you find Henry or Jerome or even Sigi? Someone who can pick this lock for me? I can’t reach it.”
I was about to fly off when she added, “Oh, and find the dress shop for me!”
Much as I hated to leave her there, I hadn’t offered her any protection when I was with her, so I doubted I’d be much use if I stayed.
I could not find Henry or Jerome or Sigi, and it occurred to me that, even if I did, I didn’t know how I’d get them to come to Ella’s aid. Would I grow to human size and pretend to be a concerned bystander who just happened to know they would be on Ella’s side?
It d
idn’t matter. I found the dress shop the next square over, and I flew back to Ella.
By the time I reached her the sun had set. It was dark, the square was empty, and Ella was crying.
“Cheer up, Child! I found the dress shop.”
“Were they still open?” She sniffled through her tears.
“Yes, of course. They told you they’d be open all night for the ball, for late pick-ups and alterations and after-dance returns. And the bathhouse is still open, too!” I could see she’d rubbed her wrist nearly raw straining for the padlock, and to no avail.
“Did you get help?” Ella asked.
“No, but I had an idea.” With that, I shrunk small—but not too small. About the size of the head of the key they’d used to lock the padlock. I flew in the keyhole and pushed with all my fairy might against the tumbler inside.
Cosmonauts and cliffhangers! It did not want to budge. I braced myself against the internal mechanisms and heaved all the harder, pushing even with my wings in my attempt to force it to move.
It scraped against the metal lodging and then, with a loud pop and a springing-motion that flung me airborne, the lock opened.
Ella rattled the stocks until the open padlock fell free of the metal loop that kept the heavy beam lodged hard against her neck and hands. She lifted the beam up. She was free.
“Which way to the dress shop?” She asked, unloosing her hair as she ran after me.
I flew ahead of her down the street to the square, where the shopkeepers were not busy at that moment, and had in fact taken advantage of the momentary lull to eat a snack to get them through the night. Ella entered with a jingle of doorbells, and sighed with relief at having arrived. “I’ve rented a gown.”
There was just one woman behind the main counter at that moment, and she had her back to the door as she snacked on her supper. “The dark blue gown?” The woman asked, turning to face her.
“Yes. Trimmed in silver.” Ella was still in her pants, but there was a display of petticoats between her and the counter, so the woman didn’t even notice. “I’ve had some trouble this evening—I meant to be here two hours ago.”
