by James Wisher
Col and the other squires walked the short distance from the greeting line to the archery field. Someone had drawn a white line on the ground and thirty paces away set up round hay bale targets. He found Sir Geris waiting, his long bow and a bundle of arrows laid on the ground at the elder knight’s feet. He gathered the arrows and checked them for damage.
“That shows a distinct lack of faith,” Sir Geris said.
Col smiled. “I don’t have a great deal of faith as a general rule.” He held up three arrows so warped he doubted they’d make it to the target much less hit where he aimed. “I need some replacements.”
Sir Geris glanced at the arrows. “Disgraceful, these are barely fit to be kindling. Page!” A blond boy wearing a crimson tabard hurried over. “Three replacements and make sure they’re straight.”
“Yes, my lord.” The boy hurried toward the armory.
Sir Geris snapped the three warped arrows over his knee. “Good luck, Col.” He clapped Col on the back and stepped behind the firing line with the other knights.
Col braced his bow against his knee and bent it until he could hook the string. He looked down range and saw the targets thirty paces away, four concentric circles, the largest twelve inches around. When all the squires were in place the archery judge approached, a grizzled old knight that had retired from combat years ago and now served as the instructor of archery.
“The contest is simple.” His voice sounded like an angry bear. “Three shots each, best eight scores advance. The top eight will pair off until one is left the champion. Clear?”
“Yes, sir!” they shouted in unison.
“Fire when ready.”
Col drew and loosed, quick and smooth, not thinking, letting his body do what it knew to do. When his three shots had struck he had three bulls-eyes, a perfect score of thirty. The top eight separated from the rest. Col had the only perfect score though two others were only three points behind him. They took a quick break as the pages moved the targets ten paces down range. Col’s first opponent, with the unfortunate name of John Squire, was the third son of a minor noble family too inconsequential to be part of Callion’s crew and thus a half-decent fellow, for a noble.
Col and John would shoot last so they watched the first three matches. Callion paired off with Joseph Stone. Joseph’s family was distantly related to Callion’s and he knew his place. Col harbored no question who would win and moments later the judge awarded Callion the victory. The better man actually won the next two matches, and then Col’s turn arrived. He held out his hand. “Good luck.”
John shook with him and smiled. “You too, though I don’t think you’ll need it.”
Col smiled back and a minute later two bull’s-eyes and an eight had him through to the next round. The pages moved the targets back another ten paces and this time Col got paired with Marcus something-or-other, the guy’s last name escaped him. Callion got paired with Thomas North, probably Col’s only real competition in archery. Unfortunately Thomas took tradition seriously so no way would he try to beat Callion.
Col and Marcus shot first this time and as they stepped to the line they shook hands. Col matched his score from the previous round and beat Marcus by five points. They stepped back to let Callion and Thomas approach.
Col gave Marcus a friendly clap on the shoulder. “Good shooting.”
Marcus shook his head and grinned. “Not good enough. Doesn’t matter anyway, Callion’s going to win.”
Col grinned back. “Don’t count on it.”
Marcus’s smile vanished. “He’s the princess’s champion. We’re supposed to let him win.”
“Tradition isn’t law, Marcus. I’d rather break on the rack then let that bastard beat me.”
Marcus looked surprised but his grin soon returned. “It’s your neck. I wish I had the stones to try it. My father would kill me if I did anything to upset Callion.”
“You’d have to get past me first anyway, so don’t worry about it.”
They shared a laugh then turned to watch the next match. Col wondered if Thomas would withdraw or miss on purpose. The question was answered when Thomas bowed to Callion and said, “I withdraw.”
Callion raised his hands and waved like he’d won something and the crowd cheered. How loud will they cheer when Col beat him? Not too loud he suspected. The pages moved the targets another ten paces back. The page Sir Geris had sent off returned with Col’s last three arrows with seconds to spare. Col smiled as he accepted them and as soon as the page turned away he checked them over, perfectly straight. He grinned, slipped them into his empty quiver and stepped up beside Callion.
A hush fell over the crowd as they waited for Col to withdraw. They might as well wait for the sun to rise in the west. When it became clear he planned to go forward with the contest the judge gave Col a narrow-eyed glare. “For the final round the scores will be announced after each shot. Fire when ready.”
Col nocked, drew, and loosed in one smooth motion. He hit a little high but scored five. Callion caught the edge of the target for two points. “Squire Col leads five points to two. Fire when ready.”
Before the next shot Callion looked over at him and hissed, “You’re insulting the princess and me, peasant. Stand down or there will be hell to pay.”
Col gave him a cold glare. “You can try and collect in the sword ring.”
He adjusted his aim and shot again, this time hitting in the eight point ring. Callion improved a little as well, collecting five points. “Squire Col leads thirteen to seven. Fire when ready.”
The voices in the crowd grew louder as it became clear Col had no intention of letting Callion win. “Last chance, Callion, better make it good. You wouldn’t want to disappoint the princess.”
Callion’s hands shook when he drew his final arrow and Col knew he’d won. Callion’s arrow sailed five yards over the target. Though it wasn’t necessary Col drew his final arrow and adjusted his aim a little more. He knew it was a good shot as soon as he loosed it. Col grinned as the arrow buried itself in the bull’s-eye. He unstrung his bow and leaned on the stave.
“You will not embarrass me again.” Callion said it like he believed it. Why, Col had no idea.
“I look forward to proving you wrong in the dueling ring.”
Callion stomped off. The stunned silence from the crowd pleased Col even more than thunderous cheers would have.
“Nice shooting,” Sir Geris said.
“Thank you, sir. I hope you won’t think ill of me, but I quite enjoyed that.”
Sir Geris put a hand on his shoulder. “You competed honorably and won fairly, nothing to be ashamed of there.”
Col saw no reason to point out that what he enjoyed most was watching Callion squirm. If ever a fat head needed deflating it was Callion’s.
They turned at a discreet cough to see the king’s herald, dressed head to toe in garish crimson silks, waiting. “It is time for the reward ceremony.”
“Winning was reward enough for me,” Col said,
“Very humble,” the herald said. “But I wasn’t asking if you wanted to participate. I’m telling you the king is waiting.”
Col looked at Sir Geris, who nodded. “Just don’t get greedy. The princess’s champion usually asks for a kiss.”
Col grimaced. He certainly would not ask Rain for a kiss in front of hundreds of people. The herald grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the royal box. “Kneel and don’t speak until you’re spoken to.”
“No problem.” Col wasn’t certain he’d be able to speak after the king spoke to him, but he’d cross that bridge when he got to it. The herald gave him a little shove toward a small carpet spread before the royal box. Col took a knee and bowed his head. He felt more nervous now than he had during the contest.
“Fine shooting, squire,” the king said. “Rise and tell us how we may reward you for your outstanding display.”
The king didn’t sound angry and when Col got to his feet he thought His Majesty looked amused. Rain, how
ever, looked like she had eaten a barrel of pickled eel. He thought for a moment of asking for that kiss after all but self control got the best of him. “Your Majesty, I would ask for a new saddle and tack for my horse.” He’d been using Sir Geris’s old gear for the last few years and it would be nice to have something new. Besides, if it was a gift from the king maybe the other squires would think twice before scratching it up.
“A fine and useful request, squire. It shall be as you ask. Best of luck in the next round.”
Col bowed and out of the corner of his eye he saw Rain frowning. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” After the next round her frown would be even deeper if he had his way.
He backed away three paces, turned, and walked toward his mentor. Sir Geris met him halfway and handed over a heavy suit of leather armor and a wooden practice sword. “What’s wrong with my old riding gear?”
“Nothing, sir, I just couldn’t…” His stammering came to a halt when he saw the smirk on Sir Geris’s face.
“You did fine. Most people aren’t half so calm at their first royal audience.”
“I only asked for riding gear because I couldn’t think of anything else.”
“Forget it, Col. Come on, the dueling ring is almost ready.”
When they arrived the servants were hanging the last rope from posts around a square, raised platform that would serve as the dueling ring. Col fastened the final buckle on his armor then gave the wooden sword a couple swings to get the feel of it. The rest of the squires and their mentors had arrived along with the master of swords who would judge the event.
“The rules are simple,” the sword master said. “You’ve paired up by random draw. First man to get five touches wins. Any questions?”
No one spoke, so the master called the first pair. The squires fought carefully and the match lasted a good five minutes. Col watched for a while, but it soon became clear neither man would be a match for him so he let his mind wander. They called Callion for the next match and his opponent withdrew. How he could take any pride in such a travesty Col couldn’t imagine, but then he was just a peasant and the minds of the nobility were beyond him.
When they called him for the final match of the first round he paired off against Joran, one of Callion’s flunkies that didn’t get expelled from the order in disgrace. Col stepped into the ring facing his opponent.
“I have to put you down, peasant, nothing personal,” Joran said.
A faint glow around Joran’s sword forced Col to look closer. He could just make out a sword billet sandwiched between the layers of wood. A solid blow with that would break his sword, or his head. Col fingered the ring of truth. The practice sword was a lie, which must explain the surrounding glow.
“On guard,” the sword master said. Col raised his suddenly less-than-adequate wooden sword. He’d have to be cautious. “Begin!”
Joran attacked with a combination of brutal chops and slashes, probably hoping to break Col’s sword. Col dodged and circled letting the wild swings tire his opponent. It didn’t take long for the other squire to overcommit and leave himself open. Col whipped his sword down across Joran’s right wrist.
“One!” the judge shouted.
Col felt pleased to get the first touch but even more pleased to see Joran’s right hand hanging useless by his side, and with just his off hand Joran had no chance now. He made a weak slash at Col who dodged with a foot to spare. “Drop your sword, Joran. My fight’s with Callion, not you.”
Joran roared and charged at him. Col dodged again and cracked him across the left wrist. The sword fell from Joran’s grasp.
“Two!”
“You’re done, Joran. Yield.”
“I’ll never yield to you, peasant,” Joran spat.
“Suit yourself.”
Col struck him hard across the ribs drawing a gasp of pain.
“Three!”
He lunged, driving the tip of the practice sword into Joran’s gut doubling him over and driving him to his knees.
“Four!”
“I hope Callion made it worth the pain,” Col said. He brought his sword down on Joran’s head, knocking him cold.
“Five! Winner advances.”
Col picked up Joran’s sword and stepped out of the ring ahead of two men carrying a stretcher to transport Joran to the healer’s tent. “You were a little rough on him,” Sir Geris said.
“He deserved what he got and then some.” Col tossed Joran’s sword to his mentor. “Take a look at this.”
Sir Geris caught the practice sword, hefted it, and frowned. He looked closer. “There’s a sword billet between the wood.”
Col nodded. “Callion told him to take me out. He might have killed me with that if he knew how to use it.”
“What do you want to do?” Sir Geris asked.
“I’d like to rip Callion’s head off, but that seems unlikely so I guess I’ll let it go.”
“All right. I’ll hang on to this.” Sir Geris hefted the not-so-safe practice sword.
They turned back toward the ring in time to see Callion’s next opponent withdraw. When the master of swords called Col’s next match it lasted less than a minute. Watching him dismantle his first opponent must have knocked the fight out of the rest. His semifinal match ended just as quick then Callion’s turn arrived.
Col stood in the ring, his sword resting on his shoulder, his defeated opponent scurrying out behind him. Callion stood outside looking at him. Col smiled and beckoned him forward. Callion’s face tightened with fear and anger. The sight warmed Col’s heart.
“Participating in the final match are Squire Col and Squire Callion,” the judge announced.
The judge glanced at him and raised an eyebrow. Col grinned back. He had no intention of withdrawing and he suspected the master knew it. To his surprise Callion actually screwed up the nerve to step into the ring.
Col gave his sword a twirl. Callion glared and Col smiled in his face.
“Ready?” the judge asked.
Col nodded.
Callion struggled to swallow. “I withdraw.” A murmur ran through the audience.
The master stared at him for a moment. “Are you certain? The princess’s champion has never withdrawn from a match in the history of the squires’ tournament.”
Col almost danced with joy when Callion said, “I’m certain,” and threw his sword to the ground. This was even better than beating him bloody. He would never live down the shame, not that he seemed to have much.
“Squire Col is the winner of the single combat tournament,” the judge announced.
Scattered applause greeted the announcement, but mostly stunned silence. Col wondered how Callion’s father would take it when he learned of his son’s disgrace. He would give much to be a fly on the wall listening to that conversation.
When Col stepped out of the ring the king’s herald was waiting beside Sir Geris. “You must stand before the king again.” He sounded astonished to be saying it to Col for a second time today.
“I’ll hold your sword,” Sir Geris said.
“Thank you, sir, for everything.” Col couldn’t begin to tell his mentor how much he appreciated being allowed to compete to win. He hoped Sir Geris wouldn’t get in any trouble, though he was pretty sure being the king’s friend would keep any trouble to a minimum.
“Come, squire, the king waits.”
Col nodded and followed the herald back to the royal box. He knelt on the small piece of carpet before the king. “Well, squire, it seems congratulations are once again in order. It has been many years since the princess’s champion has lost an event, much less two. Rise and tell us what reward you would have this time.”
Col smiled and rose to his feet. “I would ask for the traditional champion’s prize, a kiss from the princess.”
There was an audible gasp from the crowd and Col just about laughed at the wide-eyed horror on Rain’s face. Even if she refused it was worth asking to see that look.
The king laughed and seemed well
pleased with his request. “A noble prize indeed. Rain, give our champion his reward.”
Rain looked around in desperation. “Surely we should wait until after the final event.”
“Why?” the king asked. “This young man has won two of three events. He is our champion regardless of the results of the final event. He has made his request and you will not dishonor your family by denying it.”
“Yes, Father.” She sounded like the words almost choked her.
Rain made her way down from the royal box as slowly as she could and still move forward. Col stood and watched, content to enjoy the show. Whatever he might think about the princess she was beautiful, the elaborate coils of hair, smooth, pale skin, curves to murder for. In all truth he enjoyed the fact that each step seemed to cause her physical pain almost as much as the view. Pity she was such a bitch, she would have made a fine girlfriend.
When she stood a pace away from him she looked mad enough to chew steel. “I swear I’ll get you for this,” she whispered loud enough for him alone to hear.
Col smiled. “Thank you, Princess.” He spoke up so everyone could hear. “Your beauty is surpassed only by your graciousness.” He heard a murmur of approval from the crowd.
He leaned forward to collect his reward. When their lips touched, the castle wall exploded inward, sending them flying in a spray of stone.
Chapter Six
Col twisted to keep his body between Rain and the shower of gravel. Her thin silk gown wouldn’t have offered much protection from the hail of rock. Small stones bounced off his armor and stung his bare hands and head. The explosion had sent them flying away from the royal box.
“Get off me!” Rain tried to push him aside, but he held his place above her until the stones stopped hitting his back.
Col rolled to his feet and spun around to see a river of beastmen pouring through a ten-foot-wide gap in the castle wall. The bleachers in front of the gap lay in shattered ruins. Arms and legs jutted out from the rubble at unnatural angles. Beastmen roared, men shouted, and over it all rang the familiar sound of steel on steel.
The worst of the fighting appeared centered on the royal couple. A knot of beastmen surrounded the king, queen, and their bodyguards while knights and soldiers attempted to cut a path to the surrounded royals. Col didn’t know what to do. He wore only a leather vest and carried no weapon. If he tried to charge into the fight he wouldn’t last ten seconds.
