by Gil Hough
CHAPTER 13
A CHALLENGING PAST
When they arrived at the Cathedral eight days later it was late in the afternoon. They had to hustle through the town of Oravue to reach it in time to register for the upcoming melee.
Oravue was a good sized city, with paved roads winding up and down the sides of the hill that the town was built on. The whole town was dominated by the fortress like Cathedral in the middle of town.
While the Cathedral was one of the most impressive fortresses in the known world, the town, in contrast was without walls or visible defenses of any kind, unless you counted all the winding stairs and streets that quickly got the three companions lost several times on their way to the Cathedral of the Heavens.
The Cathedral of the Heavens was located like most powerful places of mystic significance, on a crossroad of two ley lines. The huge structure had been built into and around the top of a granite hilltop. The walls were hundreds of feet high in most places and constructed of the very sides of the mountain simply carved flat and smooth. Because it was built directly on and out of the very bedrock of the Earth, knocking down the fortress walls was not an option for an opposing army.
Like the stone of the farmhouse, the stone construction of the Cathedral had been enchanted by Nymphs of the Earth. It was said that the ley lines were tapped to provide magical protections as great as the physical. The Cathedral’s defenses gave it the reputation as one of the most impenetrable fortress in the Eastern Realms. Of course, Rodregas thought what could not be taken by force, could be easily taken by politics and fear.
Once through both the huge gates, Rodregas, Doi’van and Imeralda came into full view of the Great Cathedral of the Heavens. The Cathedral served as both fortress and a temple to the Celestial Gods, and its thick walls were a balance of the practical and the artistic. Its towering white walls were adorned with statues and engravings. Above the ground floor were huge stained glass windows and arches and on the heights were a series of small towers and domes. Rodregas had forgotten how striking the building was and all three stood to admire it for a long moment before moving forward into the inner courtyard.
In front of the Cathedral set a grandly engraved table of gleaming oak which looked to be more suitable for the dining hall of a noble than in the great courtyard. The three men behind the table were clearly Knight Captains of the Order; behind them stood young squires eager to be of service at the word of the knights.
The knighthood was split into two grand divisions; those with minor sigils who were simply Knights of the Order, and Knights’ Captains, who had gained the greater sigils. From their ranks was chosen the Grand Master of the Order, the physical and spiritual leader of the Order of the Soaring Heavens.
Rodregas’ eyes fell on a man who sat in a beautiful carved chair, a match for the table that sat just behind the knights. He was tall and graceful with striking dark eyes and features. His long dark hair was pulled back. He wore not the clothing of the knights but the robes of an Immortalist Sorcerer. Across his chest was a sash. Rodregas guessed him to be the Guild’s Ambassador to the Knights.
Rodregas’ blood froze at the sight, though he did his best to remain casual. He knew that the Guild had a representative at the Cathedral but had not expected him to be so closely watching the registration table.
Rodregas fell into old habits of survival. He kept his eyes to himself and let himself feel the tiredness of travel on the road.
When it became his turn, Rodregas stood there silently. The knight, an older man with a short gray beard, who was missing his left hand, waved him forward. The Knight Captain slowly looked up at the tall figure before him and after a quick examination went to the oddly mismatched pair that stood at each shoulder. “You are a squire who wishes to register for the tournament?” asked the Knight Captain. While the Knight had probably asked this to a lot of people that day, his tone suggested real curiosity.
Rodregas grunted acknowledgment and dropped his hand with the Patch of his Knightly Chapter in it. The Knight Captain picked it up and studied the detailed patterns woven into the fabric.
“Chapter and heredity?” the Knight asked.
“Saurrien was my mentor, Quirren was his mentor, and Bitress was his, Chapter of the Silver Mace,” Rodregas answered.
The Knight nodded, the answer matched the pattern on the patch. “What is your name?” he asked.
“Rodregas,” he grunted. The knight waited expecting more, but he stopped there. He finally shrugged and wrote his name on the scroll in front of him. Rodregas’ heart froze as the sorcerer stood and strode over to the table. He reached out and casually touched the shoulder of the Knight Captain.
“Captain Intreg, do you mind asking a few questions to confirm his status?” The Knight seemed uncomfortable under the hand of the sorcerer but nodded and said to Rodregas, “What is the eighth law of Chivalry?”
“Thou shalt never offer combat to someone who is not equal in strength, unless in defense of the honor of the Order, for Justice for the oppressed or in defense of the weak,” he answered.
Captain Intreg nodded and then asked, “A question of law: two messenger couriers stop at a keep with priority messages and switch out horses. The local lord finds that both horses are lame and are no longer any good. One of the messengers is from a neighboring lord and one from the Guild of the Celestial Path. What rights does the lord have in this situation?” Rodregas noticed the sorcerer seemed to stiffen at the question.
Rodregas’ mind swirled. The first questions had been easy, but it had been a very long time since he had studied law. The sorcerer’s body language, though, directed his memory to the answer.
Rodregas said, “The local lord is responsible for replacing the other lord messenger’s lame horse. There is nothing to be done for the Immortalist messenger’s horse. It is the responsibility of the local lords to provide mounts for the Guild at the local lord’s expense.” He made sure his voice remained rough with no emotion coloring his response, just a simple squire giving a by-the-book answer.
The Knight Captain nodded and said, “Welcome to the tournament, Squire.” He then turned to look up at the sorcerer and asked him, “Any other questions Ambassador?”
The sorcerer spoke his next question directly to Rodregas, “I noticed you have a Hellborn at your side, you would insult the faith of the Knights by bringing him into the Cathedral of the Heavens?”
Rodregas knew this question would come up and had the natural answer, “They are my sworn followers. Sworn to the All-Father.” Such an oath could not be challenged here.
“Truly?” the sorcerer said. “The Great Oath of Fealty for one of Infernal birth? I would see that.” He turned to Doi’van who loomed over all of them. Doi’van had watched the show with a cold interest.
The sorcerer spoke with a command that dripped venom, “On your knees Hellborn and swear the oath of fealty, in the name of the All-Father to this squire where we can all see.”
Doi’van paused for a heartbeat and then pulled his sword out in a smooth gesture and for a moment Rodregas was thinking that a battle was to be had, but then Doi’van dropped to his knees in front of Rodregas. He took the sword onto his arms as if in morning sword meditation and spoke the words of the Oath.
“By my mortal blood and sweat and tears do I swear my fealty to the Squire Rodregas in the name of the Father of Ocean, Sky and Earth.”
Rodregas nodded and responded as was required, “As the All-Father protects and guards his people so do I swear to do my best to live up to your oath in the Name of the All-Father.” Rodregas reached down and picked up the sword across Doi’van’s arms and lifted it up. “As I lift your sword up, so do I lift up your honor and make it mine.”
As he finished the oath he handed the sword back to Doi’van, who responded with the final, “My arm shall be your arm, my sword your sword, my honor your honor.”
Rodregas had expected to have to claim his followers as Oath Bond, but a knight would ne
ver have demanded to see the oath. He felt guilt seize his stomach at having been mistaken and knowing Doi’van had been forced to swear the oath, due to not wanting to blow their cover. Rodregas swore to himself that he would lift the oath as soon as they could be free, but the fact that Doi’van had trusted him enough to say such an oath out loud, which could put his very soul in jeopardy, was a powerful statement to their growing friendship.
Rodregas looked back at the sorcerer who actually seemed surprised at watching the oath sworn, “Satisfied, Sir?”
The sorcerer waved his hand and without a word went back to his chair sitting down as a king to his throne. The Knight Captain called for a squire, who he commanded to find them a room. Rodregas sensed that the Knight Captain was not happy with what had happened, but he said no word of apology.
As the three were led away, Rodregas asked the boy the name of the sorcerer at the table.
“That is the Immortalist Van’dret, Ambassador to the Knights from the Guild. He is very powerful you know. We are told to do whatever he commands, but also told to stay as far away from him as possible,” said the young boy, who could not have been much more than twelve years old.
Rodregas nodded and said, “Sounds like good advice.”
Rodregas looked up as Doi’van and Imeralda entered the room. Doi’van looked grim. But as Rodregas assumed no one had died, he had to smile. “Is it that bad?” he asked.
Doi’van missed his amused tone, or he was simply not in the mood to hear it. “The news is not all good,” Doi’van agreed.
Doi’van grabbed the far too small stool beside the bed, which was the only other piece of furniture in the little dorm room that they had been assigned. Rodregas knew it was only due to his visitor status and having ‘servants’ that he had his own room, most squires would share housing during the tournament.
Rodregas watched the stool curiously as Doi’van sat to see if it would actually hold the massive weight of the Hellborn. His guess was that it would be crushed by the weight. To his surprise it held; though it gave a small groan at the weight.
“We counted over a hundred here for the melee, all are trained warriors. Most should not be any problem, but at least a handful is of the blood,” Doi’van said.
“I actually think a few are minor sigils warriors as well,” said Imeralda.
“If they already have sigils why are they competing?” asked Doi’van.
“She is probably right,” Rodregas said. “If someone who was a squire did manage to get a sigil he would be tempted to come back and earn the title and the prestige of knighthood.”
“It does not matter if they are of the blood or minor sigils warriors; either way there are clearly a few who will be a challenge physically. But that is not the problem. Either way you should be physically more powerful. It is the nature of the competitions that I am worried about.” Doi’van paused as he ordered the coming conversation in his mind.
Rodregas knew him well enough to wait until he was ready. Rodregas had been surprised when Doi’van had refused to take back his oath when they had had some privacy. Doi’van had simply said he took his oaths too seriously to play such games. So Rodregas had sworn the same oath to Doi’van, which Doi’van had accepted.
Doi’van though was more focused on the task than the oath. He stated, “Each competition is worth points. The top five winners of each round of competition earns five points; those that place six through ten earn four points, eleven through fifteen earn three points and so on. There are a total of five different events.”
Rodregas nodded. He had not remembered the point system but he knew well that a knight is unique for his mastering of five different fighting styles.
Doi’van continued, “The first they call ‘open fist’ which does not really make any sense to me, but it is barehanded with no armor. I think you are likely to do very well with that one. In fact, I think you would be wise to finish one of the top winners. The next is the bow…,” Doi’van glancing at Imeralda.
Rodregas could not help but smile, “I know you guys think of my skill with the bow in terms of my inability to use the Black Yew bows. But really, I can shoot a bow with skill.”
Doi’van and Imeralda looked at him doubtfully. “The challenge,” said Doi’van, “is not to be simply good but to be able to outshoot over one hundred other highly skilled warriors, and the targets are multiple and difficult including a moving target. Unfortunately, all the targets are within normal range for a human, your strength will not help. The good news is this is a competition of skill and they provide the bows. The bad news is that it is up to each competing squire to have his own equipment for the other three competitions.
The sword and the shield competition are limited to light armor. You will be at a disadvantage. The real problem is going to the completion with the lance and the mace. Both have no limit to the armor; and of course, the lance is a mounted competition.
“You should see some of the horses!” said Imeralda. “They are beautiful.” She smiled but at her words Doi’van clearly did not see beautiful animals but a problem.
“She is correct; most have trained war horses and a few are Dire Steeds. I will be honest Rodregas, I am not sure that this will work. These warriors are trained in the use of the lance and their war horses will negate your personal advantage in physical might, as your horse is a trail mount.” Doi’van paused and said, “But, the real problem is that you are without plate armor. I am not sure how you can survive such a competition. The competition with mace or hammer will be only marginally better for you. Your body is far stronger than theirs, but not as strong as Night Bronze or Mithril.” Doi’van shook his head. “I don’t know how you can compete with simple steel!”
“Rodregas,” Doi’van said, “I think you should give up on this task, the Cathedral is busy; and none will know if we simply leave.”
Imeralda nodded, but something about the way she stood told Rodregas that she knew he would not do this.
“So have you done the math?” Rodregas asked. “What if I get five points on the hand-to-hand and five with the sword and shield and maybe two with the bow? Would twelve points get me to the final?”
“Unlikely,” answered Doi’van. “I have asked around and fifteen seems to be the magic number. It varies year to year but that is what is usually needed.”
“Did you know that three times warriors have finished with perfect twenty five points? The last time was over forty years ago by ‘the traitor.’” Imeralda explained, “I was talking to one of the older knights”
“Who is this traitor?” asked Doi’van.
“I don’t know,” said Imeralda.
“It is the Lord General of the Immortalists,” Rodregas said. “He was once the Grand Marshal of the Order before he turned traitor and joined the Immortalists. He is hated by the knighthood, but he was a great warrior, the kind that we have to be able to face if we fight the Immortalists.” Rodregas responded.
“We can’t be afraid of the competition. I may die, but if I win I can earn a greater sigil, maybe even bring you into the chamber as my servant. If both Doi’van and I had a greater sigil, we would be much more likely to survive the upcoming battles,” Rodregas said.
“We would still get spitted like a pig to the roast without decent armor,” said Doi’van, “but as the Gods have yet to provide the armor, we will show these human squires the armor of our faith and the armor of our courage. I just don’t like having to watch you fight such battles and not be able to fight myself.” growled Doi’van.
“Yeah, what he said,” Imeralda stated, ”I wish I could do the bow competition for you. I could get you five points there even with a regular bow, otherwise I am happy to watch you big boys show how tough and strong you are.”
Rodregas smiled at Doi’van’s and Imeralda’s courage even though their personalities were opposites. Imeralda was as light hearted as Doi’van was thoughtful.
“One question,” Rod
regas asked, “do we actually have a hammer or a mace?”
Two days later the dawn found Rodregas facing his first opponent. This first foe looked very young. He nodded to him like Rodregas should know him. Rodregas wondered if this man had been a friend of the previous occupant of his new body? He looked like he might speak, but Rodregas simply shook his head.
The great outer courtyard and been marked off with chalk into ten squares. The contestants stood around the squares waiting their turn to enter. They would push anyone falling out back into the squares. Watchers were not allowed around the squares. Rodregas knew Imeralda and Doi’van were atop the wall, the closest spot allowed for spectators.
Two contestants had already fought. The rules were simple. Two went in and one came out walking. The constants were bare of chest and foot. There were no fancy speeches to start the match, a bell sounded and the next round began.
Rodregas kept his weight low and his hands up. Doi’van and he had discussed the best approach. Both agreed the best strategy would be to use his full strength and speed to be quick and as brutal as he could without killing. Doi’van suggested body blows were best, as a full strength a punch into the face would likely kill a normal human.
The boy who faced him was fair haired and smiling, seeming to relish the match. His stance was similar to Rodregas’ own. Rodregas went slowly but steadily, keeping his guard up. The boy kept his hands up. When Rodregas went in low he took the blows to his body and went for Rodregas’ face. Against another opponent it was the right move. Unfortunately for the boy, his blow seemed to come at Rodregas slowly. Rodregas easily dodged as he landed a strong blow to his opponent’s chest. Rodregas was used to sparring with Doi’van and was surprised when his opponent went flying into the line of contestants and did not get back up.
Rodregas waited a moment and then looked at the knight who stood outside the match. The knight did not look as surprised at the quickness of the match as Rodregas. He simply nodded toward Rodregas. Rodregas left the square and the knight sent the next two in.
By mid morning Rodregas had cleared out his square without major effort. He noticed that all the other squares were still going on. His matches had ended faster than the others. His body’s balance of strength and speed were at full advantage in hand-to-hand fighting. He fought three others at the end of the afternoon; all three had won their group of matches. Rodregas thought that they might have been tough opponents if they had not been so beaten up. Between the natural durability of his body and the minor Sigil of Healing though, he was feeling fine.
The knights were clearly trying to find the best five among the competitors. They were not necessarily trying to find out who was the best among the five. Rodregas watched several fighters that clearly were of the blood or had minor sigils, but he did not fight any that could have offered him a real challenge.
At the end, after he defeated his final opponents, they tied a bright yellow ribbon to his upper arm and wrote down his name as a top five finisher. The top five got bright yellow arm bands, the sixth to tenth finishers white bands, the eleventh through fifteenth red bands, sixteenth through twentieth blue bands and twenty-first to twenty-fifth received a green band.
Rodregas felt more nervous the next day with the archery competition. While luckily the knights provided the bows for all contestants, they did not have them available for practice. The only bows that the three had were the Black Yews, which Rodregas continued to struggle to use. So while Rodregas had learned to shoot the bow when he was trained as a squire, and was proficient in it, he had not shot one in years. He trailed behind the others and watched them shoot. There were five shots that you had to make: a man shaped target at twenty paces, a crouching man shape at thirty, a standard round target in a hay bail at forty, and another round target at fifty paces and finally there was a round target dragged in hops and jumps across the field with a rope pulled by squires.
As the first round of contestants lined up behind the rope to shoot, Rodregas watched the technique of the better archers and mentally went through Imeralda’s advice. She was all about breathing; she claimed that keeping your eyes where you wanted the arrow to go and releasing the string at two-thirds of the way through your exhale was the best way to hit your target.
Rodregas became nervous as he waited. He was very impressed by the quality of the archery on display. Clearly everyone knew what they were about. He ended up being behind a tall young man. Rodregas almost thought he might have some AElf blood. It also looked like he might have a broken nose from the previous day’s competition.
The young man did very well, hitting all five targets. His shot on the moving target only nicked the edge, still impressive.
Rodregas stepped forward and picked up the bow. It felt light and a little awkward. Rodregas focused on his breathing. He had five targets and five arrows. He shot at the target shaped like a man. The arrow sailed over its right shoulder. Rodregas started to tense up, but knew that would kill any chances of hitting his next targets.
He released the second arrow at the crouching man and the arrow hit low to the left, but he did hit the target. He nailed the next standard target almost in the middle, but missed the last two completely.
Rodregas was among those who were first out of this round of the tournament and spent the rest of the day watching the archery competition. The only relief he felt was that only one of the other winners with the yellow ribbons on their arm also gained a second one. He found out his name was Geriodon. Rodregas also saw that two others who had the white second place ribbons from the day before also earned white ribbons in the day’s contest. That meant that Geriodon was winning so far with ten points. The other two, whose names were Karun and Nordien both had eight points.
On the third morning Rodregas stood ready; the format was the same as the first day. He thought his chances were better today. He was used to the sword and shield.
Rodregas stood with his chain mail over his repaired studded leather armor; a long sword and a shield, both from the dead slavers were in his hands. The rules were, of course, not to fight to the death. A knight stood in the middle of the square and would declare the winner of the match.
Rodregas’ first opponent looked like a grizzled army veteran; he had a red ribbon and a blue ribbon so he was a man of some skill. Rodregas knew he had to do well today or he had no chance. He stepped into the square. The sands of the ground shifted slightly under his weight as he circled his opponent.
The veteran was clearly taking him seriously, going in slowly with his knees bent and his feet keeping active. Rodregas would have no skill advantage here. Rodregas was hesitant to bash his sword too much, as it was of average quality. While the sword should be fine for his first match, he hoped to be fighting all day today. He went forward leading with his round shield. He pushed his combatant back with some hard swings. Rodregas swung his shield aggressively, he hit the man’s sword with his shield and then banged the other man’s shield hard. Rodregas’ goal was to see if he could out muscle the man while staying protected by the shield. It worked! Clearly his opponent, though set for a heavy blow, was not expecting the strength of Rodregas’ bash.
Still his opponent was too good to fall, even when surprised. And even as he half fell backwards he used the momentum to slide down and try to land a blow low under the shield. Rodregas had both quickness and strength on his side. He blocked the blow with his sword and then bashed down quick and hard multiple times with his shield. He thought he heard a bone break.
Rodregas paused and the knight signaled him as victor with a finger to the Heavens. Rodregas followed this pattern throughout the day. He kept using his sword more to block than to attack and kept using his shield offensively. This allowed him to take advantage of his unnatural strength to overwhelm his foes. According to the contest rules, he could replace his shield after every fourth match if need be. By the final match, he was on his third and final shield. Most of the rest of the matches were with squ
ires with no ribbons. But as the afternoon wrapped up his final match was against Karun who had two second place white ribbons on her arm.
Rodregas was pretty sure this match would decide who got the yellow first place ribbon and who would get the white. If Rodregas won it would give him ten total points after three competitions. It would give Karun twelve points if she once more came in second. If he lost, it would be much harder. Karun would have thirteen and he would have nine points. He was not sure how Geriodon or Nordien or the other leading contestants were doing.
At the bell the two started to circle. Karun was a large woman. She was tall and unusually muscular. She moved with an easy cat-like grace and was attractive, in an about to kick your ass sort of way. She was probably of the blood and strong. She had her brown hair woven into a tight braid and wore well fitting chain and leather armor. Her sword and shield seemed to be of excellent quality.
Rodregas tried to get a good hold on his shield. It was battered and not looking good. The top of its handle was loose. His sword was possibly worse with chips and a crack starting high up. As the two circled each other, Rodregas’ realized that his first impression, that she was of the blood was clearly true. She was both quicker and stronger than a normal human. She was also highly skilled, and while not as physically gifted as Rodregas, she was powerful.
She was also clearly intelligent. She must have been watching Rodregas in earlier matches, as she refused to let him close with her shield to shield and let him out muscle her. She moved quickly and fluidly, keeping her feet moving and keeping her distance.
Her sword wove in and out, back and forth. Rodregas blocked one blow only to find two others coming at him. He quickly found himself on the defensive and suffered both a cut on his upper hand and cheek. He started to worry that the knight would end the match and give Karun the victory.
He tried to use his speed to advantage and trap her sword. But he nearly lost his sword instead. He realized that he was outclassed. Her skills were better than his own and Rodregas’ physical abilities were not so much greater than hers as to counter her superior fighting skills.
For the first time in the tournament Rodregas lost control of the flow of the match as suddenly she moved in swinging hard. Then again, and again, she went in close with her shield wedging it in, and was able to lock it to his left for just a second. She swung hard at his open side; he had time to block her stroke but his sword shattered when the two swords collided. Her sword was at his throat before he could do anything and the officiating knight yelled a stop to the match, handing the yellow band to Karun and the white second place finish to Rodregas.
Doi’van and Imeralda met him at the entrance to the cafeteria, Rodregas stalked in without looking at them and stood quietly in line to get his large bowl of stew and chunk of bread. They sat down away from where most of the other squires. The other two sat quietly until all three had finished the repast.
“So how did Geriodon and Nordien finish?” asked Rodregas.
Doi’van spoke, “Geriodon finished first place which puts him in the total lead with a perfect fifteen points. Nordien only got a third place red ribbon so he has only eleven, Karun is now second with thirteen points.”
Rodregas nodded. With only nine points he was unlikely to be able to compete in the final championship melee. “Imeralda, can you do me a favor?” Rodregas asked.
“Of course, but I am not sure how I can help,” she said.
Rodregas nodded, but said, “Can you go around to the other top finishers and talk to them, and also go around tonight to the other squires and try to get a feel for them. See if you can find out who people want to win and why?”
Imeralda was clearly confused by the odd request, but nodded, and after a little talk she slipped away to the food line and within moments was in an animated discussion with a few squires at another table.
Rodregas thought Doi’van might ask, but he showed no interest and instead said, “While most of the knights are too high and mighty to talk to a Hellborn, the staff is not so closed mouthed. The greater sigils are said to be guarded twenty four hours a day in a great chamber in the very heart of the Cathedral.”
“And did you ask if sworn men were allowed in with a new knight?” asked Rodregas with a smile.
“Actually the topic did come up,” said Doi’van with a chuckle like rocks in a land slide. “While guards are usually not allowed in, it is not unusual for close friends or advisors to go in with some of those of the blood; to share their wisdom on the best possible greater sigils to take on.”
“I will assume,” said Rodregas, “that they had never heard of a Nymph entering the chamber, much less one of the Hellborn?”
“AElves are not uncommon and actually more Orqui than I expected. One servant thought that Nymphs used to go in during his father’s, father’s time, but not any time recently. No one could even imagine a Hellborn going into the Chamber,” agreed Doi’van.
“Well as far behind as we are, we might not even get the chance to try to bully our way in,” Rodregas said. Doi’van nodded and that comment seemed to end the conversation.
As Rodregas headed out to the sands of the Cathedral arena for the jousting match, he was relieved to see Imeralda waiting at the entrance to talk to him. She had been out all night on her mission.
“Well, I have to say I am very tired of talking so I will make this quick,” she said with her normal sunny smile. Rodregas had to admit she did look tired.
“First, Geriodon is much disliked. He is gruff, unfriendly and too serious to like. The squires and knights universally dislike him. This is his third attempt to achieve knighthood and he has gotten closer each time. While he is the odds on favorite to achieve it this year, no one wants him to win,” she said.
“I went and chatted with him,” she continued “and he hates the Immortalists, but is rather unpleasant and needs to take a bath. But he is also clearly very honorable. And when I asked him why he wanted to be a knight…” she paused then added, “he said that some ‘Infernally damned knights’ have to stand up and fight.”
“So you think he is a good man?” Rodregas asked.
“I think Geriodon is a ‘holier than thou’ stick in the mud, who needs to learn to bathe and not mumble when he speaks. And yes, he is probably one of the only men here that actually deserves knighthood.”
Rodregas nodded and said, “What about Nordien?”
“Nordien is the polar opposite to Geriodon; smooth and friendly… and tried to have sex with me within our first conversation, which was also the only decent thing he said during our conversation. He seems to really dislike Geriodon and Karun. He comes from a strong blood line and rich family and feels he should already be a knight and not be forced to be in the tournament.”
“So, why is Nordien in the tournament and not knighted?” Rodregas asked.
“From what I can gather, Nordien is very friendly with the Immortalists, including the Ambassador Van’dret, and most people believe that he only wants to be knighted so that he can then leave the knighthood and join the Immortal Guard.”
Rodregas nodded. That was not too surprising; since such ex-knights are usually made officers. Greater sigils were much more rare in the Guard than the knighthood, not to mention the officers of the Immortal Guard lived in much nicer style than the knighthood.
“The Knight Commander might not be willing to stand up to the Immortalists, but he would be more than willing to skip over giving knighthood to someone who was planning to leave anyhow,” said Rodregas.
They had made it to the stables and Doi’van started to put the saddle and tack onto Doom Hoof, the horse that Doi’van had been riding. The horse was slow, but big and strong and was the best horse for this kind of combat.
“So finally, Karun,” said Imeralda, “Not too much is known about her; she was an orphan and clearly of the blood and strong. She is said to be very skilled and she is liked well enough, but no one seems to be an actual friend. There is a r
umor that she might be an actual direct descendent of a God, though no one knew who that God might be.”
“Really? That is rare if true. What is your gut instinct about her?” Rodregas asked.
“Well, I am not sure if I am just doing the girl power together thing, but while she would not talk to me, I kind of like her.”
Rodregas nodded, he had a similar impression.
“Thank you for looking into their backgrounds, Imeralda. You should go get some sleep; the joust should be going on for hours.”
She nodded as he got in the saddle. But before he could ride out she asked, “I don’t suppose you want to explain why you wanted to know about them?”
“I am not sure, just thinking about options,” he answered. Then he pulled Doom Hoof through a wide turn and tried to get him moving and warmed up. If the beast felt any excitement or nervousness he was not showing it. Which Rodregas admitted was better than the opposite reaction. But the horse felt incredibly sluggish compared to his own mount. Hopefully, the horses positive qualities would shine in the tournament.
As Rodregas circled around the courtyard warming up his horse he noticed fewer horses than he expected. After Doom Hoof seemed awake he headed over to where Doi’van stood. For this competition each squire was allowed a servant to provide support, mostly assistance with equipment, especially fresh lances.
“Where is everyone?” he asked Doi’van.
Doi’van did not look up from the ground where he was trying to straighten out a shield without doing more damage and said, “I wondered that myself. Apparently most drop out by this point. A lot have been injured, especially during yesterday’s sword and shield competition, and many simply quit due to not having any points yet. If you are going into the most dangerous part of the competition to be injured or killed and you have only one or two points, why bother?” Doi’van said. “To be honest, I am surprised how many are left. There are still quite a few young fools out there.”
“So how many are left now?” Rodregas asked.
“Fifty-four, on my last count,” Doi’van said.
Rodregas was a little worried about his shield and wondered if he should jump in and rescue it from the powerful grip of the Hellborn, but he held his tongue and let Doi’van handle the equipment.
“I see you are employing the forces of the Infernal Realm to aid you in the joust,” said a voice behind Rodregas.
Rodregas unfortunately recognized the voice as that of Ambassador Van’dret even before he turned and saw him standing there. Two nervous looking squires were standing behind him, one holding a glass and a bottle of wine. The tall graceful Immortalist had dark robes of deepest black with swirling gold patterns sewn on it. His hair was pulled back and to the side in an unusual looking style.
“My Lord,” Rodregas responded. “Is there something that I can help you with?”
“I understand that your other servant, the Nymph girl, was out making inquires last night,” said Van’dret.
Rodregas paused at that, unsure of how to respond. Finally, he said, “It is always good to know who your enemies are and who might be your friends.”
“I don’t think you have many friends here,” said Van’dret.
“I have those I need,” responded Rodregas, “I hear, on the other hand, that you are quite popular. They say that Nordien carries your colors and is your champion.”
Rodregas thought he saw the Ambassador’s eyebrow rise slowly, but there was no hesitation to his response. “As an Ambassador to the knighthood I, of course, have no favorites. Though as one who works to join the Celestials in the Heavens, I do have an abiding dislike for anything that smells of the Infernal.” His voice was smooth, very reasonable, and intolerably smug.
Rodregas spoke before he could help himself, “Really? Because I heard that you and Taiga rather liked the smell of the Infernal. In fact, I heard that it smells very familiar to you.”
Rodregas immediately felt ice in his belly; he knew his hint at such knowledge was enough to turn Van’dret fully against him. The Immortalist’s eyes blazed with fury and Rodregas had no problem thinking that the Infernal Realms were reflected in those cold eyes.
Strangely, it was the one who looked the part of an Infernal Daemon that broke the tense moment. Doi’van casually stood up and said, “This is the best I can do with this shield and here is your lance.” The Hellborn promptly handed Rodregas the items. As Rodregas sat on his horse juggling the gear Doi’van finished with, “Now stop teasing the nice Ambassador and go win a pretty ribbon.” His voice managed to be light and teasing even though it was deep enough to vibrate rock.
Rodregas realized his best move was to go quickly, before the angry looking sorcerer could act, and he moved Doom Hoof around and into line.
The judges seemed to pair up the contestants depending on the quality of the armor, either that or Doi’van got lucky. His first opponent’s armor was not much better than his own. As Doom Hoof plodded forward Rodregas was able to land a solid strike on his opponent’s shield. It was probably no less than the strike that he received in return. But Rodregas was able to hold on to his big steed and absorb the blow. His opponent landed on the ground with a crash. When you were knocked off your mount you had the choice to get back on again and face the same opponent. The winner of two out of three rounds won the whole match.
Rodregas’ opponent did not get up. He circled around and checked on the man. Rodregas could not tell if the man was alive or dead so he dismounted and took off the man’s helm. The man was covered in sweat and was surprisingly old. He was clearly alive, if unconscious. A few young squires ran out and helped to drag the man to get medical care.
Rodregas’ next opponent followed in like manner, though he got up and gave Rodregas a second round. Rodregas circled around to Doi’van who held his spare shields and the provided lances. “This next one is wearing full plate armor, but it is steel. If you can take him down you should be in the top ten or fifteen,” Doi’van said.
Rodregas flexed his shoulders. He had the physical power of a Celestial Lion, but blows from mounted lancers had the power to hurt. “I think I need to change shields,” he said.
Doi’van glanced at what remained of Rodregas’ shield and simply nodded and handed him one of their other shields. It was not in great shape, but it was whole.
Rodregas watched a few of the other matches before it was his turn again. Except for him, everyone remaining wore full plate. Rodregas’ next opponent was shining in the sun in his steel; which was better than him having to face Night Bronze plate, but still not very reassuring.
The flag fell and Rodregas dug his heals into Doom Hoof’s side and the mount plodded forward. His opponent’s horse looked almost as powerful, but much faster. The collision happened before Rodregas was fully expecting it and he felt himself hit the ground and hit it hard.
“Great,” Rodregas muttered to himself, “He has a Dire Steed and full plate armor.”
Rodregas rolled over and pushed himself up, Doom Hoof stood nosing the sand looking for food. “The damned beast should be pulling plows not in a tournament for knighthood.” Rodregas thought. Rodregas’ opponent was starting to turn around, probably to ask for his surrender. Rodregas painfully climbed back up on Doom Hoof and circled the horse back to Doi’van for a new lance and shield.
Doi’van handed over the equipment and said, “How did you break a shield on a single joust?”
Rodregas grunted a non-committal response, and tried to find a comfortable position to hold his lance.
“This is our last shield so when it is gone, we are done,” Doi’van said.
Rodregas nodded in response, he had to get right back to the tilt, as it was still his turn to fight.
Rodregas’ opponent was waiting for his return and was off full speed as soon as the flag fell. Doom Hoof was barely into a trot before the new opponent came into range. Rodregas knew he could not hit straight up against the more heavily armored and mounted opponent. So h
e dropped away from his opponent’s side with speed that his opponent could not match and then stood up in his stirrups and swung his lance into the man. That move was similar to one of the moves Doi’van had taught him with the quarterstaff. A normal lancer did not have the strength to use the heavy lance in such a way.
His blow landed high and Rodregas drove his lance into the man’s shoulder. Shattered pieces of wood filled the air. His opponent flew out of the saddle, an ungainly sight, and landed hard on the arena floor. He did not get back up. After a few minutes the official signaled Rodregas’ victory.
Rodregas headed back to Doi’van who said, “I don’t think that technique is what the knights had in mind.” His voice showed his personal pleasure, knowing that a move he had taught Rodregas lead to his victory.
Rodregas nodded and said, “Decided that my advantage of strength was being matched by armor and steed, so it was time to use agility. I was not sure it would work.”
“It will be harder the next time. Good luck,” Doi’van said.
Rodregas’ next opponent for the joust was riding a powerful war steed and was in the dark non-reflective brown of full Night Bronze armor. Rodregas recognized the simple gray banner of Geriodon. His arm was decorated with the ribbons of his accomplishments in the tournament to date.
As the flag fell it seemed like Geriodon was half way to Rodregas before Doom Hoof started to move. Rodregas knew that the only way he would be able to dodge the lance was if his timing was perfect. He raised himself up as the lance lowered down and dodged to the right. But the lance followed him this time and he felt his body being ripped off the saddle.
