by Guy Antibes
The king nodded and took another bite of his roast beef. Trevor relaxed. That was easier than he had thought, but it disconcerted him that Boxster had caught his father’s attention.
The rest of dinner proceeded as expected until King Henry began another round of questioning.
“I understand there is unrest in the kingdom. I want you each to advise me about what I should do.”
What a dangerous question, Trevor thought. He looked at the surprised faces of his siblings.
“In reverse order, this time. Lilith?”
“Discover their needs and give them the tools so they can satisfy them on their own.”
“Give them a living? That would bankrupt the kingdom,” King Henry said.
“No. If a farmer needs a plow, give him a plow. If a butcher needs help, give him the means to bring an apprentice on board. Mother tells me that there are lots of apprentices in Dorwick. Perhaps we can increase the opportunities in Presidon.”
“Filling my children with fanciful ideas, Hyra?” King Henry said.
The queen merely nodded with a grave look on her face.
The comment was almost made offhand, but Trevor knew there wasn’t anything casual about the question or the answer.
“Renny?”
“Education. Let everyone learn to read and write, then watch the kingdom grow.”
King Henry leaned forward. “In what way? By conquering our neighbors? Does reading conquer armies?”
“We could have our own university. Owen could get his education, then,” Renny said, ignoring his father’s questions.
Owen shot to his feet and pointed at Renny. “You dare attempt to condescend to me? I’m your older brother.”
Renny folded his arms and shrugged. “I’m just trying to help.”
Trevor detected the hint of a smile that the others might fail to pick up.
The king glared at Trevor, not happy with Renny’s suggestion or at Owen’s outburst. He didn’t know which.
“Keep the people busy would be my suggestion. Lilith has a good idea, and so does Renny. If everyone is busy, they won’t be in a complaining frame of mind,” Trevor said.
“Simpleton,” Bering said, barely loud enough for everyone to hear.
“Is that because your life is now filled with soldierly duties?” King Henry asked Trevor.
Trevor had more to say, but he kept his thoughts to himself. It wasn’t the busyness that he meant, but with an industrious populace, there would be more wealth for everyone, according to what he had learned from Brother Yvan. He suspected that Presidon wasn’t ready for a radical change like that.
“I think you are in the right place to see how wrong you are,” King Henry said.
Wynn gave her usual vacuous answer about keeping everyone fed. She was righter than she realized, but the girl was just too dimwitted to understand that while the others laughed at her. Trevor didn’t do any laughing.
Owen and Bering both talked about suppression. Trevor could see their answers were more in line with his father’s ideas. Trevor realized that this had been a test, and that four of his children failed. Owen and Bering passed. It looked to Trevor that any questions of succession had just been answered.
“A tight fist,” King Henry said when Bering had finished. “That is what keeps a kingdom together, control. You would be wise to remember that if you don’t want to dangle at the end of a rope, someday.”
Trevor thought repression didn’t keep the people happy, but he kept his thoughts to himself. Brother Yvan had said it was a dangerous time, and dinner had confirmed that it was.
“No surprises tomorrow,” King Henry said.
Trevor thought dinner was over. “Did you say that to me, Father?”
“I did. I know you have practiced jousting with that Boxster fellow. Don’t make me banish you for going against my wishes.”
“It didn’t cross my mind,” Trevor said. It didn’t only because Boxster was adamant that Trevor learn new techniques, but not for the tournament.
“And I am the king of Presidon and have the fate of every subject in my hands.” He made a show of slowly closing his fist. “That is an order. Disobey me at your peril.”
“I have already taken it as such, Father.”
King Henry’s face twisted in anger. “Don’t ‘Father’ me, Trevor, and don’t forget I am your superior in every way.”
Trevor bowed from his seat. “You can be assured I won’t.” He wondered why his father would throw him into the military but wouldn’t let him joust. It didn’t seem very fair, but for the fact that men had been killed jousting and merely injured in the other contests. Perhaps he did want his military son to stay alive.
The king rose and left by himself. Trevor’s mother and Lilith left next; both of them gave him odd glances as they left the room. Owen and Bering strutted out of the room.
“No jousting, Brother,” Bering said with a sneer.
Wynn looked confused, as usual, and Renny shook his head.
“Don’t ask me what that was all about,” Trevor’s youngest brother said.
Trevor sat alone in the dining room. He didn’t know what had triggered his father, but it was clear King Henry was in no mood to be ignored.
It was time for a visit to the chapel, and Trevor hoped that Brother Yvan was in.
He knocked on the cleric’s personal quarters. Yvan showed up, daubing the corner of his mouth.
“I was in the middle of dinner. If you don’t mind watching me eat, come on in. What has happened?”
Trevor told him the story of the awful dinner while Brother Yvan ate a simple dinner of half a chicken and potatoes boiled in the same pot.
“You should warn Sergeant Boxster that he has caught the king’s eye. I should say he has had excellent reports on your progress, and it wasn’t his intent to have you succeed so early.”
“That bad, eh?” Trevor asked.
“I’m afraid so. Stay out of the preparation tents, even if Boxster is participating in the jousting.”
Trevor nodded. He had planned on being Boxster’s squire. He hadn’t told the sergeant that, but now he would offer Win to assist him.
“Now, why do you think your father was asking about unrest?” Brother Yvan asked.
“That is easy: succession. Owen and Bering pleased Father with their answers,” Trevor said.
Brother Yvan nodded his head. “And a clear message to Lilith and the queen. It is becoming general knowledge that King Henry is more displeased with his queen than ever.”
“That is because of Lilith?”
“Probably,” Yvan said. “Now on to other matters. I have been drafted to join the healers at both the jousting tourney tomorrow and the melee and mounted melee the next day. Whatever happens, stay in the stands, even if Sergeant Boxster is hurt. I’ll be there to take care of him. Have you read my book on healing?”
“I’m about a third of the way through,” Trevor said. “I started that first because I would need that information first.”
Yvan laughed. “Let’s have a review on what you’ve learned before you return to the barracks.”
Chapter Five
~
T revor sought out Win, who was in the armory polishing someone else’s armor.
“Desolation Boxster’s?” Trevor asked.
“Who else? I work for you, and I knew you would let me be his squire for the joust.”
Trevor’s eyes lingered on the armor. “I wish it were me. My father was quite adamant about not jousting.”
“As a father, yours isn’t worth much in my eyes. As king, of course, I’d die for him.”
Trevor smiled, and Win laughed at his comment. “You, on the other hand, are worth quite a bit, but I’m not sure I’d die for you.”
“As you shouldn’t,” Trevor said. “Is that a good set of armor?”
“Good enough if Boxster is as good at jousting as he is at everything else. He is like no sergeant I’ve ever seen.”
“I agree,�
� Trevor said. “Polish on.”
The walk to his room wasn’t the most pleasant trek Trevor had ever made. He wanted to feel sorry for himself, but it wasn’t in his nature. He set aside the dark feelings his father had created and commenced to study the healing book. Evidently, Brother Yvan had to scold him about not studying hard enough. Trevor never committed to studying, just reading, but the cleric had other ideas.
A knock on his door woke him up. Trevor closed the open book and set it aside on his desk. Boxster stepped inside.
“Prince Trevor Arcwin, I am here on a mission of mercy,” Sergeant Boxster said.
“Are you drunk?” Trevor asked.
“Not at all. I have come to strategize. How would you like to joust in my place tomorrow?” the sergeant asked.
“I can’t. Father forbids it.”
“And what is he going to do?”
Trevor pressed his lips together before he said, “Banish me.”
Boxster shook his head. “The time isn’t right for him to do that. I would know.”
“Why would you know?” Trevor asked.
“If he banished you right now, he would lose too much of his reputation. He will put you into the field immediately if he catches you jousting.”
“As if that would be a punishment. Does Father think that would stop me from defying him?”
Boxster smiled. “It wouldn’t, would it?”
“How do you know me so well?” Trevor asked.
“It doesn’t take a genius to understand the mind of a moron, sir.”
Trevor wondered if he was dreaming. He pinched his cheek, and it hurt more than enough to disprove that.
“If I’m such a moron, why would you even bother to have Win polish someone else’s armor?”
“I rented that set. You will find that it fits you better than it fits me, Prince Trevor Arcwin, sir,” Boxster said.
“How could I possibly fool my father?”
“That is where the strategy comes in,” Boxster said. “You are going to have to be seen at one end of the stands and then run to the staging area, and after you have been defeated, you will run back. I’ve told enough officers and soldiers that I will be jousting. I will wear a yellow scarf around my upper arm.”
“A token of a lady’s affection?”
“A lady not in Presidon,” Boxster said. “But you will need an identifier. If anyone sees the yellow scarf, they will think it is me.”
“But our styles?”
“Who has seen you joust after my instruction?”
“No one except Win.”
Boxster nodded his head. “Your style is more like my style now. Don’t worry about that.
Trevor let the concept bounce around in his head for a few moments. He permitted his emotions to get the best of him. “Then let’s strategize.”
“I have most of it figured out,” Boxster said.
“I guessed that already.”
~
Trevor’s hands were sweaty as he strolled at the far end of the arena, bowing to everyone who met his eye. When the time was right, he ducked behind the stands and put on a hooded cloak. He hunched over and hobbled as quickly as he could behind the stands and ducked through the fabric fence that marked the preparation area.
“You took your time,” Boxster said as Trevor parted the flap to Boxster’s tent.
“An old man can’t run very fast,” Trevor said.
Boxster almost smiled. “Time to get you dressed.”
Win and the sergeant helped Trevor into the armor and put his helmet on with the visor pulled down.
“I will return. Don’t get hurt too badly,” Boxster said as he donned the cloak that Trevor had worn and exited the tent.
A page ducked into the tent a few moments later. “Here is the order of the joust,” he said, leaving the paper in Win’s hands.
“They didn’t make it easy for you,” Win said. “There are good men in your bracket. It is more difficult than the other.”
“How many jousters?”
“Twenty-four. It shouldn’t take too long. You will be second on the field.”
Win held the schedule up for Trevor to examine. “If I make it to the finals, I will have the tournament won.”
“I’m prepared for your defeat. It might be better for you to lose in the quarter- or semifinals,” Win said. “Then you won’t have to face your father.”
“I won’t face my father. At this point, I don’t know what I’ll do.”
Win nodded, but Trevor could see the disappointment on his squire’s face.
“Don’t you want the glory?” Win asked.
“A victory with banishment as the reward? I’m more than happy to measure myself against other men in the field,” Trevor said.
He jerked when the trumpet called the first pairing.
“Are you going to watch?”
“Not this time. I’ll stick out with my height,” Trevor said, “but I will go after my initial win.”
Win looked worried as he checked on Trevor’s straps. “Time to get mounted.”
Trevor nodded, but his armor restricted even that. As they walked outside and Win moved the mounting box to the horse’s side, Trevor patted his squire on the shoulder as the crowd roared. The trumpet didn’t sound, so the first match wasn’t over.
“This is what I want. Are you still prepared for any punishment?”
Win shook his head. “We are in this together.”
Trevor lifted his visor and smiled. “This may be the last time you see my face until this is over.”
Win grinned back. “Take ’em all,” he said.
The crowd roared, followed by the trumpet calling the next pair.
“Time to get to work,” Trevor said.
Win handed him a lance from a rack of twenty. Trevor hoped they would be enough as he guided his charger through the lanes the tents had made and rode into the arena as he, Desolation Boxster, was being announced.
Trevor ran the joust in his mind, picturing his opponent, who currently rode to the far end of the arena. His movements matched what Boxster had taught him. Trevor couldn’t revert to his former technique, or his father, with his sharp eyes, would tell the difference.
Boxster had hired a colossal charger, not because of Trevor’s weight, but to mask his more considerable length. The mass gave him a significant advantage, and Trevor used that advantage to unseat his first opponent on the initial run. Trevor would have wanted to see if the man was injured, but Boxster forbade it since he would do no such thing if he had competed.
Trevor pumped his fist once and returned to the tent. Win helped him off the horse before Trevor ducked inside his pavilion and drained a cup of water. With so many matches, Trevor would be woozy if he had wine as he crept through the bracket.
By the time he reached the fence at the northern edge of the arena, the third pairing had started their second run. The results were inconclusive. Trevor noticed the style of the rider he thought would win. That contestant wouldn’t represent a problem. On the next run, Trevor’s favorite experienced an equipment malfunction that was a disqualification, and the match went to the lesser contestant.
The first round went quickly. Trevor looked around for someone who might be eyeing him with suspicion, but he didn’t find anyone. With the competition in his mind, he went over the characteristics of each of the other winners.
Trevor downed another cup of water and left the pavilion. Win had groomed the horse and was ready with Trevor’s next lance. He wouldn’t chance using one twice in case the shaft had a hidden break. This time he had to ride across the field and wanted to cringe when he passed the royal viewing area. He didn’t look in that direction and sighed once he reached the far side. He hadn’t seen the winner, but there were two passes, and Trevor hoped to unhorse his opponent on the first.
He ran over his strategy, using a different approach than his first one. Boxster had shown him four basic strategies. Trevor already knew two of them, the only ones he had pre
viously used in practice before Boxster showed up.
The starting flag dropped, and Trevor’s horse bunched its muscles and shot forward early, almost unseating Trevor, but he was able to get upright and in position for the first pass. His opponent’s lance shattered against Trevor’s shield, and with Trevor’s strength, his lance hit the opponent squarely in the middle of his shield, but the blow was direct enough to knock him backward off the horse.
Trevor fought himself not to look back to see how badly injured his opponent might be as he didn’t have far to go to leave the field.
“That is two down and three to go,” Win said.
Trevor nodded as he dismounted with Win’s help and stepped inside the tent for a quick breather and then out to do more scouting. He noticed a few more tricks used by other competitors, including a couple that Boxster had shown him. Trevor wouldn’t employ any trick that might get him disqualified. One good competitor fell to temptation and was disqualified from the tournament.
The tension was building. None of the six men left in the tournament talked to each other. Trevor was nervous, but he didn’t know what the others thought. Everyone wore their helmets even though the sun was climbing higher.
The third round pitted Trevor against an opponent almost as big as he. The first pass ended in a cloud of splinters with both lances shattering. When Trevor rode back to the entrance to the preparation area, Win was ready with a fresh lance. His opponent’s lance had glanced off Trevor’s guard and bounced up to his shoulder. The shock had rattled Trevor, but at the same time, Trevor’s lance had hit his opponent in the upper shield arm full on. The man had dropped his lance, and Trevor could see his counterpart’s arm hanging down. The jouster would not be able to hold his lance for another pass.
Trevor couldn’t resist nodding his head to his opponent as he wheeled around the jousting fence and returned to his tent. Now he was faced with a dilemma, and Win entered the tent to announce a visit from his last opponent. Trevor put his helmet back on and slumped in his chair.
“I submit to your supremacy, sir,” the man said. “I am surprised a simple sergeant can best me, but it appears you are no simple sergeant.”