In the meantime, I slowly worked my way through the stack of pink ribbons at my side. I dispensed these to multiple winners, including Sir Ivor and at least one other knight I recognized from the battles to become my champion a few months back. Hearty cheers came from the assembled lords when one of their vassals would brandish the ribbon I tossed them.
A shadow flitted across my face, startling me for a moment. Then, with an almost silent flutter of wings, an owl with brown and white striping settled on the railing next to me. The large bird bowed to me as he spoke.
“One wishes to bring a pair of messages from the Albess to the Lady of Spring Beauty,” he said, in a Hoohan’s typically breathy voice. “If one is not preoccupied, then one would like to deliver said messages as soon as possible.”
My eyebrows raised. Albess Thea was sending me a message, and smack in the middle of the tournament. I turned to the owl, hoping that whatever he had to say, it wasn’t going to lead to disaster.
Chapter Thirty-Three
It was going to take me a moment to work out the roundabout way the owls usually spoke. I’d gotten used to the more-or-less direct way that Albess Thea could talk. I decided to buy myself a little time.
“By the way,” I asked, “What is your name?”
“This one is known as Elekin,” the owl said politely, as he inclined his feathery ‘horns’ towards me.
“Well, this one isn’t busy, Elekin. At least when she’s not handing out pink ribbons. What does the Albess wish to say? This one is ‘all ears’ for you.”
The owl let out an amused ‘hoo!’ and fluttered his wings. “All ears! Very good, this one appreciates a good turn of phrase. Firstly, the Albess conveys her sadness and wishes of attendance, but pressing matters involving coin and paper chain her to a single perch this day.”
I nodded, understanding. It sounded like Thea just had too much paperwork to complete before joining me here, which was sad. I very much liked her company and the steadiness of her guidance.
“What is the second message?”
“Secondly, the Albess has asked this one to convey an update of a mutual friend,” Elekin said. “The one known as Xandra has at last laid her egg, and even now nests it with hope for a joyous birth!”
“She did? Well, good for her!” I exclaimed, happy for my friend.
Part of me still grieved over the death of Xandra’s son, Perrin. But perhaps she might find joy to mitigate that sadness with the birth of another child. I certainly hoped so.
The news also made me wonder how long gestation took for the Hoohan. Among earthly owls, the time between conception and egg laying (or hatching) wasn’t all that lengthy a process. But the owls of Andeluvia were much bigger, and could talk as well. So all the rules were off, so far as I knew.
“One observes that the tournament’s final event is quickly drawing nigh,” Elekin noted. “Fewer wings-and-talons mean fewer events, that much is for sure. But that is neither here nor there for a Hoohan. This one must now be aloft.”
“Fly well,” I said, and the owl took to the air, vanishing into the sky.
I pursed my lips as I thought about his last comment. I finally realized what the owl meant. The Spring Tournament was a contest for all branches of the Andeluvian military. But this year, there were almost no ‘wings-and-talons’ because Belladonna had called back her griffins. Since the Air Cavalry was a shadow of its former self, this tournament probably lacked up to half the usual events.
Noontime came, and with it a break like a halftime show. The same sprawling band I’d seen at the palace for Fitzwilliam’s coronation and my own investiture made an appearance at center field. I still didn’t have an ear for Andeluvian music. The band kicked off their set with a beer-soaked anthem that sounded like ‘Roll Out the Barrel’, only with flatulent alphorns and a squeaky quintet of hurdy-gurdies.
My stomach had started to grumble, but thankfully the royal pages brought over drinks and honey-drizzled pastries for everyone. I turned and gave a thumbs-up to my friends as I ate what was provided and sipped at a glass of ‘summer crush’. Galen looked excited and happy, probably from watching his sister trounce her opponents. Liam simply seemed bored. Shaw, on the other hand, looked positively grumpy as he gulped down a half-dozen pastries and looked around for more to eat.
The pleasant snack and the not-so-pleasant music came to an end soon enough. Yet more rounds of men on horseback and men fighting men went on through the afternoon. My mind drifted onto different subjects to distract me from the growing itchiness of both the hennin and the tight Pink Lady gown.
For starters, it surprised me that there were no archery contests in this medieval-era tournament. Perhaps that was because I had yet to meet a knight that used a bow and arrow. Rikka certainly did, but she came from a different culture. In fact, I got the impression that archers weren’t as highly valued. One of the members of the Order of the Weasel, Lord Slate, had even gotten a positive mention for refusing to hire a company of trained archers.
The lack of a jousting tournament also surprised me. I thought back to my experiences with Fitzwilliam and his men. While I’d seen mounted Andeluvian knights use swords, maces, and spears, I couldn’t recall even one of them carrying a lance. Only the centaurs used them. Once again, I had to chalk it up to a cultural difference between my world and this one
Those differences were what made Andeluvia so maddening, and yet so exotic at the same time. From a forensic perspective, magic could be used to kill most gruesomely. It could obscure things behind a veil of sorcery. Or it could make them clear in unexpected ways.
For a moment, I thought back on Shelly’s suggestion.
My mind felt on the verge of another of its weird ‘clicking’ moments.
But right then, the fanfare of the trumpeters cut into my reverie. Off to each side, the ranks of participating knights stood at attention, their armor gleaming. In the middle lay a broad square marked with yet more orange rope and stakes.
I shook my head and listened as Fitzwilliam continued speaking to all present. He was still using Galen’s enchantment to ensure that we could all hear his words. I must have been deep in thought to have missed his opening.
“…we have four knights of valor who have won at least two separate contests,” the King announced. “Yet there can be only a single warrior who shall return today with the victory. Let us cheer on the four most courageous among us, and let the Gods smile upon the decision of the Grand Duel!”
More cheers erupted from the assembled lords and the crowd across the way. Those cheers were sounding a little tired and ragged now, but no less excited. Fitzwilliam stepped back, and Herald, the Lord of the Pursuivant, came forward to read off a small sheet of parchment.
“I bid thee, four champions, to come forth and take up a corner within the bounds of the melee,” he began, his throat bobbing as he shouted each name. “Sir Ivor, son to Lord Ivor of the Eastern Reach!”
The bear-like form of Sir Ivor strode forward from the ranks. Lord Ivor looked wan and pale, but his chest still swelled with pride as his son took up the near corner of the melee bounds. Shouts and cheers rose from the crowd as he did so.
“Sir Kagin, first son to Lord Alvey of the Eastern Reach!”
Alvey’s chest swelled in turn as his boy went to a different corner. Kagin took off his helm for a moment, displaying his now-messy scalp lock. He unsheathed his sword and made a flamboyant figure-eight with it in the air. The crowd must have liked it, as they cheered even more loudly.
“Sir Tostig, kinsman and knight to Lord Talish of the Western Reach!”
A red-headed man who stood a good five inches taller than Sir Ivor or Kagin lumbered over to a third corner. I recognized him as one of the two knights who had made it to the final ‘cut’ for my favor at the palace. He’d been incensed when I’d chosen my page Percival as my champion.
“Skallgrym Serikkaylen, centauress warrior of the Centaur Realm and sister to the Court Wizard!”
Rikk
a trotted out to the final corner, looking much larger and redder than Sir Tostig. A wave of murmurs ran through the crowd of commoners as the lords of Andeluvia sat silently. She raised her sword and let out her signature high-pitched war whoop.
That got the crowd cheering, finally.
I threw a glance towards my friends as I stepped to the edge of my platform, leaned out against the railing, and clapped. Galen saw what I was doing and followed suit, along with a measured stamp of his hooves. Shaw and Liam joined in, making the center platform rattle and groan.
King Fitzwilliam turned to look at what was causing the commotion. He raised an eyebrow, and then began to clap himself. One by one, the lords around him, as well as the knights seated to the left, joined in. Rikka looked surprised by the show of respect and bowed back to them.
“Today’s contest shall not have judges to adjudicate points for form. Victory can only come from a twenty-count knockdown” Herald continued. “Or the shedding of first blood.”
The crowd liked that, and even the knights at the platform across the way let out a chorus of rough laughter. Me, I grabbed the railing tightly in my hands. These were higher stakes than I liked – more suited to the griffin aerie than a human kingdom – but I had no say in the matter.
Herald moved to one side as the King took center stage again. He raised his hand above his head for a moment, and then brought his arm down. The trumpeters blew three short blasts on their horns then went silent.
A quartet of swords gleamed in the light as the Grand Duel’s combatants moved in to slash and maim each other for our amusement.
Chapter Thirty-Four
I expected the four duelists in the Grand Duel to start by warily eyeing one another before moving. Kind of like how Old West gunfighters would have that tense standoff before reaching for their guns. Maybe even a tumbleweed or the equivalent would blow across the arena.
Not this time.
As soon as the trumpets blew, Sir Kagin advanced on Rikka’s corner. She turned and took a few steps in his direction, fully expecting his choice. In truth, these two had something of a grudge match to settle. I heard various numbers being shouted between the lords behind the King; obviously, some serious betting was going on. After all, someone’s butt really was on the line here.
Sir Tostig and Sir Ivor watched the centauress and the other knight advance on each other without comment. Tostig looked over and, with a little shrug, advanced on Ivor’s position. Ivor moved a couple of yards to his left to find ground that hadn’t been churned up by all the prior events.
All four warriors were armed in the exact same manner. They each carried a straight, double-edged sword with a T-shaped hilt in one hand. A round shield had been strapped to their opposite arm. The shields were made of heavy wood, rimmed with steel, and embossed with a conical metal plate in the middle to help deflect blows.
Their armor varied from scale-mail, in Rikka’s case, to a half-suit of plate for Sir Tostig. Each contestant had decided to go with open-faced helmets. That made sense considering how much vision and hearing counted in this type of combat.
Rikka and Kagin clashed first. He swung at her viciously, but she took the blow without flinching on her shield. Kagin went after her again, slashing and scoring her shield as she brought it up to guard her torso.
Ivor’s sword met Tostig’s with a clang of metal against metal. Tostig, as the larger and more heavily armored man, bore in aggressively. He did his best to overbear the heavier and more compact Ivor, using his blade to chop downward like a cleaver. His sword bit into the metal edge of Ivor’s shield with a crash, denting the rim.
The double-clash before us already had many lords on their feet, yelling encouragement. It was no different across the field as the commoners jumped up and began doing the same. I stayed where I was, feeling anxious and sick as I continued to watch.
Like a great oak tree, Rikka planted her four hooves firmly in the turf, moving her shield back and forth to counter the younger fighter’s blows. Occasionally, her sword would flick out, only to be deflected by Kagin’s blade. But that was rare, and the strikes she made were shorter than her full reach.
The fight between Tostig and Ivor was the closer one, and I could easily watch every thrust and parry between the two knights. The metal rim of Ivor’s shield was rent in several places, while Tostig had taken several blows to his arms and torso plates, without ill effect.
The large redheaded man changed from a series of thrusts to a brutal sideways swipe. It glanced off Ivor’s shield and smacked into the chain mail covering the ribs on his left side. I winced in sympathy, even as Lord Ivor grasped the edge of his seat in fear. His son rolled with the blow, staggering slightly and breathing hard.
Tostig saw his advantage and pressed it. He came in with yet another overhead chop. Instead of taking the blow on his shield, Ivor blocked it with the guard of his sword. The clash of steel on steel rattled the two men. Tostig continued his swing, smacking his sword’s guard against Ivor’s and stumbling forward a step.
Ivor saw his opening. He raised his shield arm and brought the bottom edge of his shield down against the side of Tostig’s cheek guard. The metal rim rang against the larger knight’s helmet like a bell. He staggered as he tried to right himself. Ivor followed up with a second blow from the flat of his sword across the back of his opponent’s head.
Tostig rolled and fell into the muddy grass. He lay on his back, stunned.
Lord Ivor was on his feet now, holding his hands over his heart. From the knight’s pavilion to the left, I heard the men chanting together, counting from one…to ten…to fifteen…
To twenty. Tostig raised his head, thought better of it, and lay back down.
Across the field, Kagin’s repeated strikes had ruined the face of Rikka’s shield. The centauress kept shifting her hind hooves, practically moving in a circle as Kagin tried again and again to get a blow in on her flank.
One of the knight’s strikes finally slipped past Rikka’s guard. It glanced off the scale-armored plate where she’d normally carry her saddlebag, but the centauress felt it. She moved into a slightly more aggressive stance, forcing Kagin back every time he tried to slip around her side. But she still waited for most of his blows, dropping her shield just enough to encouraging him to attack.
Kagin stepped back and yanked off his helmet in frustration. Sweat ran down his face, carving tracks on his dust-caked skin. He shot a glance towards where Ivor had just finished helping Tostig into the makeshift stretcher brought out by the royal pages. Alvey’s son called over to Ivor while jabbing his finger urgently at the centauress.
It was too far to hear what was being said, but it was easy to guess. Rikka watched impassively, waiting to see what the two knights would do next. Two-on-one was perfectly legal in the Grand Duel, as it was a ‘last man standing’ type of event.
Ivor surprised me. He shook his head, jabbed his sword point-first into the turf and placed his hands on the hilt.
This raised the frenzy of both the commoners and nobles in the audience to fever pitch.
Yet it did make sense. Perhaps Ivor simply didn’t want to help Kagin, as the two obviously didn’t like each other. But it also could have been that Ivor wanted his remaining opponents tired out from fighting each other before he strode in and took on the winner.
And speaking of tiring out, Sir Kagin wasn’t as fresh as at the beginning. His strikes weren’t quite as fast, and his chest heaved like a pair of bellows. Now he pointed at the centauress, cursing her at the top of his lungs.
Rikka lowered her badly dented shield just low enough for Kagin to watch as she put her hand under her chin. Then she made a flicking motion towards him, as if scraping something noxious off her skin. Kagin’s eyes glowered as he charged in again, jabbing at her both high and low.
She parried both thrusts and now stepped forward, driving the man back step by step with a series of brutal sideways blows. The metal boss of Kagin’s shield came off with a spang. Rikka
kept hitting him, keeping the knight off balance until she finally scored a hit on his shoulder.
Kagin spun around and fell to the ground with the force of the blow.
The now thoroughly inebriated crowd started pushing forward, straining to see the fight, shouting and cursing at each other and the fighters as they did so. All eyes focused on where the knight had fallen. Voices called for him to get back up. Even the King was out of his throne, his attention riveted on the outcome.
I took a step back as something gave my hennin a sharp tug. I grabbed the little forehead loop to keep the damned thing from being blown off. Another sharp gust of wind buffeted my platform.
A horrible suspicion blossomed in my mind.
I turned towards my friends and waved my arm as if I were desperately signaling for a taxi. Shaw, bless him, spotted the movement even as Liam and Galen were riveted on the action. He took off with a lion’s leap, spread his wings, and landed next to me atop my platform.
“What ails thee?” he asked, concerned.
“Look across the way, at the commoner’s section,” I urged. “Tell me if you see Master Seer Zenos over there.”
Shaw draped both leonine paws over the railing and intently scanned the crowd. He nodded as his eagle’s eyes spotted his quarry.
“Aye, he is there.” He frowned as he added, “‘Tis a rowdy spot to be for an elder. He clings to his staff to keep from being bowled over by those around him.”
My mind made a weird click as it flashed on what Zenos had told me a couple of days ago. About the first of his prophetic dreams.
Death was in the air, he had said. I was in a large open space…it felt like I was in the middle of a rowdy crowd. Then death came. It came on a stiff wind, bending, breaking, and biting all in its way. And there you were, standing proudly as if at the prow of a great ship.
Trafficking in Demons Page 19