At every entrance to the stadium were people selling tickets; some behind a booth and others scalping. Basilard showed the mission bill to the ticket counter, who waved them in. Inside, Eric smelled the concession food before he saw the stands: grease, butter, salt, and human sweat. It made him hungry. Everything was so reminiscent of Threa, he was both puzzled and fascinated.
“Daylra, what year is it?”
“You don't know what year it is?” Tiza asked. In a flash, Eric realized the stupidity of his question and his face burned.
Basilard chuckled softly and said, “I keep forgetting you're an Otherworlder.” He stopped in front of a concession stand. “The year is 2000 AA. If you guys want anything, now's the time.”
“What's the year in your world?” Nolien asked. He turned to the counter and said, “I'll have a medium soda, thanks.”
“Same: two thousand years since the last time we changed the notation.”
Nolien paid for his drink and took a sip. “AA, either Avatar Alliance or After Alliance; a worldwide event reaching to the fundamental nature of our world. No one argues about it.”
The school taught him about the AA term, but his teacher never went into enough detail for him. They explained how Ataidar was founded around this time and that an alliance between many different organizations made it possible. They spoke at great length about the first ruler and her struggles, but the scope of the entire Alliance was too great for the single history class he attended. His nine-day stay in the library proved the opposite; there was far too much for him to take in quickly. That's why one of the books, History of the Avatar Alliance, was under his arm.
Their post was a stretch of grass between the stands and the field; front row seats, really. It was an ideal day for a game; sunny and balmy, but clouds hovered above. Basilard sat down, took out his dirty book, and told them to enjoy the show.
“I came to here to guard.” Tiza growled. She gripped her hilt so tightly her knuckles turned white. “Not to watch men show off.”
Basilard turned a page. “There are women competing too, you know.”
“Really?” Tiza asked.
“Oh yes!” Nolien said, “I heard Yasoi of Raging Mountains is favored to win 8:1.”
Tiza's grip lightened and she shifted nervously. “Well . . . I guess I could guard until her match.”
She sat down next to Basilard. Nolien sighed and joined her. Eric sat down next to Nolien and put down his refreshments.
“Hey, Eric!”
It was Annala and she was wearing a dress; a simple and cute purple one with full length skirts. She gathered them in one hand and walked over. “I didn't know you'd be working here.”
The way her dress fell back around her legs mesmerized Eric.“Well . . .ah . . .you know . . .” He scratched the back of his neck in his struggle to remember why he was here. “ . . . Mercenary.” That was the best he could come up with. Annala giggled.
A party of trumpets blared fanfare. “Well, I'd better go. See you after the Joust?”
“Huh? Sure! I mean . . . yeah, sure.”
He was so distracted he didn't notice Tiza snickering.
Annala left and it was like coming out of a trance. . . . Was I ogling her? The thought made him shudder. He was so comfortable around Annala and, since she normally wore pants, he would forget he was talking to a girl. Why was she dressed up, today of all days?
A Jouster and his partner stepped onto the field, both outfitted in full armor. The rider's head was concealed by a helm with a pincher claw on top. From their shoulders to their hands and feet, they wore tournament grade plate mail. In one hand was a seven-foot lance made of oak and in the other was a heater shield with a coat of arms: four beetle-like pincers surrounding a flower. The horse wore a pincer helm and barding with the coat painted on both sides. This knight-in-shinning-armor trotted to the stand to receive a handkerchief from a fair maiden.
“The First Round of the Opening Joust shall now begin!” shouted an official, his voice magically amplified to carry over the stadium. The pincer helm jouster clasped their lady's hand before trotting to their lane. The lady looked adoringly after them. Normally, Eric didn't see girls wearing full-length dresses or medallions.
With a horrible sinking feeling in his stomach, Eric realized the answer to his question. The Joust is the biggest gathering of eligible bachelors all year. Eric shook his head wildly, as if he could toss the idea out of his mind. Annala wouldn't do that! Yeah, she won't. She's still in high school . . .focused on that, yeah . . .She's way too smart and independent . . .ignored all the love letters . . .As his worries subsided, another blow came. What if the right one hadn't come yet!? His stomach turned over and twisted itself. It would explain the dress and on a day like this . . . He was so lost in thought, he jumped clear off the ground when he heard a shout.
It was Tiza and her eyes were glued to the list field. He followed her gaze and saw one of the jousters had been unhorsed. A team of attendants was dragging him away while the horse followed. The winner was the pincher-helm.
“Did you see that clash!?” Tiza shouted at Nolien. On her face was the smile of a fan. “That guy had no idea what he was doing! Putting the lance straight out like that. Idiot!” When Nolien covered his ears, Tiza stole his drink and took a swig of it. “He deserved to be knocked off.”
Basilard looked up from his dirty book and asked, “Have you seen a joust before?” Like a game canceled on account of rain, Tiza's smile vanished behind a cloud of scowls . . . and a drizzle of fear.
“None of your business,” she said before taking another long drink from Nolien's bottle while making a loud slurping noise. She slammed the bottle on the ground and belched. Nolien looked at the drink and weighed the pros and cons of taking it back. He sighed and sat back against the railing. A sticky white projectile fell out of the sky and landed on his shoulder.
“If you insist,” Basilard said and went back to his book.
More jousters lined up to receive the favor of their damsel, or in some cases, their dude. Though if these were the women of which Basilard spoke or homosexuals, Eric couldn't tell because of their helms.
Jousters took their places up in the list field, two by three. An official called out the names of the round's competitors and then rang a gong. The jousters charged. In the early bouts, one of them would be knocked off instantly and the winner would be declared. Tiza would sneer when this happened and point out what the losers did wrong. Basilard would agree or challenge her and they would debate. He never questioned her knowledge.
Every ten minutes or so, the list field would empty. Basilard explained this was because the folks at home were seeing a commercial. The jousters used this time to adjust their armor or drink water or fish for compliments from their personal cheerleaders. As weaker players were weeded out, the jousters needed several runs to unseat each other. Cheers diminished as the jousters focused on each other. It reminded Eric of the silence on a putting green. The Joust continued as more competitors lined up and were knocked down. The more he watched the more Jousting reminded him of Football; the players put on protective padding, ran at high speeds, and knocked each other over.
Every round or two, he'd glance at the Royal Box. Aio was many things, but not dishonest. If he said that Eric should keep an eye on the princess, that's what he would do. Even if he hadn't, he'd still be sneaking glances. Kasile looked even more beautiful today than when he first meet her. Her dress and gloves seemed to be made of spun fire. Her hair was held in a bun and she wore a gold tiara with a ruby fixed in the center. On her neck was a gold necklace with a second ruby.
He noticed no one had asked her favor yet.
When Yasoi of Raging Mountain was called, Tiza glued her eyes to the woman warrior. She was easy to spot as she was the only one riding a griffin instead of a horse. On her shield were a dragon and a griffin standing back-to-back and surrounded by monsters. When her bout ended, Eric realized Nolien spoke the truth earlier. Yasoi's bout lasted
only one round and her opponent was knocked clear off their horse. Basilard had to drop his book and plug his ears when Tiza cheered.
Next up was a jouster baring the crest of Stratos—two immense grey swords pointing up and down respectively inside a flaming red border. Basilard told Eric this was Culmus and that was his family crest. The knightly figure didn't stop at the stands to ask for anyone's favor. However, as he passed Team Four, he pulled the corner of a handkerchief out of his right gauntlet. Basilard put his book down and gave him a thumbs up. Proudly waving the Crest of Stratos on his shield, Culmus took his place on the list field. He won his bout and shoved past another jouster.
This one held the crest of Esrah: a silver sword and shield crossed over red land. According to the library, Stratos and Esrah were rivals and had been for generations. No wonder they weren't set against each other. Esrah trotted straight up to the royal box and requested the favor of the princess.
Kasile arose and, to the giggling of her ladies-in-waiting, tied a handkerchief above his right elbow. The boy trotted to the list field and an older gentleman, bearing the same crest, noted that the one she gave him was different from the one from last season. Kasile hid behind a fan and demurred.
Tiza drained the last of her (Nolien's) drink. “I'm getting a refill.”
“Eric, go too,” Basilard ordered, “I don't want her wandering off, if you know what I mean.”
Tiza made a face, clearly disappointed, and hauled Eric to his feet. She pulled him to the concession stand and made him save her place while she leaned against the wall away from the crowd. When Eric reached the front of the line, Tiza rejoined him. The rest of her ice went down his shirt.
Night came early that day. Darkness rushed the hallway in a wave of black fog. There was a crash of metal and a bleating of horses. Someone cursed and someone screamed. Then all abyss broke loose. Battle cries challenged roars and the smell of blood filled the air. The hall shook with combat and panic, but most chilling of all were the screams of pain and fear.
Eric was no longer standing in a pitch black world, but running through it. Fear flooded his mind and tossed ideas. He looked over his shoulder and saw a pursuing swarm armed with a multitude of weapons. He picked up his skirts and ran faster. Skirts!?
Instead of looking down to check, his eyes searched the darkness in front of him. Pain exploded in his forehead. A hand clasped in a glove and gold bracelet traced the wall. Heart racing, he checked the length of the wall to the right and found more wood. Dashing—and almost tripping on his skirt hem—he checked the far side and found more wood. A dead end, and this made him relieved.
Perfect, I can force a two-on-one fight here . . .
Eric mentally scratched his head. He hadn't thought that.
Though the fog was thick, he could see a crowd two chests across and some heads deep. All of them wore black cloaks with hoods obscuring their faces.
“End of the line, princess,” one of them taunted. Princess? . . .Of course! That man sees Kasile, not me! Next question: why am I seeing and hearing what she is?
“It is indeed,” Kasile said regally, “By the blood of my veins, I charge you with disturbing the peace, reckless endangerment, vandalism, and a misdemeanor in fashion.” She gestured to her dress. “Don't you know? Silver-gold is the new black.”
One of the crowd stepped forward. “Your decrees are no good yet. We know your blood is useless until you come of age.” He pulled a length of rope taut.
He reached for her arm, but she evaded and generated a claw of light on each finger. Amplified by the surrounding darkness, the flash blinded him. The princess drew the sword from his waist and, swiftly reversing the blade, stabbed his ankle. He yelped and hopped on one leg. Kasile pushed him over. His cohorts howled in laughter.
“Dark Blade, you loser!” they jeered. “You were outmaneuvered by a cheap light spell!”
The rogue called Dark Blade crawled, pathetically, back to the crowd. All the while, he muttered “royal luck” and “fluke.” He's never gonna live this down. Kasile pulled a knot that dropped her layers of formal skirt to reveal a short one. She assumed a fighting stance and beckoned.
“Come! It's rude to make a lady wait!”
Two more rogues stepped forward carrying an ax and a stabbing spear. Kasile gritted her teeth and tightened her grip on her new weapon. They moved within reach and she fired a light sphere at their feet. Expecting this, they closed their eyes and advanced. Dark Ax reached out and grabbed a gloved hand. Grinning, she yanked the body closer and grabbed the second wrist.
“No don't! Let me go! AHH!” Kasile shrieked as Dark Ax tied the two wrists together.
“Princess secure, Boss,” Dark Ax said.
Dark Spear's voice finally rose above Kasile's false distress. “You secured me you, moron!”
It was only then that Dark Ax opened her eyes and saw the back of her companion's cloak. The silver of Kasile's dress flashed in the darkness and she reached for it, only to be stuck fast. Her own wrists were tied together and then to Dark Spear's. They struggled uselessly while Kasile laughed. She disabled them and they crawled back.
Their leader face-palmed. “I'm surrounded by idiots. Clearly we underestimated you, Princess.”
The leader was an intimidating figure: tall, broad, and shrouded in a long black cloak. Kasile could smell his power; his bloodlust. She gulped and stood straighter.
“You have!” she said bravely. “Lay down your weapons and you will receive mercy. If I hear even a hint of a 'no' you will face the Wrath of Fire!”
The leader strolled forward, pulling off his hood in the process. Suddenly all she could see were his eyes: big, red, and terrifying. Lances of fear and pain stabbed Eric's mind and soul. The feeling left just as quickly as it came and Eric could again see Kasile's surroundings. She was on her back and screaming hysterically. The leader pulled his hood back and waved his minions forward.
Kasile scurried backwards until she hit the wall, eyes wide in terror. “Stay away from me!” she shouted, but instead of the roar of the tiger she was moments ago, it came out the squeak of a kitten.
Something moving at high speed collided and both went down. The world spun around and around and up and down and inverted.
“There you are, Dimwit,” Tiza said as she stood up. “Have you seen Tenderfoot or Daylra?” Eric's head ached and he rubbed his forehead. His mind was too full of vertigo to make sense.
“The princess is being kidnapped . . .”
“What?!” Tiza asked.
“The princess is being . . . kidnapped,” he repeated. “Somehow, I . . . I don't kn—” “That's fantastic!” Eric shook his head and rung out his ears. He could have sworn he heard Tiza say that the princess' kidnapping was a good thing. “If we save her, just the two of us, we'll make names for ourselves! No more trying on dresses; no more collecting poop! It'll be monster hunting and escorts!” Eyes bright with excitement, she yanked Eric to his feet and pulled his face close. He would have blushed if not for the situation. “Where is she!?”
“Uh . . . I don't think we should go without Nolien and Basilard; it's too big for us.”
“I know!” Tiza said excitedly. “And that's why we'll get a big reward when we succeed!”
What's all this confidence based on?
“Do you have a plan?”
“ 'Course I do,” Tiza replied. “Spider Daylra's an expert on rescues and she drilled her knowledge into me. Here's what we do . . .”
The sounds of battle at the center of the stadium grew fainter and fainter until silence reigned. Eric couldn't hear anything other than his own breathing and that of Tiza right next to him. The artificial darkness almost hid her from view. Despite all this, Tiza didn't appear lost.
Of course, she was pretending. It was the same thing at the Dragon's Lair; Woman's Intuition. She even closed her eyes as if that would make it work better. At least she's prepared . . . Eric saw her holding her sword out in one hand and shield close by in the other
. For one reason or another, she said she saw two suspicious humanoids guarding the path ahead.
“HEELLP! HEMM!”
“What have we here?” Tiza whispered, “Cries for help beyond obviously evil minions in black cloaks? All right, Dimwit. Let's put my plan into action.”
Apparently, the guards were as blind as everyone else in the Dark Fog. The two mercenaries flanked and knocked them out, the Dark Fog muting their attack. They entered just in time to see the princess stuffed into a sack. More luck . . . or was she right about Woman's Intuition?
Whatever their leader did to her had worn off but it bought them enough time to make her helpless with rope. She shouted something muffled and the sack was pulled over her head. The leader hauled the bag to his shoulder when mana bolts pelted him and he dropped her. Tiza rushed in under Eric's cover fire and darted for it.
A mage stepped forward and thrust the staff. The mana bolts splashed against its barrier. It dimpled as Tiza collided before repelling her like a rubber ball. She flew backwards and crashed on her back. Eric took aim but they were faster. A force like a mule kick hit him in the chest and drove the breath from his lungs.
Eric couldn't see the mage’s eyes but the smile was a wicked grin. “Is this it? A pair of rookies?” A feminine voice asked, “The princess might not be worth stealing . . .”
Tiza jumped to her feet.
“And you; you look like you barely know how to use that sword.” Tiza lunged, but her enemy blocked with the staff. Tiza swung overhead and was blocked again. Right, left, thrust, cross, the mage casually blocked every strike. “See what I mean?”
She swung her staff at the left side of Tiza's head, but Tiza blocked it and was struck on the other side when the rogue reversed the staff. Stunned, the staff came down on her head, then jabbed her stomach. Tiza collapsed, gasping for air and blinking back tears. Dark Staff stomped on Tiza's sword hand and kicked her weapon away.
“Dark Staff!” the leader called. Over his shoulder was a squirming sack. “Stop playing.”
A Mage's Power (Journey to Chaos) Page 16