Cedric returned at night, while the chiefs and their parties were drinking and playing in the fields, Pike and Melgor prepared for death in their tents. Cedric entered the tent and saw Pike giving precious gems to two fauns dressed in exotic silks and strong smelling perfumes, beautiful by the standards of Pike’s people. The two looked at Cedric and giggled before exiting the tent. Cedric broke out with a joke. “Did I interrupt your battle planning?”
Pike smiled, the torchlight of his camp barely illuminated his face and leaving half in sheer darkness. “No, no…well actually yes.” He lifted a small pouch and shook it, causing its contents to clink and shake. “These are their reward when I survive,” he said as he tossed it to Cedric. He opened it and saw an assortment of gold and gems.
“What exactly are they doing?” Cedric asked confused.
“They are on their way to Melgor’s tent,” Pike said as walked around his tent, “To keep him occupied, a gift from his supporters who wish him luck and fortune. With any luck on my side, he’ll be tired and sore when they are done with him in the morning.” Pike motioned to empty chairs, and the two sat down, opening a barrel of the green ale. Pike shook as he took small sips, being sure not to drink more than he needed to calm his nerves. “Never been in a real fight before.” He took another drink. “Are you supposed to be this nervous?” He looked at Cedric with such uncertainty and fear, the fear held by men who knew death was coming.
“You’d be a fool not to be. It’s a good thing, means you’re not ready to die yet.”
“I suppose. I feel I always knew this sort of thing would happen, Melgor and I, it just was unavoidable.” Pike got up and paced around the room nervously but slowly. “I’ve got my armor laid out at last…that took up a lot of time.” He pointed to a black breastplate, decorated with golden satyrs dancing on opposite sides, along with a chainmail cuirass.
“I like it, light enough but it will block a stray swipe if need be,” Cedric reassured Pike, who went for another glass of ale. “Steady with that, don’t want to end up like Melgor tomorrow morning.” Cedric stopped Pike’s pour, leaving it as a glass half full.
“Thank you…I suppose it’s time for you to head back, I’ll need my rest.”
Cedric patted Pike’s arm. “Rest well Pike, and you’ll fight well tomorrow.”
Cedric left the tent, and caught sight of Melgor with his hands wrapped and tangled around the waists of Pike’s escorts, drinking barrels of green ale with his compatriots. He was preparing his body for glory, to meet Trundor in the afterlife or to serve as his vassal king. Pike meanwhile, sat alone on the edge of his bed. He clasped his cup with both hands and silently prayed to Trundor.
Cedric returned to his tent and collapsed on his straw cot, with his head facing toward the branches of the trees that masked the starry sky. “It is as my dreams showed me,” he said to himself, though his companions all heard him.
“What do you mean Cedric?” Alfnod said as he diced a wheel of cheese with his dagger, eating bits of it from the steel blade.
“I saw it in my dreams, two rams dueling, with the smaller wound but victorious. For the length of the fight, the odds were in the larger’s favor, but in the final moment victory was stolen from him.” Cedric said with confidence. “Pike will win tomorrow; he has to. If he doesn’t, we must be ready to flee.’
“Those visions haven’t been the keenest help so far, giving you veiled views of the future, too late to do anything about what foul thing’s to come.” He cut off another chunk of the wedge.
“Maybe they grow stronger, if you remember they started as nothing but screaming shadows, now I see fully fleshed images.”
“Very well could be,” Beorn interjected. “But there’s no way even with the gods’ help that that whelp of a satyr is going to win.”
Cedric continued to stare upward. “He will win because he must win, or else we are all doomed.”
Chapter 21
The King of the Forest
Cedric and his group were led through a massive and still growing crowd to the jousting arena. There the banners of all the clans and chiefs were waving, some on Melgor’s side, and others on Pike’s. The group was brought to a free section in the stands, just next to the fighting ground. A full regiment of band players came breaking through the crowd in rhythmed march, adorned in flowered horns and golden wristbands. They came beating on heavy drums, signaling the beginning of the tourney. The drummers led the two brothers, who walked side by side, carrying tokens of favor from their harems stuffed in their armor. Pike wore his blackened breastplate, and his chain skirt jingled and danced as his legs kicked up dirt. Melgor appeared as a tortoise, his armor, thick and brightly polished steel, enclosed the whole of his body like some noble knight in Lorine. Melgor was tired; Cedric saw it in his dull and baggy eyes, which were red from his drinking and whoring. Pike was well rested, and remained calm and collected as he walked beside his foe.
The drums stopped their beating when the brother reached the dirt field, where the wise elders of the tribes had prepared each their tables of weaponry. Both Pike and Melgor kneeled before the elders, who anointed both with holy oil, which dripped and soaked through their tufts of fur. The oldest of the elders came forward, his hair white and long flowing as a magi of the court, and he spoke. “Here Trundor! We come before you with two sons, both worthy of kingship. May you guide their spears, to sovereignty or your side, only you know!”
Pike and Melgor stood and took stock of their weapons for the duel. There were three parts to any duel in the Ithon, the ranged, the far, the near. The ranged was any thrown or drawn weapon. Pike chose a large sling, with three smoothed gray stones hard enough to crack through a knight’s steel helm. Melgor chose the javelin, three with bronze tips. They then both lifted their shields, circular and only modestly larger than standard bucklers. These shields were the finest in the armory, composed of many layers of hides and metals, with patterns of forestry and running beasts of gold and silver.
They took places opposite each other until they were roughly twenty meters apart, and the horn sounded for combat to begin. Pike loaded his sling, but not before Melgor loosed his first javelin. A complete miss, his arm was sore from the previous night’s debauchery, and his spear near hit the sitting crowd.
Pike threw two rocks in rapid succession, striking and deflecting off Melgor’s shield. Cedric and his friends held their hands fast against the wooden railing that separated them from the fight, and they cheered along with half the crowd for Pike. “Keep your shield high! Don’t give him any rest!” Cedric shouted advice from the stands, hoping to give Pike word of some unseen advantage.
Melgor let rip his second spear, tearing through the many layers of metal and hides on Pike’s shield. The older son’s shield fell to the floor leaving him defenseless as he looked in shock back at Melgor, who now threw his third shot. It tore through Pike’s lower leg causing the crowd to cheer and boo. It narrowly missed the bone; it was only by his scheming the night before that Pike was still alive.
“Oh gods!” Gaspar reeled and swayed like a princess in a storybook as Pike collapsed to the floor, clutching his leg.
Pike appeared beat, and Melgor knew it, for he held his shield high and beat his hand against his chest. “Get up Pike! Get up! You aren’t beat yet, get up!” Cedric screamed from the sideline; the fear that his vision was untrue rushed through his mind.
The satyr was breathing heavy and fast as he broke the javelin in half, leaving the wood that pierced him lodged in his leg, to keep it from bleeding. His supporters cheered as he dragged himself back to his feet, and was given a new shield and his spear for the far combat. Melgor picked up a massive club from the weapon rack; it was shaped like a spear with metal ribs along its steel surface. He twirled it and produced a sound like a songbird as he smiled, causing the crowd to cheer.
Pike was on the defensive, he lowered his legs for his balance, keeping the weight off the one still stuck by the spear. Melgor continued spin
ning his club until the very last moment, before bringing it down to strike Pike’s shield. Pike jumped out of the way rushing to the side as the club boomed and appeared to break the ground as it crashed and rang against the ground. Melgor immediately lifted the weapon, swiping hard to the side and cracking open Pike’s breastplate, all while launching Pike into the air.
Pike laid on the ground, his spear thrown clean from his reach, and Melgor approached to finish his work. Melgor raised his massive club and threw it down to end the fight, but Pike raised his shield with both his hands, which cracked and broke under the immense force of Melgor’s swing. Pike grabbed dirt and threw it at his brother’s eyes, giving him a moment’s time to roll towards his spear.
Melgor quickly whipped the dust from his eyes and lunged at his brother, who had grasped his spear firmly in his dirt covered hand. Pike rolled back over to face Melgor, and raised his spear towards the sky, skewering Melgor on its sharp end as he jumped to swing his club. Melgor screamed in agony and stressed every muscle of his face in pain as he was standing with Pike’s spear through his gut. He grasped at it and ripped it from his lower abdomen, and it began to bleed and pour over his once shining armor.
Pike jumped up and caught his breath; both were panting and torn to ribbons as they were handed their blades for close combat. Melgor called to his brother. “Pike! Submit now and spare us this trouble, we know how this will end!” To the crowd, this seemed as though the young warrior was still in his headstrong mood and mocking his brother, but to those seated closest to Melgor and Pike, it was a plea to end the violence, for there was still a part of Melgor that did not wish to slay his brother.
Pike said nothing, he simply strapped on his third shield and took up a short sword, along with a dagger he placed on his lower back. Both brothers were turned light brown from the dirt of the arena, and when they shook piles of dust came flying off. Melgor quickly cauterized the wound by having his aides hold him down and prodded a hot iron into his gut. He screamed and roared, causing the crowd to go silent. They rose again in cheer when he lifted his shield and sword, ready for the final round, the one that can only end when one of the two laid dead. The brothers beat their swords against the steel rims of their shields as they approached, and rushed at one another with their blades, and the final round began.
Both were exhausted and swung only when they had the strength to. Their steel shined brightly through the cloud of dust that had been kicked up. The arena itself had now changed its hue, for the blood of both brothers had mixed in with the dirt, and creating small running rivers of red water.
Melgor threw a good hit, hitting Pike right at the hilt of his blade. Pike collapsed as his sword flew from his hand, Melgor had beaten him. The blade flew at the crowd, near where Cedric was. Pike landed his head on a stone that stuck out from the ground, and his younger brother hatched a plan. He grabbed Pike’s horns and placed them on the rock, to the crowd’s horror. He raised his heavy boot and threw it down hard between Pike’s horn and the rock.
The crowd was stunned, and Pike was screaming in pain. Melgor raised the right-sided horn of his brother in victory, it was cracked and broken, leaving Pike with a nub left on his head.
“Come now brother, you are beaten,” Melgor said triumphantly as he panted, “submit now, and I will spare you.”
Pike looked over to Cedric and his group, ready to surrender, and he realized their fate if he was to submit. Pike pulled his dagger from his back and lunged at Melgor. Melgor caught Pike by the wrist, a reversal from yesterday, and crushed his hand until he dropped the dagger.
Cedric was suddenly compelled to intervene. He pushed through the crowd and found Pike’s lost sword, and shouted to his friend. “Pike!” Pike looked over with a look of complete conceding, but his face lit up with new life when he saw Cedric holding the blade.
Cedric threw the blade back into the arena, for he could not directly give it to Pike, as it would break the sacred honor between the two opponents. He flung it just towards Pike’s feet, and Melgor reached for the fallen dagger to finish his brother. Pike, still held by his brother, gathered all his remaining strength and struck Melgor’s chest with a closed fist, freeing him from his grip.
Pike fell onto the ground once more, but immediately dragged himself to the sword, and gripped it in his hand with conviction as Melgor approached wielding the dagger. Pike was on his chest as Melgor approached and surprised him, turning his body around as he swung the sword.
The crowd went silent for the final time in that fight, they saw Melgor clutch as his throat and watched as blood dripped down onto his steel armor. The young-blooded chief collapsed on the ground, his eyes wide open but dead, and his throat was gushing out blood.
Pike stood hunched over in shock at what he had accomplished. He looked at his bloodied blade and let it slip from his hand, clanging as it dropped to the dusty ground. He looked up at the crowd, who had fallen silent and stared at him in awe. “I am king! We march to face Azrael!” He beat against his chest, shouting with such volume so that the whole of the Ithon could hear his cry.
The crowd erupted into cheering, as by the will of Trundor their king had been revealed. His supporters broke down the wooden fence and rushed the field, and lifted their king upon their shoulders and carried him throughout the camp. Barrels of ale were opened, and songs were sung, all in honor of their new king, Pike, son of Halke, the firstborn and chosen champion of Trundor.
Cedric managed to find Pike hours later in a medical tent, where his doctors attended to his many wounds. They were stitching up his leg when Cedric entered the tent.
“Leave us.” Pike beamed with happiness as he saw Cedric, and waved his hand for his doctors to stop. He hopped up and hobbled on his good leg over to his savior of the duel. “Ha-ha! We’ve done it, Cedric! Come, drink with me.” Halke collapsed back on his cot and struggled to uncork a barrel of ale. Cedric noticed two empty barrels just along the frame of the bed.
“I see you’ve been enjoying your victory.”
“Should I not?”
Cedric smiled and laughed. “No.”
“I’ll make this oath to you Cedric, that tonight I will drink every drop of ale and bed every faun in the whole of the Ithon tonight.” He said as he opened the barrel and drank straight from its nozzle.
A guard entered the tent wielding a spear and bowed his head to his king. “My lord, the sorcerer Yellow-Eyes has fled the camp, his belongings and horse have gone along with him.”
“Good riddance,” Pike said as he looked to Cedric, “shame, though, I would have enjoyed taking off his head, thank you, you are dismissed.” The guard bowed once again and took his leave.
“No doubt he’s gone to stir up trouble somewhere else,” Cedric said.
“I will send a message to my scouts and fringe chiefs, to be on a careful watch for that worm.”
“And send another message to mobilize their armies,” Cedric added.
“And that of course…where will you head now? I assume you need more than a herd of satyrs to win your war?”
“North, towards Prav and the other houses, what support I have with their lords already will do me well in the capital. Then its north to the Knights, who I believe will gladly support my claim.”
“If you want to beat that slime to the other lords, I recommend you leave tonight, no telling how much distance he has on you already.”
Cedric made his way to the exit, opening the flap to see his friends drinking and singing with the rest of Pike’s people. “Thank you, Pike,” Cedric turned to face Pike who was clutching the barrel of ale like a child to his mother’s breast. Cedric burst into laughter, and Pike rolled over off the bed in a fit of tears.
Cedric finally stepped over the threshold of the tent and made his way to his companions, and he saw that night had fallen over the camp. “Cedric!” Pike called to him, the king had crutched himself on a branch and made his way to Cedric. “A memento, so that your line never forgets what we accomplishe
d here today.” He handed him one of his golden braces, and Cedric placed it on his right hand. The two exchanged no words, but only shook hands before departing, respect to one king from another.
Cedric found Eadwine inside a barrel, being rolled down a hill with the others cheering him on in drunken slurs. “Would you rather stay here or come with me?” Cedric called to them. As if on instinct, Eadwine cried out as he rolled, “Stay here of course!” Just before he smashed into a stockade at the bottom, splintering the wooden barrel and sending him flying.
Beorn and Aderyn were the only ones not drunk of the company. “So, it’s time?” Aderyn said stoically.
“I’m afraid so, let’s gather what supplies we need and ready the horses.”
And so, the sober amongst them gathered their inebriated friends and gathered the last bits of their supplies. They took the northern road out from the camp, heading straight in the direction of House Sodeer. Cedric turned his head to face the camp one last time as they reached the top of a hill. He saw the torches and braziers burning brightly, piercing through the green roof of the Ithon, and heard the many songs and cheers coming from the partying Awaerian. The group soon lost the sounds and light of the camp, left to travel north through the forest in both silence and darkness.
Chapter 22
Reavers and Knights
The group wandered through the Ithon for many days, passing through uncharted lands, unknown to both man and the folk of the forest. As they made their way north, the lush and green tree fields grew into expansive hills that poked from the tree line, rolling and waving through miles of terrain. To the east, the Hirdland Mountains, covered in blankets of icy white snow, with bases of gray stone that appeared to travel upwards for miles.
“House Sodeer will be a great help in the war,” Alfnod assured the group as they rode. “I have met some of their rangers on occasion, the best fighters this side of the Tyr if you ask me.”
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