Fractured Families (The Pearl of Wisdom Saga Book 2)

by Jason Paul Rice

  Deydrana and the King returned an empty cart to the stables and walked toward the east entrance. “Let’s stop here for a moment,” Ali-Ster requested. Deydrana stopped as he continued, “This might seem strange what I am about to do, but it’s a tradition in Donegal for tourneys. The King reached down to the bottom of her long, ruffled white dress. He ripped a small piece from the fabric. “What are you doing?” a shocked Deydrana asked. “I am going to attach this to my shield today. I don’t have a wife nor am I betrothed so I will fight for your honor. Only you and I will know but you will see this on my shield later today. I will be grand champion for you, my lady,” he grinned. She returned a toothy smile and Ali-Ster could see tears in her eyes as they parted ways.

  The King went to his quarters to ready himself for the tourney. Ali-Ster had not required a squire since returning to the Capitol, but he asked his half-nephew Jomen to help him today. Seeing the thirteen-year-old reminded Ali-Ster of when he squired for his uncle Ryen. Jomen helped Ali-Ster into his enameled armor crafted specifically for his first tourney. The armor had the appearance of alternating bright red and pearly white dragon scales about the size of human ears. The eye-popping suit was also made of the best protective and flexible metal available. His dutiful half-nephew secured the under cap over Ali-Ster’s head and buckled it tight. The King tried on the helm to be sure it fit correctly and handed it off. Jomen grabbed the King’s red fox head helm and left to dress Ali-Ster’s black destrier. He felt right wearing armor again and took off the under cap until the first event. Even with only a few days to prepare for the events, there seemed to be a buzz around the Capitol today. He had felt it on the trip with Deydrana and saw even more excited citizens as he went to the castle stables. He pulled out the piece of Deydrana’s dress and secured it to his shield as soon as he arrived.

  Ali-Ster saw the competitors and knew his work would be cut out for him with this bunch. Everyone bowed in deference to the King, and Sir Petyr Damsey and Sir Roland Norn came to chat with Ali-Ster. Better known as Petyr the Powerful and the Knight of the Night, they were incredible swordsmen. Several of the contestants had squires, flagmen and personal trumpeters while others like Billem Barberus and Sir Farlong Stellsheen seemed to be alone in their efforts. This day wouldn’t have the same pageantry as a normal tourney, but the organizers were going to do their best to put on a great show to restore morale for the people.

  South of the King’s Castle were the tourney grounds that needed some cleanup to be ready for all the events. The benches could hold about one thousand, and those seats were already overfilled. More onlookers flooded down the hill and descended on the tourney grounds to get a look at the action. Hundreds of armed knights and guards were in place to stop the rushing crowds from entering the playing field.

  A crier wearing all green stood in Swordsman’s Square and faced the raised benches of whispering people. He introduced the competitors, and the men rode in on horseback to the cheers of the crowd. The crier screamed, “Sir Elfund Ransall, The White Knight.” A personal trumpeter on horseback led in a squire with a flag featuring a white helm on a silver field. Then a pale war horse majestically carried a knight wearing white enameled armor into the grounds. The horse was barded over the face, legs and midsection in matching armor. The crowd responded well to Sir Elfund as he waved to his fans. The White Knight was from Cloverfoot and had a strong friendship with his squire for the day, Neron Wamhoff. The dainty-looking man traveled around Fox Chapel, defending the weak. He had never been to war but had taken an oath to fight for King Ali-Ster. The cocky White Knight had four tourney wins under his belt at only age twenty-five and was one of the favorites to be named Grand Champion.

  Another favorite was introduced, “Sir Roland Norn, The Knight of the Night.” A squire trotted in on a black horse, holding a rippling flag. The black field with four golden stars surrounding a silver crescent moon showed proudly in the bright sunlight. The unassuming, short and stocky man entered the battle grounds without much fanfare. His size and balding head made him easy to underestimate. He had earned his nickname by single-handedly staving off an attack by twenty men on Lord Winder’s manor in the dead of night.

  “Sir Petyr Damsey, Petyr the Powerful,” the crier shouted again, as the man known to crush skulls with his bare hands entered on a black destrier. He wore boiled leather under mail and took off his helm to expose his shaved head and contrasting long black mustache. Petyr had been a cruel enforcer like the Grizzly Bear until he realized the error of his ways and wanted to help a noble cause.

  The introductions went on, and the final contestant was announced, “King Ali-Ster Wamhoff, the Noble King, Crimson Thunder, the Brave Fox, the King of the People.” A trumpeter rode in on a white stallion and blew into the golden instrument, “BA BOP DA BA. BOP BOP BOP BOP BA BOP BOP BA BA.” Jomen trotted in next on a white palfrey. He held the reins in one hand and the rippling royal flag in the other as he sported a proud look on his chubby face. Most of the hushed crowd had come to cheer on their King and they erupted as the red warrior came into the battle grounds. His black destrier was barded in checkered red and white armor and decorated with a throw of a battle scene covering both sides of the animal’s midsection. The King held his shield in one hand and raised the other in the air. The crowd went absolutely mad. Ali-Ster couldn’t hear the heavy steps of the horse and circled the grounds several times on his horse until he spotted Deydrana. He pointed to the piece of her dress on the shield and blew the young lady a kiss. He made eye contact with his uncle Ryen and the two men smiled. His uncle had put these festivities together and Ali-Ster couldn’t thank him enough for the day of escape from the never-ending problems of ruling a kingdom. He secured the under cap as Jomen ran up and threw the King his fox head helm. The King caught it with one hand and the people cheered loudly again. He put on the head protection and it cut off his vision slightly. Ryen gave Ali-Ster his lance and wished him good luck. The wild cheering became even louder and lasted several minutes until the first event started.

  The first event was a form of joust using a spinning wooden target. A vertical post in the ground about five feet high had a horizontal pole attached to the top. At the end of the horizontal pole was a square wooden target. When the target was struck, the pole would spin around depending on the accuracy or power behind the hit. The competitors tried to hit the target as hard as they could and get the most rotations out of the horizontal pole. The judges counted the combined spins of three rounds of jousting to determine a winner.

  The first run proved to be rather easy and everyone did well. The second round used a smaller square target and the competition thinned out greatly with some men missing the target altogether. The final run featured a wooden target barely bigger than the tip of Ali-Ster’s swirled red and white lance. He trailed the White Knight by four rotations as he lined up for the final run and the roaring of thousands became silent for the King. He tucked his head and straightened his lance as he looked for the small target. His bouncing vision couldn’t focus on the tiny square as his destrier increased the speed steadily. He closed in and crouched into proper position. Now he spotted the light brown mark. He struck the target hard and true and the lance busted into a thousand pieces. The target whirled around four times with ease but slowed as it tried for five. He saw his albino uncle watching with a vested interest. Ali-Ster knew Tersen had gambled heavily on the White Knight and wanted his uncle to lose. Tersen claimed the White Knight as his own because the man was from Cloverfoot, but everyone joked that it was because the albino related with the color white. The target came to a stop only a few fingers from being a complete fifth rotation. Almost didn’t count and Ali-Ster didn’t like the idea of a tie.

  The target had to fully swing around to be counted but the disappointed King acted in his normal fashion. Much to Tersen’s delight, Ali-Ster yielded victory to the White Knight. The crowds erupted in support of the gracious gesture as the King sidled his horse next to the White Knight. The King
raised the man’s hand in victory as the audience responded again.

  The next event, called the Circle of Strength, was a simple one. A well-groomed patch of green grass under the beating sun had a white circle painted into it. Two competitors had to enter the circle and try to force each other out or into submission to win. All the participants went back to the stables to change into better suited clothes for the hand-to-hand combat. Ali-Ster joked with the men, “If I suspect any man is taking it light on his King, I will immediately jail that man in the dungeons. I want a fair competition so don’t be afraid to bloody your King. I heal the same as any man, I won’t break.” The men smiled at their King as most put on tight-fitting gear to avoid being grabbed.

  Ali-Ster wore black leather pants, a thin undershirt and a sleeveless boiled leather vest that came to the middle of his thighs. His rippling muscles were exposed and sent the message that this King didn’t just sit around waving a scepter. The tournament pitted Ali-Ster against Billem Barberus in the first round. The Barbarian Bastard swung his wild hair and beard around, trying to intimidate the well-groomed King. Despite the rugged looks and unflattering nickname, the Barbarian Bastard always acted with honor while maintaining the reputation of a fierce, furious fighter.

  The last moment event had become quite epic already as Ali-Ster looked over the throngs of spectators and the flags of the combatants, flying proudly in the stiff summer breeze. The crowd raged like an out of control fire, fueling Ali-Ster as he entered the circle. He and the Barbarian Bastard stood, face to face, in the middle of the white circle.

  The judge signaled for the bullhorn to sound and the battle was underway. The men jostled for position and Ali-Ster tried to be careful with his actions. A few steps in the wrong direction could result in an early defeat. As the two men struggled, the Barbarian Bastard slapped Ali-Ster on the ear. His head rang and his vision became distorted as he looked at the raucous crowd. His eyes refocused and he made eye contact with Deydrana. The Bastard pushed Ali-Ster back toward the white line. The King lunged forward and gripped his opponent with two arms around his chest. Ali-Ster quickly shifted his chest and hips to reverse the advantage. He used the strength of his right arm to throw the Barbarian Bastard from the circle. The loser landed on his knees and pounded the grass with his fists for a few moments before accepting defeat.

  Lord Helmley Atterman easily defeated the White Knight to become the King’s next opponent. Although a bit long in the tooth, the man known as the Silver Hammer was a legendary soldier. His short, stocky stature coupled with gray hair and lamb chop-sized side burns made people question his heroic reputation. Ali-Ster didn’t underestimate the man and wore down the older Silver Hammer to move on to the next round.

  Ali-Ster watched and hoped Lord Tevan Pouncey would pull off a huge upset, but Petyr the Powerful tossed him outside the circle in a matter of moments. That set up a semi-final match between Ali-Ster and Petyr. The giant bald man with a goatee had sweat running from his head and face as they stood in the center of the white circle. Ali-Ster was considered tall, but he had to look up at Petyr as his eyes were only on level with his opponent’s neck. The horn sounded and the screaming of the onlookers increased in volume as the two men slowly moved back and forth, sizing each other up. Petyr reached in and grabbed the King’s shoulder, trying to wrestle him to the ground. Ali-Ster tried to use his size to his advantage and slumped down. He hooked his forearms under Petyr’s buttocks and lifted the heavy man. Ali-Ster tried to carry Petyr the Powerful to the edge of the circle and heave him over the line. Petyr folded his hands together and used them like a club to smash Ali-Ster in the middle of his back. The King lost his grip on Petyr and the huge opponent seized in on the staggering Ali-Ster. The knight quickly swung his right arm around the King’s head and locked it with his other hand. Petyr dragged the unwilling Ali-Ster to the ground, face first. Petyr the Powerful tried to push the King out of the circle, rubbing his face in the grass and dirt in the process. Petyr tensed his muscles as the King could feel his jaw grinding together and about to pop. Silver sparks streaked through his vision as he noticed a concerned look on Deydrana’s face. Petyr the Powerful threatened, “You’re my King and I will respect you until my death but I will break your jaw, my King.”

  “Yield,” screamed the King to the horror of the people who had been cheering on the underdog. Sir Petyr defeated the Knight of the Night in the final round to win the second contest. Ali-Ster was a bit dismayed he hadn’t won a contest yet, but he reveled in the fun, carefree nature of the day. This was easily the best day in the Capitol since he had returned from war duty. He was sweating like a pig and dirtier than one as well. He had grass stains and blood bruises on his puffy right cheek from Petyr the Powerful mashing his face into the ground, but Ali-Ster loved it. This was heaven compared to the drab daily routine of meetings and sitting around on fancy but uncomfortable chairs. He guzzled some red wine from an antelope skin and it reminded him of being back at war, minus the cheering audience.

  The melee split the men into two teams of eight. The men were to engage in a mini-battle in which the judges had the difficult task of determining whether a hit with a dull sword would inflict a mortal wound. The judge would eliminate a competitor if he took a hit worthy of death on the real battle field. Singers and poets entertained the crowd while the squires helped the combatants back into their armor or heavy gear.

  The men trotted back in to the roar of the crowd and Ali-Ster felt like a true warrior. He looked at Deydrana and kissed the piece of her frilly white dress attached to the top of his shield. In the chivalric manner of the day, the men let the women stand up front. He saw fancy dresses mixed with the dirty chore clothes of the commoners. He was proud to finally see the nobility and the poor enjoying an event together. The King shifted his thoughts back to the impending melee.

  The two teams faced each other about fifteen feet apart. The bullhorn signaled the start and both sides rushed each other with reckless fury. The sound of metal on metal or wooden shields rang through the quieted audience. The battle nearly spilled into the surrounding spectators before Ali-Ster’s team claimed victory. The eight winners were split into two teams to compete in the next round. The King’s team won again and Ali-Ster and the Knight of the Night squared off against the unarmored Barbarian Bastard and the Silver Hammer who wore a full suit of shining silver armor reserved only for tourneys.

  The battle began and the Knight of the Night fended off the Barbarian Bastard long enough for Ali-Ster to outlast the much older Silver Hammer. The swings of the war hammer became slower and Ali-Ster easily eliminated him. The Barbarian didn’t stand a chance against two opponents and the King moved on to the finals.

  The Knight of the Night proved a worthy opponent, but Ali-Ster reigned victorious to the delight of the crowd. Flowers flew at the King and covered most of the fighting ground. The bottled-up emotion of the fans of the King of Donegal had exploded after waiting several hours for a victory. The win made Ali-Ster feel genuinely better because he knew the men were giving it their top effort.

  Ali-Ster breezed into the semi-finals in the final event, swordplay. The men used wooden swords to attack each other and scored points by hitting their opponents in key areas. Petyr the Powerful stood in his way again. An even match commenced and Petyr surprised the King with his quickness for a mountain of a man. The two traded blocked blows with the wooden swords until Petyr connected to Ali-Ster’s fox helm. The sword shattered and Ali-Ster’s ear vibrated inside the metal protection. Although Petyr scored points with the strike, Ali-Ster chased down and peppered the big man, easily working around his wooden shield. The finals featured the Knight of the Night and King Ali-Ster Wamhoff. The winner would not only take this contest but also be crowned as Grand Champion.

  Ryen Wamhoff had used his own funds to put up the entire purse of one hundred gold rounds. Ali-Ster looked at his uncle Ryen with renewed respect. He didn’t think his uncle could top the hunt and trip to the races they had e
njoyed earlier in the summer, but this day was incredible. Days like this went a long way to keeping morale high in and around the castle.

  The King won an even match by a narrow margin as everyone went wild. He looked for, and found, Deydrana in the crowd. He locked eyes with her, kissed the piece of her dress attached to his shield and held it in the air. He saw tears flowing from Deydrana’s eyes as she held her hand over her mouth. She looks like Leimur. That’s why I like her so much. I can’t believe I never realized it.

  Ali-Ster felt like the King of the World as his opponents raised him up and carried him back to the castle on their shoulders. They took him to the Grand Hall for the feast and Ali-Ster basked in the victory. He gave the winner’s purse to the other competitors to split evenly. Ali-Ster looked around at the brave men filling the room and felt safe in the Capitol for the first time.

  He only wished one person would be allowed to share this with him. As he saw Deydrana pouring wine for Neron and the White Knight, Ali-Ster felt bad that she couldn’t enjoy the feast and thought about how to rectify the situation.

  BREHAN

  “Wake up,” Kopar said, lightly slapping Brehan’s face. The new pirateer slowly opened his eyes and immediately felt the dull pain in his shoulder. He wiped away the sleep from his eyes and saw his pale complexioned friend. “Let’s go, you have to get up off that bed today,” Kopar commanded.

  After returning from the sea battle, Brehan had spent most of his time in bed, recovering from his wounds. Brehan’s aching body still showed bruising from neck to ankle. He stood and stretched sore muscles that creaked like straining ropes. The work he had performed aboard the ship had ensured him a hefty share of the bounty because so many pirateers had died. Bluebeard had refused to take any gold, calling it tainted blood money that would haunt him if he kept it. Brehan looked at his huge sack of booty. He had never imagined he would ever have that much gold in his hands. Kopar had already warned him to take his stash with him at all times. Brehan picked it up and they left the room.