by Brad Clark
Conner said nothing, letting Hollin and the rest of the squires pass. He looked back at the large tent where the squires had prepared themselves. Goshin was there, arms crossed, a blank look on his face. In each hand he held half a broomstick, each half about three feet long. Conner gripped the wooden broadsword strapped to his side, a weapon that he knew he would never use. It was not his, nor would it ever be. He let the words of Hollin just fall away. He was a bully. Always had been, and would always be. He was strong and courageous, but lacked something that he saw in other knights, like his new friend Marik. He had to let the words go; he knew he could not let them bother him. Goshin had taught him well and now it was up to him to take those lessons to practice. He could not fight with anger, or the anger would blind him. He needed to fight without emotion, with his eyes and hands, brain and heart. He gave a nod to his teacher and turned back towards the other squires and followed them out onto the field.
***
King Thorndale looked down upon the festival and was saddened. The crowd was as large and boisterous as ever. This was a great day for the kingdom, as food and wine flowed as swiftly as the great Tyre River. The city shut down for the day as food was prepared and everyone enjoyed a day of celebration. He was as proud as ever to have a large group of squires competing to see who would earn the honor of knighthood. He loved to see his regal knights in their full dress armor, surcoats draped across their shoulders, their swords hanging at their sides. But there were two knights missing. Brace was a good friend, and although he didn’t know Marik all that well, he trusted him. Two of his best were gone, and he couldn’t show his fear. Normally it was the honor of the Knight Captain to introduce the games. It weighed heavily upon the king’s heart that his best knight was not here. And he even might be dead. He was anxious to hear from Marik, to hear about his good friend. But he knew the kingdom must go on. The festival must go on. He could not show his fear, for the kingdom relied upon him for its strength.
He glanced to his right to see his most trusted servant, Arpwin, standing his post, ensuring that the king’s cup was filled. Two royal guard, familiar faces, but names unknown, stood behind and on either side of the king’s plush chair. His ears perked at a commotion, and Arpwin’s eyebrows raised. The slight movement of his guards to grip their swords caused him to look back towards the entrance to the tent. An enormous man filled the entire opening, his face red from exertion.
The two guards pulled their swords partially out of their sheaths, but the king lifted a hand.
Huffing and puffing, the fat lord of the north entered the king’s tent. “Your majesty,” the man said with a feeble attempt at a deep bow.
“Lord Neffenmark?” The king asked, surprised to see the fat lord so far from his home.
“Your majesty," Neffenmark said between gasps for air. "I have urgent news.”
The king stood, straightening his loosely fitting tunic. He had little time for this beast that he could barely call a man. “I have a duty to attend.” His voice was firm and he tried to keep emotion out of it.
“It cannot wait,” Neffenmark barked.
The king had started to turn, but turned back, his face reddening. “Right now, unless the Thellians are marching on the gates of the city, there is nothing more important than the Summer Festival. These young men will be the next knights of the realm. They will be our protectors and saviors. It is our day to honor them.”
“Sire, forgive me,” Neffenmark said, bowing as low as his large frame allowed. “It is just…”
The king lifted a hand, and cocked his head as if listening for something. “I do not hear the battle calls of the gate guards, so I must assume there is not an army banging on our front gate. You may stay in the royal tent as my guest, but there will be nothing said until the festival is over.”
Lord Neffenmark let out a long, slow sigh. “Yes, your majesty.” The king turned and walked away. The lord’s eyes narrowed and glared daggers at the back of the man whom he desired to conquer.
“Young squires!” the king shouted. He had made his way out of the tent to the edge of the arena where all could see and hear him. “Today is your greatest day. Today you fight for your kingdom. The winners shall revel in their glory. But even the losers will be praised for their effort and honor in defeat.”
Cheers erupted from the crowd. With a hand, the king silenced them. He continued, “Today we begin the Summer Festival where the warriors of the kingdom prove their honor and worth. The greatest warriors in all the earth, the Knights of Karmon will show their skills in jousting and with the sword.” He paused again, to let the crowd raise up and cheer. After a moment, he lifted his hand and the crowd settled down. “But first, those who would be knights, the squires who struggle and strive to knighthood will show their skills in battle.”
He turned to look over the gathered squires, dressed in old, used leather armor. His eyes scanned the group until they fell upon Conner. Conner caught the gaze and his heart sank. The king, like the others, was disappointed in him. Conner had one shot, though, to prove that he had not failed them at all. He took the long, deep breaths that Goshin had taught him. He needed to be calm and be prepared. The edges of the king’s mouth seemed to curl up into what might have been a smile. Then the head nodded down. Just slightly. Maybe it was his imagination or maybe it wasn’t. Conner looked back towards where he had last seen Goshin. The two broomstick handles were there, waiting for him. The king’s gazed had moved away, as he scanned all the squires. Conner casually moved to gather the broomsticks.
“You will not be judged by your victory alone,” the king said to the squires. “Some of you will choose your opponent and some of you will be chosen. Your choice will show your character. Your bravery will be revealed.” He gave one last long look to the squires while the crowd cheered once more. “I call upon the squire who has earned the first choice. Hollin Bronnblade. Step forward young squire.”
Hollin took a step forward from the rest of the squires and bowed low, bending at the knee so his forehead was just inches from the ground.
“Hollin Bronnblade,” the king continued. “You have earned the honor of first choice. Choose your opponent.”
Hollin rose and turned back to his fellow squires. What they had gone through was just a formality, a show for the crowd. Most of the opponents were already known. Hollin had already told Squire Morgan that he would be chosen as his opponent, as Morgan was considered the second best squire. Morgan would lose no honor by losing, and by making a good showing, he would gain even more honor.
“I choose my friend, Squire Morgan,” Hollin announced. Morgan was taller than Hollin, but leaner and not quite as agile. He had a longer arm reach, which made him dangerous. But Hollin was still the superior swordsman.
Trying to hide both a wide grin and his excitement, Morgan stepped forward from the front ranks of the squires and drew his sword. Likewise, Hollin drew his sword. The rest of the squires retreated away from the center of the ring, and the king started to back away. But he stopped when he saw Conner moving forward.
Conner had wanted to try and bait Hollin into choosing him, but Goshin knew that Hollin would never fall to being intimated by someone he did not find intimidating. So instead, Goshin had come up with a better idea. Conner marched to the center of the field, and stood his ground in between the two squires. His eyes were on Hollin when he addressed the king.
“Your majesty," Conner said with a deep bow. "As the Princess’ champion, I insist that I be given the first battle. I have earned that right!”
Princess Elissa, completely unaware at the events that were unfolding was munching on an apple when she heard his voice. Her heart jumped at the sound of it, and she dropped the apple when she saw him standing between the two squires. But then she almost laughed along with the rest of the crowd, as he stood there not with swords, but with two broomsticks. Anger and humiliation quickly followed. She covered her eyes in shame.
Hollin was too stunned to speak at fi
rst, but he saw the broomsticks in Conner’s hands, he let out a loud whooping laugh, joining in with the rest of the crowd. Morgan, unsure of what to take of the situation, simply stood to the side.
“Go away,” Hollin finally said after his laughter subsided. But the crowd continued to laugh, hoot, and holler.
Ignoring everything around him, Conner spun the broomsticks in his hands, as if they were swords. They were slightly lighter than the swords that he normally used, but the weight was close enough. He would actually be a little faster with them. Cut to the exact the same length, the ends that he held with his hands were wrapped with leather strips, ensuring he had a strong grip. He crouched into an offensive stance.
“If you want a fight, then a fight you shall have,” Hollin said, lifting his sword in a two-handed grip.
Conner looked at Morgan and smiled. “You better get ready, because you are next.”
Conner had argued with Goshin about fighting them both at the same time, but Goshin insisted that surprise and speed will be on his side. If he was quick enough, he would only really face one at a time. Conner drew on Goshin’s confidence and attacked.
The king said nothing, only backing away from the fight. But he did not need to take too many steps before it was over.
Conner was quick. Too quick. Everything that Goshin had taught him worked. He trusted the instincts that he built up from his many training sessions. Conner only had to dodge the first attack, which was clumsy and too powerful. Easily stepping aside from the blow because he had only the lightest of leather armor on, Conner moved into Hollin, his elbow striking the squire in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. A quick slash on the knee, and Hollin was on the ground, howling in pain and agony.
Conner moved to Morgan, who actually offered more of a challenge than Hollin. Conner had to avoid the long reach of the taller squire. The broomsticks held up enough to parry the first strike, and then Conner spun and danced, raining quick blows down upon Morgan, who could not defend himself. The final blow was Morgan’s own fault, as he ducked into a quick strike, taking the full force of a broomstick across the side of his face. He crumpled into a heap.
Conner stood in the center of the ring in silence. Thousands of spectators had just witnessed a fight that their brains could still not process. The king could only stare. He had witnessed hundreds of battles and tournaments and had never seen such a demonstration. King Thorndale looked from the two fallen squires, to Conner, and back again. Hollin was on his back, still griping his knee, which had suddenly swollen up to twice its size. Morgan was laid out flat on his back, his eyes closed, but his chest still moving up and down. The king had seen broken bones, blood, and every few years a squire took one blow too many and did not survive the competition. Many times they were accidents or just unfortunate circumstances. Sometimes a squire was so outmatched that he just couldn’t protect himself. But never had the best two squires in a given year been so badly beaten.
The crowd was still, but murmurs ran through it. They didn’t know if they should cheer or boo. The king didn’t know if he should be happy that his daughter’s champion was that good, or angry that two of his up and coming knights were humiliated. After only the slightest of hesitations, he stepped forward and gripped Conner’s wrist, as was custom when announcing the winner of a competition. With a wide smile on his face, he lifted the hand of the princess’ champion into the air and the crowd erupted in shouts and cheers.
With the crowd suddenly going crazy around her, Princess Elissa sat still, her mouth open wide, unable to say a word. It had happened so fast, she could not be sure that what she really saw was what had happened. But the two best squires were on the ground, defeated. And Conner was standing there, her father lifting his arm into the air, announcing his victory.
Conner let the ruckus of the crowd lift him up. No longer was he the peasant boy, he was Conner, the Princess’ Champion. The king turned him towards the entire crowd, and then finally to the knights and squires who were lined up along the castle wall. The knights were clapping their hands, following the lead of their liege. Whether they were truly happy or not, no one could tell. But they all put on a good show in support of Conner. But the squires showed their opinions clearly on their faces and with their body language. They stood still, uncomfortable in their displeasure at what they had just witnessed. Two of their own were felled, and everyone was cheering it. Their angry looks were directed right at Conner. At least the knights had the maturity to keep their emotions to themselves.
Conner knew he would never be one of them. His blood was not noble blood. His father was not some wealthy landowner who had come about his money because his father’s grandfather’s grandfather was given a tract of land by a king whose name no one could remember. But now he knew for certain that it didn’t matter. He didn’t need to be one of them as long as he was who he was. But he also didn’t want to be against them, either. That would have to be his next task, to win them over.
The king turned him around so that all could see the victor. The last turn had him facing the pavilion of the king and his court. Princess Elissa was there, her hands covering her mouth, her eyes wide with surprise. But his eyes didn’t fall upon her. They fell upon the largest, fattest man he had ever seen. His body swallowed up the chair he was sitting in. His long, flabby jowls hung low and seemed to be permanently molded into a sneer. He was also another of the crowd that was not cheering or clapping.
Chapter Seventeen
The king walked into his chamber tired. He poured himself a tall goblet of sweet wine and drank deeply, soothing the ache in his throat. A feeling of relaxation swept through his body and he let out a long sigh. It had been a long day, but it was a time he thoroughly enjoyed. Sitting next to his people made him feel close to them. He could see their faces, hear the shouts, and share in the same fun. They cheered when he cheered, and he cheered when they cheered. For a short time, he was able to step away from the business of running his kingdom and be entertained. A sharp knock on his door brought him back to reality. Lord Neffenmark had insisted on meeting with him and the king knew he couldn’t put it off any longer. He wanted it done and over with before he was expected at the ball.
"Come!" the king shouted.
The door opened and Lord Neffenmark burst through, huffing and puffing from the exertion of walking up the stairs to the king’s apartment. “Your majesty,” Lord Neffenmark said between gasps for air.
The king gave his lord a stern look and drank deeply from the goblet of wine. “You have my ear,” the king said after setting his goblet back down on a nearby table. “But only for a few moments. The feast is in full swing and I will not miss the dancing.”
“I am sure they will wait for your return," Lord Neffenmark said, still trying to catch his breath.
“And that would be rude of me,” the king replied angrily. “I have many duties and obligations that go beyond telling everyone what to do. The people of this city expect me to be out there, to join in the celebration. So make this quick.”
“Very well, my king," Neffenmark said as honestly as he could muster. He looked around for a place to sit down, but the only chair was on the far side of the room and the king was standing directly in front of him. He cleared his throat and said, "Quite a show, huh?"
"Yes," the king said with clear impatience.
"That young squire. That was quite a sight to see," Neffenmark added.
"Yes it was," the king agreed, crossing his arms in front of him.
"I didn’t think your knights were being taught such a..." Lord Neffenmark paused to thoughtfully think of a word. “…an elegant fighting style."
King Thorndale was still a bit in awe over what he saw. Conner had surprised him as much as everyone else who saw his display. But, as many knights had reminded him, he was not fighting a knight. He was fighting an inexperienced squire who was clearly taken aback at a strange fighting style. His best knights insisted that there was truly nothing special about the display an
d it would not be a style that would hold up in true combat. Despite what he was told, his eyes told him a different story. It happened so fast that he could hardly remember the whole fight. Maybe there was something to this Conner boy after all.
Turning back to Neffenmark, the king asked, "What is it that you want?"
Lord Neffenmark put on his best sour face, and lowered his eyes to the ground. “It is news that I could not entrust with a messenger. It is the gravest of news.”
The king waited patiently while Lord Neffenmark unwrapped a sword that had been tightly bound in a leather wrapping. He approached the king and handed it to him.
“A sword?” the king asked.
Lord Neffenmark nodded and asked, “Do you not recognize it?”
“It is finely crafted, likely by Master Goshin himself," the king observed, casually turning it over several times to try and recognize its owner.
“It is the sword of a messenger that was traveling north," Lord Neffenmark finally said.
The king’s heart stopped. He looked at it more closely. It could have been Sir Brace Hawkden’s sword. It was finely made with an intricate design on the hilt. The leather wrapping around the grip was worn from use, but the blade was sharp and flawless. “How did you come by this sword?” the king demanded with a loud, booming voice. Any fatigue that he had felt was now gone.