Nels rose to his feet, as if her presence enchanted him to do so. She noticed him immediately, and her blue eyes pierced into his as a curious expression appeared on her face. She then tugged at her horse’s reins, urging the mare to step forward. Nels’s blood stilled as she neared him.
A sharp pain shot through his foot.
Cringing, he found Jilia’s heel pressing into his boot. Realizing he was the only one standing, Nels dropped to one knee again. The princess shook her head, looking flustered, and rode on.
Nels pulled his foot back. “Thanks, Jilia. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Dunderhead.” The girl glared at him. “You’re supposed to kneel, not gawk!”
“I gawked?” As transfixed as he was, Nels knew he must have looked like an idiot.
The knights dismounted at the other end of the square before they assisted the royals down from their own steeds. Nels’s attention stayed focused on the princess. She smiled at the touch of Sir Arek’s hand as he helped her down. They then whispered in each other’s ears before joining her parents on the stands. By the looks of their informal interaction, they seemed to be very close.
“People of Cobblestown!” Everyone quieted down to give the queen their full attention. “Thank you for your affectionate welcome; we are most pleased and delighted to see you again. Spring has been good to our fair Avërand, and we should expect yet another prosperous harvest!”
When the new cheers settled, everyone waited to hear from the king.
Lennart simply waved his hand, beckoning the festivities to proceed.
Cobblestown bloomed into a bustle again. People mingled in the streets, returned to their carts, and continued their fun — but Nels did not. He was much too captivated by the princess to think of anything else. Of all the girls that he had met in Avërand, he had to be smitten with her.
The knight who sat by the princess was a giant in comparison to her, and considerably older, too. The queen looked at them frequently with disapproving eyes, and the king did not seem too happy about their flirtations, either. Nels had heard of the king’s melancholy, but he’d never imagined that it was this bad; King Lennart looked as if he wanted nothing to do with the festival.
Jilia tried to divert Nels’s attention, suggesting he should participate in a meatball-eating contest. He did not want to, nor was he in the mood to glut himself. That did not stop Wallin, who finished first, his stout chin dripping with grease. Whenever he could, Nels glanced over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of the royals and their beautiful daughter. Each royal yawned in turn.
“May I have your attention, please?” The people looked to the square. Arek was on his feet, summoning the villagers. This was it; time for the selections to begin! Every boy of age made their way to the front. The favored knight revealed an awkward smile before he cleared his throat. “I regret to inform you all that we have no need for new squires this year.”
All the gathered boys let out disappointed moans.
And like a stone hurled into a vast ocean, Nels’s heart sank.
“We will recruit next year, but this means our visit will end sooner than we would like.”
The crowd muttered with disappointment.
“Come now,” said the queen. “Surely we could find some way to entertain ourselves.”
From out of nowhere, a voice shouted, “How about a match?”
Ickabosh? Nels searched, but he couldn’t find the old man.
No one could pinpoint the location of the voice, either.
More people gathered, curious about the knight’s response: “A match?”
“I’d like to see that,” Lars said. “Your best against our best.”
Sir Arek nodded. “A fitting challenge!” The knight removed his leather vest. A pair of black trousers and a thin shirt remained. “If it pleases His Majesty, may I be your champion?”
The king nodded without looking at Arek.
“Now, who among you will challenge me?”
The square fell silent. No one volunteered.
“Come, now. Surely one of you would like a friendly spar with me?” The knight’s eyes fell upon the blacksmith. “You are clearly an even match for me. What do you say?”
Lars held up his hand. “My sparring days are done, young’n.”
“Is there a prize?” Wallin asked.
The knight laughed. “I suppose we could have one. What should it be?”
The voice boomed again: “A kiss from the princess!”
Nels knew the voice had to be Bosh’s, and he sounded much closer now. The suggestion stirred a commotion as all eyes turned to the king’s daughter.
Her thin brow rose as she smiled at the knight. “Agreed,” she declared. “I will kiss the winner!”
The king glared at the princess, but the crowd was delighted by the suggestion. Nels hoped she would speak more; even her voice was beautiful. It held a confidence that sent warmth through his whole chest. How sweet would it sound if she spoke directly to him?
A sinking feeling in his gut suddenly yanked the idea from his head.
Like I would have a chance like that …
“Who will turn down such a rare opportunity?” Arek asked. “It will make a legend of any man!”
Several men squirmed, including all five of Jilia’s brothers. A few hoots came from the crowd, trying to encourage a volunteer to come forward. No one accepted, but that changed when someone from behind pushed Nels into the square. “How about the Knight of Cobblestown?”
Nels’s heart seized with panic as the villagers cheered their instant approval.
The voice belonged to Bosh, as did the hand that shoved Nels forward.
What is that old man thinking?!
He was a decent wrestler, sure, but Nels had never faced a real knight before. When the king raised his head and stared at Nels, a startling change occurred on his face. He examined from head to toe the attractive young man before him, and then looked at his daughter with an unexpected smile.
She returned the look, her eyes widened with surprise.
“Let him compete!” the king answered.
Astounded by the king’s active participation, the villagers roared into an ovation. Nels glanced at Jilia and Wallin, who were as speechless as he was. He then looked over at Bosh, standing where Nels once stood, grinning at him with dimpled cheeks, his weathered hands resting on the hook of his cane. Bosh had landed him in this mess, and if he refused, Nels would look like a coward.
I won’t be a coward.
Nels caught Tyra’s eye. She was already staring at him.
Their eyes locked for a moment before she turned her head away.
And if I win this, she’ll kiss me …
The very thought of it made him nervous — but, kiss or no kiss, he had to make a choice, for this could be his only chance to prove his worth as a knight of Avërand.
Nels removed his vest. “I accept!”
The people cheered even more as they formed a circle around the perimeter of the square. A pair of knights ordered their squires to carry a chest to a bench in front of the stands. Nels wondered what the chest was for, but only for a moment. He was preoccupied with thoughts of all that was at stake. A kiss from the princess was certainly a fine prize — but if he won the match and proved himself a real knight, it would be worth a sound bruising.
The squires moved aside as Arek kicked the chest open. “Choose your weapon, boy.”
Nels paused. “Weapon?”
“This is a match,” Arek said. “So what will it be? Swords? Maces?”
“He’s never held a real weapon in his life!” cried Tessan, the baker.
The others laughed as the man’s words spread among the spectators.
The king rubbed his chin. “What do you know, lad?”
“Wrestling!” Jilia shouted. “He’ll take on anyone with his bare hands!”
“Jilia!” Nels cried, but the mixture of laughter and cheers muted him.
“Wrestle?” Arek laughed. “A
re you serious? That is a sport for children!”
“Then you should have no problem,” the king jested. “Carry on!”
The princess scowled at her father, more severely than before.
“Very well.” Arek stretched his neck as he readied his stance. The knight grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, revealing his massive chest. The men seemed impressed, and the women fawned as Arek threw the shirt aside. His muscles bulged. “Let’s do this — quickly.”
Nels knew what he had to do if he was going to stand a chance against this much bigger, stronger, and older knight. He handed his vest to Jilia and removed his shirt, too, which made the villagers shout even louder. The boys applauded thunderously as several girls screamed his name. Nels stretched his arms in a defensive stance, as he had with Wallin on numerous occasions, and then stepped forward.
The princess watched them, her eyes darting back and forth between the two.
Nels concentrated, smirking at his opponent. Arek was a good foot taller, with broader shoulders and thicker biceps. Doubting himself for a second, Nels formed a staggered stance and waited for the knight to make the slightest twitch. The first move was essential, but Arek seemed to know this rule as well. They faced off, sizing each other up for quite a time … but Nels could wait.
“I said quickly,” Arek sneered. “Do you wrestle with snails, boy?”
“Not before now.”
The crowd threw a fit. Even the king joined their laughter.
Growling, Arek raised his arms and bolted for Nels.
Nels dodged to the right as the knight reached out and caught only the air.
“The Knight of Cobblestown, are you?” Arek grinned. “Not for long!”
The knight sprang forward again. Nels dug his heels into the ground and wrapped his arms around the advancing knight’s torso. As he dug his head into Arek’s formidable chest, the knight grabbed Nels by the shoulder. Their hold was tight, their resistance intense, but Arek could not throw Nels off his feet and the knight was much too thick for Nels to push down. He slipped out of Arek’s grasp to plan a new approach.
Nels jumped to the right, feinted left, and grabbed Arek’s arm, yanking the knight over his leg with a hard tug. Arek fumbled and rolled onto the ground, long enough for Nels to slip in and hold the knight down. Excitement thundered about the square. But the cheers faded as Arek slipped away and returned to his feet. Adrenaline surged through Nels’s body. His ears rang.
This won’t be easy.
Closing in for the offensive, Arek caught Nels off guard and seized his thigh. The square turned into a blur as Nels landed on the dusty ground — he still did not like the taste of dirt. Gasps ensued as Arek jumped over and pinned him down. Nels countered, shoving his head into Arek’s elbow to collapse the hold long enough to escape. Applause erupted as Nels leaped to his feet.
He could not allow the knight to hold him like that again.
That was too close!
“Go for his legs!” Jilia hollered. “Knock him off his high horse!”
Nels glanced at her for a second, distracted, as a fist struck him in the face. The villagers cried out as Nels fell. A dull numbness throbbed around his eye as he sat up. Arek stood over him, his fists clenched. Sweat dripped down his livid face.
“Whoa!” Wallin yelled. “What was that? You can’t just clout him!”
“He struck the first blow,” Arek said. “Elbow me in the ribs, will you?”
“What?” Nels said. “I didn’t —”
The knight didn’t give Nels a chance to speak.
Arek grabbed him and socked him in the gut. Winded, Nels tried to get up, but Arek kicked him back to the ground. Boos and hisses sounded, and even the other knights appeared to disapprove. Nels rolled to the other side of the circle, oblivious to the concern that filled the villagers’ faces. A delighted smirk blossomed on the princess, as if she were enjoying the match — more than before.
A kiss isn’t worth this trouble!
“We should stop this,” he heard the queen say.
“Not yet,” the king answered. “I wish to see this through.”
Arek pressed his foot on Nels’s back and twisted it, as if he were smashing a bug. Nels clenched his jaw. The pain was extreme. He couldn’t escape. He was in no position to even think of defeating this knight.
How will I get out of this?
A blinding flash of sunlight flickered into his eye from the middle of the circle, reflected by his tiny, brass thimble. It must have fallen out of his pocket when he handed his vest to Jilia.
Nels caught sight of Bosh staring at him from the crowd. The old tailor’s eyes flicked to the thimble, reminding Nels of what he’d said on the road:
Hold it when you need it most …
Nels didn’t know why, but he needed the thimble — now!
Gathering his strength, Nels slid out from under the knight’s foot, twisting Arek’s ankle and knocking him to the ground. The cheering returned as Nels grabbed the thimble. The knight rebounded and leaped at Nels. But instead of catching him, Arek flew over Nels’s back and rammed headlong into the iron chest on the bench. Everybody cringed, except for Nels, who was trying to figure out what had happened.
“What the …?” The knight stood, teetering a little on his feet. “I had you!”
“You … missed?”
Snarling, Arek charged again, but this time Nels stepped aside with ease and tripped the knight. Laughter filled the square as Nels dodged the knight’s next attack, too. For some odd reason, the knight could not lay a finger on him. Nels looked at the thimble as Arek passed him a third time. The tired knight lunged again, with momentum that Nels could use.
Let’s see how well you fly.
Nels rolled onto his back, pressed his feet into Arek’s approaching gut, and launched him straight into the air. Arek crashed into the stands and smashed the railing at the royals’ feet. He raised his head, a perplexed look on his face, groaned, and collapsed. One of the other knights stepped forward and declared that Arek was out cold. The roar of the crowd exploded with pride; Nels, a commoner, had bested the favored knight of Avërand! He pocketed the thimble. Maybe there was such a thing as magic, after all.
Lars patted him hard on the back. “Three cheers for our knight!”
A chorus sounded as the knights hauled Arek to a tent behind the stands. The villagers carried Nels to the front, where King Lennart beamed. “What is your name, young man?”
“I’m” — Nels could not believe it; he was speaking to the king — “Nels, Your Majesty.”
“Hooray!” some of the people shouted. Others cried, “Nels! The Knight of Cobblestown!”
The queen smiled. “The knighthood could use a man of such bravery.”
Nels tried not to shake as he bowed. If the queen herself suggested it, Nels didn’t have to speculate his chances anymore. After this day, he would be a knight. He wanted to dance on the spot, but he resisted and turned to look at the princess. She was shorter than he expected, but no less lovely, her lashes long and dark. Aside from the smattering of freckles high on her cheeks, she was free of blemish. There was a calm surprise about her — along with sheer disbelief — as she looked at Nels.
“Here is your champion,” the king said. “You may reward him.”
The crowd hushed and Nels stood still, doing his best to remain composed. Tyra stepped forward. Her lips parted as her face neared his. The smell of pear blossoms from her hair filled the dimishing space between them. Not knowing what else to do, Nels held his ground and closed his eyes, waiting to feel the touch of a girl’s lips on his for the first time.
It never came. Nels opened his eyes, just as the beautiful maiden was stepping back.
The princess glared at him, disgust painting her face. “I will never kiss this … peasant!”
Before Nels could speak, Tyra stormed off after the knights who had carried Sir Arek behind the stands. The villagers made their disapprovals known through mutteri
ngs and abrasive glares as she passed. Releasing a great sigh, the king left the stands to pursue her.
“Pardon my daughter,” the flustered queen said as she departed, too. “She’s not feeling well.”
The people quieted once the royals left, leaving Nels to stare at the crowd. The jovial mood was unquestionably dead; the festival was over. He stood alone, dumbfounded, eye throbbing, all because the most enchanting girl he had ever seen decided to make a public spectacle of him. What really surprised him, though, was that he cared. He came to the festival to be a knight, not to be mocked by some spoiled princess. Still, he felt drawn to her, and he had wanted her to kiss him. He stepped down from the stands and looked around for the old man who had started the whole fiasco.
But the tailor was nowhere in sight. “Where did he go?”
Jilia ran to Nels and handed him his shirt without saying a word — for once. Neither did Wallin. He was about to, but Lars pulled him aside to help clean the square. No one asked Nels to do anything, giving him space and trying not to make things worse. When Nels slipped his arms through his vest, a redheaded merchant in a well-made cape walked up to him quickly.
“You are quite the grappler, boy,” he said. “Come — you deserve a prize.”
Not feeling like he deserved a prize, Nels followed the stranger. The merchant guided Nels to a cart shaded by a thick red-and-lavender tarpaulin. The cart contained bows, swords, daggers, and a few axes, but in their unsavory condition — rusted and porous — they amounted to only useless junk, not that Nels was particularly fascinated by the man’s offerings in the first place.
“Now then,” said the merchant. “What would you fancy?”
Nels forced a smile as he considered the dented, old blades.
“Take your time; choose whatever you’d like.”
Although he wasn’t interested in foraging through a pile of shoddy weapons, Nels did spot an unused swing ax under a pair of crusted maces. It had a long, finished handle of hard oak, and the forged head shone like obsidian. Nels took up the shiny new ax and weighed it in his hands. Glancing again at the decrepit swords, the choice was obvious. He needed a new ax anyway.
“Oh,” the merchant said, frowning, “I forgot that was there.”
Woven Page 4