by I.D. Blind
15. Tournament
The stands around the arena were teemed with the Easterners and Westerners. All their attention was drawn to the quintains in the middle of the field, and to the tents behind the arena, where the participants were getting ready. Mayor Daley recited a speech about Hollow’s traditions and thanked Duchess Iphigenia, who was the sponsor of this year’s tournament. As the Duchess wasn’t present, Mayor Daley pointed to the honorary box where Raymond was sitting, thanked him too, and asked for a speech.
Raymond’s speech was short. As a winner of the two previous tournaments, he asked for honesty and friendliness, then sat back and held Cassandra’s hand. Her presence in the honorary box wasn’t welcomed either by the mayor or the jury, which consisted mainly of the Easterners, but when Raymond threatened with leaving the tournament, the jury members were forced to suppress their anger and tolerate the witch's presence nearby.
Near the honorary box stood a pedestal with an engraved cup and three golden clasps. Those were the prizes for the winners, and now and then the audience stared at the clasps, discussing their value and speculating over who’d take them home. Ten teams were taking part in the tournament; among them were the Red Team, consisting of Jack, Hector, and Eric, and the Black Team, made up by Dickens, Thomas, and Tim—the favorites of the Easterners.
Eric’s team was getting dressed in the red tent. Their two squires, thirteen-year-old Castor and Pollux McKennits, were hurrying from one knight to the other, handing them their garments, checking the arrows, putting them in the quivers, and taking care of the horses. Ariadne’s little brother Jason had also been chosen as a squire. After much persuasion on behalf of his sister, Jack had agreed to take the eight-year-old boy and give him easy assignments like carrying his shield or helmet.
“How are the horses?” Jack took off his shirt and put on the linen undershirt. “Are they calm?”
“Yes,” Castor said. “My brother is now putting caparisons on them.” The boy helped Jack put on his doublet, then approached Eric, who was peeping outside, watching the jesters perform tricks in the center of the arena. “Your garments.” Castor held up the undershirt and the doublet.
Putting his clothing on, Eric saw Jack staring at him. “What’s the matter?” he asked, tying up the knots on his shirt.
“Nothing.” Jack turned to the other corner of the tent, where Hector was getting dressed. “Now, this can’t be a coincidence,” he said.
“What coincidence?” Hector reached out for his garments.
“What’s that on your chest?”
Hector cast his eyes down. “No idea.” He smirked. “I knew you loved me, but not so much that you worry over every bite I get.”
Eric chuckled, but the expression on Jack’s face didn’t change. “I have the same bites.”
“So what? We have spent many days out in the field.”
“I have them too,” Eric said. “I guess some insect took advantage of our bodies while we were resting in the field.”
“They don’t look like insect bites to me.”
The trumpeters blew the horns. The knights heard the herald’s voice announce the beginning of the tournament and explain the rules.
“It’s time. Hurry up!” Jack urged.
Castor and Pollux helped the fellows to put on the surcoats, and hung the leather quivers and bows on their backs. One by one, the knights entered the arena astride their horses. Judge Alistair, the head of the jury, read aloud the names of the participants when they cantered before his stand. When all the names were announced, the knights stood in a line, waiting for the trumpeters to blow the horns, signifying the beginning of the competitions.
The first event was archery. Jack was shooting first. He was on horseback and had to shoot the quintains while galloping around the arena, avoiding the obstacles or leaping over them. Jack completed the task with 99 points out of 100, hitting the bullseye nine times and missing the center only once. Completing the task, he stopped in the center of the arena, looking proudly at the targets and at his arrows sticking out of the centers. He saw three girls in the audience clapping and waving at him. They were sitting next to each other, one was blond, the other red-haired, the third with black hair, and crying out his name at the tops of their voices.
“Well done, Jack!” Medea yelled.
“Well done, Red Team!” Ariadne and Electra joined her, paying no attention to the disgruntled Easterners.
Jack waved at them and under the gloomy looks of the jury members left the arena.
“We shouldn’t have let the witch-boy participate,” Caspar O’Neal whispered in the judge’s ear. “He might be using sorcery. I’m almost sure of it.”
“I told Kynaston about that, but you know him—he is so spineless.”
“This is an almost perfect result. Now no one will be able to overcome him.”
Caspar O’Neal turned out to be right. No one from the other eight teams was able to show better results. Jack’s points for the first round were the highest. But the Easterners’ favorites hadn’t yet stepped into the game. Jack’s opponent from the Black Team was Dickens McCormack. Gloomy, never smiling, Dickens entered the arena astride a black stallion, and scored 95 points. It was the highest score apart from Jack, but it still didn’t satisfy Peter McCormack. “What a lazy, untalented boy,” he muttered under his breath.
“Why do you say so? That’s not a bad score,” his wife said defensively, but Peter didn’t deign her with an answer.
Hector was the second from the Red Team. He was on a horseback, but his horse didn’t have to gallop. He shot with ease and confidence, earning 94 points, and left the arena to the exultant applause of his three girlfriends. His opponent from the Black Team, Thomas Baldric, earned 92 points for his team, allowing his father to smirk priggishly whenever he looked around.
Eric was the third from the Red Team. Slightly nervous, he walked to the center of the arena and settled at fifty yards away from the first target. He twanged the bowstring, keeping in mind the tips he had received from Jack and Hector. The arrow hit the bullseye and Eric sighed with relief. The first shot was behind, but another nine were still ahead. He squinted at the target, took a careful aim, and shot.
“Ten points!” the judge announced.
The third arrow earned him nine points, and eight points came with the fourth.
“Uh.” Medea scowled. “He’s not doing well.”
“My poor Eric,” Electra said. “He didn’t have much time to practice.”
“Pastries? Chicken patties, or gingerbread with raisins?” A young girl with a tray full of snacks passed between the seats, offering appetizers.
“Yes, I will.” Medea took a chicken patty and gingerbread from the tray, leaving a silver coin instead. “Would you like some?” she asked Electra, who looked at the food with disapproval.
“Oh, how can you eat now? I’m so tense.”
“But that’s not my boyfriend in the arena!” Medea said with a mouthful of chicken, the half-eaten drumstick in her hand. She looked so funny that Electra chuckled and gave her a quick peck on the temple, then concentrated on the arena and the shooter in the center. The remaining six arrows brought Eric 58 points.
“Well done!” Uncle Albert shouted from the audience.
The McCormacks—Peter, Caitlin, and Dinah—scowled at him. Their faces turned more sour when little Henry showed them his tongue. Riona clapped her palm over his mouth and made a remark about good manners.
The shooting was followed with a twenty-minute break. The minstrels played pipes and acrobats performed tricks with fire and clubs, while the quintains in the arena were replaced with bigger ones to withstand the javelin round.
The javelin throwing demanded not only concentration but also good strength. Jack and Hector didn’t have much trouble with the javelins and collected 95 points each. Then came Eric's turn. He mounted Pegasus, and receiving Jack's last-minute instructions, rode out into the arena. His squire passed him the spear. Eric grabbed it and took a careful a
im. Making sure that Pegasus was under control, he hit the spurs and threw the spear. The edge impaled the center of the target. After throwing the last javelin he let out another relieved sigh. One more task was over, and he could rest until the last round began.
After the jury counted all the points, Judge Alistair announced the two teams that had made it to the last level. Those were the Red and the Black teams. The herald wrote down the names of the participants on sheets of paper, put them inside two glass boxes, and let the judge decide who would face whom. Judge Alistair simultaneously lowered his hands inside the boxes and took out the first two names: Hector MacGavin and Tim Van Balen.
Hector smirked. “He doesn’t stand a chance.”
Judge Alistair took the next two sheets. “Jack Fitzroy and Thomas Baldric!”
“Damn it,” Jack muttered.
“Is anything wrong?” Eric asked.
“Yes. I was hoping to get McCormack as my opponent.”
“Don’t worry. I don’t mind jousting against my neighbor.”
“It’s not that.” Jack pressed his lips together. “Dickens is… too good.”
“You mean I can’t overcome him?”
“Eric O’Brian and Dickens McCormack!”
Albert O’Brian and Peter McCormack looked at each other; the latter smirked and turned away. Electra and Medea exchanged worried glances. They had all seen Dickens on the arena before. He was fast, deft, and aggressive.
Although wooden spears were used for the jousting, the knights were still required to wear armor. In the red tent, the fellows were discussing tactics while putting on their armor with the help of their squires. Jack and Hector had met Thomas and Tim in the arena; they knew all their flaws and weaknesses. Dickens was different. He had no flaws, and his skills in jousting were nearly perfect. Jack made sure to let Eric know about the McCormack’s moves and manoeuvres, but didn’t think he could use them to his advantage; he was too unskilled.
The knights put on the foot irons on their boots, covered their knees with the poleyns, and the thighs with the cuisses, then attached the spurs. Putting on the armor that covered the arms, hands, and the body took longer, as each of them needed the help of both of the squires. Getting into the armor by oneself was almost impossible. The armor consisted of individual elements for each limb, which, in turn, was made of metal plates that had to be attached to each other by movable rivets and leather straps. After getting inside the armor, the young men put on their red tabards and gauntlets, and walked out of the tent. Castor and Pollux had already put champrons on the horses’ heads to protect their faces from the spears, and iron peytrals on their chests. The knights mounted their stallions, put on their helmets, and rode to the arena with their young squires at their sides, holding the lances and shields.
Jack and Eric stopped at the fence. “Good luck!” they told Hector.
“I’ll be quick,” he said, and cantered to the center of the arena. When Hector and Tim took their stations, their squires handed them their shields and lances. The herald raised his hands, kept everyone in tension for another second, then yelled, “Go!”
Hector and Tim hit the spurs and tilted at each other. As Hector had promised, he didn’t give Tim a second chance, and threw him down with the first blow. Tim crashed to the ground and rolled to the fence.
“What in thunder!” Manfred Van Balen shouted. “That boy cheated!”
Judge Alistair raised his hand to make everyone quiet. Then the jurors talked quietly for thirty seconds, and the judge announced that there had been no cheating. Hector’s victory was flawless.
Jack and Thomas’s jousting match lasted longer. They tilted twice but none struck the other. The third time, Jack hit Thomas’s shield with his lance and broke it into pieces. Though Thomas, overwhelmed by the blow, was able to regain his balance and didn’t fall off the horse, Jack was declared the winner.
“Well done, Jack!” Medea shouted, leaping for joy. Ariadne and Electra joined her, waving frantically to Jack, while Cassandra blew him kisses from her box.
When it was time for Eric and Dickens to begin their jousting match, Dickens approached the jury and told them something. Judge Alistair knitted his eyebrows and seemed to ask Dickens the same question a few times. Then he turned to the jurors. Some of them shook their heads, the rest shrugged. At last, the judge stood up and said, “Dickens McCormack has chosen iron weapons!”
A hiss came from the audience.
“Scumbag!” Jack muttered. He hurried to Eric and told him to dismount the horse. Eric was staring at the jury and didn’t hear him. “Come down,” Jack repeated, holding Pegasus’s reins, but Eric’s attention was still on the stand with the jurors. Jack had to repeat his demand for the third time to gain his attention.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because you won’t joust with iron weapons.”
“If I refuse then we lose.”
“I know. But you can’t joust with real weapons. It’s too dangerous.”
“That’s what he wants us to do. I’m not going to let him win.”
“I said come down. I will announce that we’re quitting.”
“No way you’re doing that.” Eric hit the spurs, reached the jurors’ stand and said, “I accept the challenge.”
Electra’s heart began pounding faster. She turned to her uncle, her eyes filled with dread.
“That boy is out of his mind,” Colin said. “I need to stop this.”
Uncle Colin and Albert O’Brian simultaneously approached the jury’s stand, and a quarrel began over whether the fellows could joust with iron weapons or not.
“These are the rules,” the jurors were saying. “They might be old, but they are still in full power, and any participant has the right to choose iron weapons.”
“This has been done during the tournaments,” the judge said.
“But not in this century,” Colin countered.
“It doesn’t matter. There is a rule that should be followed. Young O’Brian can refuse.”
“I’m not refusing.”
“Of course you are,” Uncle Albert said.
The argument lasted for a quarter of an hour. Neither Dickens nor Eric changed their minds, and the elders were forced to go back to their seats.
Colin returned to his place, looking grave and irritated.
“Dear, are they going to let this happen?”
“Yes,” he told his wife. “They are.”
Uncle Albert had the same grave look when he returned to his seat.
“You shouldn’t have let him do this,” Riona chided him.
“That boy is the most disobedient and unruly child I have ever seen. I don't even know what I’m going to tell his parents if anything happens to him.” Albert’s voice was shaking with anxiety.
“Mommy, Eric will fight with swords?” Henry asked.
“Nora, take Henry and go home.”
Eleanora was so absorbed in the upcoming jousting she didn’t hear her mother.
“Nora, please take your brother and leave.” Riona squeezed her hand.
Eleanora was about to argue when the trumpeters blew the horns. Astride his black stallion, Dickens put on his helmet, took the shield and the spear, and rode to the center of the arena with an easy gait. Eric took the lance from his squire, but instead of riding to the center, he cantered to the stand where Electra was sitting, and stretched his lance to her.
“Will you do me an honor?”
Electra stared at Eric, her eyes pleading him not to do that. When he shook his head, she took the blue shawl off her neck, and with trembling hands tied it to the edge of his lance.
“Please be careful,” she whispered.
Eric nodded.
Receiving his maiden’s token, he galloped to his station, where Jack was standing instead of Pollux, holding an oblong iron shield.
“Well done, Ivanhoe. Now concentrate. Keep the lance up and cover your leg with the shield; he’ll try to hit your thigh or knee.”
; The drumming began. For a minute Eric and Dickens looked at each other from their positions, waiting for the drumming to end. With the herald’s signal, the horsemen rushed forth. As Jack had predicted, Dickens lowered his lance and hit Eric’s kneecap. The armor broke, the lance cut Eric’s knee, but he kept his balance and stayed in the saddle.
“I told him to protect his knee!” Jack cried, pressing his hands to his temples. Hector shook his head, his eyes glued to the arena.
The opponents retook their positions, and receiving the herald's signal, tilted for the second time. This time Dickens’s lance caught in the cheekpiece of Eric’s helmet and unhorsed him. Eric trundled from the saddle and crashed to the ground. Electra gasped and covered her mouth with her palms, holding her breath until he rose to his feet.
Then something unexpected happened. Dickens, although untouched by Eric's spear, reeled in the saddle, then fell off the horse. No one understood why. No one from the audience, none of his friends and squires had seen Eric's lance touch him, but Dickens fell, which meant that there was no winner yet. He stood up and staggered a few steps back, as if suffering from a severe dizziness, then mounted his stallion and hit the spurs. Gripping the lance in his hand, he dashed towards Eric, who managed to snatch his spear from the ground and block Dickens’s blow. Eric hit him with all his might, causing him to tumble down again. Dickens stood up and turned to Thomas.
“My sword!”
Thomas threw him his sword. Dickens caught it in the air, then turned to Eric, getting ready to pounce on him. Eric stepped back and turned to Jack. Pollux, who was standing nearest to the red tent, grabbed a sword and threw it to his brother. Castor caught the sword and tossed it to Hector. Hector flung it to Jack, and Jack, being the closest to Eric, threw him the sword. All this took only seconds, and Eric clasped the iron haft just in time to block and throw back Dickens’s blow. His opponent’s strikes rained down at him, and Eric was barely blocking them. Under the endless hits he retreated to the fence, hardly staying on his feet. After another blow Eric fell to the ground. Dickens would have hit him on the chest if Eric hadn’t managed to raise his sword and block his trunk.
Electra gasped and covered her eyes with her hands.
“This is too dangerous,” Colin muttered.
“He’s going to kill him,” Albert said, and rushed to the jurors.
Gathering all his strength, Eric pushed Dickens back and stood up. His helmet was damaged, making it difficult to see Dickens when he attacked from the left. Eric stepped back, took off the helmet, and tossed it aside.
“What is he doing?” Electra’s voice faltered.
“He’s crazy,” Medea whispered.
Albert and Colin appeared at the jurors’ stand and demanded them to stop the fight.
“We can’t stop it,” the judge said. “The tournament has rules. One of them has to yield.”
“This is beyond the rules,” Albert shouted. “These boys will kill each other!”
The judge looked at the jurors. Two of them agreed to end the battle, three disagreed.
Cassandra had been holding back her breath since the fight began, but when Eric took off his helmet, she turned to Raymond and squeezed his hand. “Raymond, do something,” she pleaded.
Seeing that Eric took off his helmet, Dickens did the same and threw his helmet on the ground.
Caitlin McCormack gave out a low cry. “Peter, you have to stop this,” she said. “He could get hurt.”
Peter McCormack stayed silent.
“Peter, do something. He might hurt our son.”
“Let them continue,” he said.
When the swords clashed again, Caitlin winced and looked away. “I can’t take this anymore. Someone has to stop this.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Albert shouted at the jurors. “Don’t you have children? Stop this now!”
“I agree. This has to be stopped,” said Raymond. He had left his box and was now standing near the jurors’ stand. “I have participated in the tourneys four times, and never in my life have I seen anything as dangerous. These two fellows will kill each other.”
“They are wearing armor—”
“That armor wasn’t intended for iron blows,” Colin said. “And they even took off the helmets. Stop this right now, or I’ll do it myself.”
He turned to the arena and was about to jump over the fence when the judge stopped him. Alistair looked at Sheriff De Roy, who was sitting nearby and seemingly enjoying the fight. The clash of iron wasn’t stopping, and the blows that the young men were pouring on each other were becoming more aggressive with each strike.
“Stop them,” the judge told De Roy. The sheriff beckoned two of his officers to stop the fighters. At the same time, the judge made a gesture with his hand, telling the trumpeters to blow the horns. But neither the horns nor the officers’ presence made Dickens stop fighting. Hearing the sound of the horns, Eric turned to the jurors, and while he was distracted, Dickens pounced on him and knocked him to the ground.
Eric’s chest hurt. He put his palm over the armor and heard someone calling his name. It could be Electra, but he wasn’t sure. The pain was so unbearable he almost blacked out. He barely managed to see Dickens approaching. The blade rushed towards him, but Eric rolled to the side and the sword clanged against the ground. Dickens raised it again despite the officers’ demands to stop the fight. With bludgeons in their hands they tried to approach the fighters, but none of them dared go any closer, as Eric was back on his feet, and the fight continued with more fury. It seemed that nothing could stop them. Even the rain that began pouring mercilessly was of no significance. When thunder boomed and the water gushed down, part of the audience hurried to find shelter, but most of the townsfolk remained on the stands, some out of curiosity, others out of fear for the fighters.
“Stop it!” everyone urged the boys, but Dickens and Eric, soaked in water, hands aching, still didn’t give up.
“Eric, stop it!” Uncle Albert was yelling by the fence. “Stop it I said!”
It was useless. They were absolutely absorbed in their meaningless fight, and even the cuts on their faces didn’t stop them.
“That’s it!” Medea said. “They both are starting to irritate me.”
She stormed away from Electra, who was standing at the fence and staring at the fighters. Two more officers had joined their comrades, but to stop the fight they’d have to take the weapons out of the fellows’ hands. Eric retreated to the fence, forcing everyone to rush away to avoid being hit by a sword. When he leaned over the wooden fence an officer tried to grab him and stop the fight, but then Dickens raised his sword, and if Eric hadn’t managed to shake off the officer’s grip, Dickens’s sword would’ve killed them both. They managed to jump aside, and the blade broke the fence in two.
There was not to be a second blow. When the sword rose in the air something hit the blade and forced Dickens to drop it down. In a second, the same thing hit Eric’s sword, making it fall off his hands. Unarmed, the fighters looked at each other, then at the staring crowd. Then they saw Medea perched on the fence under the rain, with a pulled bowstring and an arrow.
“If either of you tries to raise a sword, I will shoot your hand without hesitation,” she said.
Her tone didn’t leave room for doubt; she was serious, and her voice sounded menacing. Neither doubted her ability to shoot. She lowered the bow only after the fighters left the arena. The tournament was over.
16. The Creature
After the tourney, the witches and their friends gathered in the fireplace hall of the blue castle to discuss the marks on the fellows’ chests.
“Maybe it was a snake?” Medea suggested.
“I think we would’ve noticed a snake biting us on the chest,” Jack said.
“Whatever it is, those bites might be the reason behind your paleness and constant dizziness,” Cassandra said in a tone of voice that Jack jokingly called doctorish.
Electra returned to the hall with a magnifyin
g glass and began unbuttoning Eric’s shirt. “Let me have a better look,” she said.
“I think it’s not a big deal,” Eric said as she examined the bites through the glass, then beckoned Jack to approach her.
“Cassie, what do you think?”
“The same bites. Hector, show me yours.”
Hector took off his shirt and let them examine the red marks on his chest.
“The same,” Electra said thoughtfully, then turned to Medea and Ariadne. “Do any of you have such bites?”
They simultaneously shook their heads.
“I don’t have them either. Cassie?”
“No marks,” she said. “Just the boys.”
“And?” Jack asked. “What do you think it is?”
“It’s a snake,” Medea said.
“It can’t be a snake. How come none of us felt a snake’s bite?” Eric said.
“Maybe a bat?” Hector asked.
“A werewolf?” Jack muttered.
“A vampire?” was Ariadne’s suggestion.
“Wrong guesses,” Cassandra said. “All that you mentioned could leave such marks, but then all of us would have them, not just the boys.”
“It has to be something that bites only boys,” Electra mused out.
“So, who has bitten us?” Eric asked. “And most importantly, are we going to turn into something?” he said with a chuckle.
“It’s not funny,” Electra said. “It could be dangerous.” She took his hands in hers. “Your hands are cold. How do you feel?”
“Just fine. Slightly tired, maybe a bit weaker, but it could be due to the tourney.”
“Or due to something that has been periodically drinking your blood,” Electra said, resting her head on his shoulder. Eric put his hand around her waist and drew her closer to him.
“So it’s not an insect?”
“I think it’s something else.” Electra looked at the girls. “What do you think?”
“If I understood correctly, there is something that bites the boys and drinks their blood, causing them to become paler day by day and be tortured by giddiness,” Ariadne said. “Which means that this something is either very small, that none of you have noticed it, or very quick. Or both.”
“Not necessarily,” Cassandra said. “Why have none of them felt the bites? I don’t think it’s about the size or speed, rather the time. Vampire bats have an anaesthetic when they bite, and the victim doesn’t feel anything. So, when someone is asleep, he won’t feel the bite and wake up.”
“So is this a bat?”
“If it is, then not an ordinary one. It bites only boys.”
“Never thought they were tastier.” Medea smirked. “We need to search the library.”