A Time of Turmoil

by N M Zoltack

  The moment trumpets blasted, the blue and the red all lined up in an orderly fashion. The wide distance between the two sides would take no time to close once the trumpets signaled the start of the melee.

  Without warning, the other horses began to move forward. Edmund hadn’t heard the trumpets a second time, but evidently, they had gone off.

  Edmund urged his horse forward, guiding him with his knees. He loved the feeling of wind rushing against his face and in his hair when riding, but the helm on his head prevented that freeing sensation. In fact, if anything, Edmund felt rather confined.

  A sharp prick of pain stole his breath away as a red knight’s lance connected squarely with Edmund’s breastplate. Most men would have been unseated from the force of the impact, but not Edmund as his knees were too locked in on the horse.

  Edmund had already thundered past that rider and aimed for another. The point of the melee was to “capture” as many of the other party as possible. One was captured by virtue of being disarmed. The easiest way to accomplish that would be to unhorse one’s opponent first.

  The lance was tucked perfectly in Edmund’s armpit. The knight he was charging was much taller than Edmund, but Edmund waited until the last second to shift the butt end of the lance just enough that the blunted tip hit the knight in the chest, the exact same spot that still smarted on Edmund. Unlike Edmund’s challenger, Edmund drive hard with the lance, still applying pressure, forcing the knight backward until he was going the wrong way from his horse. He landed with a muttered curse, rolled to his feet, and stood, his sword already out.

  Impressive but as Edmund remained mounted, he continued racing to find another to dismount.

  In all, Edmund unhorsed three more. He was one of the last to be dismounted. By that point, both side, which had numbered two dozen at the start, were down to about only half each.

  Edmund slashed and fought hard. He stepped carefully, mindful of the rocky terrain. His opponent was not as aware of his surroundings, and with a flick of his wrist, Edmund knocked the man’s sword free of his hand.

  However, the lance and sword weren’t the extent of each knight’s weapons. The knight in question pulled out a knife and dashed away, most likely trying to locate another opponent down to a knife. A knife and a sword… no one wished to have a knife in that instance.

  By now, the melee had been dragged out longer than the previous ones, and the crowd was beginning to get a bit restless. In the end, to Edmund’s shock, while the blue party had three remaining and the red only two, the trumpeters heralded the end of the melee.

  Edmund yanked off his helmet and crossed over to the nearest fellow blue knight. “Has that ever happened before?”

  The blue knight removed his helmet and tucked it under his arm. He was a grizzled older man with more salt than pepper to his hair, and an array of facial hair. Edmund had never seen this knight before.

  “Yes,” the older knight said.

  “What does it mean?”

  “The melee is a draw. Doesn’t matter much anyhow. The true test will be the jousting.”

  Edmund nodded to him and then the crowd. “It’s all for them, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. A bunch of pageantry and nonsense if you ask me.”

  “Then why have you entered?” Edmund asked, shocked to hear the bitterness in his tone.

  The older knight fell into step beside Edmund. Pages raced onto the field to draw away the horses and clear off the weapons so the next melee group could have their chance.

  “I entered because I promised my daughter I would,” he said. “She’s trying to convince her young son to follow my footsteps and become a knight.”

  “He doesn’t want to become one?”

  “Considering I’ve been telling him about the training and the tutoring since before he could answer me, he knows more than most what is involved. I don’t think many would be so eager if they knew how difficult the path can be.”

  “It’s worthwhile,” Edmund said stubbornly.

  “Ah, yes. Your youth blinds you. Not everything is wondrous, and not all men are chivalrous.” The knight dipped his head. “Good luck with the jousting.”

  Edmund echoed the sentiment as the older knight walked away as they had reached the sidelines where the knights were gathered.

  A few tents had been set aside for the knights to change and ready themselves for the field. Edmund headed to one now. Thankfully, he managed to locate an empty one, and he removed his breastplate. Already, a large circular bruise had formed from where the spear had impacted him. His breastplate was a bit dented, and it only took one whack of the hilt of his sword to hammer it back into place more or less.

  He rubbed the bruise, winced, and reattached his breastplate. While it would be nice to have an emulsion or cream to help with the pain, he would be fine.

  Maybe I should have asked Tatum for something.

  Edmund shook his head. It was bad enough how some of the other knights treated him. If they knew he had sought out the help of a female alchemist, they would never stop tormenting him. It was best to do his part and nothing more.

  Besides, it wasn’t as if his family were here to watch him, not that Tatum was a member of the family yet. Dudley apparently wished to save up a decent amount of money before wedding her. Maybe he even wanted enough for the inn. Edmund wasn’t certain. He hadn’t asked, and he didn’t plan on it.

  For now, Edmund would stop thinking, clear his head, and ready for the jousting. Cynbel Macangus would not be an easy foe, but Edmund had no intention of going down in the first round of the joust.

  41

  Prince Noll Rivera

  Finally, the tourney day was here, and Noll was so very excited. The grasslands to the southwest of the castle had been transformed into a tournament field and a large wooden pavilion had been constructed with benches for people to sit on so they would watch from under shade. He loved to watch the jousting especially, all the grand knights with their armor and armored horses and their spears and swords. Noll really wished that he had learned how to jump on a horse after all.

  First, the knights were introduced, far too many for Noll to remember their names or even their colors or coats of arms. He cheered for every one of them.

  Vivian sat next to him. Rosalynne was off somewhere. Noll wasn’t sure what she was up to.

  “Who do you think will win?” he asked Vivian.

  She was eyeing the knights critically. One smiled at her, and she turned away.

  “I don’t know. Some people have said that Sir Lothar Groves is ready to reclaim the title. He lost the previous tourney but won the one prior. Then again, there is the squire Radulf. He is young, but he is strong. He rides a horse like no other. Some claim that his mother must have laid with a horse.”

  “That’s disgusting!” Noll cried. “You think a squire will best knights?”

  “It has happened once or twice before, and this isn’t the battlefield. Anyone could win the tourney. You just have to be the last one to survive.”

  “Anyone?” Noll asked.

  Vivian’s eyes widened. “Anyone with knowledge of swords and spears and horseback riding, of course.” She tossed back her hair. Lately, she had been wearing some of her strands down free with only half piled on top of her head. “I could not enter the tourney myself,” she added.

  “You are a girl. Of course you can’t.”

  She scowled. “If I knew how to use a sword and spear, I would,” she said darkly.

  “You never did like being told no.”

  “Not at all. Besides, I can ride faster than any of them and jump and do tricks.”

  “Do tricks?” Noll blinked, impressed. “Why haven’t I seen you do any tricks on a horse?”

  “Because you’re too busy with that puppy of yours,” she teased. “Where is Tabes anyhow?”

  “He is in my room. I was afraid that he’ll jump out of my arms and enter the ring.”

  “Oh, no!” Vivian covered her mouth. “That wo
uld have been terrible. Good thinking, Noll.”

  He grinned. “Thank you. Wait. You never did tell me how old that squire is.”

  Vivian shrugged but wouldn’t meet his gaze. “I’m not sure,” she hedged.

  “Are you lying to me?” Noll asked.

  “Would I do that?” she asked.

  He considered and shook his head. “No. You wouldn’t. I’m sorry for thinking that.”

  His sister sighed. “He is fourteen.”

  “Fourteen!” Noll shouted.

  “Yes. Hush. The tourney is about to begin.” Vivian patted his arm.

  “What about him? And him?” Noll pointed to a few other tournament challengers who looked young to him.

  “I think they might be fifteen,” she said, “but don’t worry about that. Look! There is Rosalynne! She is going to address the crowd and set the tournament off. Maybe the next tournament, you can do that instead of her. Would you like that?”

  Noll crossed his arms and slumped in his seat. He didn’t want to be on the sidelines watching the other challengers fight. He wanted to fight them.

  “How many other princes haven’t fought in tourneys?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” Vivian said distractedly. “You would have to ask the vicar. He might know. I’m sure you aren’t the first, Noll. Don’t worry. You’re the prince. You’re far too important. We can’t risk you getting hurt.”

  “Because you’re so certain I would get hurt,” he said crossly. “I can’t possibly win. Is that what you are trying to say?”

  “I did not say that at all,” she protested. Her already dark-blue eyes darkened even more. “Do not try to put words in my mouth.”

  Noll scowled and said nothing more. Once the actual jousting part of the tourney began, Noll slipped out of his seat. He started to head toward his room when he realized that even Tabes would not make him happen. The prince turned about face and marched himself out of the castle and straight to the courtyard.

  Although Noll had assumed that everyone would be at the tournament, he was not alone. A man was there who was trying to use a sword. It was clear enough to Noll that the man was comfortable enough holding the weapon even though he had none of the finesse that the other men on the tourney field would soon display.

  “Who are you?” Noll asked.

  The man whirled around to face him, the sword raised. When he recognized Noll, he dropped into a low bow.

  “Prince Noll, I am Ulric. Ulric Cooper. I am a—”

  “You were practicing.” Noll waved his hand. “Go ahead. I did not mean to interrupt.”

  “I am a servant,” Ulric said haltingly. “I should not have a sword.”

  Noll shrugged. “You were practicing. Go ahead,” he repeated.

  The servant resumed his moves. Sliding around, moving forward and back, arcing the sword. His moves were even less fluid than before, not that they had been perfect earlier before Ulric realized he had an audience. Why he was self-conscious, Noll didn’t know. He wasn’t judging the man. Actually, Ulric didn’t seem to be that much older than Noll.

  After a moment, Noll cleared his throat. “Do you have another sword?” he asked.

  He hated that fourteen-year-olds were participating in the tourney, and he wasn’t when he was sixteen. Boys younger than him were doing something Noll would love to do! Just then, a terrible thought crossed his mind. If he entered the tourney, would the others all fall to the side and allow him to win? Would they not give him the chance to earn the tourney prize for real? Would they think him that pathetic that they would do such a thing?

  The thought made him even more bitter.

  “Please tell me you have another sword,” Noll said to the servant. “I hate that I’m not in the tourney. I am the prince. I should be in there, fighting. I need to learn the sword.”

  “Have you ever held a sword before?” Ulric asked.

  Noll shook his head. “Not unless a dagger counts.”

  Which he had only held for maybe two seconds before Rosalynne snatched it out of his grasp, not that Ulric needed to know that particular detail.

  “Maybe it would be better to start with a bow and arrow,” Ulric suggested. “As you can see, I’m not that good with the sword myself. I don’t know if I can teach you properly. I do have some skills with archery, though.”

  Noll grimaced. He really wanted to learn how to use a sword, but maybe Ulric was right about him not being the best tutor.

  “Very well.” The prince nodded. “Bow and arrow it is.”

  Ulric reached a bow and quiver that rested on a nearby bench. He had Noll come over and instructed him on where to place his feet and how to hold the bow. Noll needed constant help. His feet kept moving, and his arms grew so heavy after only the first few minutes. Ulric was patient with him, and Noll kept at it. No matter how hard he tried, every arrow missed the tree he was aiming for. Without any complaints, Ulric went and retrieved the wayward arrows.

  Gradually, they heard voices behind them. They must have been working at the bow and arrows for hours because the tourney was clearly over. From their chatter, Noll gleamed that a Bjorn Ivano had won, whoever he was.

  Noll turned to Ulric and handed him the bow and quiver. “Thank you,” he said.

  “I’m sorry I’m not a better teacher,” Ulric said.

  The prince shook his head. “It takes me forever to learn anything. I still can’t read as well as I should.”

  “I can’t read at all,” Ulric said.

  Noll grinned. “I’ll teach you if you’ll continue to teach me archery.”

  The servant smiled back. “I would like that.”

  Noll held out his hand. The servant hesitated, so Noll grabbed his hand for a shake.

  “Wonderful,” the prince said.

  42

  Sir Edmund Hill

  As it turned out, Edmund didn’t have to joust for an hour. He was one of the first names to be called for the jousting part of the tournament. Again, he was given a lance after mounting, and this time, a green scrap of cloth had been tied to his right elbow.

  Cynbel Macangus, on the other side of the cloth-covered barrier between them, had a blue scarf tied to the end of his spear. A token from a lady love. Cynbel would not want to be bested in front of a lady. No doubt about it.

  Edmund already had his helmet on and shut, but Cynbel had not lowered his mouthpiece.

  “You are going to die,” he mouthed to Edmund, or perhaps he voiced the spiteful words aloud. Edmund couldn’t hear either way over the din and cheers of the onlookers.

  A single toot of a horn, and they were off, thundering along the barrier, their spears properly pointed. Both knights landed their blows, but neither was hard enough to unseat the other. The tip of his blunted spear broke off.

  Edmund gritted his teeth. They were only allowed three lances. He was already on his second. Already, Cynbel had a slight lead.

  A page raced forward to give Edmund a new one. He had just turned his horse around, and he muttered a curse. Cynbel had ignored the proper rules of engagement and was already thundering toward him. The crowd gasped.

  Very well. Edmund knew he wouldn’t have the speed to match Cynbel. Still, he urged his horse onward but altered the tip of his spear. Again, Cynbel struck Edmund in the center of his breastplate, whereas Edmund’s blow landed on Cynbel’s shield. The brightly painted shield splattered into an array of shards that Edmund winced to avoid coming in contact with.

  The both of them required new lances after that, but Cynbel’s shield would not be replaced. Edmund grinned at the other knight, but only because Cynbel could not see him.

  The next round, Edmund realized that Cynbel seemed to be targeting Edmund’s spear. A pathetic attempt at a win and so, Edmund purposely missed Cynbel, keeping his lance protected.

  The crowd did not appreciate that neither of them made contact. Edmund aimed and hit Cynbel’s breastplate, and likewise so did his opponent, but only Cynbel’s lance broke.

  Th
ey were both down to their final lance and charge. Both lances broke, but once more, neither were unseat.

  Neither was the victor yet.

  Again, they charged at each other for four more times. Edmund chose a thick, sturdy albeit wooden flail. The metal-spiked ball attached to the wooden shaft via a metal chain would have a longer reach that Cynbel’s entirely metal mace, a shaft with a spiked ball at the end.

  The first charge, they struck each other, but Edmund missed on the second pass while Cynbel’s mace slammed against Edmund’s shield. While the blow did not shatter the shield, it severely compromised its integrity.

  On the third, they again exchanged blows, but on the final go, Edmund managed to wrap the metal chain around the tip of Cynbel’s mace. He yanked the weapon free.

  Although not unseated, he was disarmed, so Cynbel should be the loser in this contest, but he merely jumped down from his mount and unsheathed his sword.

  Edmund noticed the gleam in Cynbel’s eyes and that his gaze was centered on Edmund’s mount, so Edmund dismounted as well and sent the horse off.

  Sword versus flail. Not the best of options, but Edmund didn’t have time to drop the flail and fetch his sword.

  The first blow shocked Edmund with its might. His entire arm reverberated from the force of impact.

  Edmund brought up his shield and slammed it into Cynbel’s breastplate. As the knight shuffled back, Edmund brought up his flail. As before, the metal chain wrapped around the blade. Edmund tried to yank the sword from Cynbel’s grip, but the knight held fast. All it took was for Edmund to feign a blow with his shield for Cynbel to flinch. That second opening was enough for Edmund to disarm Cynbel.

  And just like that, the match ended. Edmund advanced. He knew better than to removed his helmet while Cynbel was so close, and for good measure as the other knight lifted his mouthpiece and spat at Edmund’s armor.