The Apprentice (33 page)

Rowan
took a somewhat playful swing at Baird but his master caught his fist and
twisted it behind Rowan’s back. Rowan resisted for a moment before yielding.
Baird proclaimed his strength and power, but released Rowan. He said it would
not be good to have his apprentice lose tomorrow’s competition because of him.

Baird
led Rowan back to the festivities and Rowan felt better than he had in a while.

“Thank
you, master,” Rowan said.

“You are
welcome to thank me, but I would have thought that my speech would put an end
to such foolish formalities.” Baird laughed and Rowan grinned.

Chapter 29
                     
 

By the third day, the Revel was in
full swing. Everyone had become familiar with the routine of gathering and
getting organized for the day’s events. The morning ceremonies passed quickly
and efficiently, though afterwards Rowan did not remember very much of it. Like
most, he was distracted by the heat.

The new
day had brought with it a wave of heat that made everyone uncomfortable, save
those who sat on or around the raised platforms by the king, which were shaded
from the sun. The rest of the crowd suffered the sun’s blaze, and the press of
bodies only made things worse. The rank odor of sweat hung thick in the air.

Rowan tugged
at his tunic, trying to allow his body to breathe. He was already covered with
beads of sweat and his tunic was beginning to dampen. He wondered if the heat
was a sign. Brennon had often told him that the hottest days of summer came
just before the season ended. Like a candle, burning brightest before going
out. It had never made sense to Rowan, who thought that the days ought to get
progressively colder as the season changed, but his father had known much about
the way the land and his predictions rarely failed to be accurate. Perhaps the
heat was a sign that autumn was coming.

Rowan
wondered absently what the winter would be like here in the South. He knew that
the southern winters were always colder than those in the North, where the
climate was warmer and more stable. Corrinth was among the mountains, so it was
something of an exception. It saw some snowfall in the winter months, but it
never lasted long and never fell hard. Only in the very high parts of the
mountains was there any real snow, but such places were not habitable. However,
Rowan had heard stories about the cold southern winters that turned the
landscape into a sea of ice and powder.

A
trainer’s call caught Rowan’s attention. The swordsmanship competition was
beginning and the trainer was calling to the boys. A full score remained in the
competition, some familiar and some not. Rowan stood by Erik as he listened to
the trainer.

“Listen
up.” The trainer had to shout to make himself heard above the noise. “Today’s
competition will be different than yesterday. We want to simplify things and
make this run quickly.”

The
trainer ran the boys through how the event would go. They would not be fighting
each participant, as they had the day before. Instead, they would draw lots to
determine their first opponent and a bracket would be created. A loss would
remove a competitor from the competition and a win would keep a person in and
move them on to the next duel. Rowan quickly calculated that it would mean five
victories in order to win. Thinking of it that way made it seem easy, but that
logic was deceptive. He knew that this would not be an easy tournament.

Once the
trainer had finished, the boys were lined up to pick their lots. After waiting
his turn, Rowan reached into the pouch and drew his. He flipped the small
polished stone over and saw it had the eighth numeral etched into the surface.
This meant that his first duel would be against one of the boys who followed
Byron. Rowan was confident that he could beat the boy.

Looking
at the bracket board, Rowan noted that he had been placed in the same bracket
as Erik. This meant that only one of them could make it to the finals. Rowan
frowned, discomforted by the thought of dueling his injured friend.

The
remaining lots were drawn, placing both Byron and Andrew in the other bracket.
Rowan would not have to worry about them until the final match, and only one of
them could progress that far. Rowan knew that without himself or Erik in the
other bracket, the only competition that could challenge Andrew would be Byron
and there was little doubt in his mind that Andrew would win his way to the
finals. Though they had never practiced together, Rowan had seen Andrew’s
determination and the skill with which he wielded a blade. He knew that Andrew
was the type of person who would never give up; he had a fierce desire to prove
himself and the Revel was meant for just such a purpose.

Once the
boys had all drawn their lots and the bracket had been created, the duels
began. A cheer went up when the first boys were brought forward. Rowan
recognized one of them, a boy who had trained with the group that had grown out
of the sparring sessions between himself and Erik. He gave a wordless cheer for
the boy along with the rest of the crowd and watched as the two combatants began
trading blows.

Rowan
and the rest of the boys waiting for their matches stood or took seats around
the edge of the ring. They had been told to keep their padded armor on, but
most had removed or loosened sections because of the heat. Rowan himself had taken
off his gloves, helm, and metal cuirass. Everything else had been loosened to
allow some air. He was still hot, but it gave him some small relief as he could
feel the breeze blowing against his body.

Rowan
listened to the clang of metal on metal as the two boys fought. They didn’t
last very long. The heat took its toll on the fighters and eventually the match
was ended when one of them became sluggish and sloppy and failed to block a
hard blow to the head. The boy was thrown off his feet and hit the ground, his
body gone limp. A count was made as the boy lay there. The crowd cheered. There
were shouts of encouragement and hisses of disapproval. People clapped and
shouted and whistled and watched, they all watched. When the count finished,
ending the match, the fallen boy was helped to his feet and carried off the
field.

The
winner was Byron’s mate, and after announcing his victory, the trainer hustled
him off to the side so that the next bout could begin. Erik fought in the
second match and performed well. Rowan cheered for his friend as he won, though
his victory clearly took its toll. Erik left the ring with a number of bruises
and clutching his shoulder. Rowan expected Erik to come and sit with him, but
Erik took his rest on the far side of the ring instead.

The
third match passed by quickly and was won by one of the boys who had been
practicing with Rowan and Erik. The boy was younger than Rowan but he had done
well. As the boy was led off the field, Rowan was called forward for his first
match.

Rowan finished
tightening the straps that secured his armor and then he strode forward,
approaching the ring with the blunted tourney blade clutched tightly in his
hand.

“Ready
yourselves,” the trainer said as both boys stepped into the dueling ring.

“I am
ready,” Rowan told the trainer as he donned his helm, fastening a strap under
his chin so that it would not wobble. Rowan’s opponent stood opposite him,
taking practice swings.

“Gregor
is also ready.” The boy’s voice boomed like thunder, surprisingly deep for one
his age. He was built like a boulder, his body massive and his arms rippling
with muscle, and stood almost a full hand taller than Rowan.

Rowan
knew little about his opponent other than that the boy was a friend of Byron’s,
which made him Rowan’s enemy.

“You
both know and understand the rules of this bout?”

Rowan
and Gregor nodded.

The
trainer stepped back and shouted at them to begin. It was a lengthy affair.
Rowan took his time gauging the other boy’s skill. He chose to err on the side
of caution since he did not know Gregor’s fighting style or ability.

After a
time spent dodging the other boy’s wild attacks, Rowan took advantage of an
opening and knocked the other boy out, ending the fight. The audience cheered
for him as he was proclaimed the victor and then was hustled out of the ring to
make way for the next competitors.

The
matches flew by for the rest of the first round. Both Andrew and Byron won
their respective matches and before he knew it, the second round had begun.
Erik was fighting in the first bout of the second round but Rowan was not able
to watch his friend’s match. He was busy stretching and preparing his armor,
which he had removed while waiting. By the time Rowan was ready, Erik’s match
had ended and Rowan was being called out.

His second
match went by almost as quickly as his first. Rowan fought against the boy from
the first round who had been practicing in a group with himself and Erik. The
boy fought well for his age but Rowan easily took the victory.

He
hadn’t had time before his match to check on Erik, so after he was once again
declared the victor, he looked around the ring and spotted him. His friend was
still wearing his armor and the tourney blade was stuck in the ground next to
where he sat, so Rowan assumed that Erik had won his match. He suddenly felt
apprehensive as he realized what this would mean. His next match would be
against Erik. Rowan felt sick. It would have been one thing to duel his friend
in a fair fight, but Erik was handicapped. Dueling him as he was would be dishonorable,
but it would be just as bad to go easy on him. Rowan wondered if he even could
fight seriously against an injured friend.

“Don’t
go easy on me.”

Deep in
thought, Rowan had not noticed Erik’s approach. He looked up at his friend and
responded calmly.

“I never
said that I would.”

“You
don’t have to say it,” Erik said. “I can see it in your eyes. You don’t want to
fight me while I’m injured.”

Rowan
wanted to argue but he could not. He wouldn’t lie to Erik.

“Your
silence speaks for itself,” Erik said. “I just want you to know that I won’t be
holding back against you. I don’t expect any favors and I don’t want any
special treatment just because of my damned arm.” Erik turned to leave.

“Fight
me as if we were sparring or don’t bother fighting me at all. You are better
than me and we both know it. If I lose, I want to know that I lost honorably
and completely. Show no mercy.” With that, Erik left Rowan alone.

Still
sweating from the exertion of his match, Rowan loosened his armor and tossed
his helm to the ground, frustrated. He leaned back and allowed himself to
become absorbed in his thoughts. How was he going to handle his bout with Erik?
He could not think of an answer.

Before
he knew it, the trainer was once again calling his name. As the event progressed,
the time between matches grew shorter and the time for the semi-finals quickly
arrived. Only four remained: Rowan and Erik, and Andrew and Byron.

When his
name was called, Rowan stood and approached the dueling ring. He watched as
Erik did the same. Neither one said anything. Neither one had anything to say.
Rowan had already wished his friend luck in the tournament.

Rowan
took his place opposite his friend, the trainer acting as referee standing
between them. When Erik caught his eye Rowan held his gaze, showing no weakness
or hesitation and not once glancing at Erik’s injury. The trainer ran through
the necessaries, introducing them to the crowd, checking their weapons and
armor, and making sure that both of the boys were ready. It was a quick process,
but by the end the crowd was riled up and Rowan was ready to begin. Sweat was
already gathering in beads along the nape of his neck and his arm grew restless
as it held his blunted blade.

Finally,
Darius stepped forward from the sidelines, where he would be officiating the
match, and stood alongside the referee.

“I
congratulate the both of you on making it this far in the tournament. You have
done well and tonight, whether you win or lose, you will be honored for your
skill.” He gave them each a brief nod and flashed a rare smile. “Are both
participants ready to begin?”

“Yes.”

“I am.”

“Good.
Then let the match proceed,” Darius shouted, much to the delight of the crowd.
The head trainer stepped back and allowed the referee to take his place.

Rowan
and Erik both made the customary salutes to each other, to the referee, to the
king, and Rowan to his master. Then they each took a defensive stance.

At a
sign from the referee, the match began.

Instead
of immediately engaging his opponent as he normally would when sparring, Rowan
chose to wait. He was caught off guard as Erik immediately closed the distance
between them and attacked. It was unlike Erik to fight so aggressively.

Rowan
retreated and parried the blow, a two-handed slash aimed at his chest. He continued
to retreat as Erik pressed the attack and continued forward, trying to press
Rowan back to edge of the ring. Many of Erik’s blows were sloppy, and they did
not hold the power that his two-handed blows should have, since his arm was
injured. But Rowan continued to block, parry, and dodge blow after blow as he
slowly retreated at an angle, careful of his footing as he led Erik in a circle
to avoid the edge of the ring.

He
waited patiently for an opportunity to make a riposte and strike back, and
finally he seized his chance when Erik overreached on a lunge and was left off
balance. It was a sloppy move and Rowan had no trouble taking the initiative
and closing the distance to strike, but when he made his blow he held back at
the last moment. Erik was open on his injured side and Rowan wanted to avoid
causing too much damage.

The blow
landed and Erik was knocked sideways. Instead of pressing the attack, Rowan
disengaged and retreated back to the center of the ring while his friend stood.
Erik’s bad arm hung at his side and he now held his blade with only one hand.
The tourney blades were light enough to accommodate a one-handed fighting
style, but not without difficulty.