The Troven (Kingdom of Denall Book 1) (34 page)

Before the fifth and final round began, Trae walked to retrieve his arrow. As he did, he made sure to walk in front of Kaz. After cutting Kaz off, he turned and looked down his nose at Kaz and sniffed loudly. Although he felt bad treating him poorly, he knew that the only hope for Dune to make it into the final round was for Kaz to be focusing on Trae’s arrow, and not the center of the bull’s eye. After snubbing Kaz, Trae turned to the audience and saw that Edgar’s group had grown to include what had to be almost all the seekers from the green tent. Dune had been right about them, the prospect of getting a magical stone had drawn them in.

Trae shot his arrow into the bull’s eye fairly far from the center and, as expected, Kaz landed his arrow just inside Trae’s. If someone was able to get a shot closer to the center of the bull’s eye, Kaz would not win the tournament this round. The unfortunate reality was that this meant a five way tie, and Trae was going to the final tie-breaker round with Dune. It wasn’t exactly what they had planned on, but he felt like it was the only way to keep Dune tied for first place. In the final round, the judges took quite a bit of time deliberating before the announcer spoke.

“There will be a tie breaking round six.” The roar of the crowd was deafening. “Maggie is our fifth contestant progressing to the final round,” the man continued. “The target will be placed at one hundred paces. The archers will have no practice shots at this distance. Good luck to everyone.”

Having no more reason to be a snob to Kaz, Trae decided it was time to give him a well-earned compliment.

“I’m impressed, farm boy,” Trae began. “Win or lose, you sure put up a fight today.”

Kaz was silent for a time, then returned a compliment. “I’m just glad that I shot after you for three rounds. All I was aiming for was to get inside your shots.” The two nodded approval to each other and waited as the other leading contenders joined them on center stage for the final round.

* * * * *

Mylot had returned to the sword ring just as his name was announced. Since then it had been a long morning for him, winning sword matches, and trying to keep an eye on who his greatest competition would be. During his breaks between matches, he tried to get the chest delivered, but the crowd was too thick around the archery range as the competition there seemed to be progressing to ever-increasingly tight odds.  Once he had heard the announcer’s voice carry across the field, acclaiming three contestants tied for first place as they moved into their fourth round. It was the first time in years that Maggie didn’t just win right away. Now that he was in the final match of sword fighting, he needed a quick victory. He handed Maggie’s chest to Sir Rodnik and took his helmet. Mylot looked at his opponent for the final match, a young man named Farin.

While he had a good, natural stance, and he was well built, he was young, inexperienced, nervous, and seemed distracted by a young lady sitting anxiously by his trainer. Mylot recognized the girl. She had also been competing in the single-handed sword matches until the third round when she was eliminated for an excessive use of force on her opponent.

Fortunately, Farin was a listener, giving Mylot the advantage of strength, and no fear of being overpowered. He hoped to finish the final round quickly and get back to the archery ring, then he could concentrate fully on the other events for the day.

The head judge stood up from his elevated seat.

“The match will end when one contestant has three clean strikes on his opponent. We are looking for clean strikes, not deathblows; this is a tournament, not the battlefield.” This comment was clearly directed at Mylot, who smiled and nodded at the judge. “Begin.”

The fighting ring was made by sturdy posts set up in a large circle connected by a thick cord. The two fighters walked around the outside of the ring opposite each other as if assessing his opponent. Then, in an unexpected move, Farin was the first to advance on Mylot. He quickly darted across the ring with an overhand swing, and at the moment before it was easily blocked, he pulled back his sword and thrust forward. Mylot knew he had won a quick victory in some previous rounds by using feinting tactics, and quickly sidestepped, correctly anticipating a feint and making Farin momentarily lose his balance. Now it was time for Mylot’s attack.

The experienced noble swung his long sword upward toward Farin’s body armor. When that attack was deflected, he moved forward with a side swing, then an overhead, continuing on with a sequence of seven offensive movements that usually left his opponents battered and defeated. The young man was certainly quick, and had perfect footwork, but Mylot did not have time to continue this match. He needed a quick victory. Relying on his superior strength, Mylot swung fully at Farin’s body with all his might. While this attack was an easy one to block, Mylot was confident it would overpower his younger opponent.

Instead of blocking the attack, Farin dropped to the ground just as the sword was about to strike him, leaving Mylot off balanced and confused. Dodging an attack was not something his sparring partners ever did. It was not something that people did in tournament fighting. It seemed more like what he had seen from Sir Theodore. From behind, Farin thrust, then slashed in a series of quick movements that kept Mylot parrying the onslaught and moving backward. Farin’s attacks were systematic, but unpredictable, and he kept Mylot on the defensive as he backed close to a pole. As they approached the boundary, Farin pressed even harder, moving his sword more quickly, trying to find an opening in Mylot’s defense. Mylot, out of instinct, kept Farin at bay while he also sought opportunity to strike a clean blow on his opponent.

After the time for the first round ended, the announcer loudly whistled for the two fighters to return to their trainers. The first round finished without any direct hits. Mylot returned to Sir Rodnik.

“What am I doing wrong?” he demanded of his trainer.

“You have executed every stance, defense, and attack perfectly,” Sir Rodnik said while massaging Mylot’s sword arm.

“I know that!” Mylot cut him off. “What do I need to do to beat him?”

“Just keep wearing him down, you have the advantage of strength, endurance, and experience, keep him constantly needing to change tactics, wait for him to make a mistake, then strike quickly and definitively.”

“Where did this boy come from?” Mylot asked to no one in particular.

“I've been wondering the same thing. I’ve never seen him or his trainer here before. It is amazing to watch you both. Such different techniques! Both effective, yet very different.”

Mylot turned his head slowly and raised an eyebrow at Rodnik.

“Well, I’m glad that you are enjoying the show. Just keep watching for a weakness, and keep a closer watch on that,” Mylot picked up the jewelry chest from the wooden bench and placed it in Sir Rodnik’s hand.

While they were resting, Mylot looked over to see Farin, the girl, and his trainer. Farin was talking with the girl, and his trainer was standing behind them, not giving any advice. Seeing that Farin would have no help from a mentor gave Mylot hope that the second round would turn to his advantage quickly.

The crowds swelled around the sword ring as word of the speed of the two swordsmen spread, and when the second round was ready to begin, Sir Rodnik had to shout for Mylot to hear him. “Remember what I told you. You have all the advantages, just keep in control of the round.” Mylot nodded and returned to the ring.

For the second round, the two faced each other and wasted no time when the ring judge shouted the command to attack. In a fury of motion the two instantly advanced. Their swords moved in swoops and arcs, crashing together in a blur of motion mixed with the sound of steel on steel. The second round was not a time for holding back. For Mylot it was a time to win and move on. He was standing toe to toe with an unknown swordsman and he was not going to give an inch. There they stood for the duration of the second round in nearly the center of the fighting ring, avoiding the fenced edges.

For most attacks, Farin matched him stroke for stroke. However, when he made any kind of attack meant to overpower his opponent, Farin dodged, using speed to nullify Mylot’s superior strength. When the ring judge whistled loudly, they both stepped back, slowly maintaining eye contact with the other, unaware of the wild cheers from the crowd or anything else but the opponent.

“They are delaying the next round.” It took a moment for the words to sink in and for Sir Rodnik to fully capture Mylot’s attention.

“Why? What’s going on?” Mylot demanded.

“The king is coming,” his trainer answered.

Mylot rolled his eyes. “Why are they bringing Robert?”

“King Robert,” Sir Rodnik corrected, “The javelin throw has ended and his majesty is coming to see the final match. I know he’s a relative, but in public you must call him King Robert.”

“This can’t be happening!” Mylot ran his fingers through his thick hair in frustration. “I need to get that chest to Maggie, and it seems all of Denall is getting in my way. There is still time,” Mylot said as he looked over to the archery stage. “This next round must be the last.”

“King Robert cannot see you fail,” Sir Rodnik reminded.

“Fail?” Mylot cast a withering glare at his mentor. “It is not a matter of
if
I win, but
when
I will win.”

Sir Rodnik nodded quickly. “I was merely suggesting…”

“Farin is fast, he’s talented, but I am in control of the match, biding my time, waiting for a mistake or an opening where I can finish him.”

“I know that…”

“Good.” Mylot turned from the man and took a deep, calming breath. “Be sure you don’t forget it.”

A stir began in the crowd as people parted to make room for the royal procession. The King rode atop a large, white stallion surrounded by his personal guard. He wore a long, red cape, light but sturdy armor, and a simple, yet elegant golden crown masterfully etched with his crest. Sir Theodore was standing in the tight circle positioned behind the King. When King Robert arrived, the judge for the match moved from his elevated seat on center stage to allow the King the best view of the match. The guards stood closely around, making sure to not obscure his view of the fighting ring.

When he was seated, he made the slightest motion with his left hand and the judge stood to begin the round. At first his voice cracked, but he quickly regained his composure. “Take your positions, and begin!”

Mylot had already decided that this round would end quickly, so he advanced on his opponent. He began with swirling overhands interspersed with fast stabs aimed at his body. Mylot used his powerful wrists and arms to quickly change the direction of his attacks at the last moment. To all watching, it seemed a one sided fight with Mylot in command. Although it was clear that Farin was not an easy target, Mylot’s offensive onslaught kept Farin constantly on the move.

Using this forward momentum, Mylot backed Farin up to a post and was about to deliver a final blow that would either push Farin out of the ring, or strike past his defenses. Just as he moved forward to make the attack, Farin pushed off the ground and slid on his knees while spinning with his sword poised in front of his body. This evasive move effectively dodged Mylot’s swing while keeping his body protected. The even larger advantage was that when Farin came to his feet, he was inside the circle and Mylot was now backed up to the rope. Farin then began a series of fast attacks. While they were not as strong or quick as Mylot’s initial assault, they kept him in place against the edge of the fighting ring for a time and earned a thunderous applause from the crowd.

After regaining his footing, Mylot advanced on Farin, backing him across the fighting ring in the opposite direction. Each time he thought that Farin was cornered, the speedy youth would dodge, jump, slide or sidestep, forcing Mylot to press him again. This pattern continued until he heard the loud whistle of the match judge announcing the end of the third round. Mylot felt like a complete failure.

He looked up at Sir Theodore, then to the king, and dropped his gaze to the hard packed ground. In the first event of the day in which Mylot would appear before the king, he had not only failed to quickly eliminate his opponent, but they had gone for three full rounds without Mylot even scoring a point. He wanted to throw his sword down in the ground, but decided better of it knowing Sir Theodore would not be impressed.

“Sir Mylot.” Surprised to hear his name called out, he turned to see that it was the head judge addressing him. “Come sit on this bench while you await the final round.” Mylot obeyed, taking his place next to Farin. He was pleased to note that Farin was almost gasping for breath.

* * * * *

On center stage five archers gathered, ready to shoot for the championship. They sat on a large, wooden bench awaiting their turn. Dune was the first to attempt the one hundred yard shot. He took his place center stage, drew his bow, and quickly released. He turned around and sat down on the bench without even looking to see where the arrow had landed. The crowd applauded politely for the magician. Trae could see that the arrow struck into the target very close to the center. He was impressed by Dune’s shot.

Trae was the next to take aim. He walked to center stage with questions filling his mind. He was supposed to be gone with Edgar, bartering for the fake stone while Dune was the on-stage distraction. With both men on stage surrounded by a group of seekers, their plan was quickly falling apart. Trae nocked and drew his arrow. He needed some time to think this through. How could they trade with Edgar and have the seekers stay away from the tent? Time was running out as he stood center stage holding the taught bowstring.