I made my way across the trial grounds to the series of rings where the sword and hand-to-hand trials were being held. I joined the group of newcomers watching the conclusion of the previous trials. A large crowd was surrounding one ring which I managed to duck and weave my way to the front of, it quickly became clear it was the final of the previous sword trial. Two youths were fighting, one of them was built like an ox, tall and wide and more muscle than I thought a boy of our age could possess. His opponent whilst still having clearly defined muscles looked like a twig compared to him, tall and relatively slender, he moved with a subtle gracefulness in stark contrast to the other boy’s bull rush.
What was clear was that both boys were exceptionally skilled with the sword, I hoped this didn’t indicate the general standard of the competitors. The taller boy may not have had the same strength as the other boy but he moved lightly and unpredictably before his blade suddenly flashed as he struck. The larger boy though was no slouch and was quick enough to parry each of these attacks even if he couldn’t match the other boys speed and manoeuvrability - what he lacked though in those departments he made up in power, whenever he had an opening his swings were vicious and practically pushed the other boy to his knees as he parried them. The slighter boy though rarely gave him the opportunity, using his superior speed to keep the other boy mainly on his guard.
As the fight went on it became clearer the larger boy was tiring, whilst the other boy looked as fresh as ever despite the amount of movement his style relied on. Ox boy’s strikes lacked some of their former power and slowly but surely it seemed that he was falling onto the back foot. Clearly he felt so too as his expression grew darker and his blows more desperate as the minutes went on. Suddenly the other boy dashed forward with explosive speed, landing a series of blows that the larger boy struggled to parry and then finally he planted a kick to the ox boy’s chest sending him flying back, out of the ring and straight into me!
I didn’t even have time to react, one moment I was standing awestruck at the spectacle that had just been unleashed and the next moment I was tumbling onto my backside with just enough awareness to flinch before ox-boy nearly crushed me under his weight. Distantly I heard someone declare the other boy the winner. I struggled to roll out from beneath the stunned boy. I had seen knights back at home compete in this type of tournament and the loser, particularly someone who had lost to something as dishonourable as a kick would be furious and I didn’t want to be on the receiving end of that. I was taken completely by surprise then when the boy rolled himself off me and laughed.
“Sorry squirt,” he laughed, “didn’t see you there.”
“Ouch,” I said dryly but with a smile to indicate I wasn’t really annoyed, although I kind of was as now I’d be competing already battered and bruised.
“Damn, he was just too good for me,” the other boy continued, talking largely to himself, just shaking his head.
“You were scarily good yourself,” I admitted, thinking he might still need a bit of cheering up, “I’m glad I wasn’t in the same trial group as you.”
“Thanks squirt,” he said; squirt was definitely going to annoy me but I figured it was unlikely I’d come across him again. Even in second place he must be practically assured of passing the trials, unless he was a complete numbskull when it came to the academic tests. I on the other hand knew realistically despite my archery performance I’d have to be very lucky to make it through the sword trial, especially after what I’d just witnessed.
By the time I had finished my train of thought, the boy had dusted himself down, shaken hands with the winner and was in conversation with one of the judges. Well I thought that was that, hopefully competitors only got that good in the final rounds of the trial, I figured if I could just get through one trial I’d be doing well; I just had to pray that I didn’t get unlucky on the draw and paired with someone like those two.
Half an hour later, I’d been equipped with a blunt training sword I still struggled to lift and was feeling dejected as I waited for my name to be called - they were drawing the matches out of a hat. Maybe I should have gone for hand-to-hand - at least then I wouldn’t have to worry about lifting a damn sword, I really hadn’t considered I would struggle to lift the sword.
I needed a strategy then to account for it, all I could think of was to leave my sword dragging on the ground until I needed to actually swing it. It meant I’d be completely unguarded and totally negate the one area I thought I might have an advantage in which was my speed and manoeuvrability. The only other plan I could think of was to go all out whilst before I tired myself out - using all my strength to try and get a quick victory. It was a rubbish plan but honestly I couldn’t think of anything better and at least this had the slim hope of success if a combination of luck and surprise worked in my favour.
Eventually my name was called and I entered the ring. The rules of the competition were simple: the first person to floor, disarm or knock their opponent out of the ring won. If no one won after ten minutes then the judges would decide who they thought had produced the better performance and that person would progress to the next round. Quarter finalists were deemed to have ‘passed the trial’ - I was still waiting to see if my archery score was a passing one, this was a much more immediate result. I obviously wouldn’t make it to the quarter finals. I just had to demonstrate some sort of quality that would let the judge ignore my inevitable failure in this trial and then hope my archery score was passing and that I would ace the academic tests.
As I was thinking my opponent sauntered into the ring. He was another tall boy with long black hair tied into a ponytail. He was well dressed, in the sense he wasn’t wearing stained salvaged clothing. He had a neat but hard wearing looking pair of brown breaches, stout looking boots and a padded leather jerkin over a pristine white shirt. Gold rings decorated his fingers and ears. Clearly this boy was from a wealthy family.
This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.
“You think they’d screen out the diseased and malnourished wastrels,” he sneered at me.
“Fuck off, I’ll wipe that sneer off your face,” I shouted back, and I meant it, I was going try my hardest to wipe the condescending expression off the boy’s face, and it also felt daring and dangerous to swear in public for the first time in my life.
“You’re as ill mannered as you look, but you don’t have a hope against me” he replied.
Before I could come back at him again one of the judges stopped us and told us to hold our tongues or we’d both be disqualified.
The next second he shouted to begin, for a moment we stayed still eying each other up. As the other boy moved into a fighting stance I executed my plan. My sword still trailing in the ground I sped towards him as fast as I could. I wasn’t that fast but he clearly wasn’t expecting it as my opening move. However, he quickly recovered and whilst I was still a couple of metres away he readied a strike of his own to my unguarded self.
So this is where I was going to play my trump card, hopefully my new skill was enough for what I wanted to do.
Dodge Check [diving roll]: Success Value = 23 = [Dexterity] + [Strength]/2 = 21.5
Dodge Check [diving roll]: Failed
Dodge Check [diving roll]: Modified Value [Acrobatics] Dodge Checks + 2 = 21.5 + 2 = 23
Dodge Check [diving roll]: Successful
I dove forward and rolled successfully flying beneath his slash to where my torso would have been ending up sliding on my back between his legs. Not hesitating I gripped my sword and stabbed directly up. The boy howled in pain before toppling over. I had won.
XP gained for defeating an opponent
Less XP is awarded for defeating an opponent in non-lethal conditions
+200 XP
Skill [Acrobatics]: Level Up.
I had won, but my victory wasn’t popular. Apparently I had violated some sort of man-code by stabbing him in the balls, although as far as I was concerned a win was a win. The next round saw me knocked off my feet attempting to parry a fierce blow in no short order; so that was that I was out in the second round.
At the afternoon break the results of the combat portions of the trials were posted - those who hadn’t done enough at this stage were not even invited to stay for the academic tests, I was surprised to find out. I was also surprised to find out that from the apparently seven hundred entrants only one hundred and twenty at most could pass the trials - ten for each militia company; the eleventh, twelfth and fifteenth companies didn’t take knight’s apprentices (as successful trials competitors were called until they officially were recognised as knight by their company or failed out after five years). What’s more some companies didn’t even bother taking the full ten candidates they could claim and so the actual numbers of successful competitors could be a lot lower than one hundred and thirty.
Still the first hurdle was to see if I had somehow made it through the combat trials. I checked the archery results first hoping for some good news before I had to brace myself for my inevitable failure at the sword. I could have just checked the passing list but I wanted to draw out my likely brief time as a potential knight.
I made my way through the crowd to see the list and there I was, I’d passed the Archery Trial; I’d ranked 48th so inside the top sixty. I was shocked that the top twenty all had perfect scores but there I was not so far off them amongst a host of other boys who scored well between place twenty five and sixty there was barely seventy points difference.
So with a crushing spark of hope I went to see if I had somehow done enough in my sword trial to progress. As I’d passed the archery trial I was eligible for a judges pass for promising performance. To my shock, there I was on a list of fifteen candidates who hadn't made the quarter finals of their draw who had been given a judges pass. Next to each name was the name of the knight who had selected them. Next to mine was written Sir Erik Lagarde - could it possibly have been the knight I had met in the queue?
I couldn’t ponder too long as the three hundred of us who were left were herded into a tent that had been erected in the corner of the trial grounds and fed a bowl of some kind of meat stew. After not eating anything substantial until this morning I found I could only nibble at the portions of meat and vegetables without feeling sick. Still I managed to get about half of it down with a lot of sips of water.
The academic tests were surprisingly easy. The general intelligence test was a mixture of verbal and non-verbal reasoning exercises and although I struggled with the history test - after all even if I had paid attention the history of Malin wasn’t what I had been taught in Trieste. I was much more confident about the maths and languages tests and thought I had probably done enough to pass. Growing up a princess and being forced to spend hours with a tutor clearly had some benefits.
By the time the final results were ready it was well into the evening. We were all assembled in the tent again, now lit by oil lamps hanging from the cross pole. In front us a knight, this time in full plate armour, covered in a tabard the same green as the jackets most of the knights wore over their cuirasses.
“I am Sir Alex Holborn, Lieutenant - General of the Malin Militia,” I guessed if he was the Lieutenant-General, and the Captain - General was the commander of the Militia, this made him the number two knight, and I will now read the names of the ninety candidates who have been selected to join a Militia Company. However, all of you have distinguished yourself today by getting this far, and for those of you under the age of eighteen who are unsuccessful I encourage you to try again next year, build on this experience and come back stronger. If you use your year well you stand an excellent chance of success next time. As for those who have been selected this is a rare achievement and demonstrates you have the drive, skills and strength of character to be a potential knight of Malin. To be selected not only do you have to meet the rigorous standard of passing the Militia Trials but you must also be selected by a Company Captain, each one who will have been looking for something that distinguished you from all the other worthy candidates and who meets the needs of their own company. To attract such notice is a feat in itself. I will now read the results in Company order.”
He started to read out each boy’s name, the successful candidates strode forward, shook his hand and were handed a simple version of the militia jacket to don over their clothes. I listened, not daring to get my hopes up as the names were read out. The boy who had crashed into me was selected by the second company and he strode out with a massive grin on his face. I found I was happy for him; he’d actually been surprisingly good natured for a boy his size.
Sadly, the same couldn’t be said for myself; the thirteenth company had just been read out and unsurprisingly my name hadn’t been called.
“I will now read out the name of the candidate selected by the fourteenth company,” he stressed the singular nature of the announcement and I was already thinking of making a quick exit when I heard “Neesh, no last name given.”
XP is awarded for completing the special event: Milita Trials
+2000 XP.
You are ready to level up. Level up Y/N?