"So, is the list out yet?"

A rough sounding voice, almost rasping, echoed through the hall of that small tavern. Silence seemed to be engraved in the wood of the inn. Not many souls went around and passed through the city. But now, with the Tourney, many were rushing in to take a piece of the city for themselves. If that place was silent, now that the Duke of Noth had bought every bed for himself and his court, the running water outside the cabin, as the small river of the city of Nelaime passed rather near it.

After all, not many had arrived, so the sounds of nature were the only music playing for the ears to hear. Only that man with an hoarse throat and a much younger looking boy had already traversed the town to their destination. Both wore armour, but the first was clearly a superior to the other. His protections were elaborate. On his chest, a shining white iron plate displayed a strange symbol. Black engravings showed, to the more knowledgeable, that he was indeed a noble of Noth.

Brother of the Duke, the man was known as the Badger. Sure, it might not be one of the happiest nicknames to have, since the nature of the animal in question and their tendency to eat the dead, but if anyone had to be called after that creature, it was him. Scratches all over his body proved that his skin was as tough as the fiercest of those beasts, and he had often fought when no one else would, crossing the border between corageous and crazy without a second thought. The badger was the symbol chiseled onto the metal.

"No, master. You've already talked to the only attending families that we know of, sir."

The kid had a light and bright tone to his words, but it was clear that he was very diligent. In fact, even though he did sound happy, he tried to hide it behind professionalism. His armour was made out of leather, and he had no icons or emblems sewn or stitched on his clothes, if not the badge of the duchy.

"What a bunch of cretins. This is why I hate when small towns get picked for the competition. It's always a hard time trying to find information about our adversaries...", the man answered

"Well sir, it is decided by chance, isn't it? It's drawn out of a cu-", tried to say the boy, but the older man made him quiet by raising his hand and shaking it, as to show his disagreement.

"Those fuckers at the palace do what they want, they must have a reason to make the tourney here. I don't know why they would do that but you get my point, don't ya?", whispered with his voice low the knight, grunting at the end of the rhetorical question in discontent.

The boy smiled. He had served the man his whole life under the Duke's orders, and being his squire he appreciated how the man tried to open up to him form time to time. He liked how, slowly, he was gaining the warrior's trust. He even made such statements in his presence! It wasn't exactly something to say lightly.

"We've got ten competitors in the game, El. Did you know that?", asked the older man, referring to his adjutant through a shortening of his name. He looked at him, with worried black eyes. He looked at him like he was his pupil.

"R-really?... only ten? Has the population diminished?", replied the green squire.

"No, not at all. The rules changed, apparently, because I can't wrap my head around it."

The two stood in silence, as they exchanged emotions briefly through glances and stares.

"Do you mean to say that... I won't be able to take part in the tournament?", asked the kid this time, with his voice much lower than before, and with his greyish eyes fixed on the floor planks, as if he was shaming himself for making such a selfish request in searching an answer to his doubts.

The duke's brother put a hand on his shoulder, and frowned. He shook his head, neither confirming or denying the young man's fears, but it was quite clear to the squire that the chances of being chosen were very low.

The annual contests had a very special set of rules: every county and duchy was invited, and each country had a predetermined number of maximum members that could take part in it, based on the stable residents present in the land itself. Sometimes, rules were changed, and that time around, even though the Duchy of Noth had achieved the highest member total possible the year before, which was fifteen, they had to drop five people.

The squire had gotten his hopes up the whole year, being denied from the competition for quite a while, even though he was elegible: after all, he was no knight, and in previous editions, many that wanted to fight had priority over him. That year, though, he was supposed to be the fourteenth member of Noth's party: they even had a spot open if someone wanted to join in at the last second!

But now, his dream had shattered right before his eyes. Just looking at him was enough to see that the youngster was quite gloomy. He almost opened his mouth again, but then he shut himself up, not wanting to annoy the blue blooded noble with the whining of a mere squire.

The door of the hall opened behind them. Then inn suddenly became lively as the beastly man with a scratched eye walked inside the room, shouting jibberish as he drank till he was drunk, and drunk he was, as he saluted his superior with an hiccup, and the boy with a belching noise.

Behind him, here came some other knights, following the Duke himself. The men saluted him, almost as if singing in a choir, and everybody laughed. Even the Badger seemed to put a friendlier face in front of his brother, and soon their conversation shifted towards the city's event, after cordial reunions 'tween soldiers that hadn't seen each other in a while. Shamuel the squire, that we will sometimes call El for short like his master did, really didn't participate in those exchanges. It was almost like an unrwitten rule: in front of the Duke, only "grown up talk" could take place. Obviously, Shemuel was far from being a knight, and legally, he still was not elegible for the role. He was merely a kid. Being only sixteen, one year was what divided him from the chance at having "sir" after or before his name. but it wasn't that easy. It was common for squires to mantain their position even after turning twenty. But, Shemuel felt strong enough to take out many of the soldiers he had seen besides the Badger: the boy was strong, buff, robust, and his body had matured before his face had grown a beard. He felt enough to be "Sir Gavriel", he wanted to be Sir Gavriel. He had taken his father's name as his surname, since he was not from a noble family, because it was somewhat needed among the people at court. I hope that I won't have to explain why his nickname quickly became El in the hallways of the Duke's castle.

Stolen novel; please report.

He thought to himself, "Why don't I just talk?", as he leaned into one of the debates, hearing gossip about mages and wizards that would attend the matches. But then he didn't. And he leaned back against the wall to the left of the entrance, waiting for his master to leave, or call him to help him with something inside the inn itself. The men didn't care about freeing the doorway: they had the place all to themselves, after all!

A light knock tapped inside the squire's mind, distracting him from his thoughts and his grudges.

Only El could hear the knock. Confused, he went to open the door, but the drunken man had convinced the Badger of something, and so he was called. He looked at the knob and waited a couple of seconds, as if he was waiting for someone to turn it and come in, but nothing happened. Nobody even knocked again. A prank from a child? Maybe. But why at an inn, that was clearly full of people shouting and speaking out loud? Why was that knock so quiet?... Perhaps the infant had chickened out as he was touching the timber.

"Ah, lil El ya ol'chump! Yea've been growin'! You look as tough as one o'those mules that brought us here!", joyfully cheered him on the drunken blind, showing his broken smile with happines in his eyes.

"I was saeing to ya ole man, why don't ya participate in the tourney, huh?", he said, closing in on the sixteen year old, and taking him by the shoulders with one of his arms, bringing him so near him that his breath became almost unbearable for poor little El. A whisper in his ear slowly ignited a spark in his chest, just when he thought that the man was going to make fun of him, even if he knew that it would've been out of character for that jokester.

"In all honesty I hate that neu folk, wass his name?"

"Thorne, sir Thorne, you were talking about him.", filled in the Badger, and the drunk man answered with a very loud "Ah! Yes, yes, him!", and then started whispering again to the young lad he had just made deaf with his shouting.

"I ain't smellin' anything good from him, aye? He sounds wae too serious the whole time... how will I have fun with someone like him?..."

"W-what are you suggesting?", asked the innocent Gavriel, almost scared of the answer, and the Badger laughed.

"We aren't doing anything fishy, you can calm down El.", murmured his master, and so he nodded, letting the brawny man continue without interrupting him, as the fire was starting inside his heart.

"So, ya take mae glove, you hand it to him and you challenge him to a duel. Whoever wins gets to be part of the tournament! Aye? Aye? It's all written in the rules, chump!"

El's eyes were shining. Did the two really think that he could beat that sir Thorne? The confidence in the drunken man's speech and the Badger's look... yes, they both were honest. Was he finally being recognized? He felt a chill going down his spine. He had no idea such a rule existed in the first place.

"... I-I think I'll do it. Can you... let me have the day off to prepare, master?", asked the kid, with confidence in his last sentence, clenching his hands into fists as he looked at the knight with a smile.

The man nodded.

"Oh! What a wonderful thing being young and fighting your first knight, aye ole man?", asked the man with his scratched eye pointed towards the Badger. He just laughed at his words and answered with a "Yes", which was frankly not heard by the other, that just burped and laughed with him.

The squire stayed for some brief chatting with the other lords and knights. He felt more confident, now. Stronger, even though nothing really changed, if not inside him. His pride was coming out of its shell, as he was becoming a man.

The youngster went for the entrance of the inn. Suddenly, a recent memory rushed back into his head, as a light tap on the lumber woke his conscious mind up. He had been talking and joking without really thinking about it, until that very moment. This time, he went with his hand for the doorknob. The metal was unusually hot to the touch. He looked at it, bewildered, but he still turned it, allowing for the light to come in from outside. At last, he saw who was behind the entryway.

A tall but rather slim man, hidden underneath patched up rags and cloth, with a turban on his head. His face was almost hidden, but El could see the shining eyes through the darkness of his covers: they were purple, like a lavender's flowers. Quite curious, our young squire stared at him for a while, until the beggar opened his mouth.

"Might you have a place for me inside this inn, sir?"

El looked at the man, confused. His light knocks, his looks and his deep but almost silent voice made him quite perplexed, he looked back at the crowd of knights, that didn't seem to be paying attention to that encounter. He said, still turned with his eyes fixed on the Badger's brother:

"The inn was bought out until the end of the year by the Duke o-"

He felt a tap on his shoulder. As he looked back, the man was smiling, pointing at his ears.

"Wha-"

"I'm deaf. Please speak while facing me, or I won't understand anything.", muttered the beggar, and El bowed and apologized three or four times, before the man calmed him down with a pat on his shoulder.

The squire thought about it for a second, and then started talking while enunciating all his words, trying to make the matters easier for the poor man.

"The inn was bought out until the end of the year by the Duke of Noth, sir... I'm afraid there's no beds left, but you could ask him for a place to stay this night, if that's what you need. I'm sure he'll be generous."

El smiled, as the man nodded, and thanked him. He started to walk past him, without even asking to be pointed towards the man that the squire had mentioned. The young boy didn't notice at first, but as soon as the beggar made two steps, he tried to get his attention like he had done before, tapping on his back.

The man turned.

Silence.

His eyes pierced Sir Gavriel, into his very heart. A smile made him shiver. His words made him question what was really going on.

"You won't win."

El left the man alone. He stood there, with his guts turning and burning inside him. His mind trying to connect pieces of a puzzle that wasn't there. His eyes looked down on the dark wood of the pavement, and then up again, to see if he could stop the mendicant, but he wasn't there. Maybe, he was swallowed by the crowd of knights, and now he couldn't see him anymore. He didn't bother to chase after him, now. He felt as though he had no strenght to talk to that strange man again, as if his look had made him reconsider his power. The squire left the inn, thinking, spending his time reasoning with what the man's word meant. Was he a vision? Was it his mind playing tricks on him? Did he mean that he wouldn't have won against Sir Thorne?

He used up the day not by training, but by letting his doubts eat him alive.