“Finest warriors my arse,” Oster muttered as he waited for Judd at the gates into the lower bailey, his watery eyes observing the soldiers that were supposedly guarding the entrance to the fort, “you couldn’t keep a chicken out of this place.”

The stream of people into the fort was considerable. While the preliminary matches and lower tier were attended by only fighters fighting other fighters or observing fighters to know what to expect if paired against them, the middle tier was a crowded cacophony with bales of hay lining the walls so that the audience could see even at the back. The highest of the tier matches, which Judd LaMogre now faced, was in the upper bailey. Rather than bales of hay, there was staggered seating, wooden pews brought out, custom built for the occasion so that each one fit and maximised the arrangement for the fight. And of course, being the upper bailey, the keep was one of the sides and Sir Alaykin had his own personal balcony set up as a viewing platform.

Even though there would only be three matches fought that day, the opponents drawn at random, there was ample entertainment. The centre ring was a performance stage for jugglers, fire breathers and, of course, the current favourite minstrel who had everyone singing, at least at the chorus for no one remembered all the verses. When the actual fighting began, the crowds would push at the roped ring boundaries, each person desperate to see the wining strike and the knockdown blow.

Oster folded his arms.

Judd was not good enough to win, not by conventional means.

However, what the lad lacked in experience, which was a matter of time that they did not have, he made up for with a willingness to learn and an ability to get back up when knocked down. And not just physically. Sword master Thiery should have driven any interest in pursuing his knightly quest out of Judd with his humiliation.

Yet here the young man was, risking it all again but far better equipped this time.

Goodness knows, he was going to need all the help he could get.

“Oster?” He looked up and spied Judd standing in front of him. “You looked a hundred leagues away.”

“At my age, it’s the best and safest way to travel.” Oster huffed and joined Judd’s side as they ventured into the lower bailey, allowed to bypass the queues of people because Judd was a competitor. “I take it your lady friend did not agree to come and watch?”

“I wouldn’t want her to,” Judd said quietly then added quickly, “not that I wouldn’t want her to…I mean…” He sighed and rubbed his neck, or at least tried to, his metal fingers catching on the gorget. “She kind of…sticks out.”

“You mean with the,” Oster gestured to his head then over his body, “and the…”

“And people, especially Terra military and clerics, would be quick to judge before they got to know her.”

“What about your little clerical tag along?”

“He made his objections known…but Aalis is a valuable companion.” Judd nodded. “She’s helped get me and Caste back on our feet.”

“What of your archer friend? The one who doesn’t speak much?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. He’s not a big talker but he’s got a keen eye with his bow.” Judd paused. “I wonder how he will do today during the archery finals…”

“Keep your head in this space,” Oster rapped on Judd’s armour and he nodded, “trust me, Verne is far safer than you are about to be.”

“Oh, this is probably a little late to be asking but…what’s the prize?” Judd turned to Oster. “I mean, I’m guessing there’s something we’re vying for but I just thought, what if it’s a placement at Fort Bastil? Am I going to offend anyone if I turned it down?”

“Most contestants are aiming for just such a position,” Oster explained, “and Sir Alaykin has offered a position in the past in lieu of a prize if the champion is, as they ought to be, exceptional.”

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“What’s the prize?”

“A horse from Sir Alaykin’s stables. He has a keen eye for horseflesh, trading frequently with the nomads to the south, so the beasts are always a fine prize.”

“Why would anyone give that up?”

“Because most of them have no hope or intention of becoming a knight so a horse, while an excellent prize, requires a decent income to feed, house and maintain. But a position in Dalain’s ranks of soldiers receives a consistent income, the perks of being a soldier and probably the responsibility of riding the horse he would have won anyway.”

“I see.” Judd took a deep breath, feeling the press of the breastplate when his lungs were at their fullest before letting it out. “Well…I guess I’m about to find out where I rank.”

“Don’t forget, these matches are not a knockdown event. It’s a shield match which means you’ll need to keep strength in reserve.” Oster warned.

Judd nodded then they both looked up as trumpets called for all attention to the balcony of the keep where Sir Alaykin presided, Dalain Thiery at his side.

“Welcome competitors and spectators alike, to Fort Bastil’s legendary fighting competition! After three days of gruelling matches, we arrive at this moment, the upper tier where four opponents will battle each other and then the two victors will compete. And here, on this day, you will bear witness to the tournament champion who will stand above the rest, crowned and declared, their name recorded in the annuals of Fort Bastil for all time.”

Alaykin’s speech was well rehearsed yet, punctuated with the clamour and cheers of the crowd, it was also sincere. Judd listened with half an ear, spying Dalain standing beside his lord and master. He felt a tremor of fear pass through him and hoped, if he was successful in winning, that Dalain would stay on the balcony and not descend to teach him a lesson.

“The four warriors to compete in this final arena, step forth when your name is called.” Sir Alaykin held the scroll out in front of him. “Aras Fray, Royce Colton, Judd LaMogre,” there was a slight hesitation as he said Judd’s name as though it had been all but forgotten and he was trying to place where he knew it from before he continued his speech, “and Eda Marione.”

Judd stood up and entered the ring where the steward of the arena waited for them.

“Present your bandanas.” He ordered.

Judd untied his and handed it over. A page ran the bandanas through a door, up through the keep and onto the balcony where Sir Alaykin received them. Judd’s eyes had to be turned upward as was all gaze within the upper bailey. He couldn’t avoid seeing Dalain now. Judd wasn’t entirely sure Dalain had realised he was even there until he received a narrow slitted glare from the sword master.

Judd swallowed.

Sir Alaykin hid the bandanas in his hand and held his fist out to Dalain who had to draw two out. He flung them over the edge, the colours bright and clear.

“Aras Fray and Royce Colton take the first match!”

Judd breathed out and existed the ring, retreating to the wall where Oster leaned.

“The random draw worked in your favour. I would say that Eda Marione is the least skilled out of the upper tier four.”

“Doesn’t make him a slouch, either.”

“Exactly.” Oster chuckled. “He’s no harder, possibly easier, than the opponents you faced in the middle tier. Remember your training and you’ll do fine.”

There was a roar from the crowd. Oster looked up. “Aras Fray is down one shield. I don’t think this match is going to go on all that long.”

Unfortunately Oster was right. Aras could not hold his own against the ferocious Royce Colton. He couldn’t even break one of his shields while Royce shattered all of Fray’s.

“Your turn, lad.” Oster rapped Judd’s armour as he stood up and entered the ring.

Judd stood in the opposite corner to Eda Marione who had a sword not unlike Judd’s and wore armour made from metal and leather in a flexible combination. At Judd’s feet were three round wooden shields, the same make as the ones in Eda’s corner. Oster picked up a shield and strapped it into place over Judd’s left arm. The fighting was not meant to be lethal. The shields were the gauge as to who won a match. Three shields each. The last one without a shield was the loser.

Judd looked across at Eda who danced about on his feet, baring his teeth at Judd. He was skilled with his blade which was how he had ascended so high in the tournament. However, Eda was several years younger than Judd and he did not have Judd’s physique or his experience at manual labour.

“Judd LaMogre, are you ready?”

Judd smacked his shield with the flat of his sword.

“Eda Marione, are you ready?”

Eda did the same. The steward, on the safe side of the ring looked between them. “Fight!”

Aalis wished the sounds of battle would not reach her so far from the fort. If it had been a stormy day or if there had been more people around, perhaps she wouldn’t be subjected to the clash of steel and the shouts of the crowds. But most of the farmers had gone to watch the upper tier matches and the day was clear and bright.

She paced back and forth with no work to do to occupy her mind.

She didn’t dare leave the fire in case Judd returned injured and in need of healing.

Aalis’ fingers wrung themselves as she looked at the fort, shouts of victory and screams of adulation taunting her ears.

“Judd…do not die…”