Judd was pretty happy with how he performed in the preliminary battles. As Oster had warned him, he did not go all out and reveal all that he could do. As it was the judges placed him fairly low on the qualifying board but it was more that Judd felt a greater confidence in his abilities. He could use his padded weapon to attack and deflect the blows coming his way and didn’t fall once. His opponents had all been drawn at random from a barrel, each pair of bandanas pulled out matching the ones worn by the registered fighters.
Oster commented only by critiquing some of Judd’s techniques and by saying that he did a passable job. This, coupled with the fact that he didn’t hit Judd once over the head with a cane, was a big compliment.
The second day was not much different but Judd could feel the seriousness of the competitors as they also settled into the tournament, knowing that they would miss out on any chance of advancing to the second tier if they lost more than one round. The padded weapons had been discarded and Judd was thankful for the armour Oster had let him wear.
“See,” Oster had told Aalis when Judd return from the lower tier with a definite placement in the second, “he isn’t injured, mortally or otherwise.”
She had to concede to his assessment and ladled stew into bowls for them.
“How did you fare in the archery contest?” Judd asked Verne who scooped stew into his mouth.
“Like you, neither brilliantly nor terribly,” Verne replied vaguely, “and, like you, I will know in days to come where I rank amongst the other archers.”
Judd ate his stew heartily then turned to Oster. “The champion from the last festival…how good was he?”
“How should I know?” Oster shrugged. “I haven’t attended a match in years but he won so he’ll be very good.”
“Better than Dalain?”
“Dalain wouldn’t stand for that to be the case. He’ll just be sitting on the balcony with Alaykin, studying the opponents as they fight. After all, part of a sword master’s responsibility is gauging the skills of the final match and giving Alaykin his ‘experienced assessment’.”
“Wait,” Aalis looked up, “Dalain is not the top tier combatant?”
“No,” Judd saw her expression, “I thought…I thought you knew.”
“Knew what?” Aalis said, her heart cringing.
“Dalain doesn’t compete in these tournaments. He prefers lording it over the matches from above with Sir Alaykin.” Oster explained. “The only way to get him to fight is for him to come down and challenge Judd himself.”
Aalis put her stew down, tucking dreadlocks back. “And how,” she said in a cautious tone, “are you going to do that?”
“Simply by making it to the upper tier.” Judd explained. “That should prick his pride, that the man he crushed two weeks ago has gotten so good, so fast.”
Aalis looked between Judd and Oster. “That is your plan?” She gasped and they nodded. “Are you out of your minds? Dalain will not hesitate to humiliate you to the point of killing you should he be goaded to fight under those conditions. His pride is at stake!”
“Aalis, you supported me on this before…”
“When I thought that he was the inevitable top tier combatant,” she exclaimed, “not when you were going to goad him into fighting you on top of fighting all the others.”
“Don’t underestimate your knight to be friend,” Oster chuckled, “he can take a hammering…”
“After two weeks?” Aalis stood up. “Two weeks, Judd, of training with Oster…those men have been training for years!”
“I’m not going to go head to head with him.” Judd reasoned, standing to face her. “I don’t have that kind of skill but if I’m clever and am able to use his weaknesses to my advantage…” Aalis turned her head from him, her eyes closed. Judd reached out and took her hands, turning her body towards him but she refused to open her eyes. “Aalis,” he said softly, “you were the only who told me not to give up. You were right.”
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She stepped back. “This revenge is beneath you, Judd…and Dalain will not play by the rules.” She left the light of the campfire and Judd sank onto the log.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to give up, now?” Oster asked.
“I made a commitment,” Judd said firmly then sighed, “but Aalis was the first person to believe in me. Not my parents, not the training instructor in Astaril…certainly not Caste…no one thought I could do this. Aalis did and still does. Her support means a great deal to me.”
“And what if, one day, she isn’t there anymore?” Oster remarked and Judd eyed him sadly. “You can’t rely on others to stoke the fire of your motivation. Sometimes, you need to be bold all on your own.”
The middle tier of the fighting portion of the festival put Judd’s training to the test. He could sense the weight behind the blows, the determination of the fighters to not lose their place as they began to be whittled out of the qualifying numbers. They began to fall rapidly and Judd had to start digging deep to not lose more than a single match.
“It’s hard because there are so many matches in one day,” Oster explained, “but that is held in tension with the ability of the fighters. There are more matches on the lower tier but the level of opponent is often lesser or, like yourself, keeping some in reserve. The middle tier there are less matches for the level of opponent is stronger and in the upper tier will be made of the strongest but there are only two fights with four opponents and then the winners of those matches fight each other.”
Sir Alaykin appeared during the middle tier and watched some of the fighting. Judd didn’t know if he recognised him from so high up. The final tier would be fought in the upper bailey which provided a much closer view for those in Fort Bastil.
Judd returned to the farming community that night with enough energy to eat, be given a brief check up from Aalis then slumped onto his bedroll, falling almost immediately asleep.
He was a little stiff the next morning, he and Oster grumbling about aches and pains in their bodies and comparing the two as though they were in competition before Judd donned the borrowed armour once more. Armour was expensive and as such, it was more often than not custom made for knights or swordsmen of great proficiency and depth of pocket. Oster’s armour was from when he was younger and he’d refused to sell or part with it. He confided with Judd that upon his dismissal, he did not want Dalain claiming it as if it was his right and smuggled it out of the fort.
“Twenty years of my life I gave…I was not giving up my first set of armour. It was a gift from Sir Ulra, a worthy knight to serve.” Oster gave the ties at Judd’s side a final pull then stepped back. “Mind you, he couldn’t hold his liquor.”
“Many drinking games I gather?” Judd tried to breathe deeply, feeling his chest pressed against the armour, the tunic and some light padding he wore the only thing keeping the metal off his skin. “I wonder who won more often?”
“Why do you think he gave me the armour? To pay off his drinking debts.” Oster snorted and slapped him on the shoulder. “Come along then. Today’s the day and you’d better be prepared to face what is ahead cause when it starts, there’s no turning back.”
Judd nodded then caught sight of Aalis coming towards the campfire, her skirt hiked up as a catchment for barley grains.
“I’ll meet you at the gates.” He said and Oster nodded, hobbling towards the fort. “Aalis?”
She pretended not to hear him, shaking out the contents of her skirt into her metal bowl. She brushed the errant grains away and set about sorting the barley from the husks and stalks.
“Aalis, please just listen…” Judd paused. “My aim today is not to fight Dalain.” She worked without stopping. Judd squatted next to her, trying to catch her gaze. “What I wanted was to learn from Oster Agress and test my skills in an arena that would help me gauge just how good or bad I was.” She licked her lips but continued to sift the barley. “But…I can’t go into that arena without knowing the risks. I don’t intend to challenge Dalain…but he’s going to see my presence there as an affront to his capability. If he doesn’t demand a rematch, then I’m wrong and happily so. But Oster couldn’t let me go into this without warning and preparing me for the possibility of a fight against Dalain.” She didn’t respond. Judd sighed and stood up. “You’re the first person to believe in me, Aalis or at least, you were. I hope you still do. I hope I’m worthy of your good opinion.” He tapped his teeth together a couple of times before giving up on trying to get a response. He walked away, feeling his sword smack against his leg, his helm caught in the crook of his elbow and prayed he was doing the right thing.
“You seem a little agitated this morning, Caste.” Bede remarked and Caste looked up from the dining table.
“What makes you say that?”
“You’ve had a nervous energy since you sat down which has resulted in leg jiggling, spoon tapping, teeth clashing…”
Caste sighed and tried to rein in his nervousness. “Forgive me. The final day of the festival is upon us.”
“Yes,” Bede tilted his head, studying him, “I must say for a cleric who has shown a thirst for knowledge I have never seen before, you have been surprisingly fixated on the tournament.”
Caste blinked. “Well, yes…because Judd LaMogre, the young man I was assigned to accompany on his knighthood quest has been competing.”
“I saw his name on the tier board.” Bede nodded. “He has done surprisingly well for one who was so heartily thrashed barely two weeks ago.”
“Yes.”
“Are you concerned that he will continue to do well, thus bolstering his confidence and force you to continue on his knighthood quest?” Caste looked up, uncertain as to how to answer Bede’s question. As it was, his fellow cleric assumed he knew Caste’s response. “Fear not, Caste Undern. Regardless of his unexpected ascension through the tiers of battle, it is doubtful the trend will continue. While he is not fighting the warriors of Fort Bastil, who are reputed to be the best in all of Terra, he is unlikely to succeed against the warriors who come to distinguish themselves.”
Caste wasn’t all that reassured.