The remaining days before the Royale passed quickly enough. As part of their agreement, Rani stayed away from Oxwald’s camp, and Clive didn’t seem to have anything for them to do until then himself. That had been a surprise. They were far from a burglar, but Rani could still think of a few different ways they could help someone who wasn’t planning to play fair.
“Hm? Oh, no, not at all,” Clive had said that day when they’d offered, during the cart-ride back to the inn. “Unless you have some good experience bean-counting, anyway. Compared to the others, you don’t seem like you’d give the ones I have a scare on sight.”
He’d shrugged at the look Rani gave him then. “People get such silly ideas about how to make me happy. I’m a simple man: anyone who can do one thing well, or even adequately, deserves to be paid.” The merchant sighed. “Sadly, I’m all-too often met with people who feel the need to compensate for not managing either.”
That kind of claim to innocence was probably a lie on some level, but it also wasn’t Rani’s business. They needed as much time to prepare as possible. No matter how well the Vanguard or them were performing, this was still a fight with few rules and abnormal weapons. They spent the rest of the week running through drills within the forest, based on fighting as many different types of magic as possible.
The Royale was held on Saturday, or at least a word close enough to it for Lavenia. It would be starting at noon sharp, but Rani had never needed a special occasion to wake up early. Slipping on the last of their outfit, they nodded to Constance. “I’ll be off.”
“Good luck,” the witch murmured. She gave them another once-over. “You look very dashing, you know. Play this right, and you could end up with an admirer or two.”
Was that meant to be encouraging? Rani couldn’t tell. “With the way I’ll be fighting,” they murmured, “I doubt it. But thank you.”
Anyone who had that kind of taste would just end up disappointed, anyway.
---
It wasn’t just competitors who were waking up early for the Royale. Today was as much about talking as it was fighting, and as the heir to the Levenian throne Basil had certain responsibilities today. Among them was, together with the rest of his family, honoring the winner of the Royale - whether they deserved it or not.
As he made his way down the corridor to his father’s bedroom, Basil paused as he heard voices. They were the hushed, fervent kinds he’d come to associate with important knowledge. Raising his cane, the prince edged his way forward lightly. It was something he’d gotten surprisingly good at.
“What exactly do you suggest I do?” his father, Roland Levenia, was saying, the king barely restraining his usual booming voice. “Cancel the event off a whim while our neighbors are here? We’d be a laughing stock in our own country, let alone what rumors all the foreigners would bring home!”
A sigh came before another voice spoke: the calm, patient tones of the castle’s sorcerer, Laius. “I am not suggesting you do anything, Your Majesty. My job is matters of the arcane, not holding court. But if I sense something is amiss, I am still going to tell you.”
Roland sighed. “Skies ablaze, man, we have an entire army of knights, the delegate’s forces, anyone here to compete, and you. How much safer could Leonhold be?”
“Safe enough not to count vagabonds and ‘foreigners’ as part of its defense?” Laius asked innocently.
Basil could sense what was coming next, in the same way someone at sea might have been able to sense a lightning bolt coming. He cleared his throat. “Father?”
Roland quickly appeared in the doorway. “Ah, Basil! Didn’t know you were up.” The king looked every inch what his son wasn’t: bright-red hair on his head and face practically formed a mane, while his body bulged with muscles middle-age still had yet to diminish.
“I could hardly sleep the night before the Royale,” Basil said cheerfully. “Hello, Laius,” he added, giving the mage a nod. “Is anything the matter?”
“Not at all,” Laius said before Roland could, “simply discussing my role today with your father. Nothing important, really.”
Leonhold’s local sorcerer was quick on his feet when it came to speaking. He had been serving at the castle longer than Basil had been alive, but no-one knew much about him save that he’d studied in the west, and had the credentials to prove it. He didn’t appear any older than the king, but rumors about what age he actually was often circulated among the castle’s staff.
“Ah, right,” Basil nodded. “You got a fine night’s sleep, Laius, I hope? We can’t have the event without you in top form.”
“Top form?” Laius gave a little smile. “At this point I could manage it in my sleep, my prince.” He gave them both nods, though the look he gave Roland lingered half a moment longer. “I should be off, though, for the preparations.”
He walked off, with as dignified a stride as any nobleman. “What was he talking about, father?” Basil asked, innocently.
The biggest chink in Roland’s armor had always been his son, especially in matters of honesty. “Just some sixth sense of his. Thinks there’s some danger afoot.”
“Do you think he’s right?”
Anyone else asking that question wouldn’t have made Roland pause a beat, but for Basil he stopped, scratched his beard a moment, and finally sighed. “I think any would-be conqueror of Leonhold would have to have more courage than brains to attack us today. But he’s never been wrong, either. I’ll have the guard at the main gate doubled.”
He ruffled his son’s hair. “Now come on, we have guests to greet. It’s been some time since you saw your cousins, hasn’t it?”
Carefully restraining a grimace, Basil nodded, falling into step with his father. Inwardly, though, his mind was moving far quicker. Laius wouldn’t give a warning if he wasn’t sure there was real danger, and his father was right: it was difficult to imagine anything attacking Leonhold unless it knew it could win.
The prince suddenly had a very bad feeling.
---
“So, planning to defeat the floor in here before anyone in the Royale, Richard?”
Richard stopped mid-turn to glower at the one who’d spoken. The barracks were split up by rank, and while he was always happy to have a roof over his head that wasn’t rented, sharing it with a few dozen other young men was never without its problems. “Just catching my nerves. Pretend I’m not here.”
“You’ve been chasing them for about ten minutes now,” another squire said from their bed, flipping through a book. “Takes you about ten seconds to cross the barracks, for the record, so that’s six hundred seconds so far.”
He looked up, frowning. “Just get out there, already. It’s damned annoying watching you be this nervous when you’re a better Rider than anyone else here going for that role.”
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“Looking nervous is exactly the problem!” Richard said, pointing at him. “If I head out there like this, know what I am as soon as the others see me? A target, is what.”
“So, take a deep breath. Just be positive.”
Richard shook his head. “No, no, can’t be too positive either. Reason is, if I walk in there acting like I’m the toughest Rider there, know what I am? A-”
“You know what’s really likely to make you lose? Us knocking you out after we got fed up with your pacing. Just go.”
Well, they had a point.
---
Rani heard the crack, and noticed without much passion that the receiver of the punch had lost a tooth. Getting that repaired here was probably expensive. Their loss.
The smaller one of the pair from Emrick’s workshop reeled, staggered, and then finally fell. His larger friend had taken less punishment this time, surprisingly. He lay collapsed nearby.
The two had tried ambushing Rani partway between Constance’s woods and the road to Leonhold, in a blind-spot made by some boulders and shrubs. On paper it was something only an idiot would try, which certainly fit these two. But if a foreigner disappeared during all this excitement, how many people would even notice?
Rani felt irritated they were even considering this, since it shouldn’t have come up at all. This location was perfect enough there was no way they hadn’t seen them entering the forest at some point. That was careless.
Walking over to the smaller one, Rani lifted their foot and put it down on his chest. Not heavily, but firm enough to make it clear it could become that way. “Did you follow me the day I met with Clive?” they asked.
The thug tried to look in any direction but at the eyes, and, failing that, nodded. “Did someone put you up to it?” Rani probed further, pressing down a fraction more.
His eyes darted back and forth again, but this time they said nothing. That made sense. Anyone you’d do this for was at least as dangerous as Rani was right now.
“I see,” Rani murmured. “But either way, this is the second time you two have attacked me.”
They raised their foot and sent it swiftly downward. The thug gasped as the wind he’d sucked back was kicked right out of him. “You tried this because out here there are no rules outside cities, I’m sure,” Rani said flatly. “But that works both ways. I’m sure you both think you’re pretty tough, and you’ve probably done some bad things. I’ve seen and done worse.”
They slowly removed their leg. “But today, I don’t want to. I didn’t get the chance to say so before, but I will now: if you two try something like this again, you’ll regret it.”
The thug nodded dimly. Rani said nothing, walking around them toward the road. They wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d tried something even with all his new injuries, but nothing came. Good. Having a limb broken here had to be even worse than losing a tooth.
No-one else bothered Rani until they were at Leonhold’s gate. It wasn’t the same pair as their first time here, but it was apparently obvious why they were here. “Best get a move on, missie,” one said, waving a hand at the castle above. “Plenty of competitors came by already.”
‘Missie’? Almost flattering. Rani nodded, heading past them both. There was still more than an hour until noon by their estimate, but no sense risking some technicality. They broke into a jog as the streets sloped upward.
As they made their way through the main street, Rani noticed people watching them, either from doorways and windows, or chairs they’d set up for the occasion. If they’d cheered for anyone else coming this way they weren’t doing it for them, but they weren’t booing, either. Out of the corner of their eye Rani saw a few children staring at them, wide-eyed. They’d probably never seen someone like them before.
Well, they could look all they wanted. Rani didn’t intend to make this event a habit, and being a one-time oddity was fine by them. They picked up the pace as the castle grew closer. Whatever happened, they’d be glad to have this over with.
---
After Richard reported in, he was escorted by one of the castle’s knights to a waiting room for competitors. The Royale was going to be held within the castle’s rear courtyard, the only space large enough for the event, so the room was located in a small corridor near a side exit. As he was led down the stairway to it the squire understood why: the din of the competitors inside would have been a complete racket in the middle of the castle.
Richard had been lost in his own thoughts, but abruptly stood up straight as he saw the person waiting in the corridor, serene and dignified despite the noise. “Sir Albert!” he said respectfully.
The oldest knight in Leonhold nodded slightly, the kind of gesture you’d give an equal rather than someone below you - and it had never escaped Richard that he was far, far below his master. It was only with his backing that a squire like him had even been allowed to join the Royale. Another reason he couldn’t make a fool of himself today.
“At ease,” Sir Albert said, though to the knight next to Richard, who had adopted the same stance. He nodded and strode off. “You too, Richard: you might be competing as a squire, but you’re not on duty.” He smiled. “Had a fine night’s sleep, I hope?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good, good,” Albert nodded. “Are you as prepared as you can be for this?”
Richard thought for a moment. “No, Sir.” Albert could tell when he was lying even better than Basil.
The knight laughed. “Get used to that: it’ll be the case far more than you might think.” He stepped forward and clapped a hand on his squire’s shoulder. “Good luck, Richard, and trust your instincts. This will be a good opportunity for you, win or lose.”
“I’ll make sure to bring the knight I’m borrowing back in one piece, Sir.”
Albert smiled. “Leave the ones working the forge to worry about whatever dents you take. It’s only an ordinary model, so it’s not as if you’re borrowing mine.” The smile turned coy. “Unless you’d prefer to be?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Sir!” Richard said firmly. Even if he could use a Runic Knight as finely tuned as Albert’s, the pressure would seize him up before he’d swung the blade once.
“You do need to learn to take a joke sometime, Richard,” Albert sighed. “I’ll be watching from the stands, along with the Prince. Whatever happens out there, the sun will still rise tomorrow. Remember that.”
Richard nodded. The pit in his gut hadn’t disappeared, but it had shrunk. “Thank you, Sir.”
“No thanks needed: if a knight can’t calm his squire, what good is he?” Albert walked around Richard and back down the corridor. “Yes, yes, at ease,” he called to someone else.
Richard turned to see another knight leading another competitor down the corridor. This time he almost had to laugh. He’d already met her in the town and the bar, so why wouldn’t he run into that same woman here, too?
Albert stepped past the two, though Richard noticed him give the woman the briefest of glances. The accompanying knight gestured from her to the door before departing as well, leaving them alone.
“Surprised to see me here?” Richard asked. He hadn’t let it slip he was competing back at the bar, had he? The fact he had to ask at all was probably a bad sign.
“I’m not surprised very easily,” the foreign woman murmured, the same way she’d spoken every other time. He had no trouble believing that. “But you’re right, I didn’t think you were one of the castle’s knights.”
Oof, he’d earned that one, hadn’t he? “Just a squire for now,” he murmured. “But I know my way around a Runic Knight just fine, don’t you worry.”
She didn’t look impressed. “I’d imagine so. But that’s true of almost everyone here. For your sake, I hope you have more going for you than the basics.”
Richard felt a flush from within, but kept it down. The last thing he needed was to lose his temper, let alone to something that reasonable. “Of course I do,” he declared. “You just passed the finest Runic Knight rider in the kingdom. He taught me everything I know about swordsmanship.”
“Is that so?” she replied. The woman walked around him, toward the door. “I’ll try to keep from engaging you up close, then. Thanks.”
Richard kept his temper down this time, too, but only just. Without giving her more to work with, he followed the woman as she opened the door. But if he did run into her in the Royale, he definitely wasn’t holding back now.
---
Taunting him wasn’t something Rani actually needed to do, but it served a purpose. Firstly, anyone thinking them and Richard were allies was the last thing they wanted in this battle, so him thinking the opposite couldn't hurt. If Richard came after them because of it, that was fine by Rani: it would make it easier to keep an eye on him.
Secondly, Rani was waiting for the moment when Richard proved Constance’s praise right. They still hadn’t gotten it. So far he had nearly shot someone rather than catch him, get drunk off hardly anything, and give away knowledge he shouldn’t have. If he was supposed to be a hero-in-waiting, Rani wasn’t impressed.
The soldier pressed the door open, releasing the muffled noise inside into a total roar. Looking up at the intrusion, the competitors quickly sized up the newcomers. Aware of the eyes focusing more on them, Rani quickly moved closer into the room, away from Richard.
Inside was a wide space, one that probably served as a private meeting or dining room when needed. It was already packed to the walls with people. Rani had done a vague headcount of Clive and Oxwald’s camps, but it was only when you put them and the other competitors in one room that Richard’s chances really came apparent. If this had begun as a way to prove merit, it wasn’t now, unless you felt luck was a skill.
Was there more they could have done to even the odds? Probably. But they’d also done as much as they could to tip the scales without the chance of anyone noticing. Whatever happened now, no-one could say the battle wasn't fair and square.
All that was left now whether both of them could live up to their end of the bargain.