As it turns out, the manor grounds are not quite so large as I thought. There’s a hill that hides the manor from the road, but then there’s a big house smack dab in the middle of it all. There’s also another road that leads to the house, and that road looks a lot more… official.
“I took us to a service entrance on purpose,” says Marianna when I ask. “Less chance of being seen and announced.” She says announced like she really means ratted out.
I’m getting the feeling that I’ve kicked a hornet’s nest here. Marianna’s been decent so far, though. I’ll just stick it out. How bad can it be?
The answer is: pretty bad. The guard leads us around the manor to what I assume is some kind of parade ground or something. It’s currently covered in tents and filled with people. The smell is something else. Let’s just say there’s definitely no cleaning slimes here, and outhouse technology only goes so far. But worst of all are the stares and the gossip. I wish I didn’t have such good hearing.
“That must be the troll from Cairn Glow I’ve heard about.”
“It’s her.”
“She came.”
“Lot of gall, coming back here.”
Hmm. How the heck did people hear about me all the way out here? Also, what’s all that about coming back here? Must be directed to Marianna. I glare around and stifle some of the ruder stares. But what surprises me most is the absolute stench of misery coming from Marianna.
“Hey. Don’t let them get to you.” But my words don’t reach her, I can tell. I’m not comforting her at all.
We’re met by a man who stands tall and lean, wearing expensive clothes and smelling like dried herbs. His hair is greased and his features are sharp. He’s accompanied by two other men, both smelling like horses. When he sees us he stiffens. Before he can speak Marianna dismounts her horse and hands the reins to one of the men.
“Glenn. I see you’re still my father’s man.”
The man doesn’t answer for a long time. Like, almost thirty seconds. He smells like he’s about to say something he shouldn’t, and that he’s going to enjoy it. Then he does exactly that. “Lady Cross. Your return has been long awaited. I assume you’re here to beg forgiveness for your transgressions against your family?” His voice is oily and smug.
“I am here to announce a participant in my brother’s Knight Tournament.” Marianna’s voice is tight and her tone is curt. I smell control and underneath that, a tiny bit of nerves.
Glenn’s smirk twists into something even uglier. “Oh? Are you sure? Perhaps it’s not too late to marry you off to some third son somewhere.”
She doesn’t respond to his words directly. “I, Marianna Cross, hereby announce the sponsorship of Ellie Troll”—here she points to me—“as entrant in my brother’s first knight tournament.”
“Monsters cannot enter—“
“I’m no monster. I assume you can read, or are you as stupid as you look?” The words come without thinking. I don’t care about offending this man. The sudden stink of fear gratifies me. I feel bad about that, but not that bad. I’m really angry. I guess Marianna’s more a friend than I thought.
“Ellie.” With one word Marianna silences me. “Please.”
I nod. It’s all I can do. If I speak I’m going to be even ruder.
“This way, please, Lady Cross. I’m sure I can find you accommodations appropriate to your station.” Glenn sounds like he enjoys every miserable word he says. Marianna smells like she’s reaching her limit. I take a position between them. At least she doesn’t have to look at the bastard.
Seems like every second person we pass stinks of contempt, pity, or a combination of both. The stares are worse up close. Half of them are directed to me. The rest are aimed at Marianna, like daggers thrown by an assassin. She handles them better than I do. The whispers, though, I know she hears.
“Is that her? What did she name herself? Marianna?”
“Her poor father. And the Sabines! What a tragedy.”
“What a piece of—“
That’s it. I turn to the last person to speak and see that he’s staring scornfully at us. His expression changes rapidly when he realizes I’m focused on him, but before I can take the two long steps I’d need to grab him by the neck and throw him through the nearest tent, Marianna touches my arm.
“Don’t,” she whispers. “That’s what they want. I dealt with this for years; I can handle a little more until you—we—get what we want from these people.” She spits the last word out of her mouth.
There’s more to this than what Marianna’s told me. I can smell it in the air, literally. But I’m not going to ask her to air out her dirty laundry in public. Anything I say will be read by everyone here, I keep my mouth shut, at least as far as speaking goes. But I can still keep everyone at bay with a look, and that’s what I do. Put some fear in them, the—
“Here,” said Glenn suddenly. “You can occupy this tent. I’ll let your father know you’re here. Doubtless he won’t call on you.” Without another word the seneschal leaves us standing in front of a ragged, striped pavilion tent.
“Well,” says Marianna shakily when he’s gone. “That was about what I expected.”
I hold the tent open and we enter. The floor is muddy. That’s no problem. With a flourish I use up a little bit of the quicklime I got from the dwarves to produce a Potion of Desiccation. It’s a strange-looking fluid with a tinge of silver in it that doesn’t cling to the glass of the vial at all. Marianna watches me curiously as I pour it out on the mud, and then her eyes open in wonder as the potion dries the ground for us.
As soon as we’re finished setting up her things, I stop holding back. “All right. You promised me the truth. Tell me what’s going on.”
Marianna looks at me, then takes a long, steadying breath. “I was born Michael the Younger, son of my father, Michael Cross. I was to inherit his title, and to marry the daughter of the Sabine family. But when I turned thirteen, I chose to become his daughter. This would normally have been nothing, if I was only a second son or later. But I was the first son, and so I had responsibilities, or so they told me. I spent three years torn between what my family wanted and what I needed, and when I turned sixteen, I had to make my choice. It cost me my family’s acknowledgement. They didn’t disown me, exactly, but I was—am—not welcome in their home. So now, seeing me here, many doubtlessly think I am crawling back as a supplicant. Those that don’t likely think I have no place here and shouldn’t dare show myself.”
Wow. That’s not what I expected. But thinking back on our conversation the other night…
“Okay. That’s… I can’t imagine what that must be like.”
“Can’t you? Weren’t you like me? Trapped in a body that felt wrong? A family that rejected you for who you were? It’s not the same, but it’s not so different, either.”
Marianna stops talking and looks suddenly ashamed of herself. I can smell it on her, and it’s not a pleasant scent. I’m not sure what to say, so I say what’s in my mind. “Hey. I admit I was confused. I kind of thought you were trying to run away from your family, and then I thought you were trying to, I don’t know, take it over or something. But that’s not it, is it?”
“No. I didn’t run away; it was simply made clear that if I was going to be, well, myself, I was to do it elsewhere. I made entreaties, offered to marry any man they wished, but the Sabines had only the one daughter and our families were entangled already. My father raged. He warned me that my selfishness, as he called it, would ruin the Sabines and harm his own standing. Not once did he speak so much as a word of understanding for my own position. He told me that the Crosses had no need of a rebellious first daughter. So I left. I left, made my own way, and now I will have their acknowledgement. Even if I have to drag it from them.”
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
In a way, I’m relieved. Marianna is trans, but that’s only a peripheral issue to her family. Maybe trans people aren’t as discriminated against in this world? I decide to take a chance.
“I haven’t told you everything either, Marianna. I’m… not from this world. I was reincarnated here by Jinx. My world was very different, with no magic or monsters. Well, not the kind of monsters we have here. In my world we have a word: trans. It can refer to people who choose to change their gender. It’s a hard thing where I came from, and a lot of people hate trans folk there for no good reason.”
Marianna tilts her head. “That’s a strange word. Trans? Why not just call them women, or men?”
“Good question. I wish I could answer. Are people with your experience discriminated against here?”
She laughs a little. “No, I’m an exception, and really, only because I am politically inconvenient. Like I said, if I had been a second son, or if I had waited for Shale to reach adulthood, nobody would have cared. But here we are.”
“Seems like now that Shale’s old enough, your family should be willing to take you back.”
Immediately I smell Mariana’s mood change. She’s angry and hurt and a little bitter. “Maybe. But I want more than that. I want them to publicly admit that I am their daughter. Do you know, when I turned thirteen and told them who I was, that I was no longer their son, they offered me magical intervention to make my mind right with the body I had, rather than make my body right for my mind? I’ve never felt so, so denied. In truth, I don’t particularly want to return to the family. I only want to force them to see me as my own person, and to have them in my debt.” She pauses for a moment. “And should my father choose to apologize, I would not refuse him.”
You know what? That’s fair. I’m sure that was a hard enough choice for a child to make, and an apology isn’t that much to ask. “Don’t worry. We got this. Now, you know what I think we should do?”
Marianna turns and her eyes are red. She swallows thickly and fixes her gaze on me. “What’s that?”
“Let’s go scout out the competition.”
That turns out to be a simple matter. There’s sheets of rough paper tacked to poles all over, and they list seven names, along with a schedule of events. None of them mean a thing to me, of course. Marianna takes one down and scans it. She frowns at least twice. That’s not a great sign.
“Well, at the very least, we’re looking at two talented swordsmen and one person with magic. The rest… I don’t know who they are.”
I can smell something on her: the scent of a lie mixed with shame. I debate letting it go, and then decide against it. “Marianna, I can tell you’re hiding something. Don’t you think our best chance is to be fully open?” I touch her shoulder.
After a long moment and a deep breath, she answers. “Yes. You’re right, and my own past shouldn’t become a wedge between us when you’re such a good friend to me. This woman here is probably the woman I was betrothed to as a child. My… decision to be who I am contributed to the ruin of her family. No doubt she’s here to salvage some semblance of honour and position, after having lost her nobility and name.”
The woman’s name is Viola, and true to Marianna’s words she has no last name. There’s no pictures attached to the list. “Maybe it’s someone else.”
“Maybe.” But I can tell Marianna doesn’t think so. “Let’s focus on the names I know. This man, Pitt Langford, is the third son of his house and has no prospects, so he became an adventurer like me. He’s known for his heavy blade and his seeming inability to die. His armour has some magic in it that serves him well. This man, Todrick Bleems, is similarly talented but older and more experienced. I haven’t heard of him fighting any major duels or tournaments lately, and he’s independently wealthy as well from running a mercenary group. I can’t see why he would enter this tournament at all. And this last woman is someone I’ve never met, but she’s registered at the Adventurer’s Guild as a backline spell caster. That could mean she’s got the use of support magic like healing and the like, but it could also be attack magic like lightning or wind, or…”
“Or fire.” I finish her sentence because I can tell she doesn’t want to. The woman’s name on the list is Catrice. Pretty unique name, so it’s probable that Marianna is right.
“And, of course, your fiancée.”
“Erstwhile fiancée. Yes. Viola was a spoiled child with no skills whatsoever at the age of thirteen, which was when I last laid eyes on her. That was ten years past. There’s no telling what she’s learned since.”
“All right. We file her under ‘unknown’. That’s still pretty good if we have info on three of the seven. Maybe let’s ask around about the rest. Will there be betting?”
“Betting?” For a moment Marianna looks scandalized. “Well, yes, but most nobles might find it unseemly.”
“Good thing I’m not them! Let’s see what we can learn.” And what we can earn, I add silently. Money’s always good to have. I’ve been kind of irresponsible about my spending.
We bump into a man wearing Cross colours who is wearily pulling down papers and tacking new ones up. When he sees us he brightens momentarily. “Say, you wouldn’t be the troll who’s being added to the tourney schedule, would you?”
I make a show of looking around. “Don’t see any other trolls. Probably me. Why do you ask?”
He isn’t fazed by my smart mouth and doesn’t smell very afraid. He does look shifty though, and glances around before he answers. “Just wondering, is all. There’s some parties wagering on the bouts, you know, and every bit of information I can sell them makes my wallet a touch heavier.”
Ah. I have an idea. I produce a silver coin, and the man’s eyes bug out. My guess was right; he’s earning pennies, not dollars. “How about this: I pay you to tell anyone who asks that you met me and I was terrified of the fights to come. Also, point my friend towards the bookies.”
The word ‘bookies’ takes a moment to register, but the man takes my money and grins. “Right you are, sir. Er, lady? Ellie, was it? I’ll be sure to tell everyone who asks what a coward you seemed. Downright tearful at the sight of Lady Catrice’s name on the roster, you were.”
There. Now we have a little more info. “Ah, yes. How will I, a flammable forest troll, handle fire magic? Truly a frightening prospect.” I can smell amusement on the man and I decide I like him. “Here’s some free advice. Bet on me. I’m going to win this thing. Now, what can you tell me about the other entrants?”
An hour later we’re settled into our tent. Marianna has a few of the old roster sheets, and she’s used them to take notes on our opponents, which we can now review. There’s seven of them, and we have intel on most.
“First off, we have Catrice, who is definitely a fire spell caster. She’s lower ranked in the Guild than I am, but that doesn’t mean she’s green. Likely she’s here to elevate herself out of the commoner life.”
Hmm. Fire isn’t my friend at all. Luckily I have my Inferno Snake suit.
“Then there’s Pitt and Todrick, who would be challenging for anyone else but likely not you. Both of them are swordsmen. The Langfords haver a reputation for being hard to kill, so that makes Pitt a bit of an unknown, but Bleems is just as he appears: an experienced swordsman. They shouldn’t be too much of a challenge. However, remember that this is a points style tournament, and even if you defeat them, they could still come out on top if they achieve more victories than you.”
“I don’t see that happening. I’ve got a plan for them. Don’t look at me like that!”
Marianna is staring at me and I can smell wariness on her. “It’s considered bad form to cripple opponents in tournaments unless they stubbornly refuse to surrender otherwise, you know.”
“Okay, but first of all, I don’t care about form. Second, I only look like a monster. I’m not going to cripple anyone unless I can’t help it.” I shoot Marianna a wink to reassure her. “Trust me.”
After a pause, she nods. “All right. Next up we have Viola, who we know nothing about. As I told you, she was a spoiled, lazy child, typical of her age and rank. However, after her family’s name was lost, she may have endeavoured to improve herself in some way. Be wary.”
I commit the names and notes to memory. “That’s everyone you know anything about, right?”
“Yes. For the remaining three, I have as much information as you do, and it’s of dubious reliability. As you so aptly demonstrated, our source is willing to accept payment in exchange for spreading lies. Assuming he does as you paid him to do.”
“Hmm. You’re right. I’d better not lean too hard on what he told us. Still, what he told us about the three you know matched up, so I’m inclined to believe him a little.”
Marianna ignores that and continues her list. “Hammer, a dwarf—“
“Exiled dwarf,” I say by way of correction. She glances up at me. “It matters.”
“—an exiled dwarf, who wields, shockingly enough, a hammer. Dwarven naming sense is at once practical and questionable. He shouldn’t be any trouble for you. Dwarves are resilient and violent creatures but they aren’t anything you can’t deal with.”
I finger my ring and wonder what fighting a dwarf will be like. They have the image of being relentless and unafraid of anything. I don’t remember smelling fear on any of the dwarves in the Undergallery.
“This next entrant, Scent of Rain in Morning, is the main reason I don’t trust our source. Why would an elf want to become a knight? It makes little sense, and I am wary.”
That’s a mouthful of a name. Something tugs my memories about elves in this world. “What do elves eat?”
Marianna stares at me. “What? Why would an elf eat? How could an elf eat?”
She smells amazed and a little bit embarrassed on my behalf, so I drop it. “Um, okay then. The last guy is…”
“Black Morgan. I’ve never heard of him. With a name like that, he’s likely dangerous. All we know is that he wears armour at all times and is never without his lance.”
“He sounds like a dork.” I can’t help but picture some teenager wearing all black and moping around the mall. “But still could be dangerous, I guess.”
“They’re all dangerous. This is a small, low-prestige tournament for the privilege of being knight to a second child, but everyone there will be skilled in fighting. Honestly? I’m worried about you.”
I grin again. “Don’t be. We’re gonna win this thing.”