Chapter 89

Setting up Kaylee and Grandma Lucille’s stall didn’t take long at all. As we ferried over a table, a chest of fabrics, and a couple of chairs, the town of Hornpeak was coming to life around us. Two wooden arenas had gone up in the days leading to the festival, the carpenters helping to build some tiered wooden seating on one side and a simple stage that seemed set aside for the Baron on the other. The various contests of strength, skill, and fighting would take place in the middle, with Baron Joss able to watch from his stage alongside whoever he invited to sit with him.

Those weren’t the only contests planned. There was a cooking competition, along with a hunt for those willing to brave the mountainous forests nearby. All around the area, stalls were going up just like the one we had helped to build. Kaylee and Lucille intended to sell small works like scarves or hair ties. Others, like Kappu, had pieces of wood ready to whittle. Then there were the food stalls along with a rather large setup from the owner of the new inn — The Rested Horn — with barrels of ale ready to serve.

Since the sun was yet to pass the midday line above us, only the most drunken members of the community had begun partaking. I expected that to change as the day wore on. Especially since the food and drink were far cheaper than usual with Baron Joss covering a portion of the cost.

I drifted away from Gramps and Mum to go look at the arenas. The constant buzz of conversation was so loud that I didn’t hear anyone approaching me from behind before I was shoved towards the ground. I stumbled sideways, barely keeping my feet. Spinning, I turned to face the threat, my hand unconsciously drifting to my sword. Victor’s face was ugly, contorted in anger as he spat at me.

“You said you weren’t going to compete, Society boy!”

A few of the passing adults took note of our standoff as I faced Victor and his two cronies. None of them stopped though, clearly uninterested in getting involved in a spat between children.

“The Baron asked me to,” I said all too casually as I straightened up a little. “Would you have said no?”

Victor’s face went through two emotions in the space of a second. The first, I thought, was worry. His eyes flicked to the empty stage set aside for the Baron and those he invited to join him. The second emotion was very clearly anger before Victor stepped uncomfortably close to me and hissed under his breath.

“You better make sure you lose then.”

A surge of annoyance flashed through me. I didn’t even really want to compete, but there was no way I would risk my future at Songleaf for some random kid with dreams of becoming a soldier in Baron Joss’s retinue. My hand moved without thinking and I slammed my palm into Victor’s stomach. He stumbled back from the blow, a look of surprise on his face as though he had expected me to fold like wet paper. Poliver started to step forward with meaty fists raised when a pawed hand came down on his shoulder.

“Beat it,” huffed Nazim as he bared his sharp teeth at the boy.

All three of the kids turned and ran away while I shifted back to lean on the wooden fence of the arena. With Victor gone, my anger gave way to the butterflies filling my stomach. My nervousness must’ve been pretty obvious to the wolfkin.

“This isn’t your first time fighting in front of other people, remember,” he pointed out as we let the bustle of the festival flow around us.

“Yeah, but last time we were fighting for our lives,” I countered, my thoughts drifting back to the necromancers attack from years ago. “Feels different.”

“Because it is different,” Nazim stressed, his yellow eyes roving over the crowd. “It’s easier. The only thing you have to lose is your pride.”

“And perhaps my chance at Songleaf,” I countered, a frown creeping back onto my face.

Nazim shook his head in disagreement. “I watched the training of the noble children of House Fenrith. Saw what they were capable of. You are, at the bare minimum, as skilled as the least of them, and they were all bound for Clawcrest. Your Grandaunt would be a fool not to take you, and Cornelius does not make her sound like a fool.”

“So, maybe I shouldn’t compete then,” I pointed out. If Grandaunt Agnes was likely to take me on anyway, what was the point?

“I did not think you would run from a fight,” Nazim replied, prodding at my pride.

I swallowed the first words that came to mind, taking a breath before replying. “It’s not even a fight though. It’s just a silly little spar.”

“Even less reason to be worried then.”

Surprisingly, his words helped. Gramps didn’t think the Baron would do anything even if I won. Victor and his cronies might have their feelings hurt but, if they really wanted to become soldiers, then losing to me wasn’t going to stop them. In the end, it was a silly little spar.

With my nerves settled, I started to actually enjoy the festival. Etta had colourful bows tied into her hair by her mother, and the pair of us roamed around trying some of the foods available. There was a mix of spiced Ajinari dishes alongside the subtler sweet and savoury foods from Meravia. We paused to go say hello to Griselda and Martin when they arrived — the latter draped in a thick, red, furry coat.

At midday, the local musicians set up and started playing. They were fixtures at The Rested Horn most nights, and the sound of them banging on a set of drums while wooden flute-like instruments trilled was enough to get some of the villagefolk dancing. All the while, the first of the competitions wrapped up. The hunters wouldn’t be back for another couple of hours, but the cooking competition went to a woman whose name I did not know. Baron Joss — dressed in a dark blue, silk doublet — proclaimed that he would have to see if the woman would be interested in cooking a few nights a week at the Keep. The applause was thunderous.

The strongman competition — which was basically just tug-o-war — went to one of Baron Joss’s own soldiers. I thought that Griselda probably could’ve beaten him, but the half-orc woman had stayed away from every competition and most of the townsfolk. Instead, she had planted herself in a seat near Kaylee and Lucille’s stall along with Martin.

When the hunters started returning, I knew it was getting close to my own turn to compete. The first hunter carried in a large stag on his back and I thought the competition was already won — but it was the last to return with a grimfaced owl strung up who took the victory. Just seeing the creature reminded me that Magatha had not come to join the festival. Though I was glad she hadn’t, it did make me wonder how the Hedge Witch would fare as Hornpeak continued to grow.

Then, it was time for the fighting competitions to begin. Gramps was invited to the Baron’s table along with Dorothy of the Hornpeak Mining Co. Mum, who had caught more than a few glances due to her fine dress, sat beside Griselda. Etta was next to them with her dad waving at me encouragingly as I joined the other Unclassed kids who were competing. There were more of us than I expected with almost twenty joining me at the edge of the fence under the watchful eye of one of the Baron’s soldiers.

Baron Joss stood as the crowds moved to take their seats in the rough hewn, wooden stands.

“People of Hornpeak,” Joss called out loudly. “While I am sure we are all looking forward to some true displays of skill from some of our best warriors, it is also important that we take a moment to appreciate the progress our children are making. They are, after all, our future. Be they smiths or miners, hunters or soldiers, cooks or cleaners, all have value in making our young town a better place. These ones before you seem intent on choosing a martial Path, so let them show us what they have learned and what they might yet become when they truly take their first steps down the Myriad Paths.”

The crowd hooted and cheered appreciatively as Baron Joss waved for the tournament to begin — helped along by the cheap booze. The two arenas suddenly made more sense. We were separated to go towards one or the other.

The match-ups seemed entirely random and, as the first combatants entered, I got time to truly look over my competition. There were two girls amongst the sea of boys. Both looked to be on the older side. Looking over everyone, I was pretty sure I was the youngest competing.

What surprised me was the variety of weapons on display. While they were all carved from wood, with no metal present, I could see a couple of spears, a few shields, and some clubs. Swords dominated by far though, coming in a variety of lengths. The only outlier was one of the girls who had gone with weapons that had no reach on them — two small daggers gripped in her hands.

The first fight in my arena ended within seconds. A boy only a little shorter than Victor used his spear to bat aside his opponent’s wooden sword before sweeping their feet out from under them with the other end of the weapon. The fallen kid was too slow to recover, and the soldier called the fight when the blunted, wooden spearhead came to rest against the loser's chest.

The wiry girl with the daggers won her own fight by ducking under a sword swing and stepping inside the boy's guard to jab him quickly in the throat. He went down coughing and spat up a little blood, but seemed fine as his parents came to collect him.

Then it was my turn. My opponent was the other girl. She wore a simple, leather jerkin and her wild, black hair was tied back behind her head. Shespear held a spear in her hand. I had half expected her to sneer at me as I entered, but instead, all I saw in her eyes was worry. With my new buckler strapped to my left wrist, I drew my wooden practice sword and set my feet.

The soldier overseeing checked if we were both ready before stepping back and calling out ‘begin.’

The sound of the world around me vanished. My focus was purely on my opponent as she stepped forward with an exploratory thrust. I stepped to the side, using my shield to deflect her strike. As she tried to reset, I rushed forward into the gap, denying her the reach advantage of her weapon. She managed to recover slightly, grasping her spear in a two handed grip like a staff.

It didn’t help.

A quick lunge with my sword was blocked, but allowed me to slam my shield into her fingers as I used my momentum to carry me forward. She stumbled, one hand letting go of her spear from the pain. I finished her with the Warden’s Lunge, the tip of my wooden sword punching her in her leather jerkin and knocking her to the ground.

Sounds returned as the crowd cheered while the girl climbed back to her feet rubbing her chest where I had struck.

I was escorted out of the wooden ring by the soldier as the next two combatants were brought in. Taking a few deep breaths, I settled my nerves as I waited for my next match. A glance at my Mum, who waved encouragingly to me, certainly helped. As for Gramps, I avoided looking at him, not willing to see if Baron Joss was paying attention.

Just a few more matches, I reminded myself.