and it dispersed. Aeden and Priam turned to walk back to the Rossam’s house. They spent the rest of the day lazily lying under the trees in the orchard, discussing the competition they had scoped out that day, talking over dueling strategies, and mulling over their future plans yet again.
Priam spent the evening with the Rossams, and Lady Rossam invited the boy to stay for the night, as his parents decided suddenly to go on another hunting trip. After dinner, the boys retired to Aeden’s room to get to sleep early, wanting all the rest they could get before their big day. “Just don’t roll over and cuddle me like you do with your mom,” Aeden jeered at Priam as they got into bed.
Priam mock-laughed before abruptly sneering, “Shut up,” and rolled over.
***
The crowd at the tournament was enormous. Thousands packed into the stands, and thousands more stood on the hill overlooking the grounds. Tournament organizers had divided the vast lawn into four dueling areas, such that all in the crowd could see all four at once. The Rossams sent a servant the previous evening to check the schedule, so the boys knew that they both could sit in the crowd for about an hour before Priam started his duel, and another half an hour before Aeden started his. Each duel actually consisted of a series of three duels, each of five points, or until one combatant was disqualified in a manner described the day before. The winner of two rounds won the match, and the tournament was single elimination: one loss ended the day for a combatant.
The first several matches enlivened the crowd—which roared its approval—cheering the winners, who ran around the rings with their arms raised to coax more noise from the people every time they won. The smell of cooked meats, hot breads, and beer permeated the air, as a jubilant cacophony of cheering, singing, shouting, booing, and laughing swirled about. Most of the lords had given their workers the day off to attend—though the stands were, in practice, reserved for the nobility while the general populace watched from the hillsides. Aeden and Priam sat outfitted in their armor with the Rossam family near the middle row of the stands. The two boys watched the matches intently, critiquing the fighting styles of the warriors with Aeden’s father, who generously bought Priam food and drink from the vendors since his parents were absent.
A gasp went up from the crowd as a man screamed. They looked around, and Priam pointed to the ring on the right on the other side of the lawn. A man had fallen, clutching with his left hand his right arm, which spurted blood. They looked closer and saw the lower half of the arm laying on the ground, the steel bone glinting in the sunlight. A healer rushed forward and his assistants quickly wrapped the wound, pressing on it to staunch the bleeding as two guards quietly approached his opponent from behind and grabbed him, holding his arms to his side as he struggled and protested.
“Who is it?’ Aeden asked. His father shrugged. The other duels had paused to watch the commotion. A messenger from the city guard ran up the steps of the stands and approached the lord of the city.
“Oh no.…” Priam muttered.
“What? What’s wrong?” Aeden asked in confusion.
“He’s a commoner. The wounded man is a noble. His opponent is a commoner. Oh no....” Priam murmured. The messenger ran back down the steps and towards the waiting city guard. A discussion ensued, and Aeden could see the master healer approach the men. He argued with them, waving his arms, though Aeden could not hear the discussion over the murmur of the crowd. One of the guards pointed up to the lord of the city, who nodded grimly. The master healer fell silent and stormed off, still visibly angry, though contained. The two guards holding the common man turned him to face the lord of the city. One guard lifted the man’s right arm firmly to the side. The man dropped to his knees, sobbing, pleading
Priam spent the evening with the Rossams, and Lady Rossam invited the boy to stay for the night, as his parents decided suddenly to go on another hunting trip. After dinner, the boys retired to Aeden’s room to get to sleep early, wanting all the rest they could get before their big day. “Just don’t roll over and cuddle me like you do with your mom,” Aeden jeered at Priam as they got into bed.
Priam mock-laughed before abruptly sneering, “Shut up,” and rolled over.
***
The crowd at the tournament was enormous. Thousands packed into the stands, and thousands more stood on the hill overlooking the grounds. Tournament organizers had divided the vast lawn into four dueling areas, such that all in the crowd could see all four at once. The Rossams sent a servant the previous evening to check the schedule, so the boys knew that they both could sit in the crowd for about an hour before Priam started his duel, and another half an hour before Aeden started his. Each duel actually consisted of a series of three duels, each of five points, or until one combatant was disqualified in a manner described the day before. The winner of two rounds won the match, and the tournament was single elimination: one loss ended the day for a combatant.
The first several matches enlivened the crowd—which roared its approval—cheering the winners, who ran around the rings with their arms raised to coax more noise from the people every time they won. The smell of cooked meats, hot breads, and beer permeated the air, as a jubilant cacophony of cheering, singing, shouting, booing, and laughing swirled about. Most of the lords had given their workers the day off to attend—though the stands were, in practice, reserved for the nobility while the general populace watched from the hillsides. Aeden and Priam sat outfitted in their armor with the Rossam family near the middle row of the stands. The two boys watched the matches intently, critiquing the fighting styles of the warriors with Aeden’s father, who generously bought Priam food and drink from the vendors since his parents were absent.
A gasp went up from the crowd as a man screamed. They looked around, and Priam pointed to the ring on the right on the other side of the lawn. A man had fallen, clutching with his left hand his right arm, which spurted blood. They looked closer and saw the lower half of the arm laying on the ground, the steel bone glinting in the sunlight. A healer rushed forward and his assistants quickly wrapped the wound, pressing on it to staunch the bleeding as two guards quietly approached his opponent from behind and grabbed him, holding his arms to his side as he struggled and protested.
“Who is it?’ Aeden asked. His father shrugged. The other duels had paused to watch the commotion. A messenger from the city guard ran up the steps of the stands and approached the lord of the city.
“Oh no.…” Priam muttered.
“What? What’s wrong?” Aeden asked in confusion.
“He’s a commoner. The wounded man is a noble. His opponent is a commoner. Oh no....” Priam murmured. The messenger ran back down the steps and towards the waiting city guard. A discussion ensued, and Aeden could see the master healer approach the men. He argued with them, waving his arms, though Aeden could not hear the discussion over the murmur of the crowd. One of the guards pointed up to the lord of the city, who nodded grimly. The master healer fell silent and stormed off, still visibly angry, though contained. The two guards holding the common man turned him to face the lord of the city. One guard lifted the man’s right arm firmly to the side. The man dropped to his knees, sobbing, pleading
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