The Fists of Panaria

By John Lasiter III

Chapter 10

“I do bid you fare well, good inn keeper. We have had a restful stay, as hard as it was for you and your household to endure.” Toady smiled and spurred his mount on. Lorry rode forth in silence, eyes drilling the young woman who had served them earlier that morning. Only one fresh mount was gained in exchange for the one Bull - and formerly Aldon - rode. At a loss of thirteen silvers, Fingers had wailed... The stables had been emptied for the Royal Tournament in Amrohel. According to one groom, the Tournament was better than half over. In two days the aristocracy had destroyed twenty perfectly good horses playing at their war game. They were lucky to find a merchant in town - a victim of a wagon with a broken axle - who had a riding animal at all. In his train of fifteen horses, only the merchant’s personal mount and the one Bull now rode were not destriers.

As Fingers rode past the innkeeper, he drew a line across his lips and made a motion of throwing away the key. He winked and laughed, then spurred onward.

The little band was surrounded by road traffic heading toward Amrohel. Some were merchants hoping to ply their wares at a gathering of wealthy, bored aristocrats. Most were of the lower class. They travelled to see the finest spectacle to be had in this land - the Faire and Tournament of Amrohel. This event, they learned from Fingers, was held here twice yearly, and rotated about the rest of the ‘States the remainder of the time. Not even this biting weather would keep them from viewing a spectacle. A company of soldiers made their way along one side of the road, careful to avoid the congestion. The Captain of the company, who bore the livery of Amrohel, eyed the group warily, but did not halt them. Although the little group was scrutinized warily, it was not outright hostility they got from the soldiers. It was a tense few minutes as they rode past.

“Looks as if the local militia is feeling a little high on the hog these days,”

muttered Fingers.

“They are charged with keeping the peace,” stated Himmel appreciatively.

Toady snorted. “I beg to differ, but that is hardly the case. It is true they have that charge, but the main purpose for armed guards on the road is to serve as a warning for those brigands who would prey on noblemen passing through this territory. It would be quite gauche for a Lord to allow noble guests to be robbed on the public road.” He shook his head at his companion’s ignorance.

“Enough banter, lets pick up the pace!” Himmel spurred his mount on and the rest followed suit. The traffic grew extremely congested the closer they came to the city walls. Large encampments dotted the countryside as the sons of the aristocracy gathered to kill and profit from one another. Huge, multi-hued pavilions grew across the countryside adding colour and noise to the otherwise dreary landscape. People were thronging into and out of the city walls, some selling some buying, some both. A huge farmer’s market had grown up on both sides of the road as it drew near the expanse of water that served as a defense for siege-mines. The gatehouse was open wide to accommodate the flood of people, but even then a mass of humanity pressed close to squease into the city proper. Himmel pulled up short on the approach of the cobble bridge leading up to the gatehouse.

“No way we’re gonna get through!” shouted Fingers over the din of rattling carts and hawking merchants. His horse skittered and side-hopped. Someone cursed. “Serves you right, you donkey-nosed son of a bitch! Don’t step on my horse’s feet and he won’t step on yours!” Fingers smiled unapologetically at Lorry and Himmel. AWe can skirt south and catch the Postern Road on the other side.”

Himmel nodded immediately and they began to fight their way against the crowd. Wails and protests rose as they turned and rode against the tide. Black looks and vile epithets were heaped upon the riders. Breaking free of the throng, Fingers singled out one peasant in particular who’d voiced his protest. Fingers produced a soft apple from a pocket and let fly. It splattered on target. Fingers gave the man the finger and laughed.

“Quit lagging, you worthless piece of shit!” Himmel had reined in again. “I’m so glad you think we got time for shit like this! You can take point since you’ve got so much pent up energy!”

“He called you a red-headed son of Carpathian whore, Himmel. I had to defend your honor!”

“Point. Now! And keep those beady little eyes open, you turd!”

Fingers rode forward and quickly put fifty yards between himself and the group. Ahren and Teniel broke out bows. Jask settled his crossbow on his hip, and scanned the treeline that lay some three hundred yards away from the water. Fingers maneuvered them throught the maze of pavilioned camps so as not to intrude and draw attention. Everywhere they looked, it was the same old scene. It was preparation for war. Only this was a war that masqueraded as a game. Men-at-arms and servants everywhere were rpairing, cleaning or readying armor and weapons. A crew of carpenters were shearing and lathing saplings for the spears. Fingers shook his head. You’d figure they’d have better things to do during an early winter, he thought.

As the group rode on, the camps began to thin out. Fingers sped up noticeably as the ground became less hazardous. With the equally busy Postern Road in view, Fingers led the group parallel to its track and avoided the mass of peasantry and merchants. The battle field could be seen from this side of the city. The tall, banner bedecked gallery stood above a field wherein aristocrats of the realm stirred a cloying dust cloud with their exertions. Even as they rode, a mass of men were attacking a mass of men, blunted swords swinging and chopping in the melee.

Lorry shook his head. All that hostility, endemic to their world.

Toady had caught the look, and the thought. “Don’t judge, Lorry. It’s not an exercise for the sake of the exercise. This is how the war leaders of our age are trained. How else do you get battle-hardened leaders but by putting them in the thick of it. Better they learn it here than kill men needlessly in real warfare, no? This society requires the tournament as a right of the aristocracy to exhibit their prowess. Without it, how do the people, or even the nobles, know that there are capable leaders to protect them?”

“I do not judge, but since you bring it up, I will ask a question. What do the common people, the great majority of the population, think when your noble cavalry descend upon their villages, rape their daughters, steal their coin and eat their meager stores? What of those who are governed, those that are persecuted for the deplorable reason that they are merely peasants? Those that are seen as less than human due to their station, or worse, not seen at all?” Lorry smiled without humor. “I do not judge, but I wonder at the logic behind it.”

Toady was silent as they rode on. When the road cleared some, farther away from the city, Fingers led them onto it once again. The day was fairly crisp, with the white blankets of snow peeking from under trees. The white powder had melted away from the ground that had absorbed the sun. In the sky, however, clouds were moving in. It would snow again at dark, it was certain. Hopefully, they would be in Albaquar by then. Cern was the only major freehold left between them and the large city.

Fingers altered their pace enough to extend the horses to a small farm five miles shy of Cern. There, they took on water, fed and watered the horses, and rested. The farmer was gracious enough to let them raid his apple barrel before remounting and galloping on.

The pitifully faint light which had been masked by cold clouds earlier in the morning, went almost completely away. Snow flakes were already dropping from the leaden sky, as the group rode through the orchards nearing Cern. Jask was on point, Fingers having grown careless after so long.

“What are those?”

“Probably apple trees,” groaned Fingers, “that’s all I’ve seen! What I wouldn’t give for a Caprician carballa melon!”

“Ahren brought a couple of those back from leave once,” sighed Teneil wistfully. “Succulent and sweet as liquid sugar.”

“Pipe down!” hissed Himmel. His eyes narrowed and scanned the area.

“What’s wrong?” Lorry pulled his bow off the cantle and knocked an arrow.

“I thought I heard a yell,” Himmel half-whispered. “Toady, Bull. Ride up and see if Jask needs any help.” The two immediately spurred on. They rounded a bend in the road and started up a hill that was fast becoming white with heavy snow.

Toady, far more skilled on horse than Bull, turned with barely a thought. It saved his life. Bull would not be so lucky, for as he wheeled his mount, he was struck. Over the hill came six heavily armored cavalry, lances couched. They were just beginning their charge, but even that momentum was enough to drive the point of a lance through Bull’s massive frame. The tip exited from his rib cage just below the opposite arm and the lance snapped with a fountain of blood. That knight let go his weapon , and it tumbled to the ground with Bull’s corpse. Bull’s new mount, blowing steam, bolted in terror at the scent of its rider’s blood.

The riders drew nigh on to Toady, but the foppishly dressed soldier was just quick enough to avoid the lances by careening into the orchard on the left side of the road. Even then, the lance tip grazed a furrow in the leather of the saddle. A single knight gave chase. Five, however hove down at full tilt at the remaining members of the band.

They scattered into the low trees of the orchard.

Toady looked for a suitable place to turn on his attacker. He kept his speed to keep the lancer from gaining on him, but not enough to make the knight leave off. He spied the shorn trunk almost as he came on it. He wheeled his mount in the tiny confines. The equine gave a hearty cry of protest. The knight and his mount tried to adjust, but were too heavy to compensate. Toady’s heavy blade clove into the rider’s back, shearing links of mail and tearing into padding underneath. A red stain spread across the rent as the rider brought the mount to a skidding stop several yards away. Toady smiled broadly at his opponent and saluted him. The knight was breathing hard with pain and adrenaline. He grunted and spurred the horse on. The distance was so short, that the knight could not get enough momentum up. His lance tip was snapped by Toady’s swipe. The shorn end of the lance was deftly redirected past his body. He laughed as he whirled again to face the knight who was having great difficulty maneuvering his huge animal in the confines of the short, widely branched trees. The knight tossed away his shield and the useless hunk of lance-wood. He drew his own wide-bladed cutting sword. And then he dismounted. He smacked his horses’ rump to give him some room to swing. Toady did likewise, but threw the reins over a branch. When the two met, sparks leapt in a skirling shower of brutality. The knight was probably younger, but far more encumbered than Toady. The two exchanged blows again, this time the knight got a slight score to Toady’s left arm. Toady acknowledged the pink and then launched a series of fast, strong, exquisite strokes that put the knight on the defensive. Toady’s eyes lit with glee. His opponent ended up against a tree without his sword. The knight drew a poniard from his belt.

Toady laughed as he saw the knight’s eyes round out, even through the eye-slit of his helmet. Toady had set his sword aside and drew his dagger.

“Shall we dance?” He asked the knight, steam pluming from his nostrils.

“I’ll dance on your bones, fop.”

The knight advanced cautiously, knowing his armor gave him an advantage over his unarmored foe. Toady waved him forward, knowing the armored knight’s chain shirt was a disadvantage. The two met, clearly with the knight intent on grappling. Toady danced free, blades ringing against one another. Toady’s practiced eyes caught the rivulet of blood draining off the knight’s mailed sleeve. As the knight came forward again, Toady deflected the poniard and let the knight pass past him. He left his blade in the rent caused by his sword-stroke. The knight clutched vainly at the blade between his shoulder blades, then fell into the dirt. Toady reclaimed his dagger, sword and horse, and made for the far side of the orchard.