The tournament and fair lasted a week, ten days full of fighting, and feasting, and visiting with old friends. There were large melee battles between teams of knights and men at arms. There were individual fights to choose a tournament champion, or to win a prize offered by some nobleman. There were challenges, to settle arguments and feuds, or just to determine which of two young men was the best warrior.
The fair had merchants offering goods both exotic and ordinary. Woolens from the north, silks from the far west, liquors with strange flavors and odd colors, the work of craftsmen in silver and gold, precious stones of all sorts. There was a circus with a menagerie of strange animals from distant parts of Orilon. People came long distances to get to Ongar, and should therefore have plenty to do to make the trip worthwhile.
Besides the tournament fighting of the nobles and their retainers, there were contests for the peasants. Even noble spectators showed up to watch these to see the skills of people they looked down on but needed for their own comfort. Archery always drew a large crowd of nobles, looking for new archers for their armies. Men who excelled in strength, speed, or some other skills might become retainers to some noble.
“Are you interested in any of the contests, Ben,” asked Vince. “Betsy entered the archery contest and sword fightin’. You might want to sign up for that too. Jenny and I won’t join her, she says it’s not fair to the other competitors. Horace is competing in quarterstaff. He says some of his axe techniques carry over to quarterstaff, and he thinks he has a chance. There’s a contest for slingers, too, if you want to try. You can probably win that one in a walk.”
“Oh, no, it wouldn’t be fair to use magic to win a contest like that, Vince. It’s all right to use magic to kill a rabbit. I gotta eat, after all. ’N’ it’s fair to use magic in a battle, because I desperately want to survive. But I don’t need to win a contest. There’s no necessity to justify using every tool I got to win. I’m just goin’ to watch the rest of you compete.”
The nobles and their retainers fought in the morning when it was cooler, finishing by the early afternoon. Those who wanted more entertainment then went to the open field where the other contests were held. They always came with guards who kept the pickpockets at bay, which pleased the poorer folks. There were no seats, no stands, no shade. Most of the people watching sat on the ground. But the peasants made a lively and surprisingly welcoming crowd. Food sellers roamed through the throng offering meat, drink, and fruit to all, but especially to the wealthy who would pay more.
The archery contest was on the first day and Betsy rose quickly through the eliminations. A hundred peasants, most of them really rogues, had entered, each putting in a moon to make a prize pool. They shot at six inch wide disks fifty yards off and by sunset the contestants had dwindled to twenty. Betting had been heavy at the beginning of the afternoon, but by evening all the remaining archers were ranked at even money. No favorites, except for relatives and close friends.
The next afternoon the finals began at a range of seventy yards. No one missed the butts so they were moved back another ten yards and one man missed. At ninety yards and again at one hundred yards another archer missed. At one hundred ten, two more did. At one hundred twenty yards five more failed to hit. The ten archers left were given a rest break while the butts were moved back to one hundred fifty yards, and the officials measured the distance accurately.
“I’m glad Betsy is still shootin’,” said Ben. “You said she was really good, and I haven’t had a good chance to see her perform until now.”
“She came in second last time,” Vince noted. “No excuses, she lost to a very good archer. You’ve seen her practicing the last few months. She takes archery seriously. What are you doing, though? Polishing a spear point? Ben, we don’t think you’re stupid, but you sometimes do some incredibly strange things.”
“Oh, I’m tryin’ to sharpen it. I was thinkin’ after that fake battle with Amos’ gang. It was safe enough for us all, but a real fight might be deadly. I kin accept that for myself, but it’s hard to think about Polly gettin’ hurt or dyin’. Then I thought about the fight you had with Scarface’s men. That led me to think about your magic knife that never gits dull. With a sword like that you wouldn’ta been in so much danger. If some ancient wizard could cast that spell, mebbe I could figure it out myself and put it on her spear point. That way she’d be more effective, the fight would be shorter, and she’d be safer.
“The problem is that almost all of my magic fades away in a hurry. The only spell that has ever lasted is the one I used to heal your arm. My sling stones only hold their spell a day or two. When I was talkin’ girls into bed, the spell was gone by mornin’. This spear point gets nice and sharp, but only for about ten seconds. But it’s somethin’ to do while I sit here. I’m teachin’ myself magic by trial and error.”
Betsy was the first archer up at the new range and put an arrow into the center of the target. Seven of the rest also hit the disk. The officials talked between themselves, sent a man down range, and announced that the target would now be a five inch disk.
Three more archers were dismissed. The range was pushed back to one hundred seventy-five yards. Another three archers sat down, but not Betsy. She faced only one other archer, Judd of Fairford, in Ilo, who had won the last five years in a row.
“I beat you two years ago, didn’t I?” Judd asked. “You were good then, and I think you may be better now. I’m glad. I like a good competition. I hate not being challenged. Good luck to you today.”
“Good luck to you, as well,” replied Betsy. “I want to beat you, for the prize and to redeem my failure last time. But if I have to lose, I’d rather lose to you. You understand the bow so much better than most archers.”
“Excuse me,” interrupted one of the officials. “I’m sorry, but there are other contests scheduled for today. We need a winner soon or the slingers and javelin throwers won’t be able to compete. We’ll push the targets back twenty-five more yards. To speed things up even more, we’ll put three targets up for each of you. A four inch disk, a three inch disk, and a two inch disk. They’re all black and my assistant will add a fresh coat of whitewash to the butt to make them stand out. You’ll shoot at all three disks. Whoever hits the most disks will win.”
“We’ll take turns at each disk,” suggested Betsy. “Give the spectators some more suspense. You can start.”
They watched as a runner headed down the field and placed the small disks on the butt. He stepped off ten yards to the side to act as scorer, confident that these archers would not, could not miss so wildly as to endanger him.
Judd shot and hit the edge of his disk. Betsy put her arrow in the center of her disk.
“Very good shot,” declared Judd. “That might have won it for you.”
“No, look, the scorer indicates that your arrow hit too. This time it’s the three inch disk.”
Betsy shot and hit near the center. Judd hit the center and split his disk. They laughed to see the small bit of wood shatter.
One last disk, two inches wide, a barely visible dot at two hundred yards. Judd took his time getting ready to shoot. He limbered his arms, drew deep breaths, holding the last one as he aimed. Finally he released his arrow. It sped down the range and hit the two inch disk dead center. The disk was too small and split from the first hit. The scorer picked up the pieces and made the signal for a bull’s eye.
Betsy took her time, despite the fuming official. He was behind her and she couldn’t see him fidgeting. Her aim was perfect and she hit the disk. Judd gave a nod of appreciation to Betsy.
“I love this,” confessed Betsy. “Last time we shot against each other it was over much faster.”
“Yes, this is the competition I want. We each have to shoot perfectly. One small error will lose the contest. It’s no longer about who wins, but who loses. You’re as good as I am. I’m as good as you. Only the tiniest little mistake can determine the loser.”
The official came up again, sighing in frustration. “The disk is too small and we can’t find a smaller one you could possibly see at this distance. I want to declare a winner, not a tie. Have you any suggestions?”
“The wind is calm right now,” noted Betsy. “A very dark cloud has been making it hard to see this last hour. But that can help us. Set two candles up on the butt, in front of a black cloth. We’ll shoot to put out the candles.”
“Ingenious!” cried Judd. “A target worthy of us, the two greatest archers in all of the planet Sarpala, or at least Orilon, for today!”
It was Betsy’s turn to shoot first. Hit a candle and put it out. Right. At two hundred yards. No pressure here, no, not at all. And it was my suggestion. What was I thinking of? The prize would be nice, but it’s only a hundred moons, and I’ve got money now. Still, there’s the fame, the glory. There’s Dad. He wanted me to be a great archer. He’d be so proud if I could do this. For him, then.
She looked at the tiny mark, almost invisible at this distance, drew her bow, and fired. The arrow flew straight and true. The flame went out. She stood there, shocked. I did it! Oh, my God! I did it! Thank you, Dad, for all that training.
“My God! You did it!” shouted Judd, his cry drowned out by the crowd.
“Take your shot now, and good luck with it,” replied Betsy.
Judd flexed his arms, took several deep breaths, and stared intently at the small light down the field. He nocked an arrow and slowly drew it back to his ear. The hundreds of people watching held their breaths with his. Not a sound was heard until the thwip of his bowstring. The arrow sped downrange, and the flame went out.
The crowd roared its appreciation. It wanted the best archery contest ever, no matter what the official wanted. But a signal came from the scorer, and the officials ran down to examine the butts. They came back joyfully, eager to proclaim a winner.
“I have never, in all my years of judging this contest, seen such remarkable archery,” the senior official told them. “This last exchange of shots was the most amazing of all. Both candles were put out. But one was put out by the arrow passing next to it, snuffed out by the breeze of the arrow, and one by the arrow trimming its wick. This is the arrow that trimmed the wick and won the contest. I believe you were shooting the green fletches, Betsy. Our winner!”
“Congratulations Betsy!” cried Judd. “That was such a fantastic shot!”
Vince and the rest of his team were hugging her and praising her. The official pushed a bag of money into her hands and shoved them all off the field. There were other games today, after all.
***
The slinging contest was next and Ben watched with great interest. He now knew that he hit his target every time because of magic. He wanted to see the skills that men who couldn’t do magic used to hit dead center. He studied their swings, how they seemed to aim, just when they released. That, at least, was the same way he did it. He wanted to learn all about the right way to use the sling because someday he might run out of charmed stones. I’m gonna hafta practice a lot if I want to do what they do. But it’ll be useful, I s’pose.
The next day was devoted to races, on foot and horseback. Vince’s team sat these out, preferring to watch. Most of the competitors in the races were actually peasants. Teens with long legs, strong lungs, and good endurance were always going to beat older, worn-out rogues. Adventurers might have had more experience riding hard, but their horses showed the effect of hard riding. Farm boys always seemed to have a young fresh horse saved up for these races.
“How come you ain’t in the foot races, Vince?” asked Ben, still stroking the spear head. “You move perty fast.”
“I used to race here when I was younger,” admitted Vince. “But I’ve slowed down. Not a lot. I still look fast. But those youngsters out there would leave me in the dust. If I lose a step every year, and I do, after five years I’ve lost five steps. It’s been ten years since I last raced. Imagine how badly I’d look now.”
“Betsy won the archery contest yesterday,” said Polly, petting Fearless. “Today is racing. What’s going on tomorrow and later in the week?”
“Today, after the races, there will be wrestling and boxing,” explained Jenny. “Tomorrow will be the start of the individual fighter championship. All rogues think they’re great fighters, so almost all of us will be in the contest. Vince and I don’t take part anymore. We’re too good, and that’s not immodesty. Betsy will fight and has a decent chance. You and Ben can fight if you want, it’s good experience for real fighting. The individual fighter tournament takes at least two days, there are so many fighters. Horace doesn’t take part because there aren’t enough men who use axe to make a good contest. He might box today, if he feels like it. He hits like a mule kicks, so he might do well.”
“Ah might, maybe,” Horace admitted. “Ah do all right, but Ah hate getting hit in the face. Ah’m thinking about doing it, though. Ah’ve got an hour to decide.”
“So if the individual fighter tournament is tomorrow, what’s the day after?” asked Polly. “And the day after that?”
“There are other contests, mostly for rogues, not peasants,” continued Jenny. “There’s the treasure hunt for one. It’s run by a merchant named Ballatin. Every contestant puts a moon into a chest. Ballatin has a house near here and he takes all his furnishings out so they don’t get stolen or damaged. He hides the chest inside somewhere and whoever finds it gets all the money.
“No one has found it in three years, so the past money is added to this year’s fees. It’s going to be a big prize this year. We’re all going to enter, want to join us?”
“Well, Ben didn’t want to use his magic in the sling contest,” Polly replied. “I might be tempted to use my sensing skill in this, so I better not compete.”
“Well there are other contests you might want to try. On the last day of the fair, we don’t do anything. The nobles have their Grand Melee at the end of the tournament. No one wants to see anything else so we go and watch them too. All the nobles, knights, men at arms, and the hopeful youngsters form up big teams, twenty or thirty on a side. They fight quite real looking battles with winners and prizes. I don’t know how they choose the winners. By that point in the week we’re busy looking for work somewhere.
“Amos is still talking about joining us. He and Vince can get along, which is a good thing. You wouldn’t mind, would you, if he joined us?”
“Oh, no, I’ve already forgiven him,” Polly commented. “After our long talk the other day, I think even Fearless may have forgiven him.”
“Good, but the thing is, Vince and Amos have two very different ways of leading a team. Vince is used to talking things over with all of us. Amos has a much larger band and is used to giving orders, no discussion. It’s hard to put those two styles together in one group. This will be a group decision if we can agree on terms. That means you and Ben can vote with the rest of us.”
“It’s funny, right after I joined your band, I didn’t know how I’d feel if I met Amos again. I was worried I might be frightened of him all over again. Now, after the training you and Sam gave me, I feel very confident, sure of what I can do. So I’m quite at ease with Amos. He apologized, which helped, but even without that, I felt I could handle him on my own if I had to. Thank you for that. It’s made me feel so much stronger, more in charge of my life. I’ve never felt like that before.”
***
Horace came in third in boxing and was grumpy all the next day as he nursed his black eye. Ben and Polly came up against the same surprisingly skilled swordsman and were eliminated early in the fighter contest. Betsy did well and made it to the quarterfinals before she lost. Jenny and Horace watched Betsy until she was out, and then went over to the nobles’ camp to scout out the teams fighting in the Grand Melee on the last day.
While they were out Amos and Jeff stopped by the hilltop camp. Betsy and Polly were preparing to put some chickens on spits over the fire. Ben was “polishing” the spear point still.
“Are Vince and Jenny here?” asked Amos.
“No, Vince is still on the field watching the rest of the finals,” Betsy answered. “Jenny and Horace have gone to the other camp to get some tips on who has the best chance of winning the Grand Melee.”
“That’s what I wanted to know, too,” admitted Amos. “I heard she’s a good handicapper and wanted some advice on how to bet. I’ll come back later. Come on, Jeff.”
“Betsy, I got to ask or bust,” wondered Jeff. “What is the kid doin’ with that spear head? Polishin’ it?”
“No, I’m tryin’ to sharpen it,” explained Ben. “I kin get it really sharp, but it don’t stay sharp very long. Still workin’ on it.”
“Uh, yeah, thanks for the information, kid,” Jeff said, shaking his head as he left.
***
“Two hundred entrants this year! The total prize for the treasure hunt will be five hundred seventy five moons, the biggest prize ever offered for this contest!” shouted Ballatin, gesturing importantly. “I will transport the chest in my carriage into my house right there. You can watch us remove the chest from the carriage and take it into the house. Where we place it inside will be a mystery for you to solve. May the best searcher win and enjoy this wonderful prize!”
A large servant lifted the chest and placed it on the floor of the carriage. He and Ballatin mounted to the driver’s seat and drove the carriage through the gate of the house. The house was large and built around an inner courtyard accessed by the gate. The rogues watched as the carriage stopped on one side of the courtyard and Ballatin stepped down. His servant also descended, took the chest from the carriage, and placed it in Ballatin’s hands. The merchant went into the house to hide the money.
Twenty minutes passed before Ballatin reappeared, coming out of the same door he had entered. He walked back to the carriage, and the servant drove them back to the field.
“The treasure has been hidden! Go now and find it!” he shouted. Two hundred rogues, keen on becoming rich, surged through the gateway, spreading throughout the house. Vince and his team were part of the throng, all except Polly. She sat with Fearless on the grass near the gateway, watching people running from one side of the courtyard to the other, going in and out of doors. After an hour some rogues gave up and left the building. Fearless rolled onto his back and let Polly scritch his belly. After four hours Ballatin’s servant blew an ox horn to signal the end of the search.
“Not a clue as to where he hid that chest,” confessed Horace. “He couldn’ta walled it up in the time he spent inside. Fresh plaster woulda been obvious, and even a hollow covered with stone would make a sound if tapped.”
“He’s getting ready to make an announcement,” Betsy said. “Let’s go up and listen to him.”
“… will be added to next year’s entrance fees, for a truly gigantic prize. I’m so very sorry there was no winner again this year….”
As they got closer, Polly stopped and stared at the carriage. She walked away from Ben and
pushed her way through the crowd. She walked all the way around the carriage and came back to Ben and the rest of her friends.
“I didn’t enter the contest, but I know where the money is,” she told Vince. “What should I do?”
“What do you mean? You know where it is? Where is it, Polly ?”
“In the carriage. Right here, inside. I can sense it. I’ve been thinking about that money for the last four hours, and when we got close to the carriage, I could feel it inside there.”
“There’s some of the duke’s guards here to keep the peace, including an officer,” noted Horace. “Ah’ll bring ’em over and you kin tell ’em about this.”
“No, Horace, don’t do that,” warned Betsy with alarm. “I warned Ben what might happen to him if people knew he could do magic. Imagine what’ll happen to Polly if people know she can sense treasure. We have to protect her.”
“Vince, back me up. I’ve got the solution,” Jenny directed.
Jenny worked her way to the front of the crowd, just as Ballatin was about to get back into his carriage.
“Excuse me, sir, but I think you should empty that carriage here,” she whispered to Ballatin. “If you don’t I’ll have to tell this crowd that you’ve cheated them by hiding the money in your carriage, and not your house. Or I could tell those guards over there that you’re a thief and a cheat. What do you suppose the duke will do to you? He’ll only fine you, the crowd will tear you to pieces. It’s your choice.”
Ballatin pushed her away and told his servant, “Kill her.”
Vince’s sword flashed out and the point touched the servant’s stomach. The tip of Jenny’s sword was against Ballatin’s throat.
In a very loud voice, Vince roared out, “He has cheated all of us! The money was never left in the house, it’s still in this carriage. Come and see for yourselves!”
He and Jenny then faded back away from Ballatin as the other rogues crowded around him. As their party left, they could hear his screams over the yells of the others. The duke’s guards were driven off, returning later with a company of reinforcements. When they returned they found only the broken remains of a carriage and two dead bodies.
***
There had been plenty of betting on all the competitions, noble and rogue, but the highest sums would be won or lost on the Grand Melee. Pride would lead some nobles to bet big on their own teams. Animosity often led others to bet against their foes. Peasants bet little and mostly on their own lords.
Rogues treated the gambling as a business opportunity. They had no favorites, no loyalties to lords, no blind spots of friendship. A team whose members had won several of the individual contests stood a better chance in the Grand Melee than a more popular team without talent. Careful betting could take advantage of shifts in the odds as well.
When the day was over, Vince’s team, by virtue of several well timed bets, had made an extra two hundred moons. They were sitting outside one of the tent taverns celebrating when Amos, Jeff, and Fred walked up.
“Thanks for the tips, Jenny,” Amos said. “First bit of good luck we’ve had since we grabbed Polly. I saw you placin’ your bets with the safe touts. I put our money with the reckless ones. They offered great odds and little chance of payin’ off, but I bet the right way and ‘persuaded’ them to pay me. We have enough to live on for a while, at least.
“We still ain’t found any serious jobs, and everyone goes home tomorrow. Fightin’ pirates in the south of Phada. Pirates use ships and I know nothin’ of sailin’. Fightin’ trolls in the mountains out west in Adallo. They’ve been comin’ over the border from Ghanal and some of the towns are lookin’ for protection. Though it would mean goin’ near Grangus, and I don’t know if any of us want to do that.
“I got an offer of a fortune if I kin steal Duke Mittanolo’s coronet. You’ve seen it this week, and him. You couldn’t miss it if you wanted to. He’s been wearin’ it around the clock, showin’ off. It’s brand new, gold with large pearls. I got a merchant who wants it very badly.”
“What’s a merchant gonna to do with a duke’s coronet?” asked Ben. “Who’s he think he’s gonna to fool?”
“Oh, he don’t want it for himself,” Amos explained. “Phada has a lot of pearl fishers on the southern coast, and they pay their taxes in pearls. Lots of other countries ain’t got pearl fisheries and will pay a lot for pearls. This merchant, his name is Jeremy, plans to take this coronet to the other end of Orilon, hundreds of miles away. He’ll pay me ten thousand moons when I give him the coronet. He’ll get two or three times that on the other end of the continent.”
“Any chance of stealing it?” asked Vince.
“No. Don’t be silly. He keeps a lot of guards around him all the time, not that a rogue has any way to get near him. I’ve been thinkin’ of a second floor job, but I ain’t learned what rooms he’s usin’ in the palace.
“Anyway, we’re not leavin’ early tomorrow. I’m still hopin’ there’s townsfolk lookin’ for help that they ain’t found yet. There’s always brigand huntin’ in Gahnal. Some of the towns are offerin’ decent pay, and we get to keep their horses and gear, the way you do.”
“Well, good luck, Amos,” offered Vince. “Hunting brigands ain’t that bad, you know. Your band is maybe too big to make much money at it, but for our smaller group, horses and gear makes for a nice profit.”
“Hey kid, where’s your spear point?” asked Jeff with a laugh.
“Oh, I’ve finished that,” said Ben.
***
“Ben, do you think it’s a good idea to make all our weapons so incredibly sharp?” asked Horace as he hefted his newly sharpened axe in their camp.
“It’s fine, there’s not really any extra risk,” countered Ben. “I thought about this while I was sharpenin’ Polly’s spear. That’s part of why it took so long, because I didn’t understand what Vince’s knife was. It’s just a normal knife, but very sharp, as if someone had honed it ’n’ honed it ’n’ honed it. The real magic is in keepin’ the edge forever. Now I know that part. Once I figured that out, doin’ it for all of our weapons was easy.
“Sharpenin’ blades for all of us gave me more practice with the sharpenin’ itself. They’re all really sharp, but no deadlier than any other really sharp weapon. Not goin’ dull does make ’em deadlier, of course. ’N’ they don’t cut metal, just like Vince’s knife. No regular blade cuts metal by itself. You can slash hard at armor ’n’ cut it, but it’s the force of the blow that cuts. These blades will be the same.
“I wanted to make ’em sharp enough to slice easily through metal armor, but I couldn’t. If the old wizards couldn’t do that either, mebbe it can’t be done. But now we all have great weapons ’n’ kin win every fight.”
“Great weapons help, Ben, but they’re not everything,” corrected Vince. “Suppose when we rescued Polly that we had to fight all of Amos’ men at once. We’d have been seriously outnumbered, even if you knew how to fight. The fighting would’ve been disjointed, no lines, no formation to provide support to anyone. Every man for himself. That’s a dangerous kind of fight.
“Five of us against two dozen of that bunch. Five of ’em for each of us. I’ve fought three at once without too much effort, four with some effort, six in a wild rage, ten in a cold fury. Jenny is better than I am, even after all the training she’s given me. Even she’d have trouble with five at once, too.
“Even with these new weapons, cutting through leather easily, it’s going to be hard. Somebody’s in mail and you have to hit hard to break through, if you can. This sword may be sharp all the time, but even a sharp sword doesn’t cut through mail easily.
“Maybe it’d be different if these did cut through metal like butter, but they don’t. It’s an easier fight, not a guaranteed victory. If you’re fighting five guys, you still have a really hard fight. One goes down and four hit on you. You parry one, one misses, your armor saves you from the other two, maybe. Some guy gets lucky and sticks his sword point into your face. You’re dead. Fancy weapons can only do so much. But thank you for making ’em. We do appreciate ’em.”