A quest of Heroes - S01 E17

3 years ago

A quest of Heroes - S01 E17

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 17

Continued

All around were dozens of knights and their squires, preparing. Squires polished their knights’ armor, greased up weapons, checked saddles and straps, and double-checked weapons as knights mounted their steeds and waited for their names to be called.

“Elmalkin!” an announcer called out.

A knight from a province Thor did not recognize, a broad fellow in red armor, galloped out the gate. Thor turned and jumped out of the way just in time. The knight charged down the narrow lane, and his lance brushed off the shield of a competitor. They clanged, the other knight’s lance struck, and Elmalkin went flying backwards, landing on his back. The crowd cheered.

Elmalkin immediately gathered himself, though, jumping to his feet, spinning around and reaching out a hand to his squire, who stood beside Thor.

“My mace!” the knight yelled out.

The squire next to Thor jumped into action, grabbing a mace off the weapons rack and sprinting out toward the center of the lane. He ran toward Elmalkin, but the other knight had circled back and was charging again. Just before the squire reached him to placing the mace into his master’s hand, the other knight thundered down upon them. The squire did not reach Elmalkin in time. The other knight brought his lance down—and as he did, his lance sideswiped the squire’s head. The squire, reeling from the blow, spun around quickly and went down to the dirt, face first.

He did not move. Thor could see blood oozing from his head, even from here, staining the dirt.

Thor swallowed.

“It’s not a pretty sight, is it?”

Thor turned to see Feithgold standing beside him, staring back.

“Steel yourself, boy. This is battle. And we’re right in the middle of it.”

The crowd suddenly grew quiet as the main jousting lane was opened. Thor could sense anticipation in the air as all the other jousts stopped in anticipation of this one. On one side, out came Kendrick, walking out on his horse, lance in hand.

On the far side, facing him, out walked a knight in the distinctive armor of the McClouds.

“MacGils versus McClouds,” Feithgold whispered to Thor. “We’ve been at war for a thousand years. And I very much doubt this match will settle it.”

Each knight lowered his visor, a horn sounded, and with a shout, the two charged each other.

Thor was amazed at how much speed they picked up before they moments later collided with such a clang, Thor nearly raised his hands to his ears. The crowd gasped as both fighters fell from their horses.

They each jumped to their feet and threw off their helmets, as their squires ran out to them, handing them short swords. The two knights sparred with all they had. Watching Kendrick swing and slash mesmerized Thor: it was a thing of beauty. But the McCloud was a fine warrior, too. Back and forth they went, each exhausting the other, neither giving ground.

Finally their swords met in one momentous clash, and they each knocked each other’s swords from their hands. Their squires ran out, maces in hand, but as Kendrick reached for his mace, the McCloud’s squire ran up behind him and struck him in the back with his own weapon, the blow sending him to the ground, to the horrified gasp of the crowd.

The McCloud knight retrieved his sword, stepped forward, and pointed it at Kendrick’s throat, pinning him to the ground. Kendrick was left with no choice.

“I concede!” he yelled.

There was a victorious shout among the McClouds—but a shout of anger from the MacGils.

“He cheated!” yelled out the MacGils.

“He cheated! He cheated!” echoed a chorus of angry cries.

The mob was getting angrier and angrier, and soon there was such a chorus of protests that the mob began to disperse, and both sides—the MacGils and McClouds—began to approach each other on foot.

“This isn’t good,” Feithgold said to Thor, as they stood on the side, watching.

Moments later, the crowd erupted; blows were thrown, and it became an all-out brawl. It was chaos. Men were swinging wildly, grabbing each other in locks, driving each other to the ground. The crowd swelled and the brawl threatened to blow up into an all-out war.

A horn sounded and guards from both sides marched in, managing to split up the crowd. Another, louder, horn sounded, and silence fell as King MacGil stood from his throne.

“There will be no skirmishes today!” he boomed in his kingly voice. “Not on this day of celebration! And not in my court!”

Slowly, the crowd calmed.

“If it is a contest you wish for between our two great clans, it will be decided by one fighter, one champion, from each side.”

MacGil looked to King McCloud, who sat on the far side, seated with his entourage.

“Agreed?” MacGil yelled out.

McCloud stood solemnly.

“Agreed!” he echoed.

The crowd cheered on both sides.

“Choose your best man!” MacGil yelled.

“I already have,” McCloud said.

There emerged from the McCloud side a formidable knight, the biggest man Thor had ever seen, mounted on his horse. He looked like a boulder, all bulk, with a long beard and a scowl that looked permanent.

Thor sensed movement beside him, and right next to him, Erec stepped up, mounted Warkfin, and walked forward. Thor swallowed. He could hardly believe this was happening all around him. He swelled with pride for Erec.

Then he was overcome with anxiety, as he realized he was on duty. After all, he was squire and his knight was about to fight.

“What do we do?” Thor asked Feithgold in a rush.

“Just stand back and do as I tell you,” he answered.

Erec strode forward into the jousting lane, and the two knights stayed there, facing each other, their horses stomping in a tense standoff. Thor’s heart pounded in his chest as he waited and watched.

A horn sounded, and the two charged each other.

Thor could not believe the beauty and grace of Warkfin—it was like watching a fish jump from the sea. The other knight was huge, but Erec was a graceful and sleek fighter. He cut through the air, his head low, his silver armor rippling, more polished than any armor he had laid his eyes upon.

As the two men met, Erec held his lance with perfect aim and leaned to the side. He managed to knock the knight in the center of his shield while simultaneously dodging his blow.

The huge mountain of a man tumbled backwards, onto the ground. It was like a boulder landing.

The MacGil crowd cheered as Erec rode past, turned, and circled back. He raised his face plate and held the tip of his lance to the man’s throat.

“Yield!” Erec yelled down.

The knight spit.

“Never!”

The knight then reached into a hidden satchel on his waist, pulled out a handful of dirt, and before Erec could react, threw it into Erec’s face.

Erec, stunned, reached for his eyes, dropping his lance and falling from his horse.

The MacGil crowd booed and hissed and cried in outrage as Erec fell, clutching his eyes. The knight, wasting no time, hurried over and kneed him in the ribs.

Erec rolled over, and the knight grabbed a huge rock, picked it up high, and prepared to bring it down on Erec’s skull.

“NO!” Thor screamed, stepping forward, unable to control himself.

Thor watched in horror as the knight brought down the rock. At the last second, Erec somehow rolled out of the way. The stone lodged deep into the ground, right where his skull had been.

Thor was amazed at Erec’s dexterity. He was already back on his feet, facing this dirty fighter.

“Short swords!” the Kings cried out.

Feithgold suddenly wheeled and stared at Thor, wide-eyed.

“Hand it to me!” he yelled.

Thor’s heart pounded in panic. He spun around, searching Erec’s weapons rack, looking desperately for the sword. There was a dizzying array of weapons before him. He reached out, grabbed it, and t----t it into Feithgold’s palm.

“Stupid boy! That is a medium sword!” Feithgold yelled.

Thor’s throat went dry; he felt the whole kingdom staring at him. His vision was blurry with anxiety as he spiraled into panic, not knowing which sword to choose. He could barely focus.

Feithgold stepped forward, shoved Thor out of the way, and grabbed the short sword himself. He then raced out into the jousting lane.

Thor watched him go, feeling useless, horrible. He also tried to imagine if it were himself running out there, in front of all those people, and his knees grew weak.

The other knight’s squire reached him first, and Erec had to jump out of the way as the knight swung for him, barely missing. Finally, Feithgold reached Erec and placed the short sword into his hand. As he did, the knight charged Erec. But Erec was too clever. He waited until the last moment, then jumped out of the way.

The knight kept charging, though, and ran right into Feithgold, standing, to his bad luck, in the place where Erec had just been. The knight, filled with rage at missing Erec, kept charging and grabbed Feithgold with both hands by his hair, and head-butted him hard in the face.

There was a cracking of bone as blood squirted from Feithgold’s nose and he collapsed to the ground, limp.