Chapter 11: First rule of jousting (2/2)

Part II

 

 

Lucius stayed for a while atop his horse, jaw gritted and his shoulder a hot cauldron of pain, up until Sir Holt slowly got up on jelly legs, under the cheers of his people. Then with a wave towards the King and the ladies of court on the stands turned Stormbolt towards the exit of the jousting field, pushing through the crowd still cheering loudly. Roderick followed him carrying his shield on Butter, face set more grim than his.

That was a close call, Lucius thought. He removed his helm and placed it in front of him on the saddle, kept his mount moving until they reached the private stable. He tossed the helm to the boy waiting for them and managed to jump down without making too big a fool of himself. Stormbolt snorted loudly at the display clearly believing otherwise.

“Hey.” Lucius warned him patting the sweaty mane. “It was good enough.”

Roderick harrumphed on his back.

“What?”

“How’s the hand?” The man probed still in a pensive mood. Lucius grimaced, not wanting to think about it but forced to nevertheless.

“Better than the shoulder.”

“What happened?”

Lucius puffed out walking towards the house, too hot, sweaty and in enough pain to not want to talk about it.

 

 

It took a good twenty minutes to remove the plate and Roderick left before then, face dark and troubled, to watch the ‘young Alden’ compete for one spot in the semi-final of the tournament. The shoulder looked almost as bad as it felt. An angry red and purple color than ran down the arm. As much swollen as it was throbbing even after Lucius downed two goblets of cold wine to dull his senses.

“Does it hurt?” Zofia asked curiously interested in his plight since he returned.

Yeah.

“Actually it is much better.”

“Can you even use the arm?”

“Not much skill is needed to use a shield.”

Zofia bit her upper lip thoughtfully, casting him a stare.

“Your man said Sir Holt forgot his name after he fell.”

“That was probably the lance on the head. It can really mess you up.”

She grimaced.

“This is a stupid game.”

“Huh, as if people don’t fight in the North.” Lucius commented deictically tasting his third goblet of wine.

“For land, gold. Revenge.”

“It is not that different.”

But she clearly wasn’t convinced. Roderick returned at that point, face drenched in sweat and went straight for the wine. They both waited for him to wash it down and he did in a go, his eyes setting on Lucius intently.

“How’s the arm?” He asked finally.

“It’s fine.”

“Ralph won.” The old hand said. “Crul kid broke three lances on him, but pushed through in the end.”

“He’s good with a lance.” Lucius grinned, a grimace of pain ruining it at the end.

“That means you fight him for a spot in the final.” Roderick pointed. “King found it funny. A sage day, he called it. Don’t think he meant it though.”

“It means an Alden will be in the final either way.”

“Aye. There’s that of course.”

“What else is there?” Lucius asked.

Roderick refilled his goblet.

“Can you fight?” He asked. “Because I don’t think your brother will go easy on you.”

 

 

Lucius remained silent while waiting for the grey haired man to finish bandaging his arm and shoulder. Dotore Marcus, now well into his fifties, knew him for all his life and was a man of few words himself. The silence was thick enough to hear the clang of weapons coming from the jousting field and the galloping of horses on top of the buzz of the crowd.

“Rest it, for ten days.” Marcus said simply getting up and Roderick snorted loudly at the suggestion. Lucius watched him leaving seething.

“I can beat Ralph with one hand.” He finally replied with a scowl.

“If you maim him in that first pass sure.”

Lucius got up kicking the chair backwards, face red, his hand temporarily forgotten. His eyes glared at the trusty weathered face of Roderick and then towards the disguised Zofia sitting by the kitchen table next to their open area pretending not to listen. He cleared his throat one time trying to calm himself down.

“Can you fetch us another bottle of wine?” He asked.

She shot a thin brow up. “I’m not your servant girl, my Lord.”

“It’s on the table.”

She puffed out hard.

“Fine.”

Roderick snickered finding it funny and Lucius cracked a smile himself easing up.

“Anything else?” She asked dripping poison, after she’d slammed a bottle on the smaller table near him, rattling the goblets on it and spilling some on his boots.

Lucius sighed amused.

“Nay. Thank you. You’re very kind.”

“Care not to choke on it.”

“I hope not.”

“Good.”

 

 

“You fancy some?” Lucius offered but Roderick waved him off with his own goblet. He sat back down after retrieving the chair and setting it right. “What do you want from me old man?”

“What your father wishes.”

“Thought you were working for me.”

“Bah. You confuse watch over wit work. Not the same.”

“What does my father want?”

Roderick smacked his lips helping himself to the wine he’d refused earlier. He poured himself a generous amount and down it before answering.

“An Alden winning the tourney. Without losing a son in the process.”

“I’m not going to kill—”

“No one can predict the winner in a joust unless there’s cheating involved. I told ye this years back. Second rule of jousting. Or what will happen in general. That’s the third one. King Antoon is happy for the match and he’s about to lose a sister. That should tell ya something. Ralph won’t back down and you’re injured.” Roderick sighed heavily. “Can you hold that shield up?”

“Aye.”

“Bollocks. Pick it up.”

“I’m not… okay, you have a point. But I can hold my own enough to beat Ralph.”

“Then what? You face De Weer last most like. He broke Sir Van Durren’s shield in two. His hand in three. Sent a piece of it over the stands. Sir Hank had won three tourneys in a row and you haven’t fought in years.”

“Ralph beat him…”

“Your brother never stopped fighting Lucius. It is not your past skill that worries me but the present.”

“Is De Weer through then?” Lucius asked not really enjoying the conversation.

“Nay. He’ll fight that Prince guy. Reckon he’ll break him apart.”

“Wait. The Prince won against Van Oord?”

Roderick snorted. Lucius rolled his eyes.

“Right. First rule.”

“Rank ‘n blood matters naught. Everyone can lose in a joust.” The old man agreed and that was that.

 

 

Ralph walked in at that point, Lucius still mulling over the old hand’s words and Roderick himself finishing off the rest of the bottle, the frown still on his marred face.

“Can you believe that fool got up?” The young Alden said amusement radiating off him in waves, “That mountain people are tough brother, I tell you. Hey, not goin’ to lie, I was pretty happy the judge had called the fight, there’s only so much mud and horse dug a man can swallow right?”

“Not you.” Lucius joked. “Remember that mare? It was a mouthful.”

“Ye got to keep that visor down son.” Roderick added with a fatherly smirk. “And breathe through the nose.”

“Haha, there’s the cheap advice and stale humor I expected.’ Ralph grabbed the bottle and gave it a shake. ‘You old boys been washing it down pretty hard I see. Roderick, I think you have to cut it down a notch mate. Seriously, I don’t think there’s any more room in that shirt.” He got a grunt in response, but he was undeterred. “Is there more where it came from?” His eyes stayed on the scowling Zofia for an awkward moment before Roderick went to fetch a fresh bottle for him. Ralph stared at his bigger brother the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

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“Don’t.” Lucius warned him.

Ralph shrugged his broad shoulders. “I wouldn’t.” Although he probably thought about it.

“It’s a long story.”

“I’m sure it is.”

“She’ll be returning with us.” Lucius explained trying to steer the conversation away.

“That would be awkward, but particularly stimulating.” Ralph commented with interest. “Then again you are gonna lose so…”

“Hah, you wish.”

“I’m pretty certain,’ Ralph seemed to notice his bindings then and he paused. ‘Holt got you bad?”

“It’s no problem.” Lucius replied waving him off.

“That’s a lot wrappings. What did the Dotore say?”

“It’s nothing.”

“He shouldn’t fight.” Roderick said earning a scowl from Lucius. Ralph narrowed his eyes all playfulness turning to worry.

“Luci… listen, you don’t—”

“I would do whatever I want, Ralph.” Lucius snapped cutting him off. “I’m not goin’ to be taking advice from my younger brother or my father’s lackey.” He regretted the words soon as they left his lips. Ralph face darkened but bravely hid it under a mask of casualness.

“You would be miserable.” He said simply.

Lucius stared at his boots trying to put his thoughts in order. You want a gallant knight? He thought. Here’s one. Brave, sincere and humane. He should be the hero. “But you won’t.”

“Aye.”

He envied his directness.

“Because you fell in love wit a dark-skinned lass. A white-haired Issirian Princess. Love will solve everything else.” He fought to keep the bitterness off his voice. His faults were his and his alone.

“Ah, Luci. You haven’t seen her truly. Never did. You don’t know what it is.” Ralph said his voice steadier.

“What is brother?”

“To want something more than your lot. A mirage, you can touch and feel. To want… enough to earn it, when it is not offered freely. Want it more than anything else.”

 

 

The tree trunks were straight and rushed towards the veiled sky, reaching as high as eighty meters and you needed three grown men to hug them around in some cases. Blacktiger forest’s enormous canopy only let precious few rays of light reach the ground and the beasts roaming in it, lived almost in darkness. When it was quiet and the beasts awake, one could hear a pin drop as if it was a boulder.

“What are you doing here boy?” Roderick asked, less lines on his face, no grey in his hair. Ralph stared him stepping out from where he’d hid himself eyes wide open, a mix of courage and fear. More courage, Lucius thought, than fear, a hint of pride in his heart. His brother’s jaw moved, teeth grinding as if ready to snap.

“Get back to the camp, right now.” Their father’s man scolded him keeping his voice subdued.

“I’m not going.” Ralph replied and he stared at Lucius, standing next to the older man dressed in his hunter gear, the red leather gleam the light coming through the forest canopy. “I’ll help Luci corner the beast. You go back to Demonhorn fort old man.” He added, small hands clenched tight on the shaft of their father’s old war spear.

“What if it comes at you?” Roderick grunted. “What then? Ye think this fancy-dressed one will stop it? Huh? Have ye seen a dark tiger up close lad? Its jaws will swallow yer head whole.”

“No it won’t. I’m an Alden.” Ralph said in a low voice and Lucius gave him an incredulous look. Ralph returned his stare pushing his chest out, a small grin creeping up his rosy face.

“Fuck does that mean boy?”

“I’ll kill the tiger.” He said loud enough for the beasts to hear them and much to his surprise, Lucius believed him.

 

 

“You can’t beat me brother. Even with a lance, I’m better than you.” Lucius said with a sigh, feeling tired all of a sudden. A beautiful mirage in the end, is naught but an illusion.

“Not if I don’t hold back. And I won’t.” Ralph replied. “I’m going to win the tourney Luci. I will earn Elsanne’s hand.”

“You won’t.”

“Guess will have to see. I only have to beat you this once and I will.” He gave him one of his patented grins. “I may have to hurt you a bit more than Holt probably.”

“This is nonsense!” Roderick growled.

“You keep your mouth shut old man.” Lucius warned him.

“Or what? Let ye built up than rage ‘n pride? Feed on his words, is that yer fuckin’ intention? Hurt your brother? Cut him down?” His face had turned red, eyes piercing him. But Lucius was taller than him now, so he didn’t back down.

“I can hold my own Roderick.” Ralph said, voice steady. All grown up himself, though in a sense his little brother was always this way. It was there for all to see.

Regal.

Lucius had a lump in his throat and couldn’t speak for a moment. Mind racing with memories of simpler times.

I’m an Alden.

“You’re an idiot,” Roderick replied.

“Nah, just following your bloody rules,” Ralph said turning to leave with a last glance at the unopened bottle of Flauegran Roderick had brought. “I let you two finish this.”

Lucius watched him walking away.

Oh, for Uher’s sake.

“Wait!” He gasped defeated.

Ralph stopped and turned around.

“What?”

Lucius smacked his lips, feeling Roderick’s stare on his nape.

“You love her.”

“Aye.”

“You know Issirian girls are crazy right? Remember that time she pushed you into the trough?”

“So you remember her.”

“Difficult to forget that tumble.”

“She was nine. That was years… Didn’t even recognize me yesterday.”

“Ye can tell a lot about a lass from a young age. And she probably lied.”

Ralph smiled.

“You know shit all about women Luci.”

“True.”

Ralph shrugged. “Anyway, you should rest that. I see you in the field.”

“You’re goin’ to win the final.” Lucius said stopping him from turning away.

Kill the fuckin’ tiger.

Ralph stared him puzzled for a moment.

“After I beat—”

“Forget about me.” Lucius cut him short. “You focus on the final. Finish the fight first then celebrate. Darn it, I’ll celebrate with you two. Dance even, much as I hate it. But remember, fight doesn’t stop until your opponent is either dead or gives up. Give no quarters.”

“Luci.” Ralph seemed awestruck. “What are you saying?”

“Arm is fucked.” Lucius replied and heard Roderick letting a breath he was holding out. “And I never really liked her that much.”

“You’ll…” Ralph paused unsure if he was serious;

But Lucius had decided already.

“I yield the fight.” He glanced towards Roderick. “You go tell the King, there is an Alden in the final.”

 

 

Lucius eyes stared at the empty entrance of the villa, his mind wandering on old hunts, glorious tourneys and an innocence long lost. He missed the woman approaching him, but felt her wiry fingers touch his wrapped up shoulder. For a moment her smell brought sounds and voices back, but then his mind cleared as the past retreated.

“Is it that bad?” Zofia asked more suspicious than worried.

“Not really.”

“So you could fight?”

“Aye.”

“Then why…” Lucius turned to stare into her eyes, light blue icy pools carrying the cold of the North reflecting his. “I see.” She said simply, not looking away. Unafraid, daring even. Lucius forced himself to look away.

“That’s a side of you… It doesn’t match your reputation.” She added after a couple of false starts.

There it was then, a topic he didn’t want to remember, Lucius thought before replying in a steady voice. “Men are made of many things. Sewn together. Small ‘n big.” Reciting a quote from Uher, the God of life.

“I expected Tyeus. War God and all that.” Zofia replied with a pout, her eyes laughing. “Color me, impressed… Lord Alden.”

 

 

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