Victory!

“Well, that was dramatic.” Said Luthar sarcastically under his breath.

“Mind your words lad, these boys are doing their best. Someday you’ll be stood in the squares giving a show.” Scolded Chadwick.

The Tourney at Highgate was called to celebrate the birth of Lord Hammerton’s first son, Thomas. It was never going to match the grandeur of Alarston Castle grounds, or the prestige of a King’s event, but where there was honour and gold to be won, hundreds of men soon came. Chadwick Dayton was one of those hundreds, accompanied by his young squire, Luthar.

After Chadwick had been to register, he’d taken Luthar to watch the opening bouts in the lists. Standing at the edge of the squares they’d taken in half a dozen clashes, each duller than the last. Luthar was feeling disappointed since he’d had high hopes for his first tourney. The one saving grace was that Chadwick would be in with a fair chance of winning if these were Highgate’s best. It might even mean a small share of the prize money for himself.

“Dayton? Five minutes” the administrator said to Chadwick.

Luthar could see the concentration on Chadwick’s face as he thought about what the challenge ahead. He tied the laces on his shirt and raised his arms for Luthar to help him with his breast plate. Luthar lifted the plate onto his chest, deft fingers working the clasps. He’d been schooled well in arms and armour, so this task was as natural to him as breathing. When he’d dressed Chadwick for battle, he followed him the edge of the square carrying his sword carefully in both hands. It was far too heavy for him still, but it felt good to hold it. Forged in Dalanor with a 36-inch blade of the finest steel and a straight crossguard, it really was a thing of savage beauty.

In the traditional manner for squires, Luthar knelt and presented Chadwick his sword at the entrance gate of the square. Chadwick drew it from the scabbard and swung it left and right. Luthar wished his teacher luck and retreated to the squire’s place at the side of the square to watch the bout.

Chadwick strolled to the centre of the square, gently easing his right shoulder which he’d injured years before. He claimed he’d been fighting a giant, but Luthar still wasn’t sure if he believed him. Giants were supposed to be twenty feet tall, so how could a man, no matter his skill, stand up to that kind of strength?

Chadwick’s opponent faced him from the other side of the line, nearly a foot taller than him and clad in full plate he would be an intimidating site to a novice. Luthar, despite only being a squire, had sized him up as he stood waiting. The man was shifting his feet constantly, and the mist from his breath suggested he was breathing in short, shallow breaths. Chadwick looked up at him, steady as a rock.

“Do you both pledge to the warrior god Heldus that you shall fight with honour, integrity and respect?” Began the judge.

“We do.” they replied in unison.

“And swear to do your name, family and God proud?”

“We do.”

“Then let us set.”

The judge retreated to the outside of the fenced square whilst both fighters readied themselves in their starting positions. Amongst the handful of spectators there was an intense silence as they waited for the judge’s order to begin. Luthar could feel his heart pounding in his chest and his breakfast rising in his stomach as he waited. Nerves were overtaking him; he didn’t know what happened to squires of the Warrior’s Guild if their teacher was killed and didn’t want to find out.

“Engage!” came the order.

“Go for him Alisdair!” called the other man’s squire.

The two men advanced slowly, apparently waiting for the other to make the first move. Alisdair’s patience seemed to wane first, he took a quick step forward and swung a heavy blow at Chadwick’s neck. It was a slow strike though; Chadwick was well clear of it before he was in any danger. He retreated a couple of steps to reset himself, Alisdair advanced menacingly once more and aimed another high blow at Chadwick. Luthar was starting to feel better now, Alisdair was big and strong, but his strikes were slow and lacked precision.

Still Alisdair was on the attack, this time putting his full weight behind a thrust at chest height. Chadwick parried then rattled Alisdair’s helmet with his pommel. Alisdair staggered and struggled to regain his balance. A wild swing from Alisdair told everyone this contest was nearly over, the big man was far too disoriented to be any further danger. One last wild swing from Alisdair was parried by Chadwick and followed by a swift counter, Alisdair fell to the floor with Chadwick’s blade at his throat.

“Mercy!” cried Alisdair.

“Victory, Dayton.” Confirmed the judge.

Luthar joined in with a smattering of applause from the small crowd. Chadwick held his sword aloft in acknowledgement as he made his way out of the gate. Luthar took his helmet and sword from him and handed him his water skin.

“Well fought.” Said Luthar.

“How did I beat him?” Asked Chadwick.

“He was too slow; he couldn’t hit you.”

“Exactly, heavy armour is fine for fighting a war. It will protect you from attacks from all sides, arrows, and whatever the enemy throws at you. But if you’re one versus one in a tournament it’ll only slow you down. Remember that.”

“Light armour for tournaments, heavy for war.” Confirmed Luthar happily.

“Right. Let’s have a drink.”

Chadwick beckoned over a serving girl and ordered a mug of ale for them both.

“You think you could beat some of these?” asked Chadwick suddenly.

Luthar took a second to consider the question. He firmly believed that he could, but knew arrogance was likely to get him killed in matters of combat.

“I think so, some that we’ve seen this morning haven’t been much to sing about.”

“Can’t argue there, when you come of age just remember not to dive in too quick thinking, you’re the better fighter. Some might seem slow or unsteady, but they can play tricks on you and catch you off your guard.”

Luthar always listened to Chadwick’s lessons, he was very well respected within the guild and when he spoke others seemed to listen. Luthar had often wondered why he had specifically asked to train him. He’d progressed to a squire along with six or seven other boys, surely, they all had the potential to be competent fighters?

The serving girl brought their drinks and after Chadwick had given her a generous tip he took a long drink and began studying Luthar over his mug of ale, his brow furrowed in apparent concentration. Luthar met his gaze, expecting him to say something.

“If you think you’re ready, how about we try some more serious work after we’re done here?” Chadwick said finally.

“What do you have in mind?”

“See if we can get you kitted out in Alarston, then head north. Always seems to be some work that needs doing up there. The mountain folk might want to make your acquaintance if they see you with a shiny new sword, how’d you like that?”

Another one of Chadwick’s tales was how he’d fought off multiple attacks from clans living in the hills near Harsk. Cut 6 of them down whilst protecting his injured squire he’d said, Luthar made a mental note to ask some of the other members about that when he’d been promoted to a full guild member. It didn’t do well for a squire to be questioning a senior member’s word about such things.

“Can’t wait to get started.”

They sat in silence for some time watching the other fighters enter the squares and eventually leave, one the victor going on to the next round and one the loser, heading for home. The more bouts passed, the more confident Luthar began to feel about his own abilities. After what felt like hours the call came for Chadwick to make ready for his section final.

This time the man at the opposite end of the square was much smaller and looked lean. Luthar reckoned he’d had more than his share of fights judging by the scars on his face and hands. This could be more of a match for Chadwick. The nerves began to creep upon Luthar again, so he tried to absorb himself in watching both men’s actions. Both were calm and at ease, looking like true professionals.

The judge’s introduction rang out, confirming the identity of the scarred man as Karl Neythen. Once the judge had exited the square the two men came together quickly. Chadwick blocked twice with his shield, then replied with a thrust of his own, which Karl dodged. The two men circled, trying to spot a weakness in the other. Chadwick led with his shield, trying to get a reaction, his foe backpedalled, not taking the bait.

Chadwick threw a feint, Karl swerved. Karl thrusted; Chadwick dodged. The pace of this battle was something else, neither man had landed a blow yet. Luthar couldn’t take his eyes off them.

Finally, the ring of steel on steel as Karl took a wide swing at Chadwick and hit his sword on the crossguard. Chadwick responded by slamming his shield into Karl’s chest, knocking him off balance. By now both men were breathing heavily, shoulders beginning to sag. Karl set himself again, facing Chadwick once more, readying himself for the next exchange.

Yet again, Chadwick tried to feint, but this time Karl was a second too slow and caught a shield to the face for his trouble. Noticeably stunned, Karl tried to retreat but Chadwick was on him and landed a strike to his left elbow, drawing a cry of pain. Shield barely held up; Karl straightened himself as best he could, honour not letting him give up.

Luthar could see this fight was nearly over, Karl was injured, and Chadwick seemed to have his pattern worked out. He watched the two of them face up again but nearly cried out in shock as Karl found a gap between Chadwick’s sword and shield, landing a precision thrust on his chest. Visibly shocked, Chadwick staggered, and Karl was on the offensive, swinging at him ferociously.

He weathered the storm and countered quickly from the cover of his shield forcing Karl to retreat awkwardly. Pressing forward Chadwick took advantage of Karl’s injury and attacked high, forcing him to raise his shield. Finally, it was one strike too many as Karl’s shield dropped and a blow connected with the side of his helmet. He fell to the ground, still.

“Victory. Dayton!” Announced the judge with a flourish. “I present to you the prize of 50 gold courtesy of Lord and Lady Hammerton of Highgate. May you always be remembered here for your great victory this day.”

Chadwick exited the square wearily and sat himself on the nearest chair for Luthar to remove his armour. Under his shirt his chest was bright red and beginning to swell.

“That’s going to hurt in the morning.” Said Luthar.

“Aye, it hurts enough now.” Answered Chadwick, grimacing. “Come on lad, let’s get to the next glorious victory!”