A Tournament at Midsummer

"Overseas somewhere," Vesian replied. "I know not where, but it was imported at great cost."

"Only the king's tournament could attract such delicacies."

Vesian's horse edged closer, its nose sniffing at the strange scents. He raised the drumstick to his stallion's nose and it sniffed instinctively, only to snort in surprise and turn away. It reared back and shook its head, snorting violently at the spicy sauce. Vesian laughed as he caught the animal's reins and steadied it with soft words.

"We're lucky to have borrowed this one," Thibault remarked around another bite.

"Don't touch your eyes," Vesian cautioned. "The sauce on your fingers will burn them too."

Thibault stopped in the middle of reaching to wipe his nose and grabbed for a cloth instead.

"So now that you're through to the final round, what next?" he asked.

"Win it, I suppose. Did I ever intend to do anything else? I don't yet know who I will face, but whoever it is, it must be the sorcerer's pawn, unless the plan has already failed."

"Or unless you are the sorcerer's pawn," Thibault pointed out. "Have you considered that?"

"I have not," Vesian conceded. "Though I thought I would know if I was under the sorcerer's spell. And I don't know what I would do with the power he has given me."

"What power is that?"

"He said to the voice in the mirror that the spell would be irresistible if his pawn won it all."

"I like the sound of irresistible," Thibault smiled, but Vesian had to frown.

"I don't think he meant irresistible to the ladies."

"Though it's unnecessary," Thibault teased, "You already have the fairest lady in the realm fawning all over you."

Vesian felt himself blush. "She's just grateful that I helped her," he replied.

"Very grateful," Thibault replied. "Grateful enough to let you into her bed, where you could be found by her father's knights and dealt with severely."

"Always the pessimist," Vesian laughed. "I'll not be beheaded or exiled for bedding the princess. I will simply not bed the princess."

"So you say," Thibault muttered darkly. "But I know you. Forget sorcerers, you find pretty women irresistible. Stick to fucking the countess, at least she's a widow with no man watching over her."

"Tiburge is not a jealous woman. She won't object to other women in my bed. Sometimes she likes to share."

"I wouldn't know," Thibault grumbled. "I always have to wait outside. Though there are fortunately many opportunities at these events for a young, handsome squire in the service of a famous knight."

"Indeed. What were you up to last night while the princess and I were sneaking about?"

Thibault smiled. "I was also sneaking about, with one of Duke Sigismund's maids. A pretty little thing with red hair and big tits. I found her at the feast and snuck her off to the cellars for some fun. When I left, her big tits were all covered in cum."

"Then I don't feel guilty for leaving you out while I met with the countess," Vesian replied. "You always find someone at these. A different woman every night."

"That is not to say that you are forgiven for keeping the countess to yourself." Vesian snorted as he bit into another chicken drumstick.

"I keep nothing. Tiburge beds who she wants and you are sadly too lowborn. Did you see the two knights she was sitting with just now? They will likely be in her bed before the next tilt has even started."

"She could at least let me in to watch," Thibault grumbled. "I'm sure some of her maids would be willing to entertain me."

"The countess thinks her company rarified, I'm afraid. Not for the likes of squires."

"Then forget it," Thibault sighed. "But what are you going to do about this plot you've gotten yourself into? What if the baron's conspirators are as unconvinced by your 'accident' as most of the crowd was? Aren't you afraid that they'll come looking for you?"

"I suppose," Vesian conceded. He had finished his chicken and pushed aside the bowl, his lips still burning from the sauce. "We will have to keep our eyes open. And watch over the horse. I won't have anyone setting me up to take a fall."

"I always do. But now that you've disrupted their plan, what will you do to exploit their confusion?"

Vesian sighed. "I expect that the once the final tilt is set, we will know the identity of our enemy. Who is still left in the tournament?"

"More than a few. The other slate of competitors is just getting under way, so it might be hours before we know."

"I don't want to just sit around waiting until then. Let's go by the sorcerer's tent and see if we can discover anything."

They rose, turned their bowls back to the merchant, and headed off through the campground to where the sorcerer's tent lay. Vesian handed the reins to Thibault at a safe distance.

"Wait here, I'm going to get a closer look."

Thibault sighed but did not protest. Vesian cast furtive looks about the nearly empty campground and then headed for the sorcerer's tent. It looked more imposing in the daylight, and taller than he had remembered. He crept around to the back and lifted the flap to peer inside. There was no sign of anyone. He poked his head underneath the tent and looked around.

The interior was deserted. Vesian dropped to his knees and crawled inside, hearing Thibault's disapproving remarks in his mind all the while. Standing up on the inside, he immediately noticed the strong and unmistakable scent of indigo spice, which pervaded the area outside the tent but became almost overwhelming inside it.

He went first to the sorcerer's desk. Where the previous night it had been covered with scrolls and tomes, it was now cleanly squared away with the tomes stacked in one corner and the scrolls racked beside the table. Only a single letter lay open on the surface, and Vesian studied it carefully. He had heard tales of writing infused with magic that would trap or ensorcel those who read it.

The letter seemed mundane enough, however. It was written curtly in a sharp hand.

"Your request for additional resources cannot be fulfilled at this time, but it is imperative that we secure additional muscle. Borrow heavily if you must, the royal treasury will soon be at your disposal to repay debts. Everything depends on the plan succeeding. Spare no expense and ensure no more spies are snooping around. By tonight, we will be powerful men indeed and your soul will be safe."

It was unsigned. Vesian frowned. He looked around the tent, wondering if any more clues might be hidden somewhere. Several heavy trunks lay around the room, locked and engraved with what looked to be sorcerous wards. He decided against opening any for fear of being turned into a frog, or worse.

His attention returned to the letter. The ink was still wet. It must have just been delivered, after the baron's injury. So, they needed the baron after all, he mused. The plan is disrupted, but not defeated, as I suspected. However, they are still confident of their success.

With a shrug of his shoulders, he crawled back out of the tent and returned to Thibault.

"Anything new?" the squire asked.

"They are looking to borrow money for new allies, but confident of their success, and I have no clues as to who might be plotting, or where."

"Not all bad, then. Let's get back to the tent. Maybe some of the other knights here will be willing to help us.

As they returned to their tent, a great cheer went up from the tournament stands.

"Someone was just unhorsed," Vesian remarked. "And at the hands of a crowd favorite."

"Should I head over and find out who?" Thibault asked, but Vesian stopped in sight of their tent.               "Look. What's this?"

Outside their tent waited a serving woman who Vesian had seen sitting behind Princess Adeline before the tournament. She hurried up to them as they approached.

"Sir Vesian!" she cried. "Her highness asked me to bring you a message."

"What is it?" he replied, handing his horse's reins to Thibault along with his heavy frog-mouthed helm.

"She thinks the baron's squire is up to something and went to follow him."

"Alone?!" Vesian gasped in alarm. "Where? When?"

"We followed him to the inn in the village, and then she sent me to find you. Please, go to her at once! I fear she's in over her head."

"As you wish, my lady," Vesian replied. "Here, take care of my horse and helm while I am gone. We won't be long."

He handed over his heavy helm and the horse's before to the princess' maid, then he and Thibault set off toward the village again, hurrying their pace out of concern for the princess. Vesian kept a hand on his sword pommel as he walked, eyes searching for trouble around every corner. Yet the final slate of competitors in the lists had drawn all the people of the castle and village as spectators, and the streets were deserted. They approached the inn unnoticed.              

Sword in hand, Vesian pushed open the front door. The inside was cold, dark, and deserted. He stepped inside with Thibault following. The benches had been upturned onto the tables and the windows shuttered. Behind the inn's bar, the cabinets were shut and latched and the doors to the backrooms were closed.

"They must all be at the tournament," Thibault whispered. "There's no one here."

"Perhaps upstairs," Vesian suggested, and they began to slowly make their way across the floor toward the stairs until Vesian stopped and held up a hand. "Listen," he hissed, and they paused. The faint sound of voices reached their ears. Vesian crept toward the source of the sound, but to his surprise, it was coming from below. He carefully bent to peer through a knothole in the floor.

In the cellar stood the sorcerer, pacing about the room in conversation with an unseen plotter.

"We cannot let her leave," he said with a shake of his head. From the depths of the cellar came the reply.

"We will not. She will remain here until the tournament is ended, then we will decide what to do with you, your highness." Vesian grimaced. He looked to the door to the back room and signaled Thibault forward. Below, the voice carried on speaking. "I am sorry, dear Adeline, but this plan has consumed too much time and money for me to abandon it on your behalf. It will succeed, and there is nothing you can do to stop it."

Vesian heard a muffled cry of protest, which he recognized as Adeline. But the speaker's voice he also found familiar, though he struggled to place it.

"Filderic," continued the speaker, and the sorcerer turned toward him. "Find this knight, Sir Vesian, and slip him something. When I reach the final tilt, I won't have anything standing in my way."

"Of course," the sorcerer replied with a slight bow. "You need only to deliver the final victory and the spell will become unstoppable. The kingdom will be yours to command." The sorcerer stepped back and away, and the his co-conspirator stepped into view.

"I can hardly wait. Unlike my brother, I am no fool," Duke Sigismund hissed. He pulled on his mail mittens, already armored for the joust, and straightened his surcoat. "Squire, we make for the tournament grounds. Dagobert, stay here and guard my dear nosy niece. I have a tilt to win."

He swept out of view and Vesian rose from the floor as quickly as he dared. He heard the exterior door to the cellar bang open and saw Thibault ready his sword.

"No," he hissed, "Let him leave. We must save the princess first, then we can worry about the joust."

"What about the sorcerer?" demanded Thibault. "How are we going to deal with him?"

"I don't know," Vesian admitted, "But we must let the duke leave before we confront them."

He crept to the window and peered out. The duke marched away in the direction of the tournament grounds with great purpose, trailed by two squires. His chin was held high and shoulders set. His gait was measured, strong, and quick. The sorcerer's spell was working, for he seemed to radiate authority, with the squires following servilely in silence. Vesian was sure that, if there had been a crowd in his way, it would have parted before him.

"Alright," he whispered at last, "They're gone."

"Now it's just Sir Dagobert and the sorcerer," Thibault replied acidly. "Have you thought up a plan yet?"

"Charging in isn't a plan?" asked Vesian. Thibault sighed. "I'm only joking, of course. We'll lure him out. He's supposed to slip me something, after all. Here, go hide yourself by the door."

Thibault did as ordered and Vesian quietly retreated to the inn's front door. With a loud bang, he threw it open.

"Princess!" he shouted. "It's Sir Vesian. What are you doing here when there's a tournament on?"

Straining his ears, he could he hushed whispers in the cellar. They hissed back and forth before going silent again. "Princess?" he called again. "Are you in here?"

The cellar door banged open again and Vesian heard footsteps outside. The door creaked open slowly and in hobbled a fat innkeeper in a dirty apron.

"Sir?" he mumbled, "Begging your pardon, sir, but there's no princess 'ere. I'd rightly now, I think. But perhaps I can get you something to drink?"

"To drink?" Vesian echoed. He strode confidently forward, his nose in the air and his notice fixed well above a lowly innkeep. He detected faint smell of spice and suppressed a smile. "Sirrah, I am looking for a princess. What swill might you have in this ramshackle establishment that would attract one of royal blood?"

"Oh, I have many drinks, sir knight. No swill 'ere, 'cept for the stuff I serve to the riff-raff, eh?" he gave Vesian a sly wink and they both laughed. "'Ere, sir knight. Sit yourself down and 'ave a glass. Maybe your royal princess is just running late. You know 'ow women are."

"Oh, that I do," Vesian replied. He thumped himself down on a barstool and laid his mailed forearms on the bar. In the room behind, Thibault lurked just behind the door, peering out through a crack. Vesian again suppressed a smile, this one hungry like a wolf's. The innkeep bumbled about the bar for a spell, searching for the right mug. Vesian watched him with disguised scrutiny.

"Everything alright there, sirrah?"

"Oh, nothing you need be worryin' yourself about, sir! Just seem to have misplaced some things... damn that boy! Always puttin' thing where they aren't supposed to go... Ah, 'ere's the thing, sir."

He produced a decorated mug carved from oak and rock and banded in brass. "This is a fine thing, isn't it? I bought it off a peddler in case 'is royal highness ever came callin' at my establishment. But 'e's never come down from 'is castle, so I figure it's good enough for you, isn't it?"

"Looks that way to me," Vesian replied. "A mug fit for a king, but today it'll be mine. Perhaps this portends a rise in my fortunes, don't you think?"

"Oh, beggin' yer pardon, sir. I'm not one to mess about with no fortunes. Leave that to the witches and sorcerers, I say." The innkeep took a bottle of wine from the shelves and held it up before him.

"A fine vintage, if I may, sir. From my cousin's vineyard to the east. 'e says the sea air's good for the grapes."

"My palette has always appreciated the coastal vintages over the inland ones," Vesian agreed, and the innkeep began to pour. Vesian watched his hands carefully and saw the innkeep pressing something against the inside of the mug. It was a faint, but even in the dim light, he could make out some powder or oil falling from the innkeep's fingers into the wine. His eyes flicked past the mug to Thibault waiting behind the door and he gave a subtle nod. The door began to creep open.

"'Ere you are, sir," the innkeep handed over the wine. "Drink up and your princess will be 'ere in no time at all."

Vesian held up the wine before him, swirling it about in the glass. "Seems a bit of a shame for you not to have any," he said with an arched eyebrow. The innkeep sputtered and averted his eyes.

"It's wasted on someone like me, sir. I'm just a lowly innkeeper. This wine was made for knights and lords, not me."

"Indeed? Well, surely you aspire to be something more? Everyone is looking to improve their station these days, and not all will settle for doing it honestly."

The innkeeper paused, recognition beginning to creep into his expression.

"Not everyone is as honest as you, Sir Vesian. Some of us have to make the hard choices."

"Indeed," Vesian replied, and Thibault struck. The sword plunged through the sorcerer's neck and emerged below his chin like an iron tongue coated in blood. His face tightened, then shimmered. His whole body shimmered, and the glamor faded. He was no longer the fat innkeeper but the tall, sinister sorcerer Vesian had seen in the tent and cellar.

"Well done," Vesian said as the sorcerer slumped to the floor. "But we now have business below." He grimly drew his sword and alit from the stool. Thibault wiped his sword on the sorcerer's robes and followed close behind. Vesian threw open the back door of the inn to find the cellar doors still open. The cobblestone steps led down into the darkness, but the princess beckoned. He suddenly wished he had retrieved a new shield after his tilt.

His shield arm upraised in defense and his sword cocked for a quick, killing thrust, he slowly descended into the dark cellar. His eyes adjusted slowly in the gloom.

Something flashed in the darkness and Vesian darted aside. Dagobert emerged from within the cellar, his sword diving for Vesian's scalp. The blow fell short as Vesian backed away, but the experienced knight turned it upward for another strike. This one Vesian swatted aside with his own sword and countered with his own thrust. Dagobert retreated from the attack, startled by how quickly Vesian had recovered.

Vesian came on strong, with three quick strikes to drive Dagobert backward. His foe dodged and parried, but could not regain the initiative. Dagobert ducked behind a pillar supporting the floor above for a reprieve, and Vesian looked around.

Princess Adeline lay against the back wall, bound and gagged with ropes. Her eyes were wild with fear, but her hands twisted and squirmed in her bonds as she tried to free herself. Vesian gave her a nod of encouragement.

Dagobert exploited his momentary distraction with a frenzied lunge around the pillar that caught Vesian off guard. He backed toward the steps, just in time to run into Thibault descending to join them. Dagobert's blade clashed against his, throwing off bright, dancing sparks that stung his eyes in the darkness of the cellar. He was hemmed in against the stairs, unable to move and admit Thibault to join the fight.

Vesian parried a blow, then turned his parry into a riposte that struck off the other knight's mail. His swordpoint became ensnared in the surcoat for just a moment, but Dagobert used that moment to slash down at his exposed head. Vesian turned away and caught the blow on his back. The blunt force of the strike hammered him through his own armor and he heard himself cry out. But he darted forward under the force of and stumbled further into the cellar.

Dagobert was now positioned between Vesian in the cellar and Thibault on the stairs. Wisely, the other knight retreated from the surrounded position, but was forced to admit Thibault into the cellar. He was backing himself into a corner, and Vesian cut off his escape.

Sir Dagobert could now see he was in dire straits. Thibault advanced with his blade at the ready while Vesian circled in to close him off from the other side. He was trapped now. His eyes searched in vain for an escape and, as Thibault closed, Dagobert lunged wildly at Vesian, his sword swinging in a wide arc aim for his head.

But Vesian caught the blade on his mailed sleeve and turned it aside. Dagobert carried on forward toward the open center of the cellar, but Vesian hauled him down to the dirt floor. They tangled there, each reaching for a dagger at their belts, but Thibault pinned Dagobert's arm. He was now exposed for the killing blow, and Vesian wasted little time. He plunged the dagger down, just above the knight's gorget, and watch Dagobert's eyes go wide. Blood bubbled up from his mouth. He shuddered and then lay still.