This was not the initiation he had in mind. He knew he had to start somewhere, but this was degrading. He had pictured war and glory and battle, training and competition among boys his own age. He never saw himself as a servant in waiting. He was starting to wonder if he had made the right decision.
They finally burst out of the dark stables and back into the bright light of day, back in the jousting lanes. Thor squinted at the bright light, and was momentarily overcome by the thousands of people cheering, the noise of opposing knights as they smashed into one other. He’d never heard such a clang of metal, and the earth tremored from the horses’ gait.
All around him were dozens of knights and their squires, preparing. Squires polished their knight’s armor, greased up weapons, checked saddles and straps and double-checked weapons as knights mounted their steeds, grabbed their weapons, 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. He charged down the narrow lane, and Thor watched as his lance brushed off the shield of a competitor. They clanged, and the other knight’s lance struck, and Elmalkin went flying backwards, landing on his back. The crowd cheered.
The knight 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 beside Thor jumped into action, grabbing a mace off the weapons rack and sprinting out towards the center of the lane. He ran towards his knight, but the other knight had circled back, and was charging again. Just as the squire was reaching him, just as he was placing the mace into his hand, the other knight thundered down upon them. The squire did not reach the knight in time: the other knight brought his lance down-and as he did, his lance swiped the squire’s head. The squire, reeling from the below, spun around quickly and went down to the dirt, face first.
He was not moving. 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 them, 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 Kendrik, 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, and moments later they 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 had Thor mesmerized: 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 was reaching for his mace, the McCloud’s squire ran up behind him and struck him in the back with a mace, the blow sending him to the ground, to the horrified gasp of the crowd.
The McCloud knight stepped forward and pointed his sword to 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 was swelling, and it was threatening to blow up into an all-out war.
A horn sounded, and guards from both sides marched in, and managed to split up the crowd. Another, louder, horn sounded, and silence fell as King MacGil stood from his throne.
“There will be no skirmishers 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 Warfkin 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 that he was on duty. After all, he was squire and this was his knight who 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 felt his heart pounding 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 Warfkin as he watched him move. It was like watching a fish jump from the sea. The other man was huge, but Erec was the most graceful and sleek fighter Thor had ever seen. 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 shield and at the same time, to dodge 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 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, he threw it up into Erec’s face.
Erec, stunned, reached up and grabbed for his eyes, dropping his lance, and fell from his horse.
